#give this man three paid weeks of vacation time

[1863-project]

Okay, I'll give them this one. This was good.

(As a bonus, I took the screenshot in Outlook for extra realism.)

[steddieasitgoes]

@steddiemas Day 14 Prompt: Airport and/or Bar

Tags: Established Relationship, Airport Pick Ups, Supportive Wayne Munson, Idiots In Love

wc: 1796 | Rating: G

Read on ao3 | ao3 collection

Long distance isn’t the relationship Steve and Eddie had dreamed they had when they finally confessed their love together in the Spring of ’88, but they’ve been making it work for years now.

As far as Steve’s concerned they are experts at it now.

They talk every night. Steve from his bedroom in the apartment he shares with Robin in San Francisco, Eddie from his own bedroom in the house he lives in with Wayne two towns over from Hawkins.

Steve tells Eddie about his long days at the office, the responsibilities he’s been shouldered with now that he’s earned his father’s trust to run the West Coast branch of the organization by himself. A feat Steve didn’t even know he wanted until he finally sat down with his father years ago to learn what the man did.

Eddie listens tentatively and returns the favor with his own stories of the day. Life at the plant alongside Wayne isn’t his dream, but it's a steady job that pays the bills. Besides, he likes being near Wayne. Can’t imagine a world where he’s not a hop, skip, and a jump away from the old man who quite literally saved his life more than once.

It’s not like they wanted to create professional lives thousands of miles apart from each other, but it's the cards they’ve been dealt. Sure, they’d love to be under the same roof for more than a week at a time, but they make it work. The real truth is that they’re both too afraid to make the other sacrifice all they’ve built for the other. Resentment is a relationship killer and neither is ready to jeopardize the cozy relationship they’ve built.

So, they make do.

Steve visits often, a perk of being the boss of his branch. Occasionally, he writes them off as business trips and checks in on the Midwest branch while he’s in town. Other times he uses his sick days and vacation days to make the trip out to Indiana.

Every time he flies into the Indianapolis International Airport, Eddie is waiting for him at the end of the jet bridge. The first time, he was decked out in a suit a size too small. A chauffeur cap askew on his head and a handwritten sign with “S. Harrington” scrawled across it that he had leaned on a luggage cart like all the other private chauffeurs waiting for their clients. Steve couldn’t help but burst into laughter the moment he saw him, running to Eddie and giving him a hug that the rest of the passengers side-eyeing them — not because they were two men, but because it was one hell of a greeting for a paid chauffeur.

From that moment on, Eddie committed to the airport greeting bit. The next time Steve flew to Eddie, he was greeted with a giant sign that read “Congrats! You survived prison!” A few times after that, Eddie was standing there with a bouquet of blue balloons and a banner that said “It’s a Boy!” There was the time he pretended Steve was his cheating boyfriend and had a total meltdown at the gate only to leave with Steve hand-in-hand three minutes later. And he can’t forget about the time he roped Dustin and the rest of the kids into making the trip, the lot of them waiting for Steve at the gate with various signs claiming to be his long-lost children.

Aside from getting to spend time with Eddie, his airport arrivals were always the highlight of the trip. He knows Eddie gets a kick out of the theatrics, but there’s a part of him deep down that wishes he could be on the receiving end of the airport shenanigans at least once. Unfortunately, Steve has yet to repay the favor since he’s usually the one making the trip out to Indy.

All that’s about to change though, because after years of asking, he’s finally convinced Eddie and Wayne to take their holiday vacation and come spend Christmas with him and Robin in sunny California.

Which means one thing: It’s Steve's turn to create an epic airport arrival sign.

“How am I supposed to top any of these?” Steve asks, sifting through the hoard of airport signs he’s kept over the years. A beautiful tapestry of their chaotic relationship.

“I don’t think Eddie can be topped,” Robin says, searching through her own stack of neon poster boards.

“I mean…”

“Do not finish that sentence.”

Steve throws his hands up in defense, biting the inside of his cheek to keep his laughter at bay. The last thing he needs is to upset Robin before they come up with a sign idea.

Sighing, Steve lets his head thunk against the mountain of signs. It’s no surprise Eddie is the more creative one of their relationship, but he feels bad he can’t come up with anything even remotely as good as the signs Eddie’s been creating for years.

“Look, Steve,” Robin says, patting his back. “You’re never going to outdo Eddie. He’s theatrical at his core. He lives for being a menace. Stop trying to channel him and channel yourself instead.”

“Is this your way of telling me you find me boring?” he asks, gazing up at her.

“No, dingus! I’m just saying, channel that Romeo side I know is in there,” she says, thrusting her finger into Steve’s chest. “Be sappy. Eddie’ll appreciate it.”

In the end, Steve takes Robin’s advice. He cuts a fluorescent green poster board into a wonky heart — one side longer than the other. Tries three separate times to get “Welcome Home” centered in the middle before he gives up and freehand it. And then, for extra flair, he uses a bottle and a half go glitter glue on the whole thing. They’re going to be finding specks of glitter for weeks, but he thinks it’ll be worth it.

According to the signs, Eddie and Wayne’s flight has already landed and is en route to the gate. Steve stands nervously by the sky gate exit. The sign is still folded in half, wrinkled at the edges from how much he’s fidgeting with it. He had no idea how nerve-wracking it is being on this side of things. It’s silly really. He knows Eddie is going to be happy to see him, sign or no sign, but he can’t help but be a little on edge.

Thankfully, the doors open and a flood of travelers start disembarking from the plane. Steve stands on his top-toes, scanning the tired faces in search of Eddie and Wayne. As the crowd thins out, Steve starts to worry. Maybe they changed their minds? Maybe they missed the flight. Maybe he’s at the wrong gate?

Shit, what if he’s at the wrong gate?

A glance up at the digital sign above the exit, confirms that Steve is in the right place. He breathes a sigh of relief before he goes back to scanning. They have to be coming out soon, he thinks, and starts to unfold the sign. He holds it low, clutched over his chest until he spots a familiar head of unruly curls.

Hoisting it over his head, he shouts, “Eds!”

Eddie’s head whips around at the sound of his voice, eyes shining when he spots him in the thinning crowd. Steve has all of five seconds to brace himself before Eddie launches himself into his arms, crushing the sign between their bodies.

It’s not uncommon for the two of them to hug when they reunite at the airport, but this feels different. Eddie’s arms are tighter around his neck and he’s pretty sure he can hear him sniffling, body slightly shaking in his grasp.

“Eds?” Steve whispers into the mess of curls. “You okay?”

Eddie nods, slowly peeling himself away from Steve. With a little bit of space between them, Steve watches as Eddie’s eyes glance between the smushed sign and Steve’s eyes. Back and forth, back and forth.

Shit, is it too much?

“Really?” Eddie sniffles, using the sleeve of his sweater to wipe away a tear. “You want this to be our home? Together?”

Oh.

Oh, shit.

Steve certainly hadn’t planned for that. Sure, he’s secretly been hoping that the trip out here would get Eddie and to a lesser extent Wayne to realize how great the city is and finally bite the bullet and move out here. Start the mechanic shop they’ve been planing for years. But Steve knew better than to set expectations too high. He’d never ask Eddie to move for him, just like Eddie would never ask Steve to move back for him.

But now, seeing Eddie smiling, eyes glassy with tears. Well, shit, maybe he should have asked him.

“Wait, you want to move in with me?”

“Sweetheart. I’ve wanted to live with you since the moment we said I love you on the Henderson’s porch.”

It’s not news to Steve, per se. They’ve talked at length about what living together would be like; especially in those early days when their relationship was in that blissful honeymoon phase. Still, the words come as a shock to Steve who stumbles out of Eddie’s grasp for a moment.

Running a shaking hand through his hair, he locks eyes with Eddie. “Why the hell have we been doing long distance for a decade?” he laughs, yanking Eddie back into his arms.

“I thought you weren’t ready! I didn’t want to pressure you.”

“Baby,” Steve breathes. He can’t believe this. Have they seriously been suffering in silence for years for nothing? Christ, they’re idiots. “Of course, I want to live with you! I just didn’t want to make you move.”

“Jesus Christ,” Wayne grumbles, shaking his head. He stumbles his way towards them, throwing a hand on both of their shoulders. “You two are idiots, you know that? Told ya both you needed to communicate what ya wanted!” He rolls his eyes, shoving them both. “Could’ve been livin’ in the sunshine instead of snowy Indiana for years now.”

“Hey, who said anything about you moving with us?” Eddie asks, tearing his eyes away from Steve to stare at his Uncle.

“Hate to break it to you, boy. But wherever you go, I go. S’the Munson rule.”

Steve can’t help but laugh as he pulls both of them in for a hug before ushering them through the bustling airport. They fetch their bags and make it safely into his car before they’re on the way. As he pulls away from the San Francisco Airport, Eddie immediately reaches for the car radio.

Before he has a chance to change the channel, the crooning voice of Perry Como starts singing “(There’s No Place Like) Home for the Holidays.”

[lilacsbeeswax]

happy birthday to your account!! for your writing event, can I please have Lilies 🌺 with work song by hozier and sirius black? thank you🖤

Work Song

Part of my 2 year milestone event!

MASTERLIST

——-

Boys, workin' on empty

Is that the kinda way to face the burning heat?

I just think about my baby

I'm so full of love I could barely eat

Work, work, and work Sirius swore these days it’s all that he did. Back when his dream of running his own tattoo shop was nothing but that he had had no idea what it would entail.

For the past week, he had been clogged with appointments. So many people had wanted custom tattoos, so he was drawing constantly. Then, it came to actually doing the pre booked tattoos which could take hours. As well as, walk ins that paid well, but took just as much time. Even when sharing the work load with James it was hard. Remus was out on vacation meaning Sirius had to take over bookkeeping and running the business. He swore he’d never have to do math, but there he was doing basic algebra at 8 am.

In short, Sirius was absolutely swamped. He had even been sleeping (albeit only a few hours) at the shop. His overfull mind only becoming more painful in the hours away from her.

Her. His only paradise. His pretty baby. The only girl for him.

He got small tastes of Y/n throughout the day, but it didn’t satiate his desire for her. Everyday at 11:30 am, she would bring him lunch during her break at her own job. She could be doing anything else, but she wanted to spend her rest time on him. Sirius loved it so much he felt sick. Often, he would be thinking about her so much that he wouldn’t be able to eat. He was unable to stomach the sweetness that he felt he never deserved.

There's nothing sweeter than my baby

I'd never want once from the cherry tree

'Cause my baby's sweet as can be

She give me toothaches just from kissin' me

Sirius walked into the apartment on Saturday night exhausted. Y/n called out to him, “Siri? Is that you?”

He didn’t respond quietly slipping off his shoes and coat. She turned the corner, running up to him and nearly sliding on the laminate floor. She wrapped her arms around him, placing her forehead on his.

“Hey baby,” Sirius sighed. “I missed you.”

She leaned away and smiled at him. That sweet smile that made him feel like he was going to faint. “I missed you more!”

Sirius moved to brush a thumb against her lips relishing in everything about her, before his gently pulled her into a kiss. It was soft and sweet and if he didn’t know better, Sirius would suspect he was going into cardiac arrest.

Boys, when my baby found me

I was three days on a drunken sin

I woke with her walls around me

Nothin' in her room but an empty crib

And I was burnin' up a fever

I didn't care much how long I lived

But I swear I thought I dreamed her

She never asked me once about the wrong I did

Y/n and Sirius had met many years ago, back when he was a self-described man whore and carried way too much trauma to hold on his own.

He had been a mess. Drinking constantly, using, and not being able to hold a stable job. Despite all of his problems, she had pulled him up and out of it.

Sirius had lost yet another job the day he had started that fateful drunken binge. Maybe, it was the cheap vodka or the combination of it and the weed, but he had called her.

When she arrived at his place after a very concerning phone call, you had found him on the floor half dead. From then on she never stopped taking care of him. She never asked what really happened.

My babe would never fret none

About what my hands and my body done

If the Lord don't forgive me

I'd still have my baby and my babe would have me

When I was kissing on my baby

And she put her love down soft and sweet

In the low lamplight I was free

Heaven and hell were words to me

Y/n and Sirius got ready for bed and laid down on their soft shared mattress for the first time in what felt like weeks.

She ran her fingers over his scarred up arms and chest. She kissed his lips, while caressing the marred skin. Sirius pulled away and kissed down her neck, nipping at all of the places he knew she liked. Out of the corner of his eye he could see her smiling under the dim lamp light.

“Fucking hell, you’re heaven.” He chuckled, saying a word between every soft peck of her neck.

“I could say the same about you, Siri.” She giggled, pulling him close to her, not planning on letting go anytime soon.

When my time comes around

Lay me gently in the cold, dark earth

No grave can hold my body down

I'll crawl home to her

Lying there wrapped around the love of his life, Sirius couldn’t help but smile, knowing no one and nothing could take him away from his baby.

MASTERLIST

[pluviophile-imagines]

Sleeping in the Garden: Part I

in which bakugo katsuki is your next door neighbor, and he’s just gotten custody of two girls he’s far too young and far too inexperienced to be a father for—but he’s bakugo katsuki, so he’s damn well going to do it anyway

bakugo katsuki x fem!reader

wc: 21.5k genre: pro hero au, neighbor au, single dad au, slow burn, kidfic type: longfic (6 parts) reader: fem (she/her pronouns, fem terms, neutral clothing) part warnings: children (7&16 years old), parent illness/death, discussions of toxic relationships (pre-fic), discussions of age gap (pre-fic; 20 & 34) note: this is the first part of my submission to the @mybigbangacademia big bang! this was an incredible opportunity, absolutely full to the brim with such talented writers and authors, and i for one can’t wait to check them all out! i’d also like to give a quick thanks to @phen0l​ and @sipsteainanxiety​ for their incredible beta work ♥️ this fic is a real work from the heart, something i’ve been working on for over a year now, so i hope you all enjoy!

masterlist || part ii ⟹

You sit at your kitchen counter to do your work. It’s not exactly ideal; you can’t see them, and you’re certain your back will ache in the morning as punishment for using the tall bar chair for an hour and a half, but you make it work. The minutes pass, the girls continue to work on their assignments and help each other out when needed. It isn’t until a text chime blares out that you turn around and realize how long it’s been.

Ayame is looking down at her phone, reading the text with her arms still preoccupied with academics.

“Did your father get back to you?” you ask.

“He’s not my father,” Ayame snaps immediately, head snapping over to fix you with a fierce glare. “Despite what he and everyone else thinks, he is not my dad, so don’t call him that.”

You raise your hands in surrender, palms out. “Peace. Understood. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed.”

She seems to startle at that—her glare doesn’t pause but her brow furrows further in confusion and when she speaks it’s muttered more than angry. “Yeah. You shouldn’t’ve.”

“But I need to know he knows where you are.”

“He does,” she grumbles. “He’s stuck in traffic, he’ll be here soon.”

Your next door neighbor is the number two pro hero.

It’s a nice neighborhood—admittedly most of the inhabitants are getting on in years, and at times can be unbearably wealthy, but you’re not about to complain when you inherited your half of the duplex already paid off by your grandparents. It’s an unusual western-style house, connected on one side to a reflected twin, with three floors, three bedrooms (though you’ve converted one into an office), two (and a half) baths, and a shared rooftop terrace with the remains of planter boxes and a run-down little greenhouse that your grandfather once used to grow food; a nice place, something you’d never have been able to afford if you hadn’t come into it by luck.

The leftmost wall is shared with none other than the Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight, though contrary to what the name might suggest he’s actually a pretty okay neighbor. That is to say: an almost entirely absent one.

You don’t see the man very much. Hero work, you presume, keeps him more than busy; when he’s home there’s always a shiny, clearly expensive sports car in the driveway (you have no clue what kind but it looks like something a car nut would drool over) and you definitely see it gone more than not. The older ladies like to coo at him when he shows up—sometimes with another tall, built hero in tow, often with groceries in arm. You’ve only talked to him a few times but he remembers your name, and he gives a brusque little nod of acknowledgement whenever you wave at him in greeting. He’s not exactly known in the news as the friendliest type but you’re never felt entirely unwelcome when you’ve gone over to let him know that you’ll be on vacation for a week, or that you’re expecting a handyman to stop by to fix your sink. And that’s just about all the friendliness one inherently needs from a neighbor, so you’re content with the whole relationship.

That kind of goes out the window when the girls show up, because you’re too meddling for your own good and nobody, not even (or perhaps especially) an incredibly busy top hero, is prepared to suddenly take on two children without warning.

You’re not one to keep up with hero gossip—not one to pour through those magazines filled with blurry photos taken from a distance, speculating about which pros are dating which models and how long they last in bed—but since you’ve moved in next door to Mister Number Two you’ve kept half an ear out for stories involving him.

It’s not as if you’re prying, really, because the whole damn country has been unable to shut up about it since the day Dynamight went into a hospital and came out with an elementary schooler in arm and a teenager trailing behind. Your own grandmother called you a day afterwards to ask if you’d met them. And more importantly you’re there—you work from home and you share an entire wall (and a porch and a roof) with them, so it’s really only natural for you to take notice.

It’s only been two weeks, and things are showing no sign of dying down. You don’t know their names or their ages or even how Dynamight is really related to them—it’s all been conjecture, from what you can tell, and either way you figure it’s none of your business—but it’s impossible not to have noticed the younger’s red eyes. They’re stark in contrast to the other’s dark brown, and they match perfectly with those of the very man they’re living with. The conclusion is less of a jump and more of a modest step.

Today, when you lock up your door behind you with Tadeo on his leash for his afternoon walk, you find that they’re standing at the top of Bakugo’s front stoop. The younger sits pouting on the top step with her head propped in her hands and the elder leans back against the railing with an angry expression, phone held up to her ear as she speaks rapidly into it. You don’t entirely want to impose or assume, nor do you want to seem unapproachable, so as you pass the pair of them you give a little smile and a friendly bow of the head in greeting.

The little one perks up slightly, responding in kind. The older one glances at you, but is solidly preoccupied.

“I’m Riko!” says the girl. “Your dog is cute!”

You give her your own name. “I live next door. It’s nice to meet you. Tadeo is cute, isn’t he?”

Riko nods excitedly. When she opens her mouth to speak again, however, the older girl behind her lets out a huff that startles her into turning around. At the same time, Tadeo yanks you along, eager to continue his walk; and while Riko looks disappointed to see you go, her companion distracts her quickly by bending down to hand her the phone and, you’re fairly sure, giving her some kind of order for what to say into it.

You pay it little mind. In fact it’s dashed from your thoughts quickly as you allow your dog—surprisingly strong for how little and old he is—to lead you down the road, determined to sniff at a fire hydrant and then a telephone pole and then a mailbox. The neighborhood streets are familiar. It’s the very start of spring so the early flowers are beginning to break through the soil and the weather is nicely brisk but not too cold, and you let Tadeo dictate your route according to his own graying canine whims.

Soon enough, though, you’re approaching your house the way you’d left. Thirty minutes have passed—a longer walk than typical, but it seemed Tadeo needed it and it was a pleasant enough day that you hadn’t minded—and that’s why you’re mildly concerned when you come up to the building to find Dynamight’s two mystery wards still hovering on his front porch. Riko perks up once again at your reappearance, pulling her head out of her hands.

“Ayame,” you hear her hiss, turning around to tug at the other girl’s pleated skirt, “Ayame she’s back.”

Ayame looks up from her phone, looking terse and annoyed, and glances down at Riko before zeroing in on you.

“Hey!” she calls out. “Can my sister pet your dog?”

You smile, pausing right in front of the stairs. “Yeah, sure thing. He’s friendly. And old, so don’t let his excitement fool you—he’s about to go in and take a nap until dinner.”

The girl races down the steps like a bullet, falling to her knees on the sidewalk right in front of your dog and reaching out to pet his face. Tadeo responds in kind, hindquarters swaying frantically to keep up with his tail and barking excitedly as he puts his front paws up on her knees to get closer.

“Riko!” Ayame scolds immediately. She puts away her phone and comes down the steps herself to stand over her sister with hands on her hips. “Don’t just sit on the ground like that, you’ll get dirty.”

Riko only laughs as your dog licks at her face. Ayame’s nose wrinkles in distaste. You can’t help but smile at the pair.

“He’s so cute,” Riko coos. She looks up at you with a grin—there’s a gap where she’s missing a tooth in the bottom row. “My dad says dogs are messy and too much work and so we’re not allowed to get one unless we’ll be taking care of it.”

“That’s a reasonable rule to set.”

“My dad’s a hero so he’s really busy.” Her attention is back on Tadeo. “But I think he’d like a dog anyway.”

“You think?”

“Mhm.” She nods. Her hair is pulled up into a pair of pigtails, tied by two sparkly pink bows, and it sways back and forth with the motion of her head. “He always goes on runs and he keeps asking Ayame if she wants to join him. I think he gets lonely.”

“He is not asking me to come with him because he’s lonely,” Ayame mutters.

“But if we get a dog he’ll just take it and you can stay behind!”

“Yeah, maybe.” It’s absent-minded, a little dismissive; she’s returned her attention back to her phone, clearly wanting to drop the topic and equally clearly disagreeing though she doesn’t outright say so.

“I don’t think staring at your phone is going to make daddy come home any sooner,” Riko says matter-of-factly. Then she leans forward to whisper to you, in that loud way little kids do when they don’t understand how to be quiet yet, “Ayame forgot her key.”

“Which wouldn’t be a problem,” Ayame snaps, “if he would answer his phone! Or act like the guardian he’s supposed to be!”

Her tapping is furious as her thumbs fly in a flurry across her screen. When she puts the phone to her ear, she shoves her free hand in her pocket and glares off in the distance as she waits.

“He’s just—ugh.” She huffs and shoves the phone into her pocket; you’re pretty sure it had immediately gone to voicemail. “He turns off his phone when he’s on patrol so the only way to contact him is his earpiece and his secretary says this isn’t an emergency.”

“Well, it’s not!” chirps Riko. You’re pretty sure it wouldn’t be received well if you agreed.

Ayame just huffs again, this one a bit more growled. She bites her cheek, glaring off at the distance for a moment—surely cursing Bakugo out in her head silently—before letting her eyes roll back, heaving a big sigh, and then turning her attention to you curiously.

“You live next door, right?”

“Yes. I’ve been meaning to come introduce myself, but I didn’t want to intrude. I’m glad to have the chance today—even if the circumstances are less than ideal.”

“That’s an understatement,” Ayame grumbles under her breath, but she holds back the eye roll that you can tell has been building up and instead gives you a short bow of introduction, stating her name.

You give her your own in turn. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Now we don’t have to keep calling you Miss Sunny.” She snickers a little, not entirely cruelly but certainly with the kind of vaguely derisive tone only a teenager can manage. You don’t take it to heart.

“Miss Sunny?”

“‘cause of the sunflowers!” Riko pipes up from where she’s still doting upon Tadeo. He’s relishing the attention, rolling around on the street with his tail valiantly putting up an effort to keep wagging despite being pressed into the pavement. Looking up at you and beaming, she points over at the meticulously kept flower boxes you’ve managed to fit along your stoop and down the sides of the stairs, filling up every available space in front of your house. And the balcony above, the leaves lush and full and spilling out down the railing.

The boxes are painted with bright, pretty sunflowers. You can see how they made the connection.

“I’ll take that as a compliment. Sunflowers are one of my favorites, actually,” you tell them. “I can’t grow them year-round but when they’re in season I keep as much as I can. And when they’re not, well. I supplement.”

“Did you paint them?” Riko asks in awe.

“My mother did, actually, when I first put them in.”

“She’s a really good painter.”

“They’re just sunflowers, Riko,” Ayame says.

Riko pouts at her. “But they’re nice.”

“Anyone could do it.”

“No, I bet you couldn’t!”

“Uh, yeah, I could.”

“No you couldn’t.”

“Yeah, I could.”

“Then do it.” Riko finally stands from where she’s been petting Tadeo to fix her sister with a baby-cheeked glare and put her hands on her hips.

“We can’t get inside our house, Riko. Where are you expecting me to find paints?”

As if on cue, before you can decide whether to intervene or not, Ayame’s phone begins to ring again from her back pocket. She answers with such speed you might think it was her quirk. The conversation is short, barely a few sentences exchanged, and when she hangs back up she’s somehow notably more agitated.

“He has to stay out longer,” she says, now so angry she’s moved past shouting and turned monotonous. Or, perhaps, moved past the anger stage of grief and launched straight to depression. “It’ll be another hour and a half, Riko, I dunno what to do.”

The statement gives way to another huff. She glares down at her phone like that’ll somehow make it light up with a response saying he’s five minutes away.

“Ayame,” you say kindly, and her head snaps up immediately to look at you. “Do you want to wait for your father at my house?”

For a moment, more anger flashes across her face. She blinks it away, frowning, then glancing over at Riko not for advice but rather to check-in. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“It’d be irresponsible of me to let you two stay out here when I live right next door and can let you in. C’mon, or Tadeo will get impatient.”

She nods. Riko jumps up, following you closely as you lead them both up the front stoop. Tadeo leads the charge, excited to return and have his dinner. He scratches at the base of the door as you pull out your key to open it, and he sprints in with you tripping behind him the moment it opens; Ayame and Riko follow after you. You find your large guest slippers easily, and your smaller guest slippers with much more difficulty—you don’t have children over particularly often, admittedly—but soon enough you’ve pulled off Tadeo’s harness and leash to hang up and are leading them further into the house.

“Here, make yourselves comfortable.” You gesture to your dining room table. “I’m sure you both have work to do, I can help if you need. Do you want any food?”

They both shake their heads, though Riko hesitates and waits for Ayame to respond first. You choose not to check a second time with her.

Soon enough the girls are sitting around your dining table. Riko has her homework pulled out, and so does Ayame, but Ayame’s work is long forgotten as she’s sidled over next to her younger sister and is bent over the younger’s work, helping her. From your kitchen, where you’re fetching yourself a glass of water, it makes a sweet sight.

“Ayame,” you realize suddenly, “you should text your father and let him know you’re here.”

She glances up at you. Again that anger passes across her face like a shadow, but when she speaks it’s calm. “Oh. Yeah. Probably a good idea.”

You watch as she slides herself back over to where her things are, including her phone. Her work is organized cleanly, papers and notebooks stacked by subject with only a few on the table while most remain in her bag. In contrast, Riko’s side is a mess; she has fewer papers but despite that has more supplies. Three pencil cases, all different shades of light pink with varying baby animals on them, have been opened and half their contents strewn about the table and even the floor. Despite this, she’s dutifully working on a writing assignment, face scrunched up and tongue poking out the corner of her mouth in concentration.

You sit at your kitchen counter to do your work. It’s not exactly ideal; you can’t see them, and you’re certain your back will ache in the morning as punishment for using the tall bar chair for an hour and a half, but you make it work. The minutes pass, the girls continue to work on their assignments and help each other out when needed. It isn’t until a text chime blares out that you turn around and realize how long it’s been.

Ayame is looking down at her phone, reading the text with her arms still preoccupied with academics.

“Did your father get back to you?” you ask.

“He’s not my father,” Ayame snaps immediately, head snapping over to fix you with a fierce glare. “Despite what he and everyone else thinks, he is not my dad, so don’t call him that.”

You raise your hands in surrender, palms out. “Peace. Understood. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed.”

She seems to startle at that—her glare doesn’t pause but her brow furrows further in confusion and when she speaks it’s muttered more than angry. “Yeah. You shouldn’t’ve.”

“But I need to know he knows where you are.”

“He does,” she grumbles. “He’s stuck in traffic, he’ll be here soon.”

“Thank you! Okay,” you nod, making up your mind about how to proceed. “Okay, let’s pack up now so you’re both ready to head out when he arrives. We can watch some TV or something.”

Riko perks up at the mention of TV. She’s already packing up her things before Ayame can agree; it takes them both little time at all to gather everything and fit it all back into their school bags. Soon enough they’re both seated on the couch with a brightly colored hero cartoon playing on the screen.

Ayame is on her phone; Riko is enraptured by the television. You have work to do still, so you sit at the table facing the kids with your laptop before you.

Soon enough Ayame is standing, announcing that “Uncle’s home!” mere moments before a harsh knock raps on your door. Both the girls follow you as you head to the door and open.

Bakugo is there. He’s scowling—though admittedly, you’ve often wondered if that’s the only facial expression he’s capable of. He’s gruff when he greets you, gruff when he greets the girls, and gruff when he tells them it’s time to go.

“Y’have fun?” he asks, seemingly to Riko, though his eyes end up on Ayame as he says it.

“Yeah!” Riko bounds up to him, already in her outdoor shoes. “Miss Sunny’s great!”

The grunt he gives in return is pleased. “Good. Comin’ home with me, though, right? No fuss?”

She shakes her head, pigtails flying across her face with the notion. “Nuh-uh!”

He nods at the bright pink bag in her hand. “Y’want me to carry that, kid?”

Her expression falls. She clutches it closer, face scrunching up, and stares up at him with a look that isn’t quite suspicious or accusatory but certainly doesn’t seem inclined to take his offer.

The low puff of air he lets out is something like a sigh, perhaps disappointed, though you don’t think it’s quite at her. He lowers himself to her height—lower, crouched down with arms braced on his knees to look her in the eye. When he speaks it’s startlingly placating.

“Ya don’t gotta say yes. Was just tryin’ to be nice, yeah? C’mon. I’ll walk you in. You can carry it.”

Then he rises to his feet, and holds out his hand, and Riko’s hesitance disappears as she takes it. In fact she’s beaming. She doesn’t look back as she follows him over to his door.

Ayame hovers in the entryway, leaning through the open door watching Bakugo lead Riko into his house. Once they’re out of sight, she turns to you.

Her eyes are cast downward, a little to the side. She seems to rock on the balls of her feet slightly, almost as a comfort, and is clearly working up the nerve to say something. You wait, letting her take her time.

“I, uh. Earlier, when you called Uncle my dad…”

“No worries,” you assure her. “I shouldn’t have assumed, and I’m sure you get it a lot and I know it’s been a stressful day, so really. It’s fine. If anything, I’m sorry.”

“Nobody’s ever… apologized before,” she mutters. “Not for real, anyway. It’s always—like, they all start saying uncle all rude and condescending like I’m not well aware they’re still calling him my father in their heads. But you apologized and you haven’t called him that since, so… I dunno. I ‘preciate it, I guess. It feels like you’re the first person who’s really listened to me in a while.”

You give her a quiet smile. “I’m sorry, that sounds difficult to have to go through.”

“I just said you were the best one to respond, y’don’t gotta apologize more…”

“But I upset you,” you counter. “I do regret it.”

“Right.” Her shoulders heave, not really a shrug. “Well. I better go off then. Thank you for helping us.”

“You’re always welcome.”

She turns and heads to her own door. You wait for her to get inside, too, before you shut your own and make your way back to your office. You have a little more work to get done before you can start making dinner.

Not five minutes later, however, you hear a knock on your door again.

Bakugo is standing there when you open it, fist raised to knock a second time. He lowers it immediately, letting it fall to his side aimlessly.

“Did Riko forget something?” you ask, thinking back to the messy array of writing implements and assorted school supplies—all glittery or pink or shimmering—that she’d strewn about your living room, certain she must have misplaced one or two beneath a pillow or a rug.

“Hah?” His brow furrows at the question. “No. What, did you find somethin’?”

“No.” You snort a laugh. “Why’d you come back, then?”

“I wanted to thank you.”

It’s gruff, low, said without meeting your eye.

“For letting them in? No worries. I couldn’t just let them wait around out there for you.”

His eyes narrow. When he speaks the tone is defensive, the words slightly growling. “We‘ve been looking for some new sidekicks to pick up the slack so I won’t be working so late anymore, but it’s a process ‘n we’ve only just started.”

“Whoa, hey, I’m not judging you here. You’re a busy man. I get it,” you rush to say. He’s still glaring at you a little, and admittedly it’s probably one of the most intimidating glares you’ve ever been on the receiving end of. “I get it, really. It’s been sudden. They’re great kids, I was happy to have them over for an hour or two. The company was nice, actually. It’s usually just me and the dog during the week.”

The words soothe him. Or maybe he realizes he’d been overreacting—either way, his shoulders relax and the tension eases. Though he doesn’t quite seem like he’s no longer glaring, you’re coming to realize that perhaps he never does look very relaxed. At least you’re no longer feeling like he’s attempting to send you flying back into your home with a single, very intense glare.

“They’re welcome any time,” you continue. Steer away from need and help, you decide. And anything too critical. “If they want.”

He grunts in what you decide is appreciation. Better, then, than the other attempt. Could be even more coherent, if you tried at it a bit—but you’ve already made the appeal to Ayame, so you suppose she can pass along what you told her. In the meantime you choose to change the subject.

“Hey, do you mind if I ask… why’d Riko respond like that when you offered to carry her things?”

You’re not sure he’ll tell you, really. But he surprises you. He sighs, long-suffering and annoyed, and says, “Ayame told her I’d take all their things when they moved in with me. She hasn’t quite stopped believing it.”

There’s an attempt made at biting back your laughter. It’s a failed attempt, but an attempt nonetheless. Your stifled giggles earn you another glare, but this one seems less serious.

“Don’t fuckin’ laugh.”

“I’m not laughing,” you lie through stuttered puffs.

“It ain’t funny.”

“It’s kinda funny.”

He rolls his eyes. “You ‘n fuckin’ soy sauce face…” he mutters, and you don’t know who soy sauce face might be but he sounds like he has a good sense of humor. “Don’t go laughin’ in front of Ayame, it’ll only encourage her.”

“I promise I won’t laugh in front of Ayame.” You do mean that—you really don’t want to encourage her.

“Good,” he grunts, then pauses momentarily. “You said it was just you and the mutt during the week?”

“Over the work week I don’t get many visitors—I mean, I’m single, no roommate. My family lives about an hour away by train, not a trip anyone’d wanna make on a work day. My friends have careers.” You pause after that spiel, realizing finally what he likely meant by the question. “I work from home. Have an office here.”

His brow furrows. “The fuck do you do, then? As a career”

“I’m an accountant,” you reply easily, getting used to his mannerisms. “Freelance. Clients are mostly small businesses, a few tiny companies. Most of my work’s done in my office. So, yeah, here pretty much all day, save for the occasional in-person meeting. Those only happen a few times a year.”

“So, what, just some fuckin’ hermit?” It’s not entirely derisive, the way he says it. More just surprise, a little curiosity.

“I have friends, Bakugo. I go out for drinks, the occasional girls’ trip. I visit my family and they visit me. Perfectly healthy, I promise. Not a hermit.”

He grumbles at that, but clearly you’ve convinced him that you’re annoyed by the implication, because he mumbles out a, “sorry,” afterwards and sounds genuinely apologetic.

“It’s fine. Nothing wrong with making sure. I’m just offering for if you need it. I’m sure you have plenty of options, but. If you think of me. I gave Ayame my phone number; you should have it already, from when I first moved in, yeah?”

Nodding at first, he pauses, and then frowns. “Actually…”

“What, you lost it?”

He looks a little sheepish, somehow. Still surly and cross, but apologetic. “I got a new phone. Lost all my contacts. Was about a month ago. If you’d’ve texted me I’d’a figured it out, but…”

“No worries.” You reach into your pocket and take out your phone. It takes a moment to find his contact—the pair of you really haven’t spoken beyond the initial exchanging of numbers and one incident where Tadeo had gotten loose and Bakugo had found him for you—but you send off a quick text once you do, and are filled with amusement when his own back pocket immediately plays the sound of an explosion.

He doesn’t acknowledge it, so you don’t either. You wonder if he even knows how funny that is (endearing, even, if you were to be bold) or if he thinks it’s completely normal. What he does is pull out that phone (which looks downright tiny in those huge hands… it’s the same model as your own, your mind is left spinning a little) and, clearly, add you to his contacts once more.

“Perfect. We’re all set, then? Just text me if you need me. Yeah?”

A nod, a low grunt of approval; his phone is back in his pocket quickly, and then he’s turning to go. You shut your door right as he opens his own.

The next time you see him afterwards is a week later; he’s locking his door on his way out of his house, you’re on your way in from your morning walk with Tadeo.

“Bakugo!” you call out as you make your way up the front stoop.

He turns to you as he pockets his keys, gives a curt nod and a low rumble of your own name. “Mornin’.”

“This is great timing, actually. I needed to talk to you.” Pausing, you take a moment to take in his attire and recall that it’s a Tuesday and he’s almost certainly headed off to work. “I promise it won’t take long.”

He raises an eyebrow, not exactly kindly but not altogether brushing you off. “Spit it out.”

You shift the leash in your hand to the other one. The process tugs Tadeo over to your other side, crossing in between you and Bakugo, and it draws Bakugo’s attention to your dog, who pauses briefly to sit and beg at his feet. To your surprise it works—your neighbor squats down, raising a hand to scratch at Tadeo’s ears. He looks at him for a moment, and that stern look softens just a bit.

Then you remember what he’d just said. “I was thinking about starting a garden,” you say quickly.

Bakugo pauses, looking up at you and then rising to his feet to regard you fully. “A garden?”

He seems to be sneering, and you bristle.

“Yeah, my grandfather had one back when he and my grandmother lived here—”

“The fuck’re you telling me for?” he interrupts. This time you recoil, pursing your lips.

“It’d be up on the roof, which we share,” you say slowly. “Wouldn’t it be rude of me not to check with you first?”

You might add that you hadn’t bothered to ask when you’d made your little flower garden in the front—it’s on your side entirely—so you haven’t exactly made a habit of asking him about unimportant things, but that scowl softens a little, replaced by a slightly furrowed brow and a seemingly sheepish breaking of eye contact as his eyes dart to the side.

“Do what’cha want. I don’t care.”

You nod. “Okay. Thank you. And if Ayame and Riko—or you, I suppose—want to help out at all, I’m sure I’ll need it.”

At mention of the girls, he finally seems to register exactly what you’re saying. He nods finally, expression relaxing, and though you almost feel it’s too little too late you’re pleasantly surprised—and appreciative—when he apologizes.

“Sorry. That’d be good for ‘em. Real good for ‘em. Thanks for reachin’ out.” He pauses, seems to hesitate, then clears his throat and tells you, “Their mom had a gardening quirk, y’know. They’ve both got ‘em too. I dunno if they told you.”

You blink. “No… I didn’t know. It’ll be a team project, then. If they’re interested, anyway.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll let ‘em know.” He’s nodding, clearly having convinced himself. “When’re you gonna start?”

“Mmm, next week. It’s still a little early to start planting but I’ll probably head up to clear out the space and make planter boxes this weekend. You’re welcome to join for that but it’ll be tedious stuff. Next week I’ll start planting, though.” You purse your lips. “The greenhouse is too broken down, I’ll have to completely remake it, but we shouldn’t need it for a while yet so I suppose I can put that off…”

You trail off, realizing that you’re thinking aloud and rambling at Bakugo far more than he cares about. But when you turn your attention back to him, from where you’d been staring absently off to the distance, you find that he’s regarding you with an amused look.

“That what that mess up there is? A greenhouse?”

Frowning, your response is indignant. “My grandfather built that ‘mess’ himself, I’ll have you know.”

“Not very well, clearly, seein’ as it collapsed like that.”

Your jaw drops. Coming from someone else, you might interpret his words as teasing—but he’s so blunt, and gruff, and his expression hardly shifts to indicate that he’s anything but serious, so you blink at him in almost shock.

That makes him tense. “What?”

“Was that a joke? I didn’t know you were capable of humor.”

“Hah? I’m funny as fuck.”

“Mmm. Very.” You purse your lips, playing at disinterest, but the smile tugging at them does you no favors. “Making fun of something my grandfather poured his heart and soul into… very funny. You’re a real upstanding hero.”

“That damn greenhouse fell down weeks after he made it, ‘n when I offered to fix it up he refused every time. Stubborn old man insisted he’d get ‘round to it. Never did. Obviously.”

“You offered to help?” you ask in shock.

He raises an eyebrow at you, clearly indignant. “I worked on that garden for months after his back gave out. Your grandmother wouldn’t stop nagging me when I missed too many days, said he got restless and wouldn’t leave ‘er alone. ‘course he only ever watched me by then, but I get it. ‘n she fed me in return, always reminded me of that when I slacked off.”

Bakugo had moved into the house next door during the five year stint between graduating university and your grandparents moving out that you spent living in an ever-changing series of small apartments further in the city. You’ve known that he’d had a good relationship with them, but you hadn’t known that he’d helped with the garden at all.

They ask you about him, fairly often in fact, though you’ve never been able to give them the detailed report of his current status that they always want. You’ve always thought that at least part of them giving you the house had been some convoluted attempt at setting the pair of you up together. Perhaps that’s why he’s always kept his distance. Perhaps it’s your other theory—that he just likes old folks. Or maybe he just makes more of an effort to be there for them. Considering his heroic choice of career, it’d make sense if he felt obligated. But it’s undeniable that he’s always reached out more to the elderly in the neighborhood over the younger corporate executives and trust fund kids who otherwise populate it—understandable, frankly, considering how unbearable the latter kind of person tends to be even in the best of circumstances.

Though, you admit, you’ve also lucked into your own property through inheritance. Perhaps you shouldn’t be so quick to separate yourself.

“They ask after you, you know,” you tell him in an effort to break the silence that’s fallen over the pair of you as you’d ruminated.

“Don’t s’ppose you had much to tell ‘em.” He chuckles, then pauses. “‘til Riko ‘n Ayame showed up, anyway.”

“Trust me, I didn’t have to tell them about the girls. Grandma called me the moment she saw them on the news.”

Anger crosses his face when you say that. You tense when you see it, wracking your mind in an attempt to figure out why he might be suddenly pissed at you, but when he growls out, “fuckin’ paparazzi, damn shitty gossip magazines, waste of fuckin’ space,” you realize it’s about the fact that you mentioned the news.

“Oh. That’s… an understandable response. To that photo.” You hadn’t quite put that together, but it does make sense. Dynamight has always been known to be especially private regarding his personal life and even antagonistic towards the press; he has an infamously bad attitude towards reporters out in the field and is rarely interviewed, and when he bothers it’s always abundantly clear that his manager has forced him to. “Really intrusive, actually.”

“No fuckin’ right to take photos of my fuckin’ kids when their damn mother just fuckin’ died.” The scowl on his face is heavy, and you’re very happy that it’s not directed at you. “Wish I could blow up every damn copy of it.”

“Yeah… yeah, I get that. I guess it’s lucky that others haven’t been spread around…” Or their names, you think. Names and ages and life stories—none of that is out there, which is frankly surprising, but good.

“Luck’s got nothin’ to do with it. My team knows how to stop that shit before it spreads.”

“I’m sure it doesn’t hurt to have the threat of number two hero Dynamight coming after you to stop it, too.” You shoot him a grin.

He doesn’t return it. The topic at hand, you think, bothers him far more than he’s even letting on; now he’s silent, and you hover awkwardly, not entirely sure how to continue the conversation. It isn’t unbearable exactly, but considering you’re holding him up from going to work you decide the silence is better off broken.

“Hey,” you say, “I’ve been meaning to ask, actually, and because you mentioned them earlier I might as well. What are their quirks?”

“The girls’?”

“Yeah. They haven’t told me—well, I never asked them, anyway. You said they were related to gardening?”

“Riko’s is called Boom Bloom. She can speed up the growth of flowering plants ‘n when they bloom they’ll explode. Ayame’s is similar—’s called Bloominescence, hers glow. Takes a lot out of ‘em, though. Can’t do it often.” He pauses for a moment. Then he adds, “I expected ‘em to be real filthy tree-hugger types when I learned. Figured there’d be fuckin’ flowers everywhere. Thought the petals ‘n leaves’d get all over the damn place. Thank fuck they ain’t like that, think I’d go insane.”

You bite your lip. “Sounds like something you’d hate.”

He snorts. “Let that be a warning, then, yeah? Don’t go trackin’ dirt around my place. If ya turn ‘em into that shit I’ll never let ‘em visit you again, y’hear?”

“Loud and clear, Dynamight, sir!”

You get another snort of laughter for the dig. But then he falls silent, looking at you pensively. That crimson stare regards you as you twist the leash in your hand a few times, a nervous tick. The way he’s looking makes you feel a little raw—like he’s taking you in, pulling you apart, seeing what makes you tick. And the silence is heavy, palpable.

“What about you?” he breaks it suddenly.

“Hm?” You know, and you stiffen despite yourself. You know what he’s asking, and you only have two options: the truth, or evasion. You’re giving him one last chance not to ask. He doesn’t take it.

“Your quirk. You haven’t told me what it is.”

It’s not an altogether unexpected question, not when you’ve just asked about the girls’ quirks, but it’s one that you hesitate answering nonetheless. And you could refuse to—it’s personal, though not technically rude most people understand when you choose not to say.

But you don’t really want to, not the least because the man before you is a pro hero who could most certainly look it up on his own time; if he’s going to cut whatever this relationship is brewing into short because of your answer here, then you’d rather know now than months down the line.

So you roll your shoulders back, look him in the eye, and tell him you’re quirkless.

Dynamight isn’t known for being the most understanding of pro heroes. In fact what he’s known for is a certain level of ruthlessness; a resolve to win fights while on duty and a lack of patience for anyone who he butts heads with, professionally or otherwise. Where no.1 hero Deku is considered the modern Symbol of Peace—all charismatic smiles and diplomacy, having learned well from his late mentor the great All Might—the man you’ve just informed of your quirklessness is colloquially called the Symbol of Victory, and weakness is hardly something you’d assume him to be particularly accepting of. Despite your logic telling you it’s ridiculous to be concerned, there’s a little nagging worry in your mind that he’ll turn away, get in his car, and drive to his agency and you’ll never talk to him or his girls again.

But Bakugo doesn’t do that. He hardly reacts at all, in fact. Instead he nods, purses his lips as if in thought, and grunts out, “a’ight. Good to know.”

Somehow he’s managed to give the best possible response. You have to give him credit; you never would have assumed that from the interactions you’ve been having with him all week.

“I can garden despite that, though,” you assure him with a smile. “In fact I can’t say it has a single effect on my gardening ability whatsoever.”

“Mmm.” He grunts. “And carpentry? Can you rebuild that fuckin’ mess of a greenhouse up on that roof?”

“Well, I’ll have you know it isn’t my quirklessness that makes my carpentry skills suck. It’s a lack of practice. And there’s no better time to start than the present.”

Bakugo wrinkles his nose, brow furrowing in tandem. “Don’t fuckin’ think I want you to practice with a big ass structure made of glass that my girls’re gonna be goin’ into.”

“Mmm that’s understandable, I suppose. Maybe you should find me a good carpenter to help me out, hm? Since you’re so—”

Before you can finish the sentence, Tadeo begins to bark frenziedly, lunging at the end of his leash and tugging you towards your front door. You stumble that way for half a step, unprepared for the sudden attack, before you manage to steel yourself and brace against his forceful jerking.

Bakugo, however, takes that as his cue to leave.

“‘m runnin’ late already,” he tells you. “Don’t build that greenhouse without supervision, I won’t have it collapsin’ on my fuckin’ girls.”

Then he nods in farewell and then turns to walk away, off towards that sleek, flashy car sitting parked waiting to take him into the city where his countless sidekicks and managing staffers and support technicians await his return to work.

You turn back to your front door and let Tadeo drag you inside.

The roof, when you first go up, is a mess.

You’d expected it. You’d experienced it first-hand before, even; you’ve often gone up with intent to clean it since you’d inherited the home and moved in, yet it’s always been too looming of a task to tackle on a whim and a mere weekend of time.

But there’s nothing quite like outside pressure to make you buckle down and take on such a challenge, and doing something for other people is precisely the pressure you apparently needed. It takes you a little longer than a weekend—in fact, in the week between you beginning the project and the roof being ready for planting, you spend most of your long, agonizing meetings with your laptop set carelessly on the concrete floor amongst the dirt and rotting wood, and a bluetooth headset in your ear as you advise your various clients about their finances.

It’s a good process. Mind and body moving, allowing for each to operate at a better capacity. You barely realize that you’re making progress on the roof until your daily alarm goes off alerting you of Riko and Ayame’s potential arrival, and then it’s a mad dash to get down to your house and shower off all the dirt and grime accumulated by your efforts. You often return up there the following morning, when the wind is biting cold and nipping at your cheeks and ears, to admire your handiwork with a new eye.

There’s an end in sight, eventually; by the time most of the old planter boxes are gone and you’ve reclaimed what you can of the greenhouse Bakugo had once called a mess to pile up in the corner for what will eventually become your own, it’s Friday, and you’re ready to start making new ones.

You’d created a plan weeks ago, complete with growth times and when to plant so that you’ll be able to harvest throughout the spring and summer and on into autumn. Now you take the time to design the layout, easy to see now that the space has been cleared out, and spend a day assembling salvaged wood and new supplies—helpfully brought up for you the evening before by, you’re informed but not present to witness, a small team of Bakugo’s pro hero friends—into the calculated sizes, shoving them into the designated spots, then filling them with soil.

The plants you choose to take on for the first year are simple, relatively easy to care for; carrots and zucchini, tomatoes and chard, cucumbers and potatoes. You’ll add more as time goes on, expanding and improving, especially if Ayame or Riko (or, ideally, both) take to it enough to reliably help you.

They both certainly enjoy it enough that first weekend to show up the second day early in the morning. Ayame has more of an attention span than Riko, naturally; Riko will help for a good fifteen or so minutes at a time, then wander off to do her own thing. That’s solid, you think, for a seven year old.

They help you out more than you anticipated; a few hours every weekend, in Ayame’s case at least, and in Riko’s often passing the time with you after school when she’s done with homework. For the first couple weeks after your initial meeting, they’re around more often than you entirely expect (though you’re happy about it, to be honest).

Ayame has her key past that first day. You doubt she’ll make that mistake again. But it’s hardly fair, in your opinion, to expect her to take care of Riko in Bakugo’s absence—especially when you’re around and more than capable. So they both spend much of their time at your place during the hours before dinner that he isn’t around.

He hadn’t been lying that first day. Once the new sidekicks are hired, he’s back long before dinner, often right when they’re getting home from school, far more consistently, and it becomes less frequent for the girls to stop by out of need for an adult; Ayame is more than capable of being in charge for the hour or so between their arrival home and Bakugo’s, but you always keep an ear out and often end up answering the door to one or both of the girls at some point during the day.

Riko takes, almost immediately, to paying visits to your door and no further just to stand outside and talk to you; Ayame stops by as well, though she’s far more abashed and taciturn about it, and tends to come in entirely with the excuse that she wants a quiet place to study. You enjoy both forms of visitation. There’s no shortage of occasions where Bakugo is unexpectedly required to stay later or go back in after returning home, however. You’ll get yourself a text on those days, curt and straight to the point and a bit crass—though you wouldn’t expect anything else—asking you to let them in, though more often than not the knock comes before the request and they’re already settled.

Ayame soon joins an after-school club, however. She’s cagey about what it’s for but it has her staying later at her high school three days a week, which leaves Riko with nobody to watch her on the occasions her father cannot.

You’re the natural pick to fill that role. And you like it. What you’d said that day still stands, the break from your typical workday is appreciated. Riko is good company for the hour or two she tends to spend with you. You’ll make her something light to eat and help with her schoolwork for much of it, then take a break and do something else for the rest of the time. Sometimes she wants to watch TV—there’s a show she adores, a cartoon called Twinklestar after the titular character who is, naturally, a pro hero and princess of a deserted human colony on Mars—but sometimes you can get her to garden with you, or help out with things around the house.

That’s what you’re doing now.

Ayame is still at school, at her mystery club. Riko has been with you for nearly an hour now. After an episode of Twinklestar, you’d convinced her to come join you outside while you hang up a suncatcher that a friend had sent you while overseas, and she’s been entertaining herself with a little keyring game that she’d found squirreled away in some drawer in your house. You’re not really sure where you got it, or when—it’s probably a holdover from your uni days, there’d been times when you’d hoarded such little pockets of joy and played them under your desk during lulls in lectures; low on brain power and high on dopamine—but it’s age appropriate and she’s been well absorbed while you work, so you’re not going to complain.

Your biggest worry now, frankly, is the very real chance that Bakugo will arrive home and witness you in your currently failing attempts to set up the suncatcher. You’ve brought out a step stool, and you’re perched at the top of it, hammer in hand as you stand on your tiptoes to put the nail in place and pound it in as a peg to hang the decoration. You’re just barely too short. Really what you ought to do is go back in and retrieve the taller step stool from the kitchen, or the ladder that you keep folded up under your stairs, but somehow that feels like admitting defeat.

Instead you balance precariously atop the one you first brought out, tapping at the nail far too lightly so as not to knock yourself off balance and hoping to whatever might be listening that your dour, captious neighbor doesn’t arrive home to lecture you about setting a good example for his daughter and not doing something so needlessly dangerous. He’d probably startle you—for how big the man is, he’s annoyingly quiet when he wants to be. Then it’d be his fault if you fell, really. For scaring you. Some hero he’d be.

Of course that’s when your foot slips. It’s only fair. Punishment from the universe for getting angry at something Bakugo hadn’t even done yet, a swat on the back of the hand.

And it’s your fault, really; hardly even a slip so much as your ankle rolling and your legs being thrown from under you. Though the stepstool you’re perched upon is small, your life flashes before your eyes; you imagine dashing your head on the concrete steps, breaking an arm or a leg at the very least, already trying to figure out how you’ll call an ambulance and what you’ll do with Riko—send her across the way to stay with Ms. Rose or Ms. Tulip for the remaining few minutes before Bakugo comes home? You certainly wouldn’t bring her to the hospital—when, rather than slamming into the hard ground, you’re suddenly caught by a pair of big arms.

It’s effortless. They hold your weight without struggle, having found purchase on your form with practiced ease. You’re left reeling, wide-eyed, and unable to do much beyond staying limp within them in an attempt to reorient yourself.

“Whoa, there!” your savior says good-naturedly. He doesn’t hold you any longer than necessary, placing you down on your own two feet before you can even fully register what had happened. “You okay?”

“Uh, yeah.” Still a little dazed—understandably so, you should think—you shake your head in an attempt to clear it as you regard him.

The man who’d caught you is someone you really ought to recognize immediately, though in your defense you’re a little too busy thanking everything that you haven’t fallen and busted your head open (or at least broken a limb) to register his face until he sets you down.

He’s absolutely massive, towering well over you and boasting an equally impressive width, with a mane of bright red hair and a warm grin exposing a mouthful of sharp teeth. Another point in your defense for not recognizing him: he’s out of uniform, dressed in casual clothes, and you are not nearly versed enough in pro heroes to recognize even the top ten without those brightly colored and intricately decorated hero costumes.

It’s Red Riot, sturdy and robust, not even batting an eye as he subtly inspects you for injury. You brush yourself off a little self-consciously.

Up where she’s been hovering near the door, Riko squeals in excitement. Your attentions are both pulled to her as she darts down the stoop and flies past you, making a beeline for Riot. His face lights up as she approaches.

The moment she’s close enough, he grabs her from the ground and swings her up, pulling excited giggles from her lips as he sets her up on his shoulders. “How’s it going, kiddo? Being good for your sister?”

“Ayame isn’t here,” Riko whines a little, pouting, and though he can’t possibly hear her at all the evidence is plain in her voice. “She’s joined a club after school.”

“Really, now?” Riot is even better than you, you realize; he sounds even more interested than you do without even a hint of condescension. He’s always been known for how well he works with kids—even you’ve heard that—and it’s evident in full force as he interacts with Riko. “What club?”

Riko wrinkles her nose. You watch as she rests her elbow on his head and braces her chin in the palm of that hand, pouting, in a pose reminiscent of a grouchy adult lost in thought.

“She won’t tell me.”

“Oh?” Riot laughs good-naturedly. “Well, everyone gets to have their secrets. I’m sure you have yours.”

“I don’t,” Riko says flatly, in a tone so confident and annoyed that it makes both you and Riot burst into laughter. Luckily she takes it as a compliment; grinning wide, even joining in on the laughter though you doubt she quite knows what’s amusing.

“You must be the neighbor, yeah?” Turning his attention to you, Riot says your name, and at your nod, he gives a quick bow, Riko still perched on his shoulders and giggling wildly as she holds onto his neck. He does most of the work, keeping a hand on her legs to ensure she won’t fall even as his head bears most of her weight. “Kirishima Eijirou. Red Riot.”

“Pleasure to meet you.”

“Bakugo had to stay behind at work, something came up. He asked me to come relieve you of duty.”

“How valiant of you.”

“Just doin’ my job as a hero, ma’am. And, uh, hey.” He gives you a warm smile now, softer than the victorious smirks after won fights and beaming grins during awards ceremonies that you’ve always seen in the press. You think you might be a little flattered to be receiving it. “In case he hasn’t said it himself, thank you for helping Bakugo out. You’ve been a lifesaver more than you know. He really appreciates it, though I’m sure it might be hard to tell.”

You snort. Clearly he knows his friend well. “He’s said it, actually, but I’ll say again that it’s no problem. We have fun. Right, Riko?”

“Yeah!” Riko cheers with hands thrown up in the air carelessly, prompting Kirishima to again grab her legs to keep her stable before she can fall the impressive distance to the ground.

“Good to hear it!” he gives back the same energy, even uses his hands to kick her feet against his chest, drawing out more giggles from her. When he says more, though, it’s aimed directly at you, voice amiable. “What were you doing up on that death trap, anyway?”

“It’s just a step stool…”

“How can I help?” he clarifies. The corners of his eyes wrinkle a little as he smiles at you.

You gesture back at the mess behind you. You’re not even sure where the hammer went, you’ll have to go searching before you go back in, but it’s okay; you’d managed to get the nail in deep enough that it’s in no danger of falling, so it’s mostly the unhung suncatcher lying in a heap on the stoop that draw Kirishima’s eye.

He whistles at the sight. “Pretty.”

It does look pretty lying there, crystalline prisms tied together with fishing line. It’ll look even nicer hanging up where the morning sun will catch it and cast rainbows across your front doorway. You think that’ll be a nice way to start the day, out on your porch after you’ve walked the dog, laptop in hand to begin working.

“It’s a Prism Prison.” Riko bends down and leans over so that her mouth is right near Kirishima’s head, and speaks in a stage whisper, eyes wide like she’s telling him a secret.

“Like from Twinklestar?” he asks without missing a beat, and with just the right amount of awe in his tone.

“Uh-huh!”

“Does it have any villains in it?”

“Yeah, yeah! Miss Serpent and Gunk Guy and Novagleam!”

“Novagleam?” Twinklestar’s greatest nemesis—her evil clone, created by a mad scientist, determined to hunt her down and steal her quirk for herself. It’s wildly endearing that Red Riot recognizes the character immediately. “Well, then, we’d better set it up, huh? Otherwise the villains might escape!”

Riko gives a horrified gasp. “Oh, no! We gotta, we gotta!”

She starts squirming around from her perch; Kirishima’s grip tightens on her legs as he chuckles and approaches. A nod from you to the suncatcher takes you a moment to decipher, but as he gets to the first step you realize he intends to help Riko put it up herself and is asking you to hand it up. You dart up ahead of him and by the time you’ve retrieved it he’s moved the step stool and had his hand held out.

Handing it over, you watch as he passes it up to Riko, and with how tall he is—and, therefore, how high up she is on his shoulders—it’s no struggle for her to hook it onto the nail you’d put in mere minutes ago.

She cheers when it settles, and Kirishima whoops in turn, stepping back enough to make sure she won’t hit the very thing they’ve just hung up as he finally sets her down.

“There,” he says. “Now we’re all safe, yeah?”

He casts his gaze over to you, and gives a subtle nod at the step stool to let you know exactly what he’s really saying. It makes your face heat up a little—embarrassed, but only slightly, at the mess of an introduction and his apparent self-assigned duty to make sure it won’t happen again. Maybe you shouldn’t befriend any more pro heroes.

“All right,” he says assuredly, turning over to Bakugo’s door and fiddling with the knob, clearly to open it. “Riko, Daddy wants me to bring ya back to his work to have dinner in the city, we’ll stop by on the way and pick up Ayame from school. Why don’t’cha head on inside and grab somethin’ to play with for the ride? I’ll be right with you to help you pick.”

Riko, like all little kids, jumps at the prospect of visiting her father’s workplace. Squealing, she bursts into the house just as Kirishima pushes the door open and you hear the sound of her footsteps as she sprints up the stairs to her room. You stifle a laugh. She’s probably already dumped all her toys out of her toy chest and is sifting through all the options on the floor.

“Bakugo’ll have your head if he comes home and her room’s a disaster,” you tell him when he turns back to you.

“Ah, but he’ll clean it up anyway, and he likes taking care of things. I’ll be doing him a favor if I leave him a mess.”

You recall, distantly, what you’ve heard of their history together; that they’d been in the same class at UA along with a record-breaking number of other top heroes. Unprecedented, you remember all the reporters saying, even back when they were all first breaking out onto the scene at eighteen and nineteen and twenty. A monster generation of pros, all coming off a war in their first year, trained by All Might himself.

Living right next to you. Helping you put up your suncatcher. Dropping little bombs about the quiet interworkings of their friends’ minds, learned from years of camaraderie.

Best not to ruminate on that too much.

“Don’t think he’d take too kindly to you spilling his secrets, either,” you tease.

“He’ll forgive me.” Kirishima waves it off. He leans against the frame of Bakugo’s front door, one big hand around the edge of the door and swinging it absent-mindedly. “We should exchange numbers, by the way. Odds of this happening again are pretty high, would be good to be able to text you so you can tell Riko what’s happening.”

“Ah! Yeah, sure.”

“Gimme your phone, I’ll call myself.”

You reach into your back pocket to retrieve it and unlock it to hand it over without question. That hand that’d been swinging the door around abandons it, letting it close on him without so much as a jolt to his body, and reaches out to take the device from your outstretched grasp. He looks down at it, finding the phone app easily.

“How’s the garden treating you, by the way?” he asks conversationally as he types in his number.

“Hm?”

“The garden,” he repeats, glancing up. His thumb presses the call button and you hear his back pocket begin to chime with a ringtone. “I helped bring up supplies a few weeks ago, how’s it going?”

“Oh! Thank you! I would’ve struggled getting all that up there without you guys, you helped a lot. It’s going well! Things’ve been sprouting and some are beginning to blossom, we’re gonna plant for the summer sometime soon. I could probably give you some if you want. You like zucchini?”

“I will adore any homegrown vegetables, dead serious.”

He certainly sounds dead serious. You smile. “Perfect answer. I’ll have Bakugo bring you some of the next harvest.”

Grinning, those sharp teeth on full display, he hands back your phone and you take it. “I look forward to it.”

Where Riko’s visits tend to be requested by Bakugo and done mostly out of necessity (no less welcome, though, of course), Ayame’s occur during much the opposite times. Often she’ll stay behind after he comes and picks up Riko, claiming that she works better at your place. She’ll also show up at your front door later in the afternoon, backpack slung over her shoulder, complaining about her house being too loud with Riko watching shows or Bakugo helping with her homework. You invite her in every time.

Then she joins that club, and for three days a week she doesn’t come home until after Bakugo has. Her visits drop in frequency at first. Then after the first two weeks they increase; she’s compensating, you think. If you didn’t know any better you’d say she missed you. She’d never tell you that, though.

There’s a concept known as parallel play—two toddlers playing adjacent to each other, not quite interacting with one another but undeniably playing together. Ayame’s visits remind you of it. She’ll unpack her bag onto your dining room table and set to work silently while you do your own work, typically on your laptop sitting at the couch or across the table from her or up at the counter bar in your kitchen. You’ll venture into your office to take phone calls, or excuse yourself to the back terrace, but you tend to stay on the main floor with her.

At first she rarely holds more than a few conversations with you, and they’re often little more than you offering food or help with schoolwork and her turning you down. By the time she joins her club she becomes a little more talkative—often about her work, sometimes about her day. The latter you tend to have to probe for.

You ask if she wants to stay for dinner every time. She’s yet to accept. As the weeks go by, however, she grows more hesitant to reject the offer; soon enough, you think, she might just do it.

Today she’s been particularly quiet. It’s been three weeks since she joined the club; even you can’t tell how much she’s enjoying it and how much she’s merely done it to get the adults in her life off her back. You’re pretty sure she likes it okay.

Her teachers, you know, had been pressuring her to join an extracurricular. There’d been leniency for the first few months of the semester, a general understanding of and sympathy for her situation (it’s hardly easy to transfer to a new school so suddenly, let alone as a result of one’s mother passing and being forced to move away from one’s childhood home to live with a man you’ve never met before) allowing her some time to breathe, but life doesn’t stand still no matter how much one feels it ought to. Teenagers might be distinctly lacking in forethought, but Ayame has enough sense to give in on certain matters.

You haven’t pushed her to tell you about what she’s doing. You know she’s wary of you, worried you’ll go running to Bakugo immediately, and you can respect that. Frankly you’re also just not as interested as he and Riko are—you figure if it’s something embarrassing then you’d just feel bad if you wheedled it out of her, and it isn’t as if you think she’s doing something wrong.

So you haven’t so much as mentioned that Riko keeps asking you about it, even if you find it amusing. Ayame, however, is notably more suspicious than thankful.

“You haven’t asked me about my club,” she says as you sit down across from her after making yourself tea. She’s been working for nearly two hours with you; you’d just had to step out to take a call. “Why not?”

You shrug. “If you wanna keep something a secret that’s your right, I’m not gonna try to pry it out of you.”

“Oh…” The tension in her shoulders eases a little, defensive posture loosening as she sits up straighter. “Thank you. I thought for sure you’d be curious.”

“Well, I’m not not curious,” you clarify. “But my curiosity doesn’t trump your comfort. I’m okay never knowing if you never want me to.”

She doesn’t seem to know how to respond to that. She stares at you, mouth slightly agape, but doesn’t say anything; instead, after a few moments and with a light dusting of pink across the bridge of her nose, her head snaps downward and she returns her attention to the papers before her.

You do the same. It’s silent for some time, a few minutes, as the pair of you work sitting across the table from each other. But then Ayame speaks, suddenly, voice wavering a little with hesitance and bashfulness and unable to meet your eye fully.

“It’s cooking,” she says. You look up from your laptop and raise a brow, silently asking her to clarify. She does. “The club I joined. I wanted to join the cooking club at my old school but… I never had the chance to. I always had to watch Riko.”

“Ah.” You nod in understanding. “I’m glad you have the chance now. It’s an important skill to learn.”

“Don’t tell Uncle,” she demands curtly. “Or Riko, because she’ll tell Uncle.”

Now you lower your laptop, just slightly. Her shoulders tense from the motion. You ask anyway, though you know it’s at the prospect of the question you’re about to pose.

“I won’t, I promise. But… can I ask why not?”

For a moment, you wonder if she’ll answer at all, or if she’ll stubbornly ignore the question and remain silent for the rest of the visit as she has so many of the other times you’ve pushed for explanations like this. She surprises you instead by sighing, and tapping her pencil rapidly against the table, and then answering.

“Because he’ll get pissy.” It’s sullen, and she obstinately refuses to look up from her work, but she responds. You give a warm smile of encouragement, and she sighs again. “He’s, like, really particular about cooking, okay? But if he knew I wanted to learn from someone else he’d get all… y’know. Pissy. ‘Cause he cares or whatever.”

“Or whatever,” you repeat, not entirely mocking but rather in agreement. “Is he bad?”

“At cooking? No. He’s good. Really good.”

“So..?”

“So that’s the problem. It’s intimidating being in the kitchen with him and not knowing, like, how to cut things or what temperature to cook at. He’s always judging, and yelling at me when I mess up.” She hunkers down where she’s seated, crossing her arms. Her next words are quieter, and you might call them petulant if they weren’t clearly laced with hurt. “He never yells at Riko when she makes a mess…”

You wish you could comfort her more. Maybe Bakugo does yell at her, and maybe he doesn’t yell at Riko, but in your experience even his normal voice sounds irritated and you’d probably wager a guess that she’s misinterpreting, and whether or not that’s the case it certainly doesn’t help the way she feels about it. So you take a different approach.

“It’s very mature of you to find an alternative way to learn, then. You must care about this a lot.”

It works. She perks up at the praise.

“Mom was always busy… she never had the time to help me learn. Or cook much at all, anyway. But I’ve always wanted to know.” It’s the first time you’ve heard her talk about her mother, you realize. Her tone is melancholy, a little wistful. She swallows, shakes her head, and adds, “And—and when I go visit Grandmother, I’d like to have some skills beforehand, so that I can focus on learning the recipes and not the basics.”

“Well, your secret’s safe with me. And…” you hesitate, not entirely sure how she’ll take it, but say it anyway. “I’m willing to teach you some things, too, if you want.”

Her head snaps up to you, eyes wide with excitement. “Really?”

“Of course! You’re always welcome, and I’m always making something.”

“Thank you!”

“In fact,” you start, “do you wanna help me cut strawberries?”

“Like… right now?’

“Yeah. I’m making a strawberry shortcake later this afternoon.” You look down at where she still has schoolwork scattered across the table. “Oh, if you have to keep working that’s okay. We can do it another time, too—”

“No!” she exclaims, already jumping to her feet. “I’m okay. I wanna help! But I do have to go back soon, Uncle’s gonna be making dinner soon and he’ll probably want me home so I can make sure Riko doesn’t interrupt him.”

Nodding, you stand up after her. “Understood. We’ll be quick, then. But not too quick, because we’ll be cutting things, and I’m pretty sure if I send you back to Bakugo with fewer fingers than you had when you showed up then I’ll get arrested or something.”

The joke gets you a little laugh. You think it might be pity, but you don’t really mind.

The strawberries are in the fridge. You direct Ayame to get out two cutting boards as you rinse them, dropping them into a paper towel lined bowl and setting them down in between the two cutting boards she’s laid out on the counter.

“Knives are in the knife block next to the sink,” you command her next. “You want a small one, a paring knife, not a really big one.”

She nods. It’s not until she’s pulled out an older one that you realize the one she ought to be using isn’t in the block at all—you’d used it this morning and cleaned it by hand, so it’s on the drying rack where you’d put it to let it air dry,

“Mmm, sorry, not that one.” You reach over to take the knife from the drying rack and slide it over on the counter for her to use. “This one’s sharper. Safer.”

Ayame’s brow furrows. “Wouldn’t that be more dangerous?”

“The opposite, actually. A dull knife can still cut you easily, but you’ll struggle more with cutting what you want to cut, so accidents are more likely. A sharp knife, however, will cut things far easier, and do what you want it to do with less force.”

“I see…”

“Now. Let me cut one.” You pull out a strawberry, one big enough for her to see what you do with it. “Pull off the leaves, throw those out. Then we cut it in half, put the flat side on the board, and cut out the center white part with the stem. Other half, and now we’re done.”

You hold up the cutting board to show her more clearly what you’ve done. Then you pick up both pieces and drop them into the bowl you’ve set up in between the pair of you.

“Now you try.”

“Okay,” Ayame says, clearly more to herself than to you. She pulls the leaves off, then holds out her knife and begins to follow your lead, cutting the fruit in half before setting the flat side down. “Cut out the center.”

“Careful, don’t point the blade at your fingers like that. You could slip really easily and chop off part of them instead of the strawberry.” You reach out slowly, trying hard not to startle her, and move the knife and her fingers into a far more safe position. “There, see how your fingers’ll be out of the way even if the knife slips?”

She nods. “Yeah… Okay, yeah. Lemme try again.”

She does it perfectly the second time around. You tell her as much, watching as she swells up with pride, and then turn to your own cutting board to take your half of the strawberries and start hacking through them. She doesn’t need any more help past what you give to her at the start; you’re still faster by leagues, certainly, but it’s to be expected. You’ve had far more practice.

Soon enough you’re finishing not just your own portion, but half of Ayame’s that you stole as well. She’s nearing the end of what’s left in her bowl; in fact, just as she finishes the last one, her phone lights up. You pause in your own work, glancing over as she checks the message.

“It’s from Uncle,” she says, attention fixated on the phone screen. “He wants me to go help Riko with her homework while he works on dinner.”

“Then you’d better head back over.”

She looks up to meet your eye. She seems hesitant—a little dejected. “Yeah. I’ll, uh… I’ll help clean up? I’m sure it can wait a few minutes…”

“No need, you were already helping me by cutting. I’ll bring over some of the shortcake when I’m done with it, sounds good?” You wink at her. “The best part of cooking is getting to eat the fruit of your labor, we wouldn’t want you to miss out.”

“Okay.” She’s smiling now, nodding at you, clearly excited by the prospect.

“And if you like it, I could send you the recipe. It’s fairly easy, good for beginners.”

“Yeah! Definitely! See you after dinner, then.”

With that promise, she’s heading for the door, pausing only momentarily to nab a cut strawberry to pop in her mouth as she’s leaving.

Spring gives way to summer. Your days are occupied with the garden and with work; the end of the semester draws near for the girls, Ayame is busy preparing for exams which, ironically, means you’re seeing more of her. She studies late with you now, staying for dinner on occasion, and she even helps you make it sometimes, finally confident enough after weeks attending her cooking club to allow herself more freedom in the kitchen.

You find it surprisingly nice. There’s a certain kind of pride that comes with aiding her, helping her along and cheering alongside her when she does it properly for the first time. And with seeing her become more and more comfortable cooking, and by extension with you.

That isn’t to say she’s entirely open. She still locks up sometimes, goes quiet when you say something that reminds her of her mother or pry a little too hard. On very sparse occasions she’s had to leave and go back home—you look on the bright side when that happens, that she’s comfortable enough at Bakugo’s (or, perhaps more accurately, with Riko) that it’s a place she can go to calm down when she’s feeling too much.

Riko, meanwhile, eagerly awaits summer break. She’s made countless friends at her new school, and she talks at length about every one, excitedly telling you about how they’ll see each other every day while school’s out and play when they don’t have to do schoolwork. She’s expressing a bit more interest in the garden, too, after a day where her teachers explained how good for the environment household gardens are.

In the last remaining weeks of the first semester, a large plant appears in a pot in the corner of the roof.

You certainly didn’t plant it, nor did you bring up the pot or the soil or anything else. But it’s meticulously cared for, large and thriving, and though you don’t mess with it too much you do pay enough attention to notice when it begins to flower and then, slowly, bear fruit.

It’s a pepper plant. Not a bell pepper, certainly—hot peppers. Thai chili peppers, you’re fairly certain; they’re the right size and, as they continue to grow, your little inspections begin to leave your fingers feeling itchy with the telltale sensation of capsaicin.

Where before you thought it might have been Ayame’s pet project, the realization of what they are has you assuming a new culprit. And that assumption is proven correct a few days into the girls’ summer break.

Now that the weather is sweltering, and the midday sun is borderline unbearable, you shift your gardening time to after dinner when the sun is lowering. Of course that does very little for the bugs, and it leaves you with fading light, but you prefer it over the heat.

Bakugo apparently does too. Or perhaps he just doesn’t have the time otherwise. Either way, when you climb up the metal steps to access the roof, you find him crouched over the mysterious pepper plant.

For a moment, you watch. He’s solidly occupied by it, with his own set of supplies at his feet and his attention solely on the plant. You can’t quite see what he’s doing, but he’s definitely looking at the peppers; you get small glimpses of his face and he looks, you think, strikingly serene.

The missing scowl almost throws you for a loop. You’d have thought it’d be permanent by now, but clearly it isn’t.

And you’ve had enough of your creeping. You clear your throat, walking up onto the roof to catch his attention. “Lovely evening for gardening, huh?”

He looks up. The serene expression is gone; you almost wish you could bring it back yourself.

“I was wondering what that plant was,” you say, undeterred by his silence. “Should’ve figured it was yours. Dunno why Ayame would be growing chili peppers.”

“I’ve had it for years, actually.”

His voice, when he finally speaks, is nice to hear, even if it’s gravelly and curtt. You cock your head at the admission.

“Really? Kept it indoors?”

“Balconies, mostly. The terrace for a bit. Too shady, though. Full sun up here’s better.”

“It seems to like it.”

“Yeah…” Bakugo looks back down at it, clearly proud. “Been usin’ this plant forever. You like spice?”

You shrug. “Normal amount.” Then your eyes narrow as you give him a side-eye. “Something tells me my normal is different from your normal, though.”

He snorts. “Probably. S’okay, just means we won’t be competin’ too bad for these things.”

“True enough, I suppose. How long have you had it?”

“‘bout a year. Give or take. Longer than I’ve had this house, that’s for damn sure. Lugged it all the way to the back terrace when I first showed up, dirt ‘n all.”

“You take good care of it.”

He puffs at the compliment, just slightly. Not much.

“‘Course I fuckin’ do.” He stands, rolling out his shoulders and loosening himself up from squatting for what you’re sure is a long while. Meanwhile you pick a spot and kneel next to it, pulling out tools and other supplies from the tote you use to bring it all up. “I better head back down before the girls drive each other insane. Enjoy your gardening.”

“Mmm. I will.”

He goes to head down the stairs, but pauses, turning back momentarily to look at you. “Oh, one more thing.”

“Yeah?” You lean back to look at him, just in time to see his eyes jump up from what you’re pretty sure is the spot under your legs. You look down, where your thighs are taut from your position and bulging where the tiny shorts you have on are pressing into the skin, and move them to check beneath. “What were you looking at?”

When you find nothing, you return your gaze to him, and he’s pointedly looking away; it’s difficult to tell in the fading light but you think he might be a bit pink.

“Nothin’,” he mutters, barely audible from how far away you are.

“But—”

“Nothin’!” he says again, louder, as he raises a hand to rub down his face in exasperation. “Just—forget it. Didn’t see shit. Wasn’t even what I wanted to tell ya.”

“Okay…” you draw out the word in confusion. “What did you want to tell me?”

“We’ll, uh. We’ll be taking a trip to see my parents next weekend.” He’s flustered, you realize; voice gruff as always but less assured than normal, stumbling over his words just slightly. It’s endearing, though you’re still perplexed by what brought it on. He clears his throat. “Just… y’know, figured you should know.”

“Oh? Have fun.”

“We’ll be back ‘round Tuesday.” His attention snaps over to the pepper plant. “Peppers should be ready to harvest ‘round then… ‘ll be able to grab the early ones ‘n the late ones, but go ‘head ‘n nab the rest if I’m gone.”

“Sure thing.”

“Don’t let ‘em go to waste.”

“I make no promises except that I’ll try.”

“‘kay, y’got me there. Night, then.” He pauses, a little frown, eyes off in the distance as, despite saying goodnight, he still hovers. That red gaze darts back to you. “Don’t stay up too long.”

“I won’t.” You raise an eyebrow. “Don’t fall on your way down.”

This time he huffs out a bit of laughter. And rolls his eyes, taking the hint as he turns to really leave. “Fuckin’ won’t. No nagging needed.”

Before you can retort that he’d nagged you first, he’s gone, and you stare a little dazedly at the place he’d just disappeared. Had he been dawdling to keep talking to you? You couldn’t tell.

Shaking your head, you turn back to your plants. No use lingering on it.

Ayame shows up at your door unannounced one Tuesday morning directly after they return from their trip to Bakugo’s parents’. You find her leaning up against the side of your house, right next to the door, as you return from your walk with Tadeo’s leash in hand.

She greets Tadeo eagerly, though that’s easily overshadowed by his own frenzy. His tail wags so enthusiastically that his whole butt shakes, and he attempts to jump on her once—she puts a stop to that by pushing his paws off her thighs and giving him a stern “no” before bending down to his height to pat his head.

“Good boy,” she coos to him, then looks up at you without letting up from her affection. “Morning.”

“Morning! You’re here early.”

She’s dressed fashionably, in distressed jean shorts with fishnets beneath and a ripped-up black t-shirt with a skull on it. The bright pink band on her wrist might ruin the aesthetic, but she makes it work; Riko gave it to her. At your words she stands to look at you fully.

“I know, I…” She frowns, looking away and shoving her hands into the pockets of her shorts. “I dunno. I needed to talk, I guess? And you were… my first thought? So here I am?”

“Here you are,” you repeat. “You’re always welcome to talk with me, whenever you want to. Come inside, I’ll make you some tea.”

“Thanks.” The tension in her shoulders eases at your words. She follows you quietly when you open your door and gesture for her to join you. You haven’t set out your guest slippers for her—this visit, after all, is unexpected—but she’s seen you take them out enough times that she finds them with little prompt before you can finish taking Tadeo’s harness off. He sprints off to wait by his food bowl the moment he’s free.

“Have you had breakfast?” you ask as you walk into the kitchen. “I usually make mine now.”

“Um… no, but I’ll be making breakfast with everyone this morning. Uncle’s up but we’re waiting on Riko, she’ll probably wake up in an hour or so. Thanks, though.”

You nod in acceptance. “Let’s just have some tea, then. Let me know if you change your mind, though; we have time and I have plenty of food.”

The first thing to do is feed Tadeo—you direct Ayame to do that, turning your own attention to brewing a pot of green tea for both of you as she scoops kibble into his bowl. Predictably, he sets about devouring it as soon as it hits the metal, and without you asking her to, Ayame has already removed the water bowl from the raised tray to dump and refill it.

It’s quiet as you prepare the tea. You decide that if she wanted to talk now, she’d have initiated it; instead she leans herself back against the countertop and watches as you pad about the kitchen. She might not be eating with you but you take the chance to start the rice for your own breakfast, rinsing it and turning the cooker on while the water comes to temperature.

Once the tea is steeping, however, you send her to sit at your dining table; she seems a little stiff still, but better. Hopefully even more so as she gets more comfortable. You join her quickly.

Sliding her cup of tea over the table and hugging your own as you sit down, you give her a warm smile. “All right, what’s up? Is this about your trip?”

She’s been stressing about it, you know. Worried that Bakugo’s parents will reject her.

“No. It’s—” Ayame cuts herself off with a sigh. Shoulders tense, she stares down at the steaming cup in her hands with a strange look on her face. “It’s a boy.”

“Oh?”

Her nose wrinkles. “If you’re gonna be weird I’m not gonna talk to you.”

“I won’t be weird, promise. You sound like you’re very conflicted.”

“Hayao’s his name. He’s the first guy who’s ever been interested in me and he’s, like… I dunno. One of the cutest guys at school. All my friends were so jealous when he asked for my phone number.”

“Yeah? Sounds flattering that he was interested.”

“It was. Is! I mean, he really is cute… They say he was on the hero track in junior high, but his parents refused to let him do something that dangerous. And he’s pretty smart. He asked me to help him study for our literature exam at the end of the semester, which is how I knew he was, like, into me? Because he didn’t really need the help, yanno? Which was cute. And—yeah, flattering. He asked me out on the last day of the semester, right before break. I thought it’d be nice, getting to go on dates and stuff when school’s out. But…” She trails off. Her gaze falls to her tea before her, and she traces the rim dejectedly with the pad of a finger.

“But?”

“But, I dunno. It’s just not really working? He kinda ignores me whenever we hang out as a group and his friends kinda laugh when I try to talk to him. And he lets other girls hang around him all the time—people don’t really know we’re, like, together, so I don’t blame them but I mean he should tell them right? I dunno. I feel kinda sick when I see him now, or when I might see him, or when he texts me. Like my stomach drops and I almost wanna throw up? My friends say it’s probably butterflies but I really don’t think it is. I think it’s anxiety? I dunno.”

“I see.” You nod sagely. “We do not like this boy. Message received.”

“No, it’s—” She cuts herself off with a huff and her eyes cut to the side. Still cradling her teacup, her knuckles go white with a self-soothing grip. “The truth is I don’t think he really likes me.”

“Oh.”

“Like…” Ayame’s shoulders slump. “My friends are like ‘just go along with it, you’ve never been asked out before’ but I’m miserable. All he wants to do is talk about school and Dynamight.”

That makes you pause. You hadn’t quite thought about it, but it makes sense in hindsight—people wanting to get to know her and Riko because of their connection to the number two hero. Especially stupid, shallow teenage boys with no understanding of how much that might sting.

“Well… okay. Firstly, I have to say I disagree with your friends here. No guy is worth feeling miserable for.” You pause, and she snorts, but doesn’t disagree. So you continue. “Do you wanna work out what you think you should do? Or just vent, because I’m here either way.”

“I… dunno what I can do.”

“Well, you could always break up with him, no shame in that. Or,” you add quickly when she opens her mouth, “you could talk to him about it, communicate what’s wrong. If he’s the kind of boy you should stick it out for, he’ll be receptive to that.”

She’s silent for a moment, staring dejectedly into her tea before her. You let her think, process your words, while you sip on your own and watch as Tadeo, done with his breakfast, waddles over to his favorite armchair and hauls himself up to settle in for the morning.

Then you turn your attention back to your visitor.

“What’re you thinking?”

“I…” She sighs. “I don’t know if he’ll be receptive.”

“You never will unless you try.” You take a sip of your tea and give yourself a moment to arrange your thoughts. When you can order them into the right sentences to get across what you want to say, you lean in, lacing your fingers together on the table in front of you. “Look, Ayame, relationships are hard. They take work, even when it’s the right person. I’m not going to tell you if this boy is right or wrong, you’re the only person who can decide that. But no matter what, none of your choices here are going to be easy.”

Ayame squirms in her seat. That, clearly, had been the wrong way to go about it. You can practically see her shutting down at the prospect. A new approach, then—you lean back instead, bracing yourself on the floor with your arms and looking across the table at her.

“You know, the first guy who ever expressed interest in me was the school delinquent when I was a second year. Real cute—though he’d take issue with that description—very charming, got in a fight for me. I liked him a lot, I really did. But..” You let it linger, hoping to create intrigue.

It works; she looks up at you, tilting her head in question. “But?”

“I wasn’t ready.”

She ruminates on that for a moment. Her face is pensive, her gaze unfocused. “How’d you figure that out?”

“I melted down two days after he first asked me out and my mom had to break up with him for me on my phone while I was crying my eyes out on our living room floor.”

Ayame gives a burst of laughter, then covers her mouth. You shake your head and laugh, too.

“It’s okay to laugh, it’s funny. Really!” you insist when she shakes her head in disbelief. “She read the text out loud and I was wailing, absolutely bawling, rolling around on the floor begging her not to and then begging her to just send the message. I swear, that woman had so much patience for me…”

“How’d your dad react?”

The question, admittedly, takes you aback. You tilt your head, trying to gauge Ayame’s intent—it’s an odd jump to make, you think, but she’s looking a little expectant and you realize she’s fishing. You haven’t talked to her about your father before. So you decide to be candid.

“I don’t have one, actually. Had a stepdad for a bit when I was really young but he left… when I was about Riko’s age, maybe a bit younger. Then it was just me and my mom—at least, until I got accepted to university and my grandparents offered to put me through it.” You smile softly, hoping to get across your affection instead of letting Ayame feel awkward or ashamed for asking. It only kind of works.

“Oh.” She deflates a bit. “Sorry, I didn’t realize…”

“It’s okay, it’s not something I try to hide. And you didn’t know either way. Besides,” you gesture between the two of you, “we gotta stick together, yeah?”

If you weren’t looking for it, you might have missed the way her lips quirk up slightly at your declaration. “Yeah.”

“Good. So I wasn’t ready—that was my point. Who knows what would’ve happened if I’d tried to force it; maybe I would’ve been miserable and come to resent him, and he didn’t deserve that. The way it worked out was better for both of us.”

“How?” She sounds a little desperate. You think you understand. It must be hard to believe that her situation can work out. Maybe that’s right—maybe this specific boy really can’t—but that doesn’t mean it’s permanent.

“How’d it work out? Kenzou and I stayed friends—well,” you hold up your hands to do air quotes, “‘friends,’ because admittedly we were both still pining—until graduation when I kissed him and we started going out for real. And that lasted a good long while the second time around. I don’t regret taking a little longer to date him, because it meant that when I was ready it was a much more successful experience. And trust me, if a boy really likes you, he won’t care.”

“You mean he’ll wait for me?”

You tilt your head. It’s more difficult than you anticipated, walking the line between encouragement and setting her expectations too high.

“If he likes you,” you settle upon saying, because it’s safe. Safer than telling her this boy will wait for her; you honestly doubt that, from what she’s been telling you. “And if he’s the kind of person who’s satisfied with that. But if he doesn’t, it’s not your fault. There’ll be other boys who do like you and who are the kind of person who’ll wait for you, if needed.”

“I guess.”

“Just trust me on this. It’s true.”

“I… okay.”

She doesn’t believe you, that much is obvious. It’s never going to be easy to convince a teenager that life continues after high school—never going to be easy to convince them that what’s before them right now might not be the ultimate happiness they think it is. Maybe you should have just told her that he’s a jerk and she shouldn’t waste her time.

But no, it means more if she comes to that conclusion herself. All you can do is finish your cup of tea and hope she takes what you’ve said to heart.

“How’d he get in a fight for you,” Ayame asks suddenly.

“Who, Kenzou? My high school boyfriend?” You chuckle. “Teenagers tend to be a lot more subtle than younger kids, but I still got picked on a lot for being quirkless. He caught some boys stealing my stuff—one of them was levitating it up above me so I couldn’t reach it—and stepped in.”

“And beat them up?” She’s excited now, a little starry-eyed at the concept.

“Oh, soundly. Used his quirk to overpower them—he was a hero prospect, too, once upon a time, though he’s always been too critical of the hero system to become one, even back then. ‘Course quirk usage got him in a world of trouble with administration, but… he always said it was worth it to meet me. I learned later on that he’d liked me for a while, actually, just didn’t know how to approach me.”

“Wow, that’s… so romantic. I wish a guy would do something like that for me…” A sigh, wistful, and you’re reminded that the girl before you has never had a relationship before. She deserves a first boyfriend like your own, you think. “I can’t believe you’re not still together.”

You snort. “Well, our lives just diverged. We’re still friends! He visits me whenever he’s back in Japan.”

“Back in Japan?” The awestruck tone has returned tenfold. “Where does he go?”

“Oh, all over the place. To tell you the truth I hardly know what he does. Something about quirk research, it’s all a little over my head honestly. But he comes back about twice a year to see his family and stops by when he has the chance. I’m sure you’ll see him someday.”

Just as you finish the sentence, in the kitchen behind you, your rice maker gives a little chime to indicate it’s done. You pause to look back at it, and—prompted by the music—Ayame glances at the clock on your wall.

Her eyes widen as she takes in the time. “Oh! I should probably go back, Riko should be up now.”

She jumps up from her seated position, careful not to rattle the teacups on the table. You follow after her, albeit more slowly, as she removes the house slippers (you should get a pair just for her, you think; Riko, too) to change back into her shoes.

“Thank you!” she says as she opens the door to go, turning back to give you a small bow that makes you grin from where you hover just inside. “I don’t know if I’ll break up with him… but your advice helped. I’ll see you this weekend? For the garden?”

“This weekend,” you assure her, and with that she runs off to catch her train.

The following morning, as you return from your daily walk with Tadeo, you find your neighbors (plus one) gathered at the front stoop.

The addition is a teenage boy. A little taller than Ayame, dressed in the most unremarkable teenage boy outfit you think you’ve ever seen, he hovers near her and seemingly refuses to take his attention away from Bakugo, who he’s intently talking to. Riko stands at her father’s side, hand in his, while Ayame is turned away with her arms crossed over her chest and a frown gracing her lips.

Riko is the one who notices you, turning and waving with her free hand as she tugs at the other one to get Bakugo’s attention.

“Miss Sunny! Miss Sunny!”

You give a little wave, gesturing for her to return her attention to her father, and intend to pass on by without issue. Unfortunately Tadeo has different plans.

He goes certifiably insane as you try to pass, barking up a storm and managing to tug so hard against his leash that you stumble (a true feat of strength, considering how small and how old he is) towards the group of four at the front of the steps. You do your best to reel him in but he’s making a beeline straight for Ayame’s visitor and before you can manage to pull him back towards you to pick him up, he reaches the boy’s legs.

The kid (what was his name? Hayato?) yelps, leaping back and almost cowering behind Ayame. She seems unimpressed—the whole family does, and you almost feel sorry for him considering he now has the number two pro hero, a seven year old, and his own high school sweetheart staring at him in varying levels of disdain. You hadn’t even known Riko could look that bored.

Tadeo seems largely unfazed by the sudden movement. He attempts to out-maneuver and bypass Ayame’s body but she’s faster, head whipping down from where she’d been staring down her nose at her friend to bend over and snatch up your dog swiftly and gently.

He’s still yapping up a storm when she hands him off to you with a troubled expression.

“Sorry about that,” you say cheerily. “He’s usually so chill. Dunno what’s up with him today.”

The kid (Hayao, you remember suddenly. You’d been close enough) side-eyes Bakugo, stepping forward slightly and opening his mouth to speak when your neighbor beats him to it.

“Nah, s’fine.” He gives a dismissing wave of his hand. “Mutt’s so old I doubt he even has teeth left to bite with.”

“Yeah,” Hayao rushes to agree. “It’s okay.”

“Yeah?” Tadeo makes a particularly valiant struggle in your arms, wiggling around. You might be playing up how hard it is to keep hold of him, if only to watch the boy’s eyes land on your dog and widen as he hesitantly takes a step back. “Don’t worry, I got him.”

“Well it doesn’t matter,” Ayame cuts in, “because we gotta go or we’ll be late.”

Hayao’s attention is pulled from the dog as she grabs him by the wrist and begins tugging him away down the road. He stumbles after her; before they can get far, however, Riko darts forward to intercept.

She gives the teen a hug, wrapping arms around his waist and looking up with a bright grin to say, “Bye-bye!”

He seems to startle from it. He’s stiff as he stares down at her with wide, baffled eyes and clearly has no clue what to do with his hands as he holds them both out wildly. “Uh, yeah, bye.” Then he looks up at her father with a strikingly nervous expression. “Good to—to meet you, Mr. Bakugo—Mr. Dynamight, sir.”

Ayame pulls her sister off him, hissing something like stop being weird before grabbing Hayao’s hand again and pulling him down the road all the more insistently. Riko is entirely unaffected as she stands with suspiciously innocent posture and waves as they head off.

She comes bounding up to where you’re hovering next to Bakugo with Tadeo still in your arms. You set the dog down as Ayame and Hayao disappear over the hill, and Riko sidles up next to her father.

“Did he notice?” he asks, still looking down the road.

“No, daddy,” she says sweetly, giggling like it’s the funniest joke she’s ever made. You glance down at her to find that she’s not-so-subtly trying to shove something into Bakugo’s hand.

“Nothing less from my best fuckin’ sidekick,” he responds gruffly as he takes whatever she’s trying to give him. You can only gape as he turns to you—no, your dog—and bends down to offer Tadeo the mystery item.

It’s a dog treat. You remember a jar full of them always on the kitchen counter back when your grandparents still lived in your current home. You’d asked them where they bought the things, because they looked fancy as hell and Tadeo always seemed to adore them—still does, clearly, judging by the way he barks and his whole lower half shakes with the force of his tail wagging—but you’d never gotten a straight answer. Now you think you might have found it.

“Played your part well, too, mutt.” It’s surprisingly affectionate—for Bakugo, anyway. He gives Tadeo a pat on the head as the dog snarfs down the gift; you haven’t yet overcome your shock when he stands.

“What the fuck,” you’re saying before you can stop yourself. “Is that why he was being weird?”

“Used to love those things. Made ‘em for him all the time.” Bakugo stands to his full height before turning to his daughter. “Ready to go, bug?”

“Whoa, whoa, no you can’t just leave after that, I need an explanation.”

Bakugo doesn’t answer you at first; he lifts Riko with ease, resting her on his hip. She’s still acting incredibly self-satisfied.

“My dad asked me to put a dog treat in Hayao’s pocket,” she tells you smugly.

Her father frowns, turning to her and raising his free hand to press a finger to his lips and shush her playfully. “We agreed not to tell anyone. Secret mission, yeah?”

She pouts at the reprimand. You interrupt, slightly annoyed.

“Why, exactly?”

“He’s not really interested in Ayame,” he tells you hotly, though you get the feeling the anger isn’t directed at you. “Punk’s just some fuckin’ hero fan. Wanted to meet me, weasel his way into my good graces or some shit. If I told Ayame directly she’d just get pissed off at me. Trusts the mutt, though, so figured I’d use that.”

The explanation surprises you, just a little. Frankly you hadn’t thought he’d paid enough attention—not to Ayame’s emotional state but to her boyfriend himself and his unsaid intentions behind asking her out—to have come to such a conclusion. Ayame almost certainly hadn’t told him as she’d told you, so it had to have been his own observations and his own conclusion from them. You wonder, briefly, if you ought to tell him about the conversation yesterday morning, but decide not to. It feels like a breach of trust somehow, and even if she doesn’t feel comfortable talking to her guardian about things you’d rather not make her feel like she can’t trust you, either.

Riko, however, has a different plan. Perched against Bakugo’s hip, she squirms, calling for the attention of both of you.

“Ayame told me Miss Sunny told her to break up with him,” she informs the both of you proudly.

Bakugo’s head snaps back to you. You shrug. “She came to ask for my advice yesterday morning.”

“That’s why she was stompin’ around so early? Thought she had a school thing.”

“Don’t you get up that early?”

“I don’t stomp.”

Biting your lip, you meet Riko’s eye and widen your own comically until she giggles. “Somehow I doubt that.”

“I don’t,” he insists, sounding indignant.

“He does!” Riko interjects. “He stomps all around and wakes us up when we’re sleeping even though we’re all the way upstairs.”

You raise an eyebrow and meet Bakugo’s gaze. It doesn’t even require words—he narrows his eyes in response and turns Riko away from you.

“Don’t manipulate my daughter. She’s only sayin’ that ‘cause you laughed.”

“I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.”

“Playin’ dumb doesn’t suit you.” You watch his jaw tighten with his words, and it makes a smile pull at your lips. It’s never less than amusing, the way he takes things so seriously.

“Still in the dark here,” you respond, voice sing-songing. “I’ve thought up my fine, by the way.”

“Your fine?”

“Yes. My fine. Well, Tadeo’s, I suppose.”

“For what?” Bakugo sounds incredulous.

“For his participation in your plan,” you chirp in response. “You used my dog, you have to give him something in return.”

“We gave him a treat!” Riko pipes up helpfully in response.

“Ah, true, but he played a vital role, no? Wouldn’t you say he ought to get more?”

“Hmmm…” she purses her lips, mimicking someone thinking hard, before nodding enthusiastically. “Yeah! He should get all the treats he can have!”

“I agree.” You nod with her before returning your attention to her father. “So, in order to provide him with as many treats as he deserves, the fine is you telling me where to get those, because I could never get a straight answer out of my grandparents…”

His scowl deepens. He opens his mouth, and you can tell already that he’s going to brush you off. Sorry, bud, you’re already telling Tadeo in your head, because you’re never going to learn where his favorite treats come from.

Riko, however, has different intentions.

“Oh! Oh! I know!”

“Riko—” Bakugo starts, but she’s already saying it.

“Daddy makes them! He makes them from scratch! I helped him yesterday, he asked me to help knead the dough, but I wasn’t allowed to help put them in the oven because the pans are too heavy and it’s too hot and I might burn myself.”

Against your will, your jaw drops a little. When, you wonder, will this man stop surprising you—making dog treats from scratch for your grandparents’ elderly dog? You’d never have guessed. Your mind recalls the jar of them from a year ago, full to the brim every time you’d stop by, and wonder how much baking he’d had to do to keep it that way.

“Oh,” is all you can say in response. “So it’s not some… crazy expensive boutique.”

Standing before you, he looks embarrassed; a little sheepish. “Nah. Was gonna give you the rest of the batch tonight, actually. Wouldn’t want ‘em to go to waste.”

“How much?”

He shrugs. Riko bobs with the motion, giggling excitedly. “‘bout thirty. Not a ton.”

You nod. “Okay. Okay, how’s this. If Tadeo did his job properly, and Ayame comes back single… you’ll take a day and make five batches. If he didn’t, we just get the leftovers.”

“Deal,” he barks. Riko cheers. Tadeo, not to be outdone, barks as well.

That afternoon you don’t see them—you have a call with a client that lasts well into the afternoon, and on Fridays Bakugo always makes sure to come home early to make and eat dinner as a family. It’s sweet, you think; your mother used to do the same, though on a less consistent schedule. The perks of owning one’s own agency and being one’s own boss, and not having to be subject to the ever-changing requirements of the service industry as your mother had been.

In the evening, however, Ayame and Riko wander up while you’re working on the garden. It’s been thriving; you’ve had to wage a small war with blossom end rot on your beefsteak tomatoes lately, but other than that you haven’t had any pressing issues, and everything else you’ve harvested has been on time and good quality. With summer coming to a close, and the weather beginning to cool, you’ve begun the process of planting for autumn and winter harvests.

Riko finds a spot near the stairs and sits herself down on the concrete before one of the dilapidated flower boxes you’ve yet to clean up, filled with overflowing weeds and stubborn herbs. Her hair is plaited now, two long braids down her back tied with little pink bows at the end—it had been down this morning, and you get the feeling her sister might be behind the style change.

“Uncle’s finishing up dinner,” Ayame tells you as she approaches, and you nod.

“Well, you two are more than welcome out here while you wait, if he says it’s okay.”

“My dad’s a really good cook,” Riko says from behind you.

“Is he now?”

You can’t see, but you can hear how vigorously she’s nodding from the sound of her voice. “Yeah, yeah! He says his daddy taught him.”

“Your grandpa?”

“Yeah! He’s a really good cook, too. He made us food when we went to visit him last weekend.”

“Really? What’d he make?”

Riko regales you with all the food Bakugo’s father made the three of them over the two days of their visit. She lists off all the dishes, then starts on the ingredients—with extensive help from her sister, who corrects her when she mispronounces things or gets lost in her train of thought.

“I got to practice cooking a little,” Ayame adds to you quietly while Riko is talking, smiling excitedly. “Uncle’s mother didn’t let him in the kitchen while I was there, so his father helped me, and let me help him some.”

“Was it fun?”

“Yeah. It was.”

“Did you learn some stuff?”

“He showed me how to make tonkatsu. Said I was a natural, actually.” She sounds proud as she tells you, perhaps a little bashful. “I wanna visit again soon. Uncle said we might go back for a weekend when school starts back up, I think I’d actually be really excited for it.”

It’s then that you realize Riko has stopped talking. You raise a finger to quiet Ayame, who pauses immediately.

“Riko? You wanna keep talking?”

She doesn’t answer. You turn around, only slightly concerned, but find her attention completely gone. She’s turned away from you, having scooted even closer to the busted flower box, and she’s put herself to work on her own form of unstructured gardening as she pulls up weeds and pushes the dirt around into piles. It isn’t impossible to get her to focus and do real gardening with you, but it’s hardly worth it for the minor upkeep you’re doing tonight, so you turn back around and drop the conversation to let her play.

With Riko solidly lost to the infinite possibilities of her imagination and the planter box, you’re left with Ayame, who stands across from you. Beckoning her down to join you in your work is easy; a quiet gesture with your head and she’s kneeling with you, pulling from her pockets gloves that she’d taken from the pile near the stairs.

You hardly have to direct her on what to do. She’s already weeding with you, meticulously plucking unknown stems from amongst the shoots of your late-blooming carrots and radishes and onions.

“It sounds like it was a productive trip for you, too, then,” you tell her.

She nods. “Yeah. It was really nice. Uncle’s parents are great, they were real nice to me. I appreciated it. His mom took me to her work on Monday, actually. She’s a fashion designer. She took me to lunch, too, and we talked. It was… fun.”

“That’s great!” Not that you’d thought it likely for Bakugo’s parents to react poorly, it’s still good to hear that they’d welcomed Ayame readily.

She doesn’t seem to want to keep talking, though. She lets the conversation die down, and you let her, the pair of you focusing on the work before you in silence. Though there’s a more pressing discussion to be had.

Once the pair of you seem to get into a groove, you broach the topic. “So did you do it?”

“Do what?” Ayame blinks at you, and you push down the urge to tell her that she’s not nearly good enough at lying to convince you.

“Break up with him,” you decide to say instead.

“Oh… yeah. I wasn’t really sure this morning—I mean, I wanted to but I didn’t want to? So I wasn’t going to? But…” She moves to kneel next to you, not even bothering with gloves as she digs her hands into the dirt. “Tadeo’s freakout this morning made me change my mind.”

That throws you for a loop. Somehow you hadn’t been expecting it—somehow you’d thought it’d have been your talk with her, if anything. Maybe you should give Bakugo more credit.

“Your talk helped a lot too!” Ayame rushes to add. “I just… well, you told me to choose and I was still unsure. But, like, dogs are really good judges of character, you know? And Hayao… really didn’t like Tadeo, either. He kept talking about him on our way to school. And I don’t wanna be with a guy like that. So I told him we were through when we showed up. Which was probably not a good plan, I probably should have done it after school so he could have the weekend to, like, process or whatever. But I can’t take it back now, I guess.”

“Hey, look at it this way: if you’d waited then you’d have spent the day fretting, and that’s worse than what he got. Plus you might’ve overthought things and not gone through with it. Good on you for getting it over with.”

She doesn’t seem like she believes you; she nods absently, keeps her attention fixed on the work before her. You decide to go for a different approach.

“How’d he take it?”

Ayame makes a face.

You chuckle quietly. “That bad, huh?”

“He was awful. Told me I was a bad girlfriend anyway. Said I was all distant, I guess? Like, we were dating for two weeks. He really can’t judge that. And—and if I was that bad, why didn’t he break up with me first? Would’ve saved me the trouble…”

“How’re you feeling, though?”

“Uh, good, honestly?” She shoves her hands in her pockets, then seems to realize just how dirty they are and removes them, instead moving to brush them off over the seeds she’d just planted. “I mean, all things considered. Also I’m not supposed to know but Riko told me Uncle got me purin from my favorite bistro to cheer me up, so. Great? I guess?”

“Food solves all of life’s woes,” you tell her sagely, and she huffs a laugh. “Really, though, I’m proud of you. Breakups are hard on everyone involved, including the one who does it. It’s a difficult decision to make, but I think you made the right one.”

Again she makes a face, this one even more exaggerated. “Don’t be weird.”

“I’m not being weird! I just think you made a mature choice and I’m proud of you!”

“Yeah, okay.” Despite the dismissive tone, her next words are clearly genuine as she sidles up next to you. “Thanks for the advice, weirdo.”

“You’re always welcome.” You nudge her softly, drawing a smile from her surly face with ease. “I’m just glad it helped.”

She nods. The pair of you fall silent for a moment, you returning your attention to the seeds you’ve just planted and her simply squatting next to you watching you work.

Then a voice calls out her name.

“Ayame!”

You both startle, whipping about to find Bakugo standing at the top of the stairs, arms crossed. Though his face is stern, he doesn’t seem angry—no more so than typical, anyway—and the call of her name hadn’t been particularly irate either.

“Set the table,” he orders, then turns to go back down before Ayame has even acknowledged him.

She huffs audibly, and mumbles a snippy response under her breath even as she stands to do as he asked. “Couldn’t even say please? Like living with a drill sergeant.”

Despite yourself, and the knowledge that laughing will only encourage her, you snort in amusement. Luckily he couldn’t have heard either her comment or your reaction—Ayame does, though, and you catch a hint of a smile as she walks over to the stairs where Bakugo waits.

He lets her go down first, then follows, though not before locking eyes with Riko and telling her to behave for you—and then giving you a curt nod before ducking down.

Riko is entirely occupied with her broken-down planter box. It’s funny, you think (adorable, even) how much she enjoys the dirt, when her other primary loves have always been pastel pink and sparkles. Considering her quirk, though—and her mother’s—it makes sense. You suppose you ought to be happy she’s not using it to explode half your garden. Instead, she’s tearing up the weeds from the dirt and using them to make what you’re fairly certain are dolls; little stick figures with arms and legs made of stems and flowers as heads, which she’s moving around in piles of dirt. If you asked, you’re certain each pile would have a convoluted, highly detailed story behind it, explanations for what structures they are and what the different dolls are doing within them. You choose to leave her alone.

Instead you focus your attention back on gardening. While the conversation with Ayame had, obviously, been important to have, you hadn’t actually gotten much work done during it; too busy talking.

So you take the time now to actually garden. There’s mulch to be added, leaves to trim back, plants to water. You tentatively have hope that you’ve fixed the blossom end rot that had been plaguing your tomatoes, though it’s a bit too early to be fully certain of it.

You get to the eggplant, however, and realize that while you hadn’t anticipated it, it’s ready for harvest. You’d brought up the right tools to do it, a pair of shears, but they’re not on your person—they’re over in the pile of supplies you’ve left near the top of the stairs.

Now, you could go get them yourself. But there’s a certain child in the vicinity that you’d like to get to help out at least a little.

“Riko, sweetie,” you call out, “there’s a pair of shears over there that I need. Could you hand them to me? The orange ones?” You reach out your palm and wait for her.

But it’s not an eight year old’s hand that gives you the shears. The hand that reaches out is far too large—larger than your own, even, hardened with rough work and attached to a massive forearm that also couldn’t belong to a little girl. You yelp in shock, yanking your hand back and dropping the tool in the process.

Bakugo grumbles as he stoops to pick it up and you’re left reeling with your hand pressed flush against your chest where your heart hammers rapidly beneath your ribs.

“It’s just me, dumbass.” He holds the packet of seeds out for you again, scowling all the while.

“I didn’t know you were still up here, prick.” There’s a number of more obscene insults you might have employed if not for Riko still hovering in the vicinity, but unlike her father you refuse to encourage that kind of language from her. It doesn’t escape him; his eyes crinkle and his mouth twitches in what must be him holding back laughter. Your own eyes narrow as you stare at him. There are more pressing matters either way—such as how he in all his pro hero muscle managed to climb back up the metal staircase to the roof without making a sound. It’s worth asking. “How are you so quiet when you’re that big?”

“Trade secret.”

The only response you have to give to that answer is a low hum—not quite dismissive, but certainly unamused. You make an attempt to turn your attention back to the box before you, seeds in hand, but Bakugo doesn’t stay quiet for long.

“Riko,” he says suddenly, drawing the girl’s attention from her little floral dolls. “Go help your sister set the table.”

She pouts a little, but with a stern look from her father she’s quickly tossing the handmade doll in her hand to the side, rising to her feet, and darting off back towards the top of the stairs where, you realize, Ayame hovers and is clearly waiting for her—she must have come back up with Bakugo, you think. On her way over, Riko pauses briefly near Bakugo to stand up on her tip-toes and pull him down so that she can press a kiss to his cheek. You smile a little at the sight, at how he caves to her tugging so easily, and at how Ayame beckons her to lead her down the stairs—they’re steep, a little rickety, and you’re glad that Ayame is making Riko go first to ensure she stays safe. They disappear down, the metallic sound of their feet tapping on the iron rungs fading as they descend.

And then you realize that Bakugo is still standing before you, watching you as if waiting for something.

“Is there… a reason you’ve stayed? Need to tell me something?” you ask, but he remains stubbornly silent, still scowling, not quite meeting your eye. You sigh quietly, this time turning away from him entirely to focus on the dirt before you, and mutter under your breath, “Okay. Nice chat.”

There’s a kind of tension in the air. You can’t quite place what it is, but you can feel his stare on your back like the midday sun, and you have a funny feeling that if you were to turn around he’d be wearing an expression on his face like he’d smelled something funny. The only thing you can do, you decide, is continue until he eventually says what he wants to say or gives up and leaves. Luckily you don’t have to wait nearly as long as you feared.

“Was wonderin’ if you wanted to join us for dinner,” he says after a few minutes. You pause in your work.

“Huh?”

“Dinner,” he repeats. “You got plans or d’you wanna eat with us?”

Now you stand fully, staring at him with your mouth a little slack. “Oh! I’d, uh—I’d love to! I was hoping to finish planting tonight, though.”

“How much?”

“What?”

He rolls his eyes at you. “How much planting, dumbass. How much time.”

“Um, well, like half an hour if I’m doing it—”

“Then I’ll help.” Bakugo nods decisively. “Food can wait ten minutes.”

Arrogant—for reducing the time to one third by virtue of his help—you might say teasingly if you weren’t half in shock. Instead you nod silently, mouth a little slack, and gesture towards the pile of supplies at the edge of your planter boxes before lowering yourself again to return to your previous task. In your peripheral, you can see him retrieve what you can only assume is gloves and perhaps a trowel before he returns to your position.

Crouching down next to you, he sets to work by your side.

It’s silent for a while. He doesn’t seek direction nearly as much as you had expected; that’s a pleasant surprise, not needing to handhold him through helping you. The other pleasant surprise is that the quiet between you two isn’t awkward. It’s comfortable, easy. There’s no air of awkwardness lingering, or any hovering inability to speak. That’s proven, if anything, by Bakugo breaking it quite suddenly halfway through the work.

“She broke up with him.”

You pause. Ayame, surely, hadn’t informed him; that leaves only one option. “Riko told you?”

He grumbles inaudibly towards the dirt in front of him, and you suppress a laugh. It doesn’t work; he shoots you a glare that has no heat.

“Shaddup,” he barks at you with a scoff. “Ayame told you herself, then?”

“I think she likes me more than you,” you tell him smugly, earning yourself a second scoff, this one louder.

“Y’don’t gotta rub it in. Riko tells me everything, anyway.”

“Mmm. Smart, getting the little one in your pocket. They do teach you some good tricks at those hero schools, huh?”

The huff you get this time is certainly laughter. He nudges you with his shoulder—just like Ayame had done, you note with silent amusement and perhaps an equal amount of affection, though admittedly this one leaves an ache beneath your skin that she certainly hadn’t managed—and doesn’t budge a millimeter when you return the gesture.

“You still owe Tadeo a month’s worth of those treats, though.”

“Hah?”

“Your little scheme worked, that was what finally convinced her. I can’t take all the credit. Though,” you add, pretending to think carefully, “he is my dog, so I think I get half credit for that trick anyway—”

“Absolutely fuckin’ not,” he interrupts. “Riko was my assistant, if anyone gets half credit it’s her.”

That gets you to burst into laughter. He says it so seriously; as if he were genuinely offended you hadn’t given his daughter the recognition she deserved.

“Okay,” you say through your peals of laughter, “okay, that’s true. But I really do have to hand it to you. It was smart. Maybe smarter than my own approach.”

“Nah, you told ‘er what she needed to learn. She needed that, too. And she ain’t gonna fuckin’ hear it from me, even if I’m right.” He pauses, then rolls his eyes and huffs angrily. “Scratch that, ‘specially if I’m right. She listens to you more.”

It isn’t as if you can refute that. Though, to be fair to him, his ability to bond with Ayame is weighed down to an extent you’ll never have. Even if you don’t know every detail, that much is abundantly clear.

“She’ll come around,” you say finally, and though you can’t possibly guarantee it you’re pretty sure it’s the truth. “Eventually.”

And he grunts, a tentative agreement. You both fall back into that comfortable silence.

Ayame and Riko have to venture back up to fetch the pair of you, lost as the pair of you become in working together. You haven’t become so absorbed in gardening with another person, you realize, since your grandfather’s health had grown so poor he’d been unable to maintain the prosperous garden you’d been accustomed to while attending university. It isn’t until Ayame’s voice calls your name, and Riko calls for her father, that you realize how dark it’s become.

The feeling that blooms in your chest as you watch Bakugo pluck Riko from the roof and swing her into his arms to carry her inside, as you gesture for Ayame to go down ahead of you and follow behind as she tells you what they made for dinner, is a little odd but warm. You think maybe you’d like for this to be your new normal.

[agendabymooner]

colour me your colour || toto w. x ofc (4)

Summary:  Tilly Marie nearly loses faith in her passion as she refuses to listen to everyone who told her to quit. Everyone but one. And it’s the man she met years ago at a racing event she didn’t want to attend. Who would have thought that her father’s partial ownership of three brands could take her to the zone of Mercedes and meet the love of her life?

Chapter summary: Can you actually fall in love fast? or is Tilly just fortunate enough to catch Toto's attention and gain his respect and determination in span of a day? As of this point, she might as well host a slumber party as Daniel and Lewis continue to pester her with the most important topics of her life right now: her family and the hypothetical ones she'd make with Toto.

Content warning: Age gap, brief use of explicit language, discusses the 2014 austrian gp, flirtatious banter, mutual pining kind of romance, platonic relationship with Lewis Hamilton and Daniel Ricciardo, fictional family and business involved (Hearth family and Hearth Automotives Group). NO PERSONAL RELATIONSHIPS INVOLVED SORRY

Note: Thank you all so much for the 50 followers! I honestly have been writing these just because I didn't have anything occupy my time and it's a good idea that I posted them up here. knowing that you're enjoying my brain's ideas, it fuels me even more into writing. As of this point I'm currently writing a spin-off for Rush and this series so keep an eye out, I suppose. I hope you all enjoyed today's race because I certainly did (Albon was way too fucking good this weekend, I shit you not). And I hope Alonso's 2nd place makes up for the Father's Day that I'll never get to spend with him. Enjoy xx

masterlist

iv. fast lane but not the race weekend kind

“Regards,

Tilly Marie F. Hearth…”

That should be okay, I tell myself silently as I put away my laptop. It’s only 6 pm, and I already wish to retire to my bed early. 

I can be doing a lot, but instead I’m moping inside my hotel room while I’m waiting for Lewis. Being on a paid vacation is nice; I don’t have to do anything and deal with people. But at the same time, I’m craving more tasks to occupy my time because truthfully, I do NOT want to be stuck in a hotel in Silverstone with nothing to do. I spent my early 20’s being away from people, but now I’m entering my early 30’s, I’m slowly thinking that I probably should’ve done more than attend festivals by myself or with my sisters.

None of the people I was around with earlier had looked my way until after they'd been told that I was working in communications and was a boss’ child. The staff from the other teams also did the same—but some of them knew who I was already and had already made themselves comfortable. Just how I wanted.

But then again, this is my first day. And Sunday would probably be my last considering that I’ll be back to my stuffy office the next week. 

I can take up the role as a consultant for communications. My father did offer me that role for Ferrari, Red Bull and McLaren—telling me that I can do so much more in Formula One than my no-good employers. 

Bunch of bullshit, I curse out. He wouldn’t let go of his legacy like that. 

I already told him about writing for magazines or simply writing in general, but he still placed these executive positions in front of me as if he knew I’d give in. Sad fact is that he actually is right; I’m close to giving up on my job. If The Devil Wears Prada didn’t warn me the first time, Lauren Weisberger should have at least taken both of my shoulders and shaken them. 

It didn’t hurt to think about balancing Formula One and journalism out. After all, it’s what I can do as a journalist—know enough about racing and engines and ensure that my knowledge is being shared through my writing and published works. 

I try my best to relax in my bed, lying flat on the mattress with my hands resting on my stomach. The silence is deafening and I can hear my steady breathing. My eyes are growing tired as they continue to look up at the ceiling of my room. 

For a moment, I debated whether or not I should come downstairs for dinner with Lewis. If there’s anything that I know about him, he takes his dear time to get ready—and I have an endless closet at home. That’s telling you a lot. 

A knock on my door makes me stand fast and rush to open it. Daniel Ricciardo stands there with a grin.

“Oh you,” I blurt out.

Displeased with my response, Daniel cries out, “I’m not terrible all the time, Tils.” 

“Sorry,” I shake my head as I correct myself, “I meant that I thought you were Lewis.”

“He phoned me and said we should head down instead of waiting for him,” he shrugs as he sticks his arm out and offers, “let’s go?” 

I nod and head to where my flats are, slipping them on with ease as I grab my keycard and wallet. 

Daniel only pulled his arm back when I wrapped my arm around it. We descend to the ground floor where the restaurant is located. 

A host takes us to a four table seat at a corner. Seeing familiar faces from the venue, I nod at them as a greeting before I find myself sitting across Daniel. 

Soon enough, Lewis arrives and we begin to talk about today’s events. Forty five minutes had passed, and we found ourselves conversing in front of our already empty plates. 

Daniel asks about my family and all I can tell him has something to do with my mother’s side of the family. I guess out of the wealthy people in my family, I can understand my mother’s connections to the automobile industry. My toxic trait is that I despise my father but love my mother.

The difference is that my mother loves us more than anything and cares for our half-sister more than he does. 

But it seems Daniel has focused on a different matter.

“Your mother is— you’re a Ford, Tils,” his eyes widen like an owl as his mouth gapes open. I can practically see a fly entering his mouth. 

“My mum is,” I laugh, looking at Lewis as he, too, laughs at Daniel’s shocked expression. 

“Mate, she’s a Ford,” Daniel reaches out to nudge at Lewis and gestures at me. “You carry that information around just like that?” 

“She’s not really putting it out there for everyone to know,” Lewis chuckles, sipping on his water as he puts it down. “Besides, if you were really into racing you probably have heard about her dad or mum’s family one way or another.”

“I don’t really go digging for information about old money families,” Daniel rolls his eyes as he looks at me again, “you don’t look like you’re happy to be here. For someone who came from families who are into cars.”

“My father insisted on having me work for his teams,” I tell him, “I’m not exactly the brightest for motorsport. I prefer the media more than what my father wishes me to pursue.”

“Have you raced before?” 

“I had a karting career at some point,” I shrug, “or at least I started at the age 4. Mum didn’t agree with it and I should’ve started at 7, but my father insisted. I was already competing by 7. My sisters were too, but some preferred equestrian over racing.”

“If my dad was a twat, I’d stop it just to spite him too,” Daniel says as I raise my brows at the statement. He then corrects himself, “What I mean is I’d pursue the karting career for me, not for him.”

“Gotcha.”

Lewis pipes up, “Blanche is a pretty decent woman. You should see her, mate.” He turns to look at me and asks, “Is she coming this weekend?” 

“With Aimee and Sylvie,” I nod in confirmation, “I’m not quite sure about Stevie yet but she wouldn’t want to miss out on your home race.” Not elaborating any further, I return to the topic, “My father is absolutely baffled when I quit karting but he can’t do much because Poppy, my mum’s dad, was still alive. So between him and Poppy, he chose not to interfere.” 

“But you’re still here on behalf of your father though,” Daniel points out.

“It’s to secure my position and family’s future,” I tell him with a sigh. I look at him then back at Lewis before I say, “Whether I like it or not, I still need to do my part regardless of how much I hate the surname. It’s an obligation that I can’t avoid but it’s alright. It’s not just for me— it’s for my sisters and my future children.” Wow, I’ve only been friends with Daniel for a month and I’m already airing out my dirty laundry to him. Is this what happens when your friends are your sisters and just Lewis?

“You’re taking your elder sister role way too seriously. You can’t even catch a break,” Daniel says incredulously. 

I can only nod as I agree; my mother’s capable enough of worrying about them and I should just be doing whatever I want. She cares for my sisters as much as I do but being cut off from my father’s side of the family isn’t something that I’d allow. 

It’s not as if my sisters don’t want to join me at the trackside; they want to keep an eye on one of each team in fact. They want to be able to know what kind of thing our father brags about. But much like me, they don’t want to be on the track itself—they’re better off being models because that's what they wanted to be. They’ll join me soon enough, they just need to make a career out of modelling and come to work for the driving teams whenever they’re ready. 

“They’ll be in a lot of magazines soon enough,” I shrug nonchalantly. “I’d like them to do that first unless they feel like carrying a headache coming from either Brown or Horner.”

“There are three of them,” Lewis chuckles, “if anything, those three would outnumber your team principals. With you alone I got scared, could you imagine Sylvie? She’s feisty.” 

“It’s not just to keep them sane,” I roll my eyes, my foot underneath the table kicking Lewis in the leg. The table shakes lightly. “I just started working in this kind of industry. What kind of a big sister would I be if I’m just as clueless? I need to know more, especially if I want to be able to teach my potential kids about it.”

Lewis, the piece of shit, decides that this is the right time to joke about it and say, “I didn’t know you’re already thinking about a future with my boss, Tilly.” 

I snap my head to Lewis’ direction too much that I’m thinking I just got a whiplash. My glare hardens when Danny and Lewis’ faces turn red from laughing too much. 

“You ought to quiet down, boys,” I hiss, not wanting to look at the people who are giving us the unnecessary attention being gathered by their laughter.

“You have to admit,” Lewis breathes deeply to refrain from laughing again, “you two got along well. Was it because of Dubai?” 

“I told you that in confidence,” reaching down in his thigh, I pinch it as he whines quietly. He slaps my hand away as I say, “You’re a shit secret keeper.”

“Wai— what about Dubai?” Daniel, clearly not understanding what’s going on, asks as he looks at me while he expects a context. 

I muttered to him, “Met Toto Wolff in 2006. Spoke to him and all that.” 

Lewis nearly cries in laughter as he speaks, “She told me about it years ago. She never knew his name–or she refused to tell me who. She said he was attractive alright but—ow, stop it, Tils.”

I pull myself away from Lewis and sit back straight on my seat as I claim, “He doesn’t remember nor think of me like that, Lew. He’s just a silly crush.” 

“Is he?” 

“He was,” I correct him even if I’m wrong. It’s like Toto Wolff got an on-and-off button in my life. One moment he’s there making me blush the next thing he’s already gone. 

“You’ve been single for as long as I know,” Lewis huffs out, “why don’t you try dating again anyways?”

“With your boss?” I raise a brow, “Are you that obtuse?”

“What? He isn’t bad,” Lewis shrugs, returning to his usual composure as he crosses his arms, “the opportunity’s right there. Why are you adamant on not taking it?”

“Because she doesn’t want to get on Christian’s bad side for fraternizing with the enemy,” Daniel jokes. 

“I’m gonna kill you, Daniel,” I threaten him emptily, making him giggle again. 

“I’m repeating what you said!” He cries out, still laughing as he laughs obnoxiously. Men! Seriously.

“He’s quite interested you know,” Lewis states, his arms now crossing as he leaned against his seat. “He’s playing 20 questions with me whenever you leave. I’m not sure if he’s interested in me winning or you.” 

“He’s not interested like that,” I insist, “I’m sure he means well because I just popped up all of the sudden today. Nobody likes to step on the wrong foot of a newcomer. You’ll just make an enemy.”

“Yeah, sure,” Daniel scoffs haughtily, “the guy who’s been asking Christian questions about you left and right— the same person who doesn’t like Christian— isn’t interested.” 

“I haven’t been in a relationship with anyone since 2004,” I scowl, trying to keep my voice quiet as I say, “What makes you think I’ll be able to have an interesting relationship with him?” 

“He isn’t subtle about wanting to spend time with you,” Lewis answers, “what did he say again? You’re welcome to be in our paddock anytime? Does that ring a bell?”

Of course I do, I almost huff out, it’s one of the things that I intend to do. Be able to spend enough time admiring his team…

“I know men,” Daniel adds, “and with the way of how he’s looking down at you during the interview? With the heart eyes making contact with another pair of heart eyes? Yeah, that man is in loooove~”

“Like it’s a fast lane.”

Now I can’t deny it. 

I like being around Toto Wolff, more than anything. Speaking to him is like a breath of fresh air after stepping out of a cigar lounge. He’s a gentleman; I’ve always wondered how he’s not married. Women deserve him. Yet he’s here, being the most eligible bachelor in the grid following Fernando Alonso. God, I will snatch him up if I can even meet his level. I doubt he likes his women like me… trashy trying to be classy.

But it turns out, my cynicism is unnecessary. I find myself thinking a lot about the things that could be. In an empty elevator, I wait as it slowly closes. But the call from outside forces me to keep the door open until the person catches up. 

The man makes it inside as he stands tall, trying to catch his breath. There’s no way in hell—

“Tilly,” oh my god. I’m seeing too much of him today. 

I turn to my left as I dumbly ask, “Bonjour, what floor?” 

Toto looks at me with confusion in his face, probably wondering if I’m playing stupid or just stupid in general as he looks past me and says, “You’ve got it.” 

Wow, not only am I seeing too much of him, I’m also on the same floor as him. 

I nod and look back at the front, I can see him through the reflection from the doors. His polo remains unbuttoned and his hair unruly after running his fingers through it. I can see traces of sweat dripping down his forehead. I probably shouldn’t do a physical examination on him.

I look at him and ask politely, “Have you had dinner yet?” It’s a polite thing to ask, right? Like I’m not coming off as desperate to speak to him?

“Ah,” he keeps his mouth shut for a second and answers, “it is something to take up in my room, unfortunately.”

“Is it?” I ask out of curiosity, “You could have joined others for dinner?” 

“Busy, as always,” he smiles sadly, “it’s an endless battle.”

“Quite a shame,” I tell him with a shake of my head. “Do people know time zones or just business hours or is it just something written on papers?” I ask no one in particular.

“My brain doesn’t shut off the moment 7 pm hits,” he tells me with a rueful smile. “It calls for work all the time. So, no. I don’t follow my own business hours policy.” God, I feel sorry for him. 

“It’s like a wire, Toto,” I nibble on my bottom lip, not knowing how to express my empathy without looking like an arse, “you can’t plug it back in if you’ve something to prevent it from happening. Like a baby proof.” 

“You’re right,” he laughs. “What do you suggest I should do? The baby proof, I mean.”

I watch him as the door slides open, thanking him as he gestures for me to walk out of the lift first. Then my mouth does not stop speaking, “Have a dinner away from your work, for instance. Never hurts to isolate your work once in a while,” he laughs at that, “read a book? I love reading novels— I am currently skimming through Das Parfum. You can even time your break before going back to work because I can assure you that habit isn't good.” 

“Do you understand the German language?” He asks me. Mentioning Das Parfum clearly piqued his curiosity. 

It was smart of me to bring it up. When he told me earlier that he came from Austria, I knew I could talk to him in so many languages. Like I knew what I should say next. Like a mastermind.

I'm such a fucking mastermind.

My mouth quirks up and I answer, “Wir haben schließlich viele deutsche fahrer.” We have a lot of German drivers, after all.

He nods at me like he listens to everything I tell him. As if he’s following an order or he’s rather impressed with my pronunciations. Nice. 

Our conversation leads us in front of my hotel room. 

I look at him and gestures to the door, “This is my bat lair.”

“Bat lair?” He chuckles.

“My little humble abode,” I joke. “I can unfortunately hear my bed calling for me. I have to go.” 

“Right,” he nods as I open my door and step inside my room. Telling myself to get my shit together, I turn around to see him still waiting for me to head in. That was a surprise. 

I suggest, “One way to turn your stressful work day around would be breakfast. If you’d like, you can have one with me tomorrow?” 

“Are you asking me on a breakfast date?” He teases, watching me fall apart with my face flushing red. He stops eventually and answers, “I would be more than happy to accompany you before we head out.” 

“Okay good,” I laugh nervously, “I’ve no one else with me anyways so there’s that… does seven sound okay?” 

“You can ask me for anything I think I’ll say yes, liebling,” boom. There goes my heart once more. He grins gleefully as he says, “I know a place nearby. Would you like me to pick you up tomorrow?” 

“As far as I know I’m the one who asked you first,” I roll my eyes in a joking manner, smile escaping my lips. 

“I’d love to have you pick me up but I know the place,” he tells me with a shrug. “Besides, it’s by the tracks. We can head down there together before they start piling up for the day.” 

Not wanting to fluster myself anymore, I nod almost eagerly and he exclaims, “I’m looking forward to it.” 

“Have a good night, bello. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, schatz. Sweet dreams.”

Oh I really am going to have the sweetest dreams ever. Trust me. 

[bucci-cookies]

A Trip To Naples - Bruno Bucciarati x Reader

Here is a commission piece I did where the reader goes on a trip to Italy and falls in love with a lovely stranger :)

Naples: the birthplace of pizza, home of the famous Amalfi Coast and, of course, the destination of your impulsive getaway. With the stress of work pushing down on your shoulders, you needed some sort of break; those winning tickets couldn’t have come at a better time. Three weeks living in the bustling Campanian city in an all-expenses paid hotel was a perfect way to spend your annual vacation time.

One of the highlights of Naples was its colourful markets: picturesque stalls and shops lining the cobblestoned streets selling various trinkets, clothing and flowers. You found yourself in the Market of Antignano, deep in the centre of Vomero. The jovial sellers beckoned you over to look at the various slippers, cosmetics and linen sitting on the displays, eager to squeeze some money out of you before lunch. An elderly woman with thick black hair selling keyrings waved at you, shaking one of them in her hand. It was a cute little thing, a brown plastic bear holding a red heart between its paws, all connected to the metal ring. You figured that you might as well replace your old worn-out one with a new souvenir.

“Questo è perfetto per voi zucca!” She smiled, placing the ring in your hand. To your knowledge, she said it was perfect for you.

“Il mio Italiano…non è buono” You laughed awkwardly. The only fault in this seemingly perfect holiday was that you only had very little knowledge of the language. You could say enough to scrape by, but in this case, you found it easier to say you don’t know the language well.

“Ah! You speak English, zucca?” The woman asked, not phased by your inability to speak her Italian.

You sighed loudly, thankful that you could converse in a language you understood. “Yes, I do. Sorry, this is my first time in Italy.”

“Oh? How lovely!” She beamed, giving you a toothy grin. She looked down at her watch, 1 pm, almost time to close up for today. "Have you got somewhere to go for lunch?"

"Nowhere, in particular. I'll just walk around and see what looks nice." You had researched local places to eat earlier. Most of them were within the same vicinity so you planned to go to whatever seemed less busy to avoid long queues.

"Zucca, you must go to Libeccio!" She shook your hand, almost like her life depended on you going there. "It's marvellous, oh you'll love it!" She squealed. "Plus," She said with a  smirk, "it's owned by such a sweet young man, Bucciarati. He's so graceful and kind, you’ll love him!”

You remember searching up Libeccio - it was a beautiful restaurant, though you were worried it was a little out of your price range. It screamed expensive from the pictures you saw online. Well, you were on holiday, you might as well allow a little bit of luxury. You paid for the keyring, placing it in the side pocket of your bag before waving the kind woman off as she packed up her stall for the day.

Libeccio was about a ten-minute walk away, allowing you to explore parts of the region a bit more. You took note of some stylish boutiques along the way, thinking about how your wardrobe could do with a revamp. As well as some grocery stores for if you ever needed a snack.

Libeccio, unsurprisingly, was an Italianate-style building. Bay windows with pink and shamrock-like decorative window trims along both stories of the tawny-coloured building. The inside had half-cream half-dark oak walls, and a soft crimson carpet covering the entire dining area. It was a little intimidating to see so many well-dressed people sitting together. Eating meals you probably couldn’t pronounce and drinking wines you had never heard of. You felt like you stuck out like a sore thumb. You swallowed the lump in your throat and made your way to the waiting table where one of the floor workers stood, writing some notes in a large black book. He greeted you with a wide smile as his hazel eyes and tanned skin shone under the bright lights that reflected off his silver name badge that read ‘Alejandro’. He held up a finger, presumably asking you if you were the only diner, to which you nodded. Before you could get a word in, he placed you on a two-seater table near one of the windows with a menu and a glass of water to get you started.

You opened the sleek black booklet, revealing extensive lists of appetisers, starters, mains and desserts, all in clean, fancy, Italian writing. The best thing you could do was whip out Google and try to search for all these meals. You tried to note what sounded best, whittling down the list as best as you could, but you barely scratched the surface of the menu when the waiter returned, asking if you would like to order. With an embarrassed blush, you tried to explain how you were struggling to read the menu. But it seemed like he couldn’t understand you, especially over the noisy restaurant.

You didn’t notice that this interaction had caught the attention of a group of men who sat a couple of tables down from yours. “Scusi.” A sultry voice said. You looked up to see a tall man with darker skin standing next to the waiter. The mas w `A`1as dressed in a cropped sweater and sleek black jeans, offering a perfect view of his toned abdomen. His hair was thick and curly, framing his roundish face and drawing attention to his dark eyes. The man whispered something to the waiter, making him run off, before pulling a chair next to you.

“Buongiorno signora. Are you having trouble with your menu? I see you switching between it and your phone.” Before you could begin to question who this man was and how he knew you would speak English, he took the menu from your hands and began flicking through the pages before tapping one of the options. “This is gravlax bella, it's just cured salmon, comes in thin slices.” He turned over the page. “Ah and capricciosa! You’ve got mushroom, artichokes, baked ham, olives, my absolute favourite!” He said with gusto as he scooched a little closer to you. Truth be told, you didn’t feel too comfortable in this situation, a strange man in a strange country acting so familiar with you made you uneasy. And the way he so easily managed to get rid of the waiter rubbed you the wrong way, who knows what his intentions were? You simply tucked your lips in and nodded at his rambling about the menu, thankful that you at least had some options to order.

You avoided eye contact with the strange man until suddenly his voice stopped. You looked over to see another man standing behind him, one with lighter skin and short black hair. “Mista,” He sighed, his voice a smooth baritone, “la stai mettendo a disagio.” He whispered with a smile, squeezing the man’s shoulder. Instantly he looked back at you, bowing his head.

“I’m so sorry signora, I’ll get out of your way!” He dropped the menu back on the table and walked back to his original seat. He was met with the disapproving headshakes of the third man on the table. The new man moved the chair back to its original place opposite you before holding out a hand.

“Bruno Bucciarati, I’m the owner.” He shot you a dazzling smile. Thankful that he was at least affiliated with the restaurant and not another stranger, you calmly shook his hand. You had to admit, the woman from the market was right, he was handsome. His frame was tall and lean and he had a certain youthful essence in his speech and gestures. His hair was cut to his shoulders, neatly styled to form bangs that reached his thin black eyebrows. His eyes were the most noticeable feature on his face, soft blue ones surrounded by long lashes. If you had to guess, he was probably in his mid 20s. Part of you wondered how a young man like him could own such a lavish restaurant. “You’ll have to forgive my friend, he was only trying to help and he got a bit carried away.” Bruno turned around to face the man you now know to be Mista, presumably staring him down, before facing you again and rubbing the back of his neck with an awkward laugh.

“It’s fine, thank you for clarifying.” You smiled back. “I’m really glad we can speak in English, my Italian isn’t good at all.”

He cocked his head to the side, thin eyebrows furrowed. “You weren’t able to request a menu in English?”

Your jaw dropped slightly, realising this could have been resolved if you simply asked for a different menu. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know I could!” You pressed your hands against your cheeks in shame.

Bruno laughed gently, his shoulder relaxing, grateful that this wasn’t a staff complaint in the works. “It’s okay, I’m glad you know for next time, I will go get you one.” He came back shortly with an identical menu, this time with everything in English. “We get a lot of tourists here, so we print a couple menus in different languages, mainly English and French.”

“Thank you so much sir, it helps a lot.” You waved him goodbye as you flicked through the new one, picking up all of the meals you had missed out on earlier. You decided to give Mista’s suggestion a go, after all, he was just trying to be nice. A different waiter met you this time, a woman with her hair tied back in a long, blonde ponytail and an exuberant expression across on her face, ready to take your order: the capricciosa pizza, and a slice of chocolate cake with gelato for dessert.

By now the restaurant had more customers, different groups of people huddled around the tables, filling the room with the smell of their meals and another layer of noise above the soft music in the background. Couples, families and friends chuckled and chatted together, enjoying the lively mood that the Naples summer put into them as they shared glasses of wine and scrumptious desserts. It didn’t take long for your waitress to return with a piping hot thin crust pizza on a large round plate with a rich cheesy and meaty aroma exuding from it as she placed it in front of your nose. She refilled your glass of water, adding a few blocks of ice to cool you down as the weather had begun to increase, before leaving you to enjoy your meal.

You took a bite from one of the slices, enjoying how the base crunched in your mouth and sighed, it was incredible. The meat was perfectly seasoned and paired wonderfully with the assortment of vegetables. This particular version had an additional drizzle of olive oil, but to your delight, it didn’t make the dish greasy at all. You had never had a pizza as wonderful as this, you saw why that nice old lady recommended Libeccio to you, as well as why Naples is known as the pizza hotspot. It’s like the meal had some sort of hold on you, its smell wrapped around your body, making you focus on the rich ham and savoury sauce. You ordered one of the smaller sizes, making sure you had enough space for dessert, which was just as delightful. The cool vanilla gelato was a perfect pair for the thick, warm chocolate cake. You always tried to limit your sugar intake, not wanting to sacrifice your health for a few treats, but it didn’t take long for your sweet tooth to activate and completely devour the rich cake.

“Did you enjoy your meal?” Mr Bucciarati returned once your plates had been cleared, sitting on the chair opposite you. “I hope everything was to your taste?” He placed his elbow on the table, resting his head on his hand.

While wiping your lips with a napkin, you nodded enthusiastically. “I did! I guess your friend was right about the capricciosa, it’s really amazing!” You definitely planned to return to Libeccio soon, especially since it wasn’t as expensive as you thought it would be.

His cerulean eyes lit up as a toothy grin formed. Libeccio had been his favourite restaurant since he was young. When he bought the establishment from the previous owner, he spared no expense to continue to do its name justice, not wanting to cut any corners regarding the quality of service or food as some would do. “Well I’m glad you liked it, it’s one of my favourites too.” He leaned in a little towards you, clearing his throat. “Can I ask, is this your first time in Italy?”

You paused a little before replying. “Yes. I never travel much, it’s far too expensive these days. I actually won these tickets in a lottery.”

He gave an understanding nod before switching to another beaming smile. “Ahh well that’s lucky, Naples is one of the best cities here. Call me biased since I grew up here, but I thoroughly prefer it to cities up north.” He folded his arms against his chest with a jokingly smug expression on his face. To Bruno, no amount of glitz and glam in Florence or Milan could match the warm pleasure that Naples made in his heart.

“Well, I’m glad I’m in the right place.” You smiled, turning to face him a little more.

“May I ask where you’re from?”

With slight hesitation, you revealed your home country to the kind stranger, watching his eyes light up at your words.

He leaned forward, resting both elbows on the table. “Oh? I hear how beautiful it is there, especially in the Spring. I have an old friend who moved to,” He snapped his fingers as he tried to recall the name. “It’s escaped me now, but you know the small town in the south, the one with all the mountains and forests? I had a friend who moved there when we were younger. We would send each other postcards when we were little.” Bruno didn’t have many friends his age, especially as he grew up in a quieter area with an older population. This meant he cherished the few he had greatly. When his friend Mikhail moved away due to his father getting a job abroad, they vowed to always send each other letters and postcards. Sadly, this was cut short when he was twelve. You were familiar with the town he was referring to having visited there several times. It was a gorgeous area, filled with a lively artistic and historical culture, as well as being one of the largest cities from your home.

“Were you given any sort of activity list? Things to do here?” Bruno asked, fiddling with his fingers.

You shook your head. “Nothing, in particular, I don’t really know where to start.” You simply planned to rely on whatever the Internet suggested.

“If you would like anyone to go with you or show you some nice places, I’d be more than happy to show you around.”

“Oh no that’s completely fine! I don’t want to intrude on your schedule.” You grit your teeth, not wanting to inconvenience the lovely owner.

He scoffed with a light-hearted tone, shaking his head. “No, it's fine! You won’t be interrupting anything, I promise.” He paused, briefly before pulling a pen out of his shirt pocket and writing something on a napkin. “Here, this is my number. If you would like to go anywhere or need an idea, I would be more than willing to help.” He neatly folded it and handed it to you. “You don’t have to agree, this is just a suggestion! I know that being in a new country can be hard and sometimes daunting.” He quickly explained, holding his hands up as if to prove that this was just an innocent suggestion. The last thing he wanted was to make you feel as overwhelmed by a stranger as you did when Mista approached you.

You took the napkin from him, placing it in your purse. “Thank you Mr Bucciarati.” There was something about him that made it easy to talk to him: maybe it was his calm body language or his soft facial expressions, but it felt nice talking to him. In your gut, he seemed like a good guy. Besides, it would be nice to have a native speaker around to guide you.

“You can just call me Bruno by the way.” Usually, he was fine with being referred to as Bucciarati, but something in him felt like being less formal with you. “What can I call you?”

“y/n.”

He smiled and tilted his head to the side, causing his hair to fall slightly as he slowly repeated your name. “That’s such a beautiful name.”

**************************************************

It had been two days since you visited Libeccio, and still, the kind man’s napkin sat in your bag, stuffed underneath your purse. Bruno did seem nice, and at least he was the well-known owner of Libeccio, so he wasn’t a completely random stranger. It would be nice to have a personal tour guide, especially someone native to the area, it would also make your trip a lot less lonely. You pulled out the napkin and used the hotel phone to call him. After two rings, he picked up.

“Salve, Bucciarati parla.” He said, his voice was deep and groggy like he had just woken up and you could hear the sizzling of a frying pan in the background.

“Mr Bucciarati - Bruno?” You cleared your throat. “It’s y/n, I hope I didn’t call at a bad time.” You heard ceramic plates clanging against each other as well as the opening and closing of wooden drawers.

Bruno yawned before replying, rubbing his neck, soothing it after an uncomfortable night’s rest. “From Libeccio right?” His voice sounded a little chippier as he placed some bread in the toaster. He couldn’t deny that he was hoping you would call, at least this was something pleasant to start off his otherwise boring day.

“Mhm…I’m sorry I responded so late I-” 

“It’s fine, it was a bold move on my part.” He cut you off with a light chuckle as he spread some butter on a crisp slice of toast. He was never usually so forward, especially with new people, the last thing he wanted was to make you feel pressured or preyed on. “Does this mean that you’ve decided to take up my offer?”

“Yes.” You nodded, perching on the end of your double bed.

He was thankful that you couldn’t see the wide grin that spread across his face. “How do you feel about pasta making?” The kettle whistled in the background, steam bursting out of the spout before settling. “There’s a place in the Spanish Quarter, they do pasta-making sessions for pretty much anyone, they’re supposedly quite fun.” Bruno poured himself his usual morning drink, a cup of coffee with a little milk and a dash of honey. He had visited his area several times before, though never to attend a class.

The opportunity to be taught how to make a true Italian pizza did sound intriguing, and a public session would be a safe option to go with a stranger. You concluded that this would be a decent idea. “That sounds great! How much does it cost?” You eyed your purse, knowing that you put yourself on a reasonably tight budget.

“Don’t worry about that, I’ll cover you.” He said nonchalantly, taking a sip of his warm coffee.

“No no, I can’t just let you pay for me!”

Bruno let out another soft chuckle as took his usual seat on the sofa. “Don’t worry, the owner owes me anyways. So how does this afternoon sound?” He asked before taking a bite out of the soft buttered bread.

You turned to face the clock on the nightstand. “I can do two o’clock if that’s okay.”

“Meet me at Libeccio then.”

Bruno sat on a long wooden bench just outside the restaurant, arms resting on the back with his head tilted backwards. He wore a blue button-up shirt, opting to leave the top few buttons, exposing the top of his toned chest. Today was a lot warmer than the rest of the week, hence the cool lemonade sitting next to him with already melted ice cubes.

“Sorry I’m late!” You waved shyly, placing a hand on the bench. “I took a wrong turn and ended up at a marketplace.” An awkward laugh left your lips as Bruno sat up to face you, holding a hand above his eyes to avoid the glare of the Sun.

“No problem, the next bus will be here in a few minutes.” He smiled, looking down at his watch. You took a seat next to him, crossing your legs as you waited for the next bus to arrive. Libeccio was even busier than the last time you were there, the chatter from inside the restaurant poured out into the busy streets. This particular street seemed to be the centre of food service in the area, with cafes, bakeries and restaurants lining the road. Across from you was a small coffee shop with outdoor seating, while a dessert parlour with a white and lilac interior sat beside it. Through the window, you could see a group of kids and adults sitting in a booth enjoying an array of ice-creams and milkshakes, the perfect treat for such a hot day.

���That place does incredible cheesecakes,” Bruno’s voice caught your attention. “Probably the best you can get in Naples.” He pointed to the dessert place you were staring at.

“Do you go there often?” You asked, turning to face the man as he sipped his drink.

“Sometimes, when I have the chance. You should try it one day!” He gave you an enthusiastic grin. Libeccio only had limited dessert options, mainly a couple variations of cake with a simple scoop of vanilla gelato, but that wasn’t enough to soothe his sweet tooth. His usual order was a chocolate milkshake with a slice of either cheesecake or a brownie. The positions of Libeccio and  Più Golosi (Sweet Tooth) complimented each other well, a savoury and sweet place just across the street from each other, a perfect, tempting pair for customers.

Before you could respond, the small yellow bus pulled up to the stop, stuffed to the brim with a flood of travellers. The double doors swung open, releasing a swarm of people as they rushed to jump off the stuffy vehicle. As Libeccio was in the city centre, the majority of the travellers were ending their journeys here, leaving the bus nice and spacious for the two of you. Bruno led you to a seat in the middle of the bus, slightly behind a group of teenagers chatting away about whatever trip they were on. The bus drove slowly along the street, giving you a chance to gaze at the array of bright and beautiful buildings lining the road. Naples really was a gorgeous city, decorated in bright buildings of various styles: gothic, classical, italiante, modern. Its proximity to the water not only guaranteed you a few nice days at the beautiful beach, but it also meant that you would get some of the best seafood around. As schools were closed for the holidays, you weren’t surprised to see so many kids and teens walking around. Some were in swimwear, most likely from the aforementioned beach, while others were in various summer wear, laughing with friends over smoothies as they moved from shop to shop.

It didn’t take long to reach the place, a large stone building with several cars parked in front. Near one of the entrances was a tall man with cropped black hair, treating himself to a smoke break. “Cardinale.” Bruno waved at the man, causing him to look up from his lighter. On closer inspection, the man, Cardinale, had a large tattoo on his forearm reading “Frederica.”

“Bucciarati.” Cardinale nodded with a smile, walking towards the two of you. “Oh, you brought a friend?” He faced you, looking you up and down before reaching out a hand towards you. “Cardinale, as you have heard.”

You took his hand, noting his strong grip on your hand. “Y/n, a pleasure to meet you.”

“Lovely to meet you too,” He let go of your hand, looking down at his watch. “If you’re here for a class, the next one is in about five minutes, Angelica is leading. Just put on an apron and wait in the hall with the rest of the group.” He pointed you in the direction of the large entrance next to him. “Don’t worry about a fee.” He took a puff of his cigarette as he waved the two of you off.

Contrary to its rustic exterior, the inside of the culinary school was extremely modern and polished. In the long hallway stood a group of about ten people, presumably the other people joining the class, chatting amongst themselves. Along the wall was a line of aprons, well, what would have been a line of aprons if they hadn’t been taken by the rest of the group, you and Bruno helped yourselves to the last two.

The wooden door at the end of the hall swung open, revealing a young woman with thick curly hair, beckoning everyone in. “Welcome welcome! Come inside!” She held the door open for everyone, greeting each member as they entered the pristine kitchen. She was quite tall, with dark skin and hazel eyes, all complimenting the friendly smile spread across her face, revealing a set of pearly white teeth. “Two people to a bench, please wash your hands before you touch anything.”

By default, you and Bruno stayed as a pair, choosing one of the benches near the large arched windows. The woman introduced herself as Angelica, explaining that she was a final-year culinary student and would be leading this session. She took you through all the steps, from making the dough, to forming the various shapes and preparing the sauce. Bruno seemed to be a master already, calmly forming little portions of perfect gnocchi, enough to get some praise from Angelica as she walked around the benches. At first, you were dreading this, worried that you would be the only one to mess up the shapes. The first few pieces of garganelli came out rather flat or irregularly folded, but after the fourth one, you started to get the hang of it. You decided to mix it up with some gemelli, they were much easier than the radiatori which Bruno made.

“You’re so good at this.” You laughed awkwardly, eyeing the array of styles Bruno had made.

He scoffed in return. “I’ve been doing this for a long time, trust me when I say that I was worse than you when I first started.” He tutted loudly, realising he had squashed the riccioli in his hands. “As you can see, I still make mistakes.”

“I don’t think I’ll even attempt the ruote or the spighe.” Angelica had a camera set up at her station, it projected a birds-eye view of her work onto the screen slightly to the left of her. On her board were roughly thirty different types of pasta she made on the spot, ready to be cooked. They were all perfectly shaped with no sign of imperfections.

“Well, maybe when you return from your holiday you can continue practising. Being able to make pasta from home can save a lot of money sometimes.” 

“Do you make all of yours from scratch then?” You asked, using the pasta machine to flatten out a new section of dough.

“I try to if I have the time.”

You shook your head. “Owning a restaurant must take a lot of your time, I can’t imagine how much work goes into it.” You began sectioning out the dough for a batch of casarecce.

“Well yes…sort of.” Owning a restaurant was time-consuming, Bruno wouldn’t deny it. But it wasn’t the only thing that limited his time and availability. His position with Passione didn’t concern you, after all, you were a tourist and a stranger. Before the conversation could continue any further, Angelica called everyone’s attention to the front where she took everyone through the sauce.

It was a simple cream sauce with bacon, parmesan and swiss cheese, a perfect match for the pasta. While the food simmered in the separate posts, the opportunity arose for the group members to mingle with each other, only for a few minutes. You ended up conversing with the couple behind you, a pair of 19-year-old university students on a date. The four of you talked about the summer, they shared their plans to travel around Naples before returning to Rome for their studies. While you and Bruno explained that you were also on holiday here and he was showing you around.

Once everything was cooked and plated to Angelica’s standards, everyone made their way to the dining area just down the hall from the kitchen. You both sat by a round wooden table situated by a window, helping yourselves to the freshly squeezed juice offered. You squeezed your eyes shut, bracing for the worst as you took a bite of your dish. To your surprise it was delightful! The thick creamy sauce paired wonderfully with the light pasta, and the bacon gave an extra savoury crunch to the dish.

“See, I knew you weren’t as bad as you thought.” Bruno asked, topping up his glass of juice.

“I surprised myself honestly.” You laughed, collecting another forkful of food. “How is yours?” You noticed that he had already eaten half of his plate.

“As you can see, I thoroughly enjoyed it, it was lovely if I do say so myself.” He smirked proudly, his expression making you giggle. “Though I think I’ll add more vegetables to it if I remake it.” He ate another forkful.

The two of you conversed a little more as you cleaned up your plates and washed them up. Bruno was a real gentleman, even with the smallest things like holding the door open for you, he was a good listener and showed genuine interest in your stories about back home. There was something about him that made you very comfortable, he genuinely seemed like a friend to you, despite how little time you had known him for.

“Thank you so much for inviting me,” You said as you walked towards the bus stop. “I’m very grateful that you did this.” You rubbed the back of your neck shyly.

Bruno gave you a smile as he dug his hands into his pocket, “It’s no problem.” The bus back to Libeccio arrived and you both got on board. It was just as empty as it was when you got on it earlier, allowing the two of you to speak openly. “Y/n? While I enjoy your company and would love to show you more interesting places, I just hope you don’t pressured to meet with me. I know that being in a new country can be daunting and I don’t want you to feel unsafe around me.” Bruno said, squeezing the fabric of his trousers.

“Well, I’m thankful that you appreciate boundaries. I’d like to think I can trust you, I would like to see more places, its better than travelling all alone. You replied, resting your back against the window so you faced him.

The corners of his lips upturned lightly. “I would like that too.” He cocked his head to the side. “Just give me a call whenever you feel like meeting again.”

**************************************************

Today marked two weeks of your trip, and of those fourteen days, ten of them had been spent with Mr Bruno Bucciarati. After the success of the pasta-making class, you met up the next day to try out that dessert place you were looking at, Più Golosi. He treated you to an ice cream sundae with a fluffy waffle, while he had a tall glass of hot chocolate with a slice of carrot cake. The day after that, he took you through the underground world of the Napoli Sotteranea, through the ancient labyrinth of aqueducts, passages and cisterns, weaving through the narrow passages by candlelight. Later you visited some of the other marketplaces, trying out some of the local street food like cuoppo and graffa. Graffa was a kind of fried fluffy, potato-based doughnut covered with sugar. Cuoppo came in land and sea variations, with the land version consisting of potato crocché stuffed with cheese and ham, pasta zeppole, zucchini flowers, ricotta and scagliuozz, arancini rice and more. With the sea version contains squid and shrimp rings, seaweed fritters and fried fravaglietti. You both shared a love for music and art and expressed these through trips to the Museo e Real Bosco di Capodimonte and the busy busking-rich streets where guitarists and pianists were often found entertaining crowds dotting the area.

You and Bruno had grown closer over time, sharing more intimate sides of you over cups of coffee and walks through the shopping centres. You ended up meeting some of his friends, Giorno, Fugo and Mista. The latter you had already met through the awkward encounter in Libeccio, but you were thankful that now you had a more pleasant encounter with him. Mista was quite the comedian, loud and unhinged, while Giorno and Fugo were more mellow and casual like Bruno. You hit it off with them immediately, you bounced off each other quite well. You learnt about his childhood, how his parents were separated and he bought Libeccio just a couple of years ago; while letting him in on details of your life back in your home country. Bruno never pried into your personal affairs, always tiptoeing around anything that could seem intrusive (he didn’t even know which hotel you were staying at), respecting the boundaries set as new companions while remaining amicable. That little connection you felt to him when you first met had increased over time, and something inside you wanted to see him more and more. Maybe it was just a silly little crush, after all, having a handsome Italian gentleman showing you around the city would make anyone blush. And besides, you were on holiday, maybe the new scenery had changed you in a way. Regardless, you were not going to act on anything, you’d had enough bad luck with past relationships, no need to cripple yourself with a fantasy-like ordeal with a strange man in another country, and it’s not like you knew if Bruno felt the same.

Today you were at the beach again, for the third time this trip, basking in the Sun and soaking up a nice tan.

“Fancy a drink?” You pulled off your sunglasses, looking up at Bruno as he stood beside you, holding out a chilled can of Coca-Cola. You thanked him for the beverage and cracked it open, enjoying the refreshing drink. “I have to leave soon, a friend is coming to pick me up in a few minutes.” He said with an apologetic tone as he packed up his belongings. “We can drop you off at Libeccio if you would like us to?” He folded his towel, placing it in his small travel bag.

You had grown a little tired of today’s beach trip anyways, with it being a Saturday, more families were free to visit the beach making it more crowded and louder than normal. “If you could that would be great.” You began packing up your own items, making sure to not leave anything behind like your water bottle or sunscreen. The two of you walked over to the parking lot after changing, where a black Honda sat with the driver resting his head on the open window.

“Who’s that.” The man looked up, pointing to you.

“She’s a friend, y/n, I need you to drop her off at Libeccio.” Bruno opened the back door for you to get in, before making his way to the front passenger seat.

“I’m not your personal driver Bucciarati.” The man scowled, starting the car and pulling out of the parking space. Bruno scoffed and leaned on the window.

“I’m pretty sure I’ve done a lot more favours for you Abbacchio,” He turned around you face you, “don’t mind him, he’s just bitter for no reason.” He gave you a reassuring smile before facing forward once more.

The journey was short, just a few minutes of driving with very little traffic. Bruno and Abbacchio talked for most of the journey, presumably about something important as they only spoke in Italian, despite them speaking in English earlier. The man Bruno was with looked about your age with pale skin, long greyish hair tied back and a few bruises on the back of his hands. You assumed this was just a friend, or maybe someone he worked with at Libeccio. They dropped you off outside of the restaurant and Bruno waved you goodbye as the car drove off.

“So are we not going to address her?” Abbacchio asked, a sly smile creeping onto his face. “I didn’t know you liked picking up foreign girls, I guess this is the person you show around.” 

Bruno rolled his eyes at the teasing, refusing to let it get to him.

“Oh? Trying to act like the bigger man now?” Leone turned into the next street. “I thought you’d given up on dating after Ambra? Or Esta? Or even Genevieve?” He looked at Bruno through the corner of his eye. He picked up on the way Bruno’s jaw clenched slightly after hearing his exes' names brought into the conversation. Despite what many people would assume, Bruno Bucciarati never had any luck with girlfriends. Yes he was sweet, outgoing, polite, a great cook, loving, he checked most if not all boxes on the typical ‘perfect boyfriend’ list; but his involvement with Passione was enough to render his pros useless. Ambra and Genevieve were both frightened by this connection, cutting the relationship short and eventually just ending communication with him as a whole, while Esta ended up using him for his money, despite knowing that Bruno was in love with her. These three relationships were enough to crush his spirit and deter him from dating as a whole, not wanting to have his heart shattered by anyone else. His coping mechanisms were focussing more on Passione and buying a restaurant close to his heart, Libeccio.

“She is just a friend, that’s all.” Bruno shrugged, eyes focused on the traffic lights up ahead.

“Ha! That’s rich!” Leone snorted, stopping for the red light, he paused, considering his words before saying them. “Does she know you’re in Passione?” Abbacchio had known Bruno through two of his relationships, and as one of his closest friends, he could also tell that Bruno was already interested in you and he didn’t want him to make another mistake. 

“No, she doesn’t.” 

Leone sighed, his skepticism growing. “Why not?”

“Because she doesn’t need to know.” Bruno snapped, winding down the window slightly for air. In his gut, he was sure that Leone knew his feelings for you, he was good at reading people. But still, Bruno was stubborn and would rather avoid such an intrusive conversation.

They had reached their destination, an old motel on the outskirts of the city. “It’s very clear that you like her Bucciarati, she’s the one you’ve been touring the city with right?” Leone sighed, knowing that he would be treading on an uncomfortable, but necessary conversation. “How do you know she’s not using you? Taking advantage of a rich guy to improve her time here, how much have you spent on her?”

“Not much.” This was technically true, anytime Bruno paid for anything, you paid him back or simply split the fee.

Abbacchio grunted, stepping out of the car and making his way to the motel room with Bruno right behind him. “Jeez, you never learn do you?” He scoffed, trying to find the right key for the room. “Don’t give me any of that ‘I don’t like her’ crap, you know you do that’s why you spent all your time with her.” He managed to unlock the door. “Just don’t let her break your heart again, I can’t say I’m expecting anything good from this.”

**************************************************

“Do you know the Amalfi Coast?” Bruno asked, poking you lightly.

You tapped your chin. “I’ve seen a few pictures, it looks beautiful.” You turned back to your plate of lasagne, cutting another piece of the dish and piling some salad on top.

Bruno cleared his throat, poking his carbonara as he tried to figure out how to word his next comment. His words were stuck in his throat leading him to continue tiptoeing around the topic as he had before. “There’s a very nice hotel that I go to sometimes, its so close to the water.” He looked up at you, trying to gauge your interest. You simply nodded and sipped your water, humming in response. “I think it's the kind of place to go with someone.” His voice upturned slightly, almost like he was asking a question. You still didn’t react much as you sipped your lemonade. Bruno huffed and placed his fork down, leaning towards you. “Y/n, I’m asking if you would like to join me.” He blurted out, making your eyes widen.

“Oh.” That was all you said as your hands paused in the middle of loading another forkful. There was an awkward pause and the air grew thicker. A bead of sweat trailed down the back of Bruno’s neck as the regret pooled at the bottom of his stomach. How could he think you would even agree to this? You had only known each other for just over two weeks, him suddenly inviting you to a hotel in another area just made him look like a creep. Now you knew he had some sort of interest in you and there was no backtracking.

‘I just want to curl up in a ball and-’

“I would love to go with you Bruno.” You said, cutting off his thoughts. You folded your lips in, fiddling with your thumbs as you stared at your plate bashfully. With such close proximity, Bruno could see the slight redness of your cheeks. So it looked like you both shared similar feelings towards each other, Bruno wondered how long the two of you had been in this state without knowing.

“I’ll drive us there tomorrow then.” He smiled, refilling his mocktail.

It felt like forever for Saturday morning to arrive, you spent hours fretting over what to wear. You hadn’t been on a date in a while (was this a date?), even longer since you went on a trip with someone you were interested in, and that most certainly didn’t end well. But you felt like Bruno was different. Despite his classy sense of style or his popularity among the locals, he never came across as judgemental or arrogant and that made it easier to get ready for the trip.

At 10 am, Bruno arrived at your hotel. This was the first time you ever told him where you were staying and you would rather he picked you up than you took a suitcase with you to meet at Libeccio. This was also the first time you ever saw his car. It looked expensive, a shiny black convertible that people kept looking at as they walked in and out of the hotel’s front doors. He wore a plain white t-shirt and had a pair of gold-rimmed sunglasses on his head. He shot you a confident smile as he waved at you, getting out to help you put your suitcase in the back.

The journey was a little longer than expected, around three and a half hours with the traffic that clogged the highway. Bruno had a designated travel playlist, burned onto a CD which he played for any long journey. It was a mix of American and Italian songs, mainly different variations of jazz or romantic songs, he made sure to sing along to most of them, even when he fumbled the lyrics. Bruno had a very smooth singing voice, his baritone voice made every word sound like honey as he sang, you could listen to it for hours.

You and Bruno conversed for a while, passing the time as you sat in traffic once more between Trecase and Torre Annunziata. Bruno told you how Mista and Giorno had asked about you, hoping to see you again before you leave, carefully excluding how they teased him for planning this trip to Amalfi, well aware of your shared interest in each other. Abbacchio was still skeptical, this spontaneous trip to Amalfi, which was completely covered by Bruno, didn’t help his gut feeling about you using him. But seeing how the two of you acted around the rest of the group made him a little more optimistic about the situation. He just hoped you wouldn’t run back home and block his number instantly.

“We’re here!” Bruno pulled up in front of a grand hotel, ‘’. It was a large classical building with pillars along the front, all coated in bright white. The inside was a soft gold colour with a gorgeous chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Being here was breathtaking, you always thought your hotel in Naples was fabulous, but this was extraordinary, does Bruno really make so much money to afford this just through restaurant owning?

After Bruno checked you in, he handed you the key to your room. You and Bruno were staying in separate large rooms next to each other on the sixth floor which gave you the perfect view of the water. After a couple hours of settling in, you took a tour around the coast. Amalfi was an interesting place, it was made up of thirteen towns, all clinging to the cliffs, reaching all the way down to the beautiful shore. Tourists traipsed up and down the area, some hiking on the Path of the Gods, while others explored the Blue Grotto caves in Capri. Bruno told you that when he was younger, he assisted his father with his duties as a fisherman: from gathering bait, to fishing, to following him on deliveries to the local fishmongers. He arranged a boat for recreational fishing just off the coast of Postiano, but for the sake of preserving the natural ecosystem, participants were asked to just catch and release.

The small boat rocked slowly on the water as Bruno guided you through fishing, holding your hands in the right position to be able to reel the fish in properly. It took a couple of tries, but you managed to catch a few small sardines.

That evening, Bruno had arranged dinner at a small restaurant near the hotel.

**************************************************

La Galleria was a cosy little place specialising in seafood from the local fishing ports. Your table was on the roof with a breathtaking view of the water below as the cooler evening breeze hit the back of your neck. You wore a simple red dress, while Bruno wore a red turtleneck with a black blazer. You both had bowls of chicken caesar salad, drizzled in a rich sauce, followed by a miso-glazed black cod on white rice for Bruno, and shrimp scampi with pasta for you. As the soft jazz from below wafted up to the roof, you and Bruno reminisced on your time together these past couple weeks, from strangers in Libeccio to sharing a meal in Amalfi. Your knee brushed against Bruno’s innocently as you talked, the close proximity making your heart race. Bruno was so handsome, and even though you told yourself that you wouldn’t let a crush grow to anything more, you couldn't help but feel the urge to have his muscular arms wrapped around you or run your fingers through his soft black hair made your stomach twist. You could listen to his voice for hours on end, enjoying his cute hand gestures and his rich accent. He was so kind to you too, planning so many trips, including paying for this one. He was way too generous to you and the last thing you wanted was to come across as a golddigger of some sort, Bruno was a genuinely nice guy, so patient and attentive.

Bruno’s heart was racing too, worried he would trip on his words or forget how to say something in English as he had before when talking to you. You always looked so beautiful to him, no matter what, you always took his breath away. He couldn’t imagine the last time he had felt so at ease around someone, much less a stranger he met a couple of weeks ago.

“Thank you so much Bruno, for tonight, for everything.” You said, your fingers lightly brushing against his on the table. He wanted to hold your hand badly, to kiss it again like he had before and tell you how much you meant to him.

“You’re welcome bella, I’ve really enjoyed these past-” He was cut off by the ringing of his phone, “please excuse me.” He got up immediately, excusing himself downstairs in a rush. You didn’t see the caller ID, but usually, Bruno was fine with answering calls around you, but his behaviour made you worry. The call was short and Bruno returned within a few minutes, facing his meal as if nothing happened. Ordinarily this would be normal, but it seemed like something was on his mind, like his mood was suddenly soured. You noticed how the space between you had grown slightly bigger than before, you were no longer lightly brushing against his knuckles, and nor were your knees connected. 

“Bruno, is everything okay?” You mustered up the courage to ask, worried that you would be prying too much into private affairs. You hoped he would just tell you everything was fine, that it wasn’t anything serious, but you knew it must have been.

“Y/n…” He sighed, biting on his bottom lip, “there’s something I need to tell you. I haven’t been completely honest about myself.” He avoided making eye contact with you, which was more than enough to elevate your worry. Your stomach dropped, a million possibilities racing through your head. Maybe he didn’t really like you, maybe he was using you for attention, reeling you in with a charming persona? Maybe he had a partner and was using you to cheat?

Bruno turned to face you, clutching your hand in his as he looked earnestly into your eyes. “I’m still Bruno, bella, I’m still the same person who owns Libeccio, and likes fishing. And I do like you, so much, but I can’t keep hiding this from you and I understand if this means you don’t want to be around me anymore.” His breathing was rapid as he squeezed your hand tightly. His mind was prepared for the worst scenario, he was ready for you to scream or run away from him, locking yourself in your room and finding your way back to Naples without him. He was ready for you to get angry or upset at him for not telling you sooner. Part of him regretted bringing it up already, feeling like he had thwarted his best attempt at love, but it wouldn’t be fair to keep you in the dark if he genuinely cared.

“Y/n, do you know what Passione is?”

You exhaled deeply, yes, you had heard of Passione, a hub for organised crime in the south of Italy. Was Bruno really part of them? When you think of mafiosi you imagine much older men, using laundered money for drugs, weapons, and exploiting women, at least that is the stereotype, was Bruno really one of them? Sweet, kind, generous, optimistic Bruno who you adored being around? The same Bruno who always helped anyone he saw? Who showed the utmost respect for all the older citizens and acted with integrity? You 100% believed that not everyone involved in crime is inherently bad, many people fall into it at low points of their lives, you knew that Bruno was a good man, regardless of his affiliation with the group.

When you didn’t respond, Bruno let go of you. “I knew this was a mistake, I should have just listened to Abbacchio and stopp-”

“Bruno,” You placed a hand on his, making him lose his train of thought, “I’m not upset that you’re in Passione.” You whispered, interlocking your fingers with his. “I don’t think less of you for it, I know that people can be put in situations that make them choose that path,” your eyes darted to the side, “but I believe you’re a good person Bruno, I really do. I’m not exactly in the safest position as a woman in a foreign country, but I feel so safe with you Bruno, regardless of Passione.” You meant everything you said, keeping your eyes locked on him to show your sincerity. “I-”

Before you could speak, Bruno’s lips were on yours.

His hand remained holding yours, though squeezing slightly tighter now, while his free hand held the side of your face. His lips were soft against yours as his thumb pressed against your cheekbone. Slowly he pulled away, rubbing his nose against yours slightly. “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t apologise, really.” You squeezed his hand gently.

Bruno’s hand found itself fitting perfectly in the curve of your waist. “I want to be with you y/n, not just for this trip.” His voice was shaky, he tried his best to not push too hard. “It’s okay for you to say no, it is.”

“I want to be with you too Bruno, I really do.” Without thinking, your hand moved up to hold the side of his neck, feeling the heat radiating off him before moving down to his shoulder. “Can I ask, Bruno…why are you with them?”

He took a deep breath, already regretting what he was about to say. Bruno never liked talking about this incident, he never told anyone this story, not even his old girlfriends. “My father was in an accident when he was 12. He was in the hospital and one night some people tried to…to kill him.” The sympathetic look in your eyes made it easier for him to talk. “He wasn’t in a gang or anything, he was just an ordinary person. I was in the room when they snuck in, two men, I-” His words got trapped in his throat.  “I killed them.” He could tell from the small changes in your breathing, your posture, the glint in your eyes, that despite keeping an open mind about Passione, you couldn’t fully wrap your head around him being tied to murder. “If I didn’t they would have killed my father and come after me, there was nothing else I could do.” He begged, pleading for you to at least hear him out, scared that you would leave him after such a confession. “I had to go underground, I can’t do anything with something like that on my record.” The silence that followed was deafening, the sound of his heartbeat rang through his ears as his chest heaved slowly.

“It’s okay Bruno…it really is.” You whispered, “You’re the first person to know this and not run away or use me.”

“I wouldn’t do that to you, I’ve had my fair share of bad relationships. You’re the first person I’ve been able to actually feel happy with, Bruno, the first person to actually make me feel like you care.”

“Of course, I care about you bella, you mean the most to me. I hate that people have treated you that way, you deserve everything I could possibly give you and more…everything.”

The rest of dinner carried on smoothly, with Bruno’s seat much closer to yours and his hand resting on your knee. His eyes were more focused on you than the delicious food in front of him. His heart felt like it was going to leap out of his chest as your leg brushed up against him and your perfume wafted into his nose. Bruno really did think you were beautiful, the way your dark hair fell to your shoulders, contrasting your crimson dress. How your cheeks turned rosy when you laughed, or your tendency to fiddle with the hem of your clothing when you were tired. There had always been something in him that knew he had feelings towards you, but kissing you, even though it was brief, solidified his feelings.

Neither of you pushed any further about the kiss, nor did you talk about your beat-around-the-bush confessions. Instead, once dinner was over, you made your way back to the hotel silently.

“I guess I will see you in the morning then?” Bruno asked, letting out a soft laugh as you stood in front of your respective doors.

“Yeah, I guess I will.” You smiled as you waved each other goodbye. It wasn’t until you had both returned to your rooms that you were able to release the tension in your body. The kiss still lingered on your lips as you pulled your night shirt over your head and you could feel your face get warmer. You couldn’t deny that the idea of him kissing you was something buried in the back of your mind, especially when he would hold you in close embraces and his natural scent would waft into your nose. There was a part of you that wanted to continue, that wanted to go to his room and lie with him on this warm evening in Amalfi. To feel what it would be like for him to hold you in his arms as more than just a friend. You shook your head, feeling like a young teenager having their first kiss.

With a heavy sigh, you turned your attention to the TV opposite your bed and flicked through the channels, landing on what looked like a random soap opera. By your bed was a small menu with all the items available for room service and decided on a jug of lemonade to cool you down. When there was a knock just two minutes later, you were a little surprised by the speed of service. You were even more surprised by seeing Bruno standing by your door.

Bruno had been standing outside your door for the past five minutes, contemplating knocking on your door. Would he be intruding? Jumping to conclusions over a simple kiss?

Ah, but it wasn’t a simple kiss was it, you had confessed your feelings to each other.

But you only had three more days in Naples, maybe this was your way of getting some sort of closure, getting your feelings out on the table before you disappear and never cross paths again. Even on the off chance that anything came from this, it doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be weird for him to approach you like this.

While Bruno reasoned this in his head, his body had other plans. It wasn’t until you swung the door open that he realised he had already knocked. 

“Hi,” He swallowed, awkwardly placing his hands behind his back. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

You shook your head as you opened the door wider, welcoming him into your room. “No no, I just haven’t been able to sleep.”

“Me neither.” He perched on the edge of the desk, watching the television next to it. “What are you watching?”

“I have no idea, I couldn’t figure out how to put it in English.” The silence from both of you overpowered the noise from the TV. Usually you would bounce off each other better, but the events at dinner seemed to leave you both somewhat shy. Deep down, you both wanted more, but neither of you had the confidence to make the first move.

Bruno walked over to you, sitting next to you on your bed, knee brushing against yours.

“Y/n…” He started, taking your hand in his, “I meant everything I said earlier, about how I feel about you.” His slender fingers traced the lines of your palm slowly. “In a perfect world, I’d want you to be with you, properly. But I know that you have to go back home soon, I understand if this has to end here.”

“It doesn’t have to.” The words spilt out of your mouth before you could even process them properly. “I mean…I can always come back, maybe sometimes you can visit me.” A long-distance relationship wasn’t something you ever really thought you would find yourself pursuing, but you couldn’t miss this opportunity with Bruno.

“I like that idea.” Bruno smiled, interlocking his fingers with yours before ducked down for another kiss, this one was shorter and sweeter, the type that gives you a warm feeling in yout gut. It was like a bridge had formed between the two of you and any worries about intimacy had been crossed out. “Out of curiosity, when are you next free?” His enthusiasm made you giggle.

You tapped your chin, recalling what you discussed with your boss before you left for Italy. “I have to use up my holidays within the next three months, maybe I can come back before they’re over.” You grinned widely, enjoying the way he his face softened at your words.

“Can’t you stay a little longer? Use up your holidays now?” He pulled you onto his lap, kissing all over your face. His demeanour had suddenly changed, knowing that he might only have to wait a couple of months to see the woman he cared so much about. You giggled as you held his broad shoulders, squeezing them lightly as you tried to pull him away from your face. He ducked down to nibble where your neck connected to your head, trying to coax you into staying.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, “I can’t afford it Bruno, and besides, I signed papers with my boss saying I would be back to work next week.” You felt him sigh against your neck.

“How much more time do you have left to use on holidays?”

“10 days I think.”

“I’ll book you a flight.”

“Bruno!” You pulled away, pinching his soft cheek “Do you not trust me?”

“Of course I do bella, but I just think it’s easier to book now that the prices are cheaper.” He wrapped his arms tighter around your form. It didn’t take long for his lips to fall back on yours, moving between them and your neck, only to be broken by a knock on your door.

“So sorry for the wait signorina, the machine wasn’t working.” The waiter apologised profusely as he placed your lemonade on the table.

“It’s no problem, thank you.” You smiled, closing the door behind him. You both shared a few glasses of the cool drink, talking more about the possibility of you coming back to Naples. Despite his earlier energetic behaviour, Bruno was quite understanding of the situation. He knew that compromises would have to be made and that things may not always work out, but regardless, he chose to be optimistic about the situation.

Once the jug’s contents had been thoroughly depleted, you found yourselves tucked under your bedsheets. You didn’t realise how tired you were until you fell asleep so quickly against his soft t-shirt, to the sound of his heartbeat. Cool air blew through the window, making you press up against him in your sleep as his hands moved down to hold your waist. Bruno’s heart was pounding like it wanted to leap right out of his ribcage. Being here, holding you, this was all he wanted. For the first time in so long, he felt like he was happy again, like you were the one for him. He gave up on this feeling ages ago, not wanting to risk another heartbreak, but now he couldn’t resist it.

He was in love.

**************************************************

Sunday was quite simple. Breakfast at a lovely little cafe, a bike ride through Sorrento and lunch back at the hotel. This was certainly not the first time you and Bruno had gone out together, but this time was different. The way he held your hand, your waist, hugged you, everything felt different now, a good type of different.

This “good different” continued to Monday and Tuesday, with Bruno being even more of a gentleman to you. He made sure to cherish every moment with you like he was making up for lost time.

The sun peeked through the window, highlighting your body as you hummed in your sleep. Bruno had been awake for a while now, the lump in his throat and the twists in his stomach making it harder to enjoy the warm summer morning.

Today was your last day, the last time he would be able to see you for who knows how long. He always knew you would leave, Naples wasn’t your home after all, and there is a chance it may never be. But now that the dreaded day had come, it just made his chest ache to the point where it made his head spin.

He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer until your back was pressed against him, allowing him to nuzzle into your neck. You groaned quietly, fidgeting in your sleep before settling once more. Bruno used this as an opportunity to place a kiss on your neck, enjoying the sweet natural scent emanating from your body. He slid his other arm under your body, hugging you properly as your legs tangled together under his sheets.

“Bruno…” You grinned, feeling the pressure of his body against you as he had you in a tight embrace. “I need my sleep you know?” You patted the side of his face lightly, enjoying the warmth emanating from his soft cheek.

His heart hurt even more hearing your voice, knowing this would be the last time he would hear it in person. “y/n…” He whispered, holding your hand gently in his, bringing it down to the soft mattress and interlocking your fingers with his. “When is your flight?” He mumbled into your neck, eyes locked on his thumb stroking your skin.

You inhaled sharply, realising why his tone had been so mellow this morning. “6 pm, there’s been a car arranged.” You bit your bottom lip, feeling Bruno lean away from you with a deep sigh. His arms left your body cold air hit your back.

“I’ll come with you, I’ll see you off at security.” Bruno said, laying on his back, staring up at the ceiling. You turned around to face him, watching the sun highlight the lower half of his face and chest, coating them in a pale yellow glaze. His lips were downturned slightly, forming an involuntary frown as his eyebrows furrowed. His expression made your heart sink to your stomach, you knew you would miss him so much.

You scooched closer, resting a head on his flattened shoulder as your fingers traced his chest gently. “I’ll come back Bruno,” You dragged your fingers down to his navel. “I promise.” You looked up at him, catching how his eyes shifted from you as soon as you made eye contact, realising that you caught him staring. His cheekbones were softly dusted with pink as he cleared his throat.

“I know you will, and I’ll find time to visit you.” He cupped the side of your face, “but you can’t blame me for being a little upset that you’re leaving.”

“I know, I am too.” You gave a half-smile, holding his wrist. Seeing you frown made his heart sink even more, it wasn’t his intention to dampen the mood so early in the morning.

“Y/n, why don’t we go to Libeccio? For your last meal here?” Bruno asked. Ending the trip with the place you met seemed perfect. It also gave Bruno the opportunity to make sure you received the best service possible.

“I’d love to.”

You both laid in bed for a while, enjoying each other’s warmth until noon when you finally got up for lunch. You wore a simple sundress with a red flower pattern along it, something that Bruno absolutely adored on you. Hand in hand, you left his home for the restaurant, deciding to have one last walk through the streets you grew to love. Libeccio was slightly quieter than usual, what with it being lunchtime on a Wednesday, this at least made it easier to talk to each other.

“Oh? If it isn’t the two lovebirds!” A familiar voice called, you looked up to see Mista leaning on the back of Bruno’s chair, much to his dismay, poking his nose into his menu. Bruno had made the mistake of being open to the group about his feelings for you, this ultimately left him vulnerable to childish teasing which would surely get worse when you weren’t around. “Y/n, Bucciarati says you’re leaving today?”

“Mhm, I need to leave for the airport in a few hours.”

“Ah, this one will certainly miss you,” He nudged Bruno with his elbow, “he goes on and on about you all the time anyways.” He scoffed.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Bruno asked, not bothering to look up from the menu.

“I actually came to collect an order,” He lifted up the black bag in his hand, that explained the sudden smell of shrimp. “But I might as well give Y/n a goodbye hug.” Mista walked towards you, pulling you out of your seat and hugging you tightly. Bruno knew what Mista was doing by pressing his palms on your lower back and hugging you for much longer than what was needed. But it was in his nature to tease people like that, after all, you and Mista grew to be quite good friends, and you both knew he was playing around. “Make sure to come back soon!” Mista waved as he left the restaurant.

Bruno turned back to you to see a smirk across your lips. “What?” He asked, tilting his head to the side.

“Your face when Mista hugged me, I didn’t think it would get to you.” You laughed, flicking through the calzones section of the menu.

“Can you blame me for being a little jealous?” Bruno sighed, closing his menu and placing it on the table. He waved at one of the waiters, a tall, slender young man with long wavy hair, eager to take your orders.

Over lunch, you discussed plans for when you went back home: how to fit your schedules around each other, the possibility of sending each other gifts, and Bruno travelling to visit you. The thoughts alone brought butterflies to your stomach, the idea of Bruno being in your home, visiting your favourite places, your family and friends even. You already had a list of things to do with him buried at the back of your mind.

Once the plates were cleared and the bill was paid, you found yourselves in a small park, wandering along the footpaths that weaved along the luscious green grass, between the thick oak trees.

“Y/n…we need to get to the airport soon.” Bruno whispered, pulling your waist towards him as he sandwiched you between him and an old tree.

“Mhm.” You rest your head on his shoulder in a warm embrace, his rich cologne flooding your nose with a scent you would soon miss.

“Y/n…mi bella.” The pet name made your heart well up. “I know we haven’t been together for a long time but…the feelings I have for you, it’s like I-”

“I know what you mean Bruno.” You cut him off quietly, tugging his soft cotton shirt. You felt the same way Bruno did, the tingles you got when he held your hand, the way your body perfectly moulded into his, how your stomach twisted and turned anytime he looked you in the eye. Somehow, somewhere, along the line, you realised that you had fallen in love with the kind mafioso that swept you off your feet.

“So you love me too bella?” Bruno asked, a teasing tone to his words as his lips met your forehead.

You rolled your eyes playfully, enjoying how his soft lips felt against your skin. “Well if I have to put it in words, then yes.”

Bruno’s heart pounded in his chest, he could feel the shakiness in his breathing from the relief of knowing that you felt the same way he did. It was almost laughable how quickly the chains around his heart loosened when you appeared. How his vows to never give in to another person were discarded as he got closer and closer to you. You were perfect to him, everything he wanted and more, and he knew he couldn’t just let you leave without letting you know how much power you had over him and his weak heart.

“Bella, I love you so much, more than I’ve ever loved anyone. Please remember that, always, even if I’m not there with you.”

“I love you too Bruno, truly I do. I haven’t felt this way with anyone in so long I-” Bruno’s lips pressed gently against yours, stealing your breath away.

“I’m sorry to cut you off but you just look so cute, why do you have to leave today bella, stay here with me a little longer.” He groaned, placing a soft kiss on your forehead, knowing how much he would miss this.

“Believe me, I want that more than anything, but I have to go back, Bruno.” The thought of not being able to hold him like this, to not stroke his soft black hair or look into his warm eyes, ate away at you.

“We should probably head to the airport soon then.”

Within the hour, you were at the airport, waiting in the busy queue to check in your luggage, while Bruno held you from behind, chin resting on your head. You ended up with one extra bag, filled with gifts for your friends and family: trinkets, snacks, clothing, as well as things that Bruno bought you.

“When you land, let me know okay?” Bruno hugged you one last time, his hands memorising the curve of your body, ingraining everything from your scent to the softness of your skin in his memory. His lips moved to kiss your forehead gently, “Y/n…I won’t pretend like I’m not going to miss you every day. I want us to work out bella, I’ll take time to visit you whenever I can okay?” The slight sniffles and breaks in his voice made your heart sink. Bruno loved you so much, more than he could contain, and you felt the same way about him as you inhaled his rich cologne.

“Bruno, I’ll miss you just as much, if not, more.” You whispered, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I’ll call you as soon as I get back mi amore.” Hearing you use that name on him made his stomach twist and turn. Being called that, by you, in your voice that soothed his soul made his heart beat even faster. At that point, he just had to steal another kiss from you, a passionate one that stuck on your lips even after you pulled away.

Reluctantly, he pulled away, letting you cross the barrier to find your gate, and with tears welling in both of your eyes, you waved each other goodbye, thankful for this spontaneous trip that brought the two of you together.

[writingcold]

Fireside

Thank you goes out to @sinners-go-to-drink-the-wine for creating this moodboard and the tip of the hat for using it as inspiration. This was going to be a smutty, smutty mess at first, but, alas - it's a strange, fluffy concoction. There's nothing to really warn about other than a few sexual references, a tiny amount of alcohol, but mostly just stupid shit and of course, bad language and grammar. Sorry for the typos - this is barely edited.

Pairing: Jake x fem reader insert

Word Count: approx 5700

Work had been an absolute nightmare.  Your tyrant boss had been trying to revoke the approval of your vacation time, but the HR angels sheltered you.  They were fast to point out that your vacation had already been ‘postponed’ three times in the past fourteen months.  Not to mention, you had only used a few actual sick days during that time.  The fact that the fucker paid you well was no excuse to expect you not to be a human being and actually want time off.  

      You had your bag packed and waiting by the door of your apartment.  All you had to do was shed your work clothes, shove some food in your face, send a text to Jake that you were on your way, and hit the road.  You had a three hour drive ahead of you.  Cell service was spotty in the area of the cabin, so you could only hope that he remembered to turn the booster on inside - but even then, service was iffy at best.  You put on your most favoritest playlist that will keep you awake for the drive.  Windows down, wind in your hair, and coffee at your side, you depart.

     Josh’s “traffic was a bitch” voice is pumping through your head only twenty minutes into the ride.  It seems everyone had decided to leave town all at the same time, and the scheduled summer road construction has barfed all over your route.  You are barely idling forward for miles.  You glance at your phone when you are once again at a standstill.  Jake texted to be careful. You scold yourself.  You knew you should have let him come into the city and then drive you both out the next day.  You could have had drinks at that new bar down the street and supper at the diner.  You could have caught up nicely in the quiet of your apartment.  However, it did not make sense to have him drive hours to your place when the cabin was essentially the halfway point between your home and his landing spot in Nashville.      

     You are more than an hour behind when you finally make the turn that would take you on the winding county roads that snaked up through the hills and forest.  And it was dark.  So fucking dark.  The kind of dark when you may have your brights on, but you are still straining to see.  You fight off the urge to lay into the gas pedal, despite your tardiness; despite your urgency to get to your destination.  It has been weeks since you’ve seen your mate.  He has been on the road with a tour while you toiled away at your 9-5 job.  The idea of quitting the job tickles and prickles at the back of your thoughts, but in truth, you are too independent to throw your work to the wind and give up many of the comforts that the paycheck has afforded you.

      A flash of eyes at the side and you hit the brakes just as a deer steps onto the shoulder.  The doe stares at your headlights as your heart pounds, hoping upon hope that you can bring your car to a stop before striking it.  Without a care, she strolls across, stopping every few steps like she knows you are trying to get somewhere where a very handsome man is waiting for you.  A second doe strolls out of the ditch, following her friend.

      Out of frustration, a whole conversation breaks out in your mind as the damnable beasts linger in the road, staring you down like you had nothing better to do… 

Deer 1: “Oh look, Heidi - looks like she’s on a mission.”

Deer 2: “Hmmmmmm… Booty call for sure.”  

Deer 1: “What’s the rush, sweetheart?  Oooo - look Heidi!  The paint is sooo shiny when her lights hit it.  Makes me think those mushrooms were a bit wonky…  But it looks so pretty!  So many colors…”

Deer 2: “Wow.  Never thought reflective paint could be so shimmery...”

Deer 1:  “I bet her guy’s - gender neutral of course - ass is that sparkly - but in that weird human pasty kind of way.”

    **You honk the horn in an effort to startle them away.  Frustration bubbles in your core, threatening to boil over the longer these animals are in the road.  The bigger of the two does raises her head up and looks directly at you and you can swear, the bitch is throwing sass your direction.**

Deer 1: “Bitch, please.”

Deer 2: “You know, them ferns over there looking pretty good, Frannie.”

Deer 1: “Honk that metal coffin at me…  Lord.  Maybe you shouldn’t be in such a rush to get railed.”

     **You growl.  You literally growl as the two does finally get over to the other side of the road.  You slowly ease off the break and move to press the accelerator only to have one jump back into the road.  You slam the break with a frustrated howl.**

Deer 2: “Ha!  Gotcha!”

Deer 1:  “You so funny, Heidi.  Did you see those eyes pop!  I thought they were gonna come out of her damn head.  Come on.  Whoever she’s gettin’ too probably doesn’t look much better than an ass end of a moose.”

      You are pretty sure that they are laughing at you as they trail away.  Aside from a very imaginary, snarky conversation between two deer, you regroup and ease back into a good pace.  You are totally out of coffee and water and your bladder is next to complain.  You are still ninety minutes from the cabin.  You take a side step, heading for a little country store in hopes that it did not close early.  A few miles to the east and the store comes into sight.  Most would chalk it up as too scary to stop. It may be a shack on the outside, with dim lighting across the four space parking lot, complete with a buzzing, half functioning sign that left one to wonder if anyone who went into the establishment came back out with all of their appendages; however, this was a place you knew well.  You bounce out of the car and wave at the couple behind the counter as you head straight for the restroom.  

      Relieved, you loop around to the coffee stand and fix yourself another cup of your favorite hot beverage.  You grab a water bottle before heading up to the register.  You also spot some of Jake’s favorite little treats, fresh made and smiling at you.  Exchanging pleasantries with the owners, you smile as you leave with a little wave.  You check your phone before you start the engine.  Two hours late.  A slow, shredded ‘fuck’ leaves your mouth through your teeth, past your lips and into the world.  There are three texts from Jake - all just checking in - all three cool tempered and ranging from four to twelve words each.  You text him that you are at Spencer's store and getting back on the road.  You turn on a heavier playlist in hopes of keeping your wits about you.  The next stretch was a meandering thread through curves with the woods nearly right up against both sides of the road and sheer drop off bluffs that would take you higher into the hills.  You knew it well enough, but it always was a bit off putting to know no one - nobody existed along the stretch of dense state forest.  

      The closer to the cabin you get, the more relaxed you are.  You are belting out one of your favorite songs into the void.  Jake is only forty minutes away.  Yup.  40.  You can do this.  The little spark in your core sits up as you allow yourself to picture him waiting with beer in hand, a smirk on those lush lips that would welcome you home.  You know the first few days would be an absolute frenzy of sex and closeness and more sex and more togetherness.  Yeah… it was the shit you currently lived for…

      “Son of a bitch!”  you scream out as you slam on the breaks.

      A porcupine is fucking meandering down the middle of the road in no hurry at all.  You can picture it even singing as it moves along.

Porcupine: Dooopa dooooda doooopa doooopie dooooooooOOOOoooOOoooo     You curse - out loud and loudly as the creature swerves left to right and back again completely oblivious to your existence.  You dare not roll the car forward and squish the poor beast.  What kind of a person are you for even thinking that?  Fuck.  Come on.  This is worse than the fucker with the Stop/Slow sign that is bored standing there directing traffic and decides to cause a little fuckery to brighten their day by being super fast with their power hungry sign management skills.    

Porcupine: Dooopa dooooda doooopa doooopie dooooooooOOOOoooOOoooo

    OK - this is getting ridiculous.  You are less than 40 minutes away from the sexiest man on the entire planet.  He is waiting for you.  Are you really going to let this stupid creature get in your way?

Porcupine: Dooopa dooooda doooopa doooopie dooooooooOOOOoooOOoooo

     Motherfucker.  Did that thing really just turn and cackle at you?  Maybe.  You narrow your eyes as it begins to skitter off in what may be the ditch… Nope.  Back to the center of the road.

Porcupine: Dooopa dooooda doooopa doooopie dooooooooOOOOoooOOoooo

    You are practically pounding the steering wheel with anxious fingertips.  Out of nowhere, a huge bird swoops down and nearly hits your windshield.  You scream and flinch like the damn thing is going to rip you out of the car and carry you away.  The porcupine has suddenly made a mad dash to safety; his stupid little song silenced.  Collecting yourself, you make a mental note that you are going to have the biggest, stiffest drink known to man the moment you arrive at the cabin.  No ifs.  No ands.  No fucking buts about it.  Whatever was in the damn air that was making this drive abnormally weird certainly did not have the best intentions towards you.

     Taking a sip of your once scalding hot beverage, you chance it and down it as it’s that magic temp where it only is perfect for a time window that only god and physics people can figure out but can’t create to stay that way for longer than twenty seconds.  You tuck your mug back into its spot and readjust in your seat just as a particularly lovely ditty comes on - all heavy guitars and banging lyrics.  You find yourself screeching out at the top of your lungs as you relax, foot pressed a little harder on the gas than you knew you should, but damn - you were less than thirty minutes away from your sex god demon boyfriend and you could give a shit if something…

      You pull your foot back as a shadow creeps at the edge of the road several car lengths ahead.  It is startling.  You can’t figure out what the hell it was - just big and dark, matching the midnight of the sky.  There it was again - movement. All shadowy and spooky - just on the fringe ahead…  Your eyes narrow.  Your whole focus is on that shadow as you crawl your car forward.  You hope like hell it’s not like some crazy stupid forest monster that was going to disappear your ass.  At the same time you’re too scared to actually fully stop the vehicle in the case that it is some forest cryptid that is going to eat your face off and drag you into the nether never to be seen again.  You see the shadow again, this time it’s like it’s lurking.  You pull the wheel to maneuver the car further into the on-coming lane and decide to floor it.  It’s probably just a bear, but to be safe, you just gun that damn engine and take off like a shot.  Your heart is pounding and your eyes refuse to focus on anything but the road ahead of you.  

      Finally…  FINALLY you arrive at the turn for the drive back to the cabin.  The driveway is just over three quarters of a mile, leading you back into the woods, winding up a hill that you dare not navigate during the winter.  The cabin is all lit up on the inside, sending a warm, orange glow across the soft roll of the hill and splashing through the tree trunks and ferns that made up the front yard.  You pull in next to Jake’s truck, cutting the engine off and sitting for a long moment.  Never had you ever had such a ride like the one you just experienced.  Traffic.  Possessed animals.  Or was it more like you are just being too desperate to get to this hill and your man that every little bump turned into fucking mountains that felt like you had to scale them in truly strange, horrific fashion.

      Your eyes skate over the kitchen window, hoping that perhaps he was standing waiting, watching for you.  Instead, no shadow passes the paned glass.  You grab a garbage bag and shove your remnants of the drive into it before sliding out and righting yourself under the velvet night.  The void of fellow humans fills you.  It’s all crickets and frogs and breeze through the poplars and birch and oak and pines that welcomes you home.  Yanking your bag from the backseat and tossing your garbage in the bin, you move towards the door.  Inside is small, but cozy.  The kitchen bleeds into the dining and living rooms with windows everywhere.  The soft textures meet the rough in just the right balance that makes you sigh, knowing that you are safe and warm.  

      You call out for him, but there’s no answer.  You drop your bag in the loft bedroom, a grin passing your mouth at the sight of his own stuff haphazardly tossed around and set out for the extended week to come.  You duck back downstairs, catching sight of a flicker in the backyard.  Taking a moment, you look out to see the silken amber glow and soft shadowing of a campfire dancing against the tree trunks.  You can just make out Jake’s form, sitting in one of the adirondack chairs, his guitar across his lap, leg stretched out and resting against the large stones of the fire pit.  A wave of comfort washes over you as you descend down into the basement to the walkout that would lead you directly to him.  

      Softly closing the screen door behind you, you are wrapped in the soft strumming of his playing and the pops and crackles of the fire.  He glances over his shoulder, his eyes searching for you.  The corner of his mouth tugs as you approach.  He sets the guitar to the side before standing to greet you.  Without warning, you latch onto him, pressing your body flush to his, your mouth landing against his in a sinful, needy kiss.  He is quick to wrap his arms around you, hands brushing against your waist before folding up against your back.  A deep rumble bubbles from his chest as he allows you to lean into him.  One of your hands lands against the stubble on his cheek while the other pushes into his hair.  You find yourself intoxicated instantly from his touch; his taste; his presence.  

      “Damn, I missed you,”  he whispers as he draws in a breath.  “I was starting to worry.”

      “Sure,”  you quip as your eyes continue to trace across his face, looking for anything that may have changed in the weeks of separation.  “You sure look like it.”

      He dips his chin shyly.  “Aw, I was just about to play some pretty angsty shit to see if that would help.”  

      The sound of his laughter fills you as he swings your body around against his.  His hands dig into your hips and your ass and your tummy as his touch seems to be everywhere suddenly.  You are not much better.  Your hands are already running up the front of his chopped up t-shirt, searching for skin and warmth and just…  Jake.

      “Awfully needy,”  he sighs as you practically yank and shred the fabric from his body in the not usual route of just sliding it off.  

      You growl, and you are not embarrassed by it.  After your ride, you just needed all of him and all of him in a rough, mean, sloppy way that you would never fully articulate, but he always seemed to understand what exactly you needed anyway.  His wicked chuckle as he discards the shirt away from the fire - don’t ask.  It would not have been the first time he lost a garment to the flames through your need.  

      You straighten up your back, plaster your most serious face you can muster and capture his full, shirtless attention.  “I need you to rail the shit out of me and this shitty assed drive up here.  I need you to do that now.”

      He rolls his lips in between his teeth.  His eyes are a liquid emotion that you barely register before it seems like your clothes are smoldering in their near correct places.  He clears his throat as if the depth of the expectation has been launched at his brain with full intent of harm or… is there an or, really?

       You suck in a breath across your teeth.  “I appreciate your romantic gesture here.  I do.  But…”

      He gulps a breath before you can retreat from your need.  “Okay.  Just give me a minute.  I’ll take care of this out here.  I’ll meet you inside.”

      “‘K…”  You nod as he turns you back towards the cabin with a little swat on your butt.  “I’m sorry I-”

       “Nope.  You’ve made it loud and clear what you need,”  he says as he drags the hose closer, beginning to spray the lovely fire that he had going.  “Just head on up to bed and I’ll be there in a minute.”

      For a moment, you are frozen.  Did you really demand what you think you just did… from Jake?  You sip in a breath as his dark eyes climb up your body as he’s bent down, scattering the embers of the campfire.  Oh.  Committed now and all…  

      You turn and move back towards the cabin.  Through the basement door and up the creaky stairs into the main space.  You decide a sip of courage would do you some good before he gets inside.  You pull the tequila from the cupboard and shakily pour yourself a shot into a lowball before dousing it with some ginger beer from the fridge.  You barely can carry the glass up the stairs into the bedroom.  Your brain is only being edged in speed by your heart.  Both are racing out of control.  You peek out the window, seeing his shadowed outline, giving the now blackened pit a final stir to ensure the flame is completely out.  You watch like a stalker as he bends to retrieve his guitar, beer, and finally his smokes before making his way towards the cabin.  A swallowed ‘fuck’ buries itself in your throat as you turn away.  The drink dribbles down your chin as you rush to the only bathroom.  

     Your eyes are completely blasted by the not as bright as you think lights.  You take another drink of your cocktail before dropping it down to the counter.  You hear him walking through the living room and back to the kitchen.  The sharp snaps of lightswitches being turned off sends jolts up your spine.  You drag your fingers through your hair in some kind of attempt to straighten yourself up.  You slide out of your pants and road weary shirt before you start running water to get warm in the sink.  The least you can do is freshen up and get the travel tar off your skin before whatever the hell he’s going to do to you gets done.

     Cleaned up, washed up, and nearly looking human, you reach for one of his t-shirts just as you hear his footfalls start up the stairs towards you.  You take the last sip of your tequila and ginger as he pauses to switch off the stairway lights, effectively announcing his arrival.  A shaky breath escapes your lips as you set your glass down on the dresser before turning towards him.  He stands at the head of the stairs, his hands calm at his sides.  His dark eyes are impossibly full of silk and velvet and lust and longing that you would think that it would spill out across the crest of his cheekbones and land on his pillowed mouth.  Or maybe, that is just you projecting everything that is suddenly erupting from every pore of your skin.  

     “Hey, handsome,” he says, his voice full of rasp as the corner of his mouth curls in a smile.

      “Hey, pretty,”  you whisper, unable to rip your eyes from the curve of his belly as it streams down the distinct v that drifts beneath his crumpled linen pants.

     “I’m surprised you’re still wearing clothes,”  he remarks, remaining rooted to his spot, his body giving no clues of what would happen next.

      You grin as you swirl a fingertip at the hem of the t-shirt just enough to flirt the edge to reveal the barely there panties that you are sporting.  His head tilts ever so slightly as a soft hum passes his lips.  You slowly turn your back to him, your fingers skating over the swell of your ass as your ghost the fabric up your sides in a surprisingly graceful maneuver as you dip your chin to look at him over your shoulder.  He raises an eyebrow and licks at his lip, just as a lock of your hair drifts across your brow in what you hope is an oh so sexy moment.  

      “Impressed?”  you coo as you drag the fabric up until you can bring it over your head.

      He lets out an amused laugh.  “Always,”  he sighs, still not moving.  “Get on the bed.  Lay down on your belly.”

      You comply because let’s face it - you’ve presented your need, why fight it?  You feel the tip of his callused finger trace across your ankle before skating up one calf and give a little tickle behind your knee.  Just as you’re folding your arms under your pillow to get more comfortable, he grabs you by the ankles and yanks you down.  You let out a surprised yelp, watching as he knocks off the pillows before he takes one wrist in between his fingers.

      You watch as he stretches your arms up towards the headboard, hooking your fingers to the edge of the bed.  “Both hands stay right here.  Doesn’t matter if you are on your belly or on your back.  Do you understand?”

      You feel your skin grow hot at the sound of authority in his tone.  You nod as you whisper out an affirmation.  He leans into you, planting a little kiss to your forehead with a smile.  One hand lands in the middle of your bare back and glides down the expanse of skin, stopping only for a moment before hooking into the fabric of your undies and pulling them down and off in a painfully slow fashion that allowed each of his fingers brush against the insides of your legs on their journey down.  Your breath quickens as you feel him move away from you, only to return his path on the other side of the bed, his hands passing over you like silk - teasing, touching, hovering, pressing.  Everywhere in their wake, his touch is leaving gooseflesh and a scorch of desire for more.  

      He disappears for a moment, leaving a vacuum of silence that weighs on you heavily.  The coil of anticipation begins to strangle you as the thunk of his boots hitting the floor strikes your ears, followed by the clank of his belt knocking on the top of the dresser.  You can picture him as he slowly undresses - each piece landing in a designated spot for ease of use in the morning.  A little hum slides through his lips as he grows nearer to you, his rings striking the nightstand and you turn your head to look at how he grins to himself and continues on like he didn’t have a naked you stretched across the bed like a trophy.  You listen as he steps into the bathroom.  That spring of anticipation is turning into outright frustration.  You sink your teeth into the tender flesh of your arm in hopes of summoning an ounce of patience.  

      “Look at you,”  he says, his voice rough with rasp.  “It’s like your whole body is vibrating.  Do you need this that badly?”

       “Fuck,”  you breath out.

      “What happened between home and here?”  he asks gently, while still keeping himself away.

      “I almost lost my damn vacation because of the boss,”  you start with a low grumble, the venom spilling out on the mattress beneath you.  “Can you believe that?  He literally went to HR and tried to have me fired if I didn’t show up next week.  Which I’m not.  I’m not going in.  HR insisted that I must take my time.”

      “I know you love your job, but maybe-”

      You shake your head.  “I’m not ready to go - no matter how fucked up he is.  There are still more aspects to the job that do not involve him that I love.”

      “Okay,”  he whispers as he moves in between your outstretched legs, but not yet moving onto the bed.  He ghosts his fingertips across your calves, back and forth, the pressure gaining traction with each pass until he’s literally dragging his hands up and down your legs like a massage.  “What else has you in these knots?”

       Your eyes roll under his care before you harken back to the drive.  “Ugh - it was like everyone had the same idea to leave the city all at the same moment, and the construction…”

       “Yeah,”  he agreed, pressing forward past your knees and into the tender skin of your thighs, mirroring his technique he had just given your calves.  “It’s so bad this year.”

       “It was down to one damn lane for miles and there’s always that one asshole that has to wait until last minute to merge and fuck everyone else who planned ahead,”  you continue, unable to hide the squeak as he hits a few stress knots about mid-thigh.

       He lets out a supportive hum as he moves up onto the mattress, straddling your thighs.  He continues to massage his way up your body in a delicious, albeit slow, manner.

       “It was like every animal was on the road coming up here,”  you scoff, leaning into his hands as he drags them up your hips.  “I swear there was an edict that was not going to allow me to actually get here.”

      “And yet,”  he whispers, digging the heels of his palms into the tops of your ass, “here you are, naked and lovely before me.”

      “Almost three hours late…”  you begin to grouse until his fingers dig into the tension in your low back.  You feel your eyes roll to the back of your head as a whorish moan escapes.  

      “You like that, huh,”  he whispers against your shoulder as he repeats the move to elicit the same reaction.  “Oh my.”

      You feel yourself melting into the mattress under his care.  “I just…  oh fuuuuck…”

      He drags his fingertips hard down on either side of your spine before retreating back upwards to your shoulders.  You feel his weight against the meat of your butt as he uses you to support himself.  He leans down, placing featherlight kisses against the back of your neck.  “I’ve missed you,” he whispers into your hair before he laps at the back of your ear.

     You let go of a hot gasp as he removes his proximity away.  The heels of both hands press along the ridge of your shoulders, dragging across to the mattress.  A deep, throaty groan escapes you as he repeats the move followed by gentle finger presses that drag down along your flanks.

     “I thought I would never get here,”  you sigh as his fingers rain down along your ribs on both sides.  “I did get you some of those little bars that you like from Spencer’s.”

     He hummed as he moved off your hips to one side of the bed.  “Thank you.  Maybe we can have them later.”

      He asks you to roll onto your back with a soft reminder of where to keep your hands.  You obey, feeling like a fish on a spit, but you do it anyway.  He lets out a quiet laugh as he swipes your hair that has fallen across your face.  The low light of the room bounces off his features, making him look all the more handsome.  Or maybe that was the edge of the tequila messing with you.  Either way, you don’t care.  He’s the prettiest thing your tired eyes have seen all day.  He grins as he slides away from your side.  He begins to rub at the arches of your feet.  Firm pressure strikes knots you were not aware existed are stuck and you gasp and grimace as he continues to massage along without much expression.  Those dark eyes sparkle at you as your body feels like it’s melting into the mattress under his care.  

      His fingers drift upwards and return down.  You wanted to growl out that he was the world’s biggest tease, but your mouth stretched in a yawn instead.  As he pulled his frame in between your legs once more, climbing up onto the mattress, your eyelids felt like they were fluttering in the wind as you struggled against them.

     “Sleepy, love?”  he asked, the bass of his voice rippling across your skin as he brushed his lip across the tender skin of your belly.

      He rolls those sinful eyes up across and through your cleavage, pinning your gaze and making your breathing hitch.  Once more, his palms graze across your hips, pressing upward to your flanks in a press that makes you ooze deeper into relaxation.

     “If I didn’t know better, Jakey,”  you whisper as you desperately try to stifle another yawn, “you’re trying to get me to relax so much that I go to sleep.”

      “That wouldn’t be so bad, would it?”  he chuckles as he begins to cover your body with his own.

      His heat invades every inch of you as you melt under him.  His lips pass over your mouth before landing against the bump of your chin.  Slowly, he pushes his hands against your stretched out arms, lacing his fingers with your own.  He pulled his shoulders back a bit so as to look down into your face.

     “And you want me to rail the shit out of you,”  he says as you struggle to keep your focus.  His grin tugs a little more as you cover your yawn once more.

      “Uh huh,”  you sigh as he starts to plant tender kisses against your throat.

      “You want me to do what exactly?”  he whisper asks into your skin before he presses his tongue against the hollow of your collarbone.

       The heat of his body mixed with the silk of his voice begins to tug in ways that are opposite of what you want.  Your eyes are rolling back in your head, but not with pleasure.  You gasp out, but it’s a yawn that fills the air around you.  Your skin and bones feel heavy.  But he continues to slowly kiss and lap at your skin.  He’s in no hurry to fulfill your voiced wishes.  You become mesmerized as his hands leave hot, relaxed trails up and down your sides and arms.  

      “Jake,”  you manage, voice thick with sleep and comfort.

      “Yeah, baby?”  he asks, barely shifting his weight against you.  “You ready?”

14 hours later…

       You sit up in a sun filled room - alone.  There is no luscious ache to your thighs.  There’s no love marks on your tummy.  There are no remnants of the previous night at all.  You struggle to untangle yourself from the sheets to fly into the bathroom for relief and a clean up.  The scent of coffee and cooking strikes your nose as you’re dragging a t-shirt and undies on.  You can hear soft music in the air as you fight with the zipper on your bag to at least retrieve a pair of shorts. 

      You move down the stairs to find Jake, bare chested and a steaming cup in hand while he stirs eggs in the cast iron on the cooktop.  His hair is in a sloppy tiny pony that is hanging on for dear life.  His face is content as he turns towards you, surprise in his eyes.

      “You’re alive,”  he teases as you move towards him.

      You wait for him to set his cup down and turn off the stove before moving up against him.  Your hands slide across his shoulders and to his back as he pulls you in, kissing you sweetly.

      “I can’t believe I fell asleep,”  you said, blushing and hiding your face in his neck.

      “And I was railing you so good, too, baby,”  he jabs with a laugh.

      You gasp and slap at his shoulder, even though you are still hiding your face from him.  He takes your chin in hand and maneuvers you around to see you.  There is nothing but warmth and good humor and love.  He pecks your mouth and lets you go.  You watch as he slides eggs on plates along with biscuits.  He points to the coffee and walks past you.

      “Better eat up, y/n,”  he said with a firm tone.  “You’re gonna need your strength.”

      You pour yourself a cup, fixing it how you like it before joining him at the table.  “Yeah?  Why’s that?”

      “Oh, so demanding last night and then you just…”   He grins and lets out a little laugh that fills you with a flutter as he pretends to fall asleep dramatically.  “It’s now my turn.”

*****

Hey - I made it through my second reader insert! Whoa! Hope you liked it. Let me know. I know it's weird. 🤪🤪 If you'd like to be tagged for my work, let me know or you can join here

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[thequeenopower]

Unplanned ; Sapnap

I don't even remember the night, never mind where I met him. But he was cute, kind of awkward, but cute. He was forward even though he seemed shy around girls. So I went home with him, it didn't seem like he knew what he was doing, but once he figured it out he was great at it. But then it ended and I snuck out before the birds began to sing.

And two months later came two lines.

I didn't expect it, I was half expecting some sort of STD but definitely not a baby. And the worst part was, I didn't have any way to contact him. I gave him a fake number and the goddamn state of Florida is so huge that I have a better chance of finding him in outer space.

I tried planning an abortion appointment but since I've never done it before, I was too far along to get the thing out so know I had two other options;

Keep it and live with it, or, give it up.

Now I was planning on giving it up, I was never fit to be a mother. I was still in college with a shitty job. I couldn't support myself, never mind a child. But there's something people never talk about when going through with giving a child up, its the connection you make with the baby growing inside you. Now I never believed I'd make a connection with it, but the second I saw his face on the ultrasound, I fell in love.

I became a better person for him, and because of him. I quit my job and worked my ass off to try to graduate sooner, which didn't quite work out. But, I was able to get a good job at a high up corporation doing their finances while continuing school part time. I was also able to get an apartment and split rent with a friend.

Then when 34 weeks came along, so did the baby.

What had happened was I was on a flight from Florida to California for a family vacation and then went into labor on the plane. They landed somewhere in Texas where I soon had my baby, Benjamin Michael l/n.

That was nine months ago, and two months ago I re-discovered his father.

~~ two months prior

"Hey, y/n! Whatcha doin'?" Ashley announces her presence which scares Benji.

"Not much. Just changing baby butts," I shake a diaper on Benji's face, it itches his nose a little which makes him giggle.

"Could I use your TV in here to watch a streamer?" I nod, knowing she only wants to use this TV so she could spend time with Benji before her trip.

The three of us got comfy on my bed as she started up the stream called, "FORTNITE TOURNY WITH PUNZ AND KARL". By someone named Sapnap. It's an odd name for a stream but maybe it was normal. I never normally had time to watch stuff anymore, if I did it was either TV shows, movies, or Markiplier, cause who wouldn't want to watch Markiplier.

The stream turns on and it's immediately on the lobby menu of Fortnite, a man in the top left corner goes on for some time talking about god knows what. For some odd reason, the stream stayed on for about 2 hours. Though I wasn't paying attention as I was doing my own thing, like school work and checking up on Benji and Ashley. It wasn't until I was done with my work that I finally laid on the bed and paid attention to the TV. The man on the screen looked familiar but I couldn't put my finger on it. It wasn't till I heard him speak that I realized who it was.

"Nick?" Ashley looked at me confused before her eyes went wide and her mouth fell open.

"No way. It can't be." I nodded as I was entranced by the man laughing and playing with a ball on the screen.

"You have to contact him and tell him! His name on Insta-"

"No, I couldn't do that to him. It's best if we just leave it at this. It'd ruin him and his career." My eyes were teary as I had finally come to terms with Benji not growing up with a father.

~~ present day <3

You had taken a trip to TwitchCon with Ashley's little sister Jenny. Ashley couldn't make it since she had an art contest at her school to be in. Though she wanted to still be able to give art to her favorite creators so she paid for Jenny and me to go. It was very hard to handle two other people but at least Jenny was 14 and was able to take care of herself when I wasn't able to.

Jenny was going to be wearing costumes for the days we were there for and the first day she was dressing up as someone called 'Dream'. So I decided she couldn't have all the fun and dressed up as a Minecraft creeper, which was three sizes too small, and Benji dressed as a Minecraft panda. It was a regular panda suit but I put a Minecraft panda head as the hood and made it so it could stay on his head.

We walked around outside for a bit before the building opened. We took some photos of people who asked, Benji getting complimented every two seconds. He would just smile and kick his feet since I was baby wearing him. Then it was time for us to go in and we got straight into line for someone, I never checked the name. It was about an hour-long wait, but it wasn't bad as Benji was mostly quiet. He did get fidgety at times which is when I would take him out and let him stand or be held by Jenny.

Finally we made it to the front of the line and Jenny was getting excited.

"He's one of Ashley and mine's favorite streamers. You have the stuff to show him right?" I nod and turn my back a little so she can take out the items from my bag.

"Hello," The man greets as Jenny excitedly walks toward him.

She gives him the pictures which he accepts and thanks. I then take a picture of the two of them. He goes wide eyed as he looks at me, as if he knew me.

"Hey, uh, cute baby." He replies. He seems unsure of what to say and kind of awkwardly stands there.

A couple seconds passed as I thanked him for the compliment. We're then told we have to move along which lets us go into the next line.

As we stand in line I try to remember who the man was. The person floats in my mind a little, it's fuzzy and only there for a few seconds at a time, like clips of a movie.

"Hey, what was that guys name that we just met?"

"His name is Sapnap."

~~

I couldn't get him out of my head for the rest of the day. It was like he was stuck there and I had no intention of getting him out. He knew, he had to of. If he didn't, then why did he stand there like a fish out of water when he saw me. I knew he didn't know Benji, but he most certainly knew me.

Jenny and I sat in our chairs at the panel, the creators sitting above us all waiting to be asked questions. Jenny asked me to go up and ask a question for her and to ask them if they had seen a certain art by her which she had accidentally posted on my account.

"Hello, I'm y/n, this is Benji," I wave his hand for him which got people to aw.

"My friend has a couple of questions, if you don't mind me asking two." They sat in silence waiting for me to ask. Sapnap whispered to a boy beside him which made the boys eyes go wide and look at me bewildered.

"So one, what's your favorite Minecraft animal slash mob?" They all answered with their respective answers, Sapnap's animal being a panda.

"And second, my friend wants you guys to check out a piece of art she created but accidentally posted on my account. Is it alright if I tell you the user so you could check it out?" The blonde one all the way to the right nodded and took out his phone.

I told him my account and he replied back with his reaction to it which got some others to ask to be shown it. As I sat down, the man's phone was being passed down the line of people. It stopped at Sapnap as he took out his phone to most likely copy the user to also like the photo.

The panel continued on for another couple hours until it finally finished. Jenny begged me to stay a little longer and go outside to meet some people we couldn't before.

I waited off to the side as she took photos and just played with Benji outside of his carrier. It wasn't long until we were interrupted by someone tapping my shoulder.

"Hey, y/n, right?" I turn towards the voice and see Nick. I nod and he smiles leaning against the wall with me.

"So we finally meet again, at last." I chuckle and see Benji looking at Nick with his big green eyes.

"How old is your son?" He looks puzzled, like he knows something but just wants the last piece to be sure.

"He's going to be nine months soon." He looks at me. Does he know? Surely not.

"Is he- is he mine?" His voice is low, like a scared kid.

I nod, not really knowing what to say. A tense air blankets us and there's nothing else said between us. It took minutes, a couple of photos that he took with fans, before he finally asked a question.

"Could I hold him?" I stare at him blankly, not knowing what exactly to do. Finally, I slowly started to move Benji towards him. He holds him under his armpits, far away from him like the second they'd touch they'd explode. I push them together which gets Benji to laugh and clutch onto Nick.

Nick smiles, realizing that this is probably the best feeling in the world. He fell in love that day, not with the woman standing next to him, but his son that was in his hands. From that day onward, he vowed to take care of them both. He put their needs before his and eventually stopped streaming for some time to fix the relationship between the three of them. After a while, he got back into streaming and showed off his newly wedded wife, who was pregnant once more, and his son, whom he explained he loved more than anything in this world, and outer space.

ill be honest, the time line is a little messed up but fuck me it was hard to find things that sewed everything together perfectly. please just go with it, im tired lol.

[veeeffvee]

Was busy traveling all day and couldn't decide which one to choose.. and I was a little worried maybe other people might've submitted already too... UH, how does this one sound from the list? "That's not the worst thing I've ever heard but it's certainly up there." Did I do this right-?

Send a sentence starter and I'll practice writing a ficlet featuring Christopher and Kennith! {COLOR-TV AU}

“...That’s not the worst thing I’ve ever heard, but it’s certainly up there,” Christopher said after a pause, giving Kennith a flat look. 

“Whaaat? Come on, it’s totally a good idea,” Kennith replied with a wide grin, trying his best to sound convincing. Which didn’t go very far when talking to someone like Christopher. “You get your squad together, show up to an episode of COLOR-TV, and do a bunch of team-based challenges together! It’ll be fun!”

Christopher bristled. “They’re not my—” he began indignantly, before taking a breath and trying again. “We are not a squad, as people are so keen on putting it. We’re hardly even friends.” He paused. “Well I suppose the girls are friends, but they just like to follow me around for some ungodly reason.” 

Kennith’s head tilted to the side, slightly confused. “If you’re not friends, then why do you like to dance with Winnie, and ask a bunch of favors from Obsequious?” 

“Because they’re both idiots who will do what I say.” 

“See? You are a squad! You’re clearly the leader!” 

“I am not their leader!” Christopher very nearly yelled, much to Kennith’s amusement. While Kennith struggled and failed not to laugh, Christopher took another breath to calm himself. “I do not even want to be associated with those… buffoons. They just so happened to take quite a liking to me, the reason for which I have not the slightest idea. What kinds of friends show up to my mansion uninvited almost every day?!”

“The best kind,” Kennith said with a cheeky wink. “Come on, you said they’ll do anything you ask them to, why not command them to be on the show? They’re obviously gonna do it.” 

“They would. But I refuse to take part in it.” 

Kennith pouted. “Aww, why not?” 

“You’re lucky I’m still even at your studio after the fiasco during my episode,” Christopher reminded him, his tone cold. “I don’t want to do an episode with those two, that’s final. Only disastrous things follow those two, I swear.” 

“Oh come on, they can’t be that bad, you’re exaggerating!” Kennith rolled his eyes, thinking Christopher’s clearly just being dramatic. “The first episode featured Obsequious, and that went well! Mostly.” 

Christopher folded his arms, glancing away while his eyes narrowed. “Yes, well, apart they’re harmless. But together they just feed into each other’s inane ideas and antics.”

“Aww, cute. I’d ship ‘em.”

“Kennith.” 

The TV show host held up his hands defensively. “Alright, alright!” he said with a chuckle. Looks like he’d need to switch tactics and be more lenient, as bad of an idea as that is with Christopher. “What would it take for you to be on the episode, huh? I’m open to negotiating.” 

That gave Christopher pause, and he looked back at Kennith curiously. There we go, he’d piqued his interest. Much better. 

“...Give me three months of paid vacation, where I don’t need to show up to the studio to be on standby like usual.” 

Kennith blanched. “WHAT?! No!” 

“Fine, then you won’t get your episode.” 

“A week!”

“Four months.” 

“Two weeks!” 

“Six months.” 

“A month!” 

“Deal,” Christopher agreed, shaking Kennith’s hand. Judging by the grin on his face, it seemed like he had been aiming for a month this entire time. “A pleasure doing business with you, Kennith.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Kennith grumbled, withdrawing his hand with a pout. That wasn’t a very good deal. Now he had to rework a bunch of potential episodes for the schedule later on. Dammit. “So you’ll ask them?” 

“Of course, I am a man of my word.” 

“No you’re not.” 

“Hahaha,” Christopher laughed, obviously forced. “Oh, Kennith. We both know that as far this arrangement of ours goes, I most certainly am. Unless you would like to abuse—I mean, exercise your power?” he drawled, sarcastic. 

Kennith tilted his head up, trying to appear taller as he glared at Christopher. Of course, it didn’t work because Christopher was a foot taller than him, but at least he looked a bit more standoffish. “Depends. Are you actually gonna participate in the episode?”

Christopher put a hand to his chin, humming thoughtfully. “Hmm, I don’t believe that was part of the deal.”

“WHAT?!” 

“You said, and I quote, ‘What would it take for you to be on the episode?’ I never said I would participate. I simply agreed to show up,” Christopher replied with one of his signature Cheshire cat smiles. 

Kennith stared at him. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”

“Naturally.”

Kennith sighed, bringing a hand to his forehead. “What will it take for you to participate in the episode.” 

“Another month?”

“No. I can’t just have you not show up to work for that long.” 

Christopher hummed. “Hmm, fair enough,” he said with a shrug. As much as he’d like to keep haggling for more, he did want to keep his job. Not because of the money, but because it was the most entertaining thing in his life at the moment, unfortunately. “How about this: during the episode, you are not to yell or rush me in any way. Doing your humiliating challenges is hard enough, I do not need your screeching in addition to that.”

Kennith brought an indignant hand to his chest. “I don’t screech! My voice isn’t screechy, it’s fun!” he protested. In response, Christopher gave him a look without saying anything. “What, you don’t think I sound fun?” 

“It’s best if I don’t answer that,” Christopher said flatly. “Are my terms agreeable?”

Kennith rolled his eyes. “Yes, they’re agreeable, fine. I’ll just yell at the other two, I guess.” 

“Do as you wish with them, I couldn’t care less.” 

That piqued Kennith’s interest. “Would you let me boss them around like they would for you?” 

Christopher paused to consider that, before glancing away. “...No.”

“Aww come on, what?? Are they your friends or not?” 

“They aren’t my friends, but I’m not just going to let you—” 

“So you’re a squad?” 

“WE’RE NOT A SQUAD!” 

Kennith grinned. “Sure you are. The Monochrome Squad.” 

Christopher let out a frustrated groan at the team being given a title. “Don’t call us that!” 

“Ohhh, so you guys are an ‘us’ now?” 

“KENNITH!” 

“Okay, okay! Hahaha…”

[chalterdh22]

Chapter 53: Is This the End?

This is the final chapter of this story. I truly love these characters and will hopefully continue writing adventures for them. Thanks for everyone that stayed with this story! This is the way!

We went to talk to the Armorer.  After explaining what we wanted, she asked Din to remove his helmet for her, so she could look upon his face as a new man.  She seemed quite pleased with our decision and helped us settle into our new quarters.

Grogu also seemed excited, although we weren’t sure he fully understood everything.  But for him, life was a rollercoaster, so most things were fun to him. 

I let my mom know what was going on, and she also seemed more pleased than usual.  She even wanted to come and visit!  Come to find out, she sold the ship we gave her for a ton of credits.  She paid everything off and was able to work when she wanted to, not that she had too.

Greef was happy for us too, although he said he would miss having the reinforcements readily available.  We were still allowed to go help fight when absolutely necessary, so he seemed content with that.

After deciding to become a clan of three, we had our vows down by the living waters.  I didn’t know 90% of the people that attended, but at that moment, when we said our vows, Din officially removed his helmet in front of everyone to kiss me and seal our relationship.  It was at that time I met Bo Katan, who I knew a lot from others’ stories.

She was very stoic like the rest of the Mandalorians, but seemed genuinely happy for us, as was everyone else.  Mom was able to make it in and a few other of Din’s friends came as well.

He introduced me to Cara Dune, Fennec and Bobo Fett, amongst others.  They seemed so happy for him, and he walked around with the biggest smile on his face as he greeted everyone and introduced me.

We were allowed to take a post marital vacation, just Din and me.  We went back to Naboo, just the two of us. 

It was a week of indescribable feelings, intimacy, and love for each other.  I wouldn’t have had a more amazing time if I hand wrote it out myself.  Truly, there are no words.  We were on cloud nine and nothing could ruin this bond between us.

After returning from paradise, I was also recruited to be a teacher of sorts, with apprentices.  Mine were to work with the older ones though, to help them read their environments, fight and be proactive in every way possible.  It was amazing to see these kids grow!  Grogu would eventually be in my class, so that will be special.

Din ended up being one of the most beloved trainers in all of Mandalore.  He did work with everyone to be able to take apprentices out on little adventures with him that he was permitted to do.  He also worked with the Republic on one off situations, and not as a hired hand under the table.

We still didn’t know who was going after Grogu’s blood, but like the Armorer said, it didn’t really matter because there would always be people from the Empire still trying to unlock Jedi secrets.

Grogu ended up being a big brother to our new addition.  We had a girl and named her Dyna.  Very early on, she and I had a bond, so I knew she had abilities like my own.  We talked at length about sending her over to Luke to be trained as a Jedi.  We still haven’t made that decision, but we do plan on making that trip to Yavin to discuss options.  We knew what it would mean for us, to give up our daughter, and I wasn’t ready to make that decision.  Din understood.

I would like to say after all this, we lived happily ever after, but that’s not even close to the truth.  The truth is we had many more obstacles to face, loss to endure and frustrations to overcome.  But one thing I can say is that we couldn’t have done it alone and we were glad we had such a family to lean on.  Without them, our outcomes would be different. 

What will our next adventure be with a toddler son and less than one year old to raise up?  I can say that Din is an amazing father and an even better husband.  All that story can be for another day.  Until then, may the force be with you.

[the-kittylorian-writes]

"Priceless"

Type: One-shot

Pairing: Din Djarin x Omera

Rating: General Audiences

Summary:

Din takes Omera to one of his most memorable getaway spots, inspired by fond memories with his adoptive Mandalorian father. But once they’ve reached Niamos, Din starts to regret taking his soon-to-be-wife there… 

[Written for (extended!) Mandomera Week 2022, fifth prompt: “Vacation”]

read it here or on AO3 (with author's notes)

Priceless

“Call it a birthday present!” Greef Karga prodded, his face ruddy with elation over Din Djarin’s latest visit to Nevarro. It hadn’t escaped his attention that Din had brought a very lovely lady friend as well. 

Din’s voice was flat. “You don’t know my exact birthday.”

Greef cleared his throat, unbothered. “Well, is it today? Is it tomorrow? Was it three weeks ago or will it be three months from now?” He heartily chuckled over his own wisecrack. His beefy hand cordially patted Din so hard on the back, Din sucked in air, tightening his core to keep himself from toppling over. “It doesn’t matter. Call it an advanced or belated birthday gift. I insist! You know I’ll always be your good friend, Mando. And… won’t a good friend be further graced with the honor of an introduction?”

Karga’s grin widened and his eyes softened as Din followed the older man’s gaze, which landed on a resplendent Omera by his side. Din’s heart always did ten riotous backflips whenever he’d land his own gaze on her. Under the Nevarro heat and sky, she was as radiant as ever. Her dark hair was knotted in plaits that cascaded down her back, and her skin the shade of nutmeg was bronzed so beautifully in the fading light of day.

Din sighed. Before he could even make a move to introduce Omera, Greef had excitedly taken him aside, with a polite nod to Omera, and began singing Din his praises, how he’s missed his best bounty hunter “but that was old times,” and how he’s missed “the little green baby with the magic hand thing,” et cetera and so on. Greef was extraordinarily chatty and in very high spirits. Half a standard year had passed since they’ve had their last crime committed on Nevarro, and it hadn’t even been a grave offense. It was a miracle streak unheard of in these parts before.

“Marshall Dune’s been busy,’ exulted the magistrate earlier. “She’s wanting to extend her reach to one of Nevarro’s moons to clean up so I’ve sent her there. Cara’s stationed herself there awhile, and she’ll probably ignore my message of your visit until she’s done. Laser focus and all that good stuff. It’ll take a few days. I’m sure you’d want to preoccupy yourselves in the meantime!”

Thus, Greef Karga had offered an all-expense paid trip to anywhere among the galaxy’s hotspots; there was a ceiling to the amount and distance, of course. Even then, Din had thought it seemed too bloated an offer. While already generous, Greef was making an offer for a trip for two. Magistrate Karga was very indulgent, especially when Din had chosen to visit wearing only light armor… and with a bare face. It was a giant leap of faith and act of trust, so Greef bounced off the walls, basking under the honor the Mandalorian had chosen to bestow on him.

…Which arrived to this moment when Omera—after noting Din’s tongue-tied dilemma, naked face beet-red, and giving Greef a bright, tender smile—stepped forth, extended a hand, and introduced herself. “Omera,” she said in companionable ease, her musical voice like rich, mulled wine, “from Sorgan, magistrate Karga.”

Greef was over the moon. Omera giggled when he’d planted a gentleman’s kiss on her knuckles, and gave her hand a warm, fatherly pat. 

Din nearly choked on his own breath when Karga concluded their reunion, and sealed the deal regarding the trip with a: “All right then—I’ll call it an advanced wedding present!” 

The magistrate roared out a belly-deep laugh, sending Din further into a silent and red-faced oblivion.

****

Niamos.

It’s been more than twenty years since he’d been to the planet, and that was when he was a young teenager by his adoptive Mandalorian father’s side. 

Greef Karga had allowed him time to decide on a destination. Omera wasn’t very well-traveled, and that alone sent Din’s mind into paralysis at the presence of so many options. Din, in stark contrast, was very well-traveled, at least to the outskirts of the Mid Rim and to most of the Outer Rim. 

Din was seventeen when his buir had taken him on an exposure trip to Niamos with the Tribe’s permission (not easy to get). It was what his father dubbed a “working vacation.” While Din’s buir scouted the planet for future client prospects who could use the services of skilled warriors for tasks that needed heavily armed manpower, Din only accompanied him when needed, but mostly, Din kept to his own devices. At the end of the trip, however, they had quality time as father and son, just the two of them—and it had been such a wonderful time, a fun interlude from Fighting Corps training, that it had lingered willingly in Din’s mind. To this day, it remained one of his fondest memories with his buir, and with Niamos by association.

Din recalled the tall palm trees that skirted the beaches for miles and miles. It was paradise where only a few wealthy personages made their sojourn. There had been nothing on Niamos then that spelled the lavishness of Canto Bight or the chaotic extravagance of the likes of Coruscant. 

The air was fresh and the waves which kissed the shores were clear. There had only been two main hotels miles apart from each other, one of which Din and his father had stayed for a full week. Niamos was only beginning to flourish as a hotspot. The various fauna didn’t shy away from the vacationers; the flora sprung aplenty. Din had even felt so much grass on his toes on his way to the hotel once, when he’d taken off his boots to wade in the ocean water.

There were also mountains far away. A seeming lifetime ago, Din could see their solid outlines from where he’d stood on the beach. 

Now, the outlines of those peaks only appeared at a certain time of day, when the smog abated from the worsening traffic. 

He and Omera hadn’t set foot on Niamos for an hour, and Din was already miserable.

“It was nowhere like this the last time I’ve come here,” Din muttered, darkly disappointed.

Omera laid a compassionate hand on Din’s arm as they elbowed their way through the thick crowds of tourists milling across the cramped and noisy beaches. There was crass laughter, yelling and tomfoolery, and the blaring of loud, bludgeoning music everywhere. 

Din was devastated, tempered to remain in his best behavior while in Omera’s presence. “There’d been no trash by the shoreline,” he grunted low, appalled. “Vendors weren’t even allowed this close to the coast. You can only take food as far as the amphitheater. Hardly any garbage to sweep at the end of the day because people actually knew what they were doing. Spoiled rich kids aside—they actually cared about Niamos…” then he finally sighed, defeated. “…once.”

Omera’s voice was soft and kind when she sought conversation with her beloved. “Wasn’t that during the time of the Empire?” 

They had mustered the sacred closeness of being able to confide in matters once so sensitive to the other. 

Din shook his head once, crestfallen. “That was before the Empire had fully sequestered it. The wealthy were still able to buy the Imps off, until one day, deals didn’t fall through. Good thing my father had brought me here before things went down. I just—“ He shook his head again, sullen and speechless. 

He should have known. The brochure Din had acquired over the HoloNet was rife with false advertising, only showcasing images from when Niamos was still mostly pristine, from how Din had remembered it. He should have known before he sold the idea to Omera.

And dearest Omera… she had agreed whole-heartedly. She seemed so excited; this was a frontier experience for her. But the ugly contrast of the Niamos of his adolescence and the Niamos now, post-Empire, had crushed him. This is what happens, Din thought, when he gives in to sentiment. This was not the same place he and his father had gallivanted on, all those years ago. 

He should have known.

“Did you want to go back to the hotel, love?” Omera suggested amiably. Din flinched at how his beloved was taking everything in stride, gathering special pains to cheer him up, when it was he who should be bringing her joy during these moments of supposed solace.

Not when he’d found the courage at last to propose to her.

Here, in Niamos? In this tourist trap that was once a crystal blue paradise? He swallowed hard. 

Din released a breath, letting tension melt away. Omera’s touch was very reassuring, comforting. He draped a hand over her own which was clutching at his arm like the felt-coated claws of a sapphire-blue Niamos seagull. 

Din shook his head in response. He’d take this responsibility. Besides, it’d be disrespectful to Greef, who’d probably spent most of his own magistrate’s salary to make sure Din and Omera had a great time. They couldn’t just up and leave, cut the trip short and say that because things on their chosen destination have changed, they’d decided to give up on this gift.

“We’ll try to make the most of it,” Din whispered so close to Omera that their foreheads met, as they strolled past a group of rowdy Rodians in the middle of a toast. “If… if that’s what you want…”

Din could almost see Omera’s sweet dimple crest over her cheek as his beloved spoke. “Yes, my love,” she acquiesced. “I’d want that… as long as it’s with you.”

****

Din couldn’t find the appeal in the blaring casino chambers, or the fun in the light-up dance floor that could conjure up a seizure for the most unsuspecting and sensitive of individuals, or even the small cocktails Omera had picked for them with tiny, glimmering umbrellas, which barely had a kick. It was watered down, bland and cheerless, and it had cost twenty-five credits each.

Omera wanted to use the more well-maintained freshers; she had told Din, reluctantly, that getting into those cleaner facilities had cost her fifteen credits. Din insisted; he only ever wished to make her stay on Niamos comfortable and—by the gods—sanitary. They would have opted to return to the hotel, but the blinking fee sign at the freshers’ had caught Omera by surprise that she had been ambushed to pay by a Mon Calamari custodian before she could head back to Din.

The seventy credit’s worth of sandwiches lacked flavor. The fifty-credit dessert was too cloying; Din sadly left half of it uneaten. His palette had changed greatly over the years after long periods subsisting on ration bars.

When a waiting Toydarian doorkeeper had charged them both to pass through the back alleyway, which led to the less unruly areas of the city proper without having to go around the coast had they exited from where they’d initially come in, Din had had about enough.

“It won’t be long until they’ll start charging for the very air we breath,” he grumbled, frustrated and quite emotionally tired. Not only were they charged every step of the way, they were charged an obscenely expensive amount.

Omera shushed him, soothed him; she laid her plaited head on his arm. 

“We’ll head back to Nevarro tomorrow, love,” she suggested, bearing no judgment in her tone. “I’ll tell the good magistrate everything. In fact—“ her smile widened, pearly teeth in full view, and Din was mesmerized. “Greef might even arrange a full refund of our trip, knowing we’ve been deceived by the advertising. He’d probably even issue a rain check for another trip; he seems a man of his word where it counts, love. You’ve also told me many times that he does have powers of persuasion!”

Din sighed again, a bone-deep one. He closed his eyes. He planted a soft kiss on Omera’s head, still leaning towards him in loving proximity borne out of trust.

He didn’t deserve all of Omera’s patience, kindness, fortitude… not while all he did was complain and wail over spilled milk. 

Those amazing memories he’s had with his father—that was all they will ever be, not that his buir was long-gone. Niamos wouldn’t suddenly transform magically into the old paradise overnight just to accommodate his whims.

Only memories now… He and his buir racing the entire length of the shoreline in full Mandalorian regalia and with no one batting an eye as their booted feet added real challenge to the run… with him reaching the finish line out of breath and so revitalized, laughing until his sides ached as his father caught up, winded and jokingly growling out obscenities… And that memory of him and his father in the shooting gallery by the vibrantly lit carousel—now since dismantled—hitting each target and winning each prize, their helmets glinting under the bright crimson and spring-green lights; they’d donated the prizes to the waiting line of delighted children behind them. 

There was he and his buir locked in their hotel room distracting themselves with a game of Cubikahd as they fleetingly shoved food in their mouths with their helmets left unshed, and they’d also slept with their helmets on. One can never be too sure even within the privacy of a public resort.

But there was one particular memory which Din had held the most dear to his heart.

It couldn’t have been too sullied like the Niamos coastline, which held most of the infrastructure and bulk of activity. The sun was setting and trash piled in the amphitheaters. Din shuddered. He didn’t want to stay along this tarnished shoreline another minute longer. He’d take the gamble. He was ballasted by the solid feel of the tiny felt box buried deep in one of his trouser pockets.

“Omera,” Din offered, voice firm. “I—I’d like to take you somewhere… and cross your fingers that it’s still somehow the way it was since I’ve last seen it.”

Omera giggled. She closed the gap as their foreheads met. “Okay. Lead the way, Din.”

****

The hover-shuttle trip cost a hundred kriffing credits, and to Din’s dismay, the stop was still a mile away from the foot of the mountains—where he had gained the last of his sacrosanct memories with his buir on their final day on Niamos, before Din headed back to Fighting Corps training with Paz Vizsla and the rest.

“Upsy-daisy,” Din urged Omera with a glint in his eye as he bent low enough for her to clamber on his back for a piggy-back ride. “It’s going to be a hell of a walk, Omera, and I wouldn’t want you too tired before we reached the top.”

“Oh, quit that,” Omera chided him, blushing hard. But Din was being too endearing; with some reluctance, Omera gave in. “But just for half a mile. I’d walk through the rest,” was the bargain. Din agreed.

There was no one else around. Tiny roadside lamps were the only source of illumination that snaked from the lone shuttle station to the mountains. It seemed deserted enough… perhaps no one else had the mind to give up the creature comforts of the capital for a grueling hike in the middle of nowhere. This was a part of Niamos Din hoped the damning hand of enterprising civilization hadn’t smitten yet. 

The trek to the mountains was made in comfortable silence, with Omera resting her head on Din’s back as he diligently trudged forward. His breathing was unstrained, making Omera further realize how physically fit Din was. She herself was no dainty glass doll, and can withstand hard labor… but Din was indeed something else. He was a tank when it mattered.

Omera buried her face further into the folds of Din’s rough-spun tunic, taking in his woodsy scent. She held him closer; Din’s breathing hitched a little, and she smiled.

As promised, by the half-mile mark, Omera climbed off the piggy-back ride. She made a jest of having Din clamber on her back for a ride this time, and Din had chuckled so hard Omera wished the day wouldn’t end. The sun had already set, in fact. The brilliance of Niamos’ moons filled the expanse; the tall rock formations glowed like upturned icicles under pale moonlight.

“This mountain’s peak is called the Rainbow Shard,” Din began, breaking the silence as they plowed forward the rest of the mile, hand in hand. For Omera, this was more than she could ask for—a great improvement from a Din who would shy away from affection and touch, and now—sans helmet in the duration of the trip, welcoming of her touches and embraces—Omera only marveled at his tremendous transformation. Patiently, she listened on. How she loved her noble-hearted Mandalorian.

“My father had egged me on to race him to the top. It’s actually not a tricky hike, but it had its obstacles. He made sure I used a good amount of grappling cord before I barely beat him to the Rainbow Shard. I’ve won by six seconds.” The fondness in Din’s smooth baritone was like a calming song. Omera dared not break the spell. Din chuckled. “To this day, I still believe he let me win.”

“Why is it called the Rainbow Shard?” Omera inquired, genuinely curious and reverential to Din’s treasured memory.

There was a smile in Din’s voice. His head was bent low. “You’ll see.”

“Din,” Omera said at length, “you’re not making me piggy-back on you again while we get to the Shard…”

Din fought off a playful pinch on his side from Omera’s vengeful fingers when he’d responded with a, “…then we’d never get there.”

But they did reach the peak, with Omera holding Din close again in piggy-back as he tirelessly hiked up the mountain path which led to the Rainbow Shard. 

He set her down, and she climbed off; there was no sound but the soft whistling winds. Even at the top, the climate was mild. There was a traceable chill in the air. 

“Niamos has moons that reach their dark cycles every five years’ time,” Din explained. “And we’ve made it just in time before another dark cycle begins. When my father and I visited, the moons had just gone through their dark cycle, making way to full moonlight in turn, for a few years. It was a timely trip, and I’m pretty sure my dad scheduled it that way so I can have a glimpse of the Shard in its glory—“

As if on cue, the moons reached a majestic summit so that a huge rush of brilliance filled the place—and then, the glimmering sandstone in the rock beds began to reflect the light, and in the process, broke light apart into a thousand spectrums, and minuscule rainbows shimmered all around them.

“—just as how you see it now,” Din punctuated, and he held back a moment’s desire to preen. He did hit perfect timing, and Omera was agape in ceaseless wonder. 

She walked a few paces away from him so that she could absorb everything; she held her hands aloft as if to cradle the thousand glittering rainbow lights. They reflected on her bronze skin, over the silkiness of her hair, and when she looked up at Din—and that took Din’s breath away—those tiny rainbows danced in her eyes, enough to move Din close to tears of joy.

The last time he was ever this emotional was when he’d given up Grogu to the Jedi in the meantime for his schooling, but his son had reunited with him since then. The child and Winta were safely tucked in Sorgan; Din and Omera had time in their hands for each other, even for a little while.

Din stilled his quivering breaths as he reached for the felt box in a trouser pocket as he carefully made his way to Omera. He wanted to commit her enchanting smile to memory as she giggled like a child again, letting the lights play on her open palms. 

He had taken the box out of his pocket, and he was moving closer, closer. 

Omera continued to be blissfully distracted by the wonders of the Rainbow Shard in full force, under encompassing light of the moons.

“Omera…” Din finally called her attention.

Omera lifted her crystalline-agate eyes so that they met his… and her brows furrowed for a split-second before she discovered that Din was much lower than her eye level—as the man was on the rock, bent on one knee, and was holding up a newly opened jewelry box…

Omera’s head spun. Her world was in a standstill. She held her breath, and her heartbeat pummeled her from within with a wondrous, euphoric force.

Din had posed the question so steadily; he had built his nerves and she had rewarded him with a yes—of course it was a yes!—and suddenly she was sobbing. She flung herself into Din’s arms just as when he had slid the many-faceted bejeweled ring of mixed beskar onto a finger. He had hinted to her months before that Mandalorian wedding rings were forged from pure beskar should they choose to wear them. Many Mandalorian marriages of old had held strong and fast, wedding rings or none. When a Mandalorian had made up their mind on matrimony, it was a lifelong vow, so much like the Resol’nare in deep respect for their chosen spouse.

Omera was still sobbing, chanting her yes’es like a mantra, eyes shut as her tears flowed freely.

Then they hungrily leaned into each other for a lingering kiss, one passionate enough to render them both breathless. It was a slow and relished dance of mouths, noses, and physical maneuvers, hands boldly venturing and exploring in a tangle of sighs and quiet laugher, until Omera was gleefully in tears again. She’d embraced Din once more.

Din held Omera back ever so tightly. He’d almost completely forgotten his horrible experiences earlier over at the Niamos’ capital, where everything had a price, and one thing would cost so much more than the other.

Here, upon the Rainbow Shard, no price can ever be placed on this hallowed moment. He’d pay a billion credits ten times over for it—but thankfully, all Din had to pay was the hover-shuttle back to the capital, so he and his beautiful fiancé can celebrate quietly in their hotel room, and if he can teach Omera some makeshift Cubikahd while savoring dinner in bed—why not?

****

Greef Karga had fallen into a flurry of misty-eyed babbling that for a moment, Cara thought he’d instantaneously burst out in huge tears as soon as Omera showed him the engagement ring.

True to Omera’s word, she and Din did return to Nevarro the next day, and sincerely relayed their not-so-grand experiences on Niamos to the good magistrate. Greef had been graciously dismissive over the affair; so once more, Omera had been right—he had been issued a partial refund, at least, but that was better than nothing. Greef made a swift holo-call, and was very terse yet pleasant over the proceedings. Cara admitted she wouldn’t have kept her cool once she’s realized she’d been ripped off by a trip which a brochure boasted was completely worth the time.

In hindsight, although their Niamos trip was cut short… Omera and Din couldn’t deny that in spite of the setbacks, the trip had indeed been worth their hard-earned time, breaking away from responsibilities of krill farming and child-rearing (among many others) for a precious instant.

“Congratulations!” Cara beamed, and she’d gathered both of them in a crushing hug (much to Din’s chagrin). “So… are we having the wedding now, while we have a weeping magistrate at our disposal, you two lovebirds you?”

Din aired out a rather uneasy chuckle. Omera seemed to have understood him completely, so she replied for him with a dimpled giggle. 

“Maybe after we’ve saved up a bit more—we mean, not just for the wedding but… for married life in general.”

Cara’s own dimpled smile was aglow. “Of course. Not that I know anything about marriage and all that jazz… but really, what you and our dearest buckethead boy have with each other—it’s surreal. It’s damn priceless!”

*****

[turtlethon]

Turtles on the Orient Express

Season 7, Episode 10 First US Airdate: October 16, 1993

Shredder plots to turn the Orient Express into a high-speed missile.

We’re into the final four episodes of the “Vacation in Europe” side-season of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. This is Doug Molitor’s final contribution to the series, following on from his work on “Artless” a few weeks prior.

The show begins in Paris for a third time as April reports on the revival of the original Orient Express, which will be travelling all the way to Istanbul. The Turtles and Splinter are sporting red berets today as they watch from nearby. In a bit of foreshadowing, Splinter talks about how the journey can often be more important than the destination; this is brushed off by Raphael, who prefers to get where he’s going as quickly as possible, words that will come back to haunt everyone shortly.

As April talks to the Turtles, Irma spots a mysterious man wearing a long coat and a mask over his uh... mask, boarding the train. You’d think the bladed boots would be a dead giveaway, but this turns out to be Shredder; upon boarding he gives Rocksteady and Bebop the all-clear to emerge from what looked like an excessively cramped wooden trunk. Shreds slices open a crate to reveal Krang’s “fusion supercharger”, a device that will make the Orient Express move “faster than any jet”. The villains will alight from the train after the device is activated in Bucharest, leaving it to accelerate until it crashes over oil fields, generating an explosion that will release so much energy it’ll allow for the opening of a dimensional warp, allowing the Technodrome to pass back through to Earth. This just might be the most overcooked scheme Shredder and Krang have ever come up with, a seemingly endless set of steps just to generate a big explosion.

Later, aboard a train carriage holding mail, Bebop and Rocksteady apprehend two conductors and steal their uniforms, tossing them out in their underwear. Shredder does the same to the engineer, and as the train pulls out of the station the Turtles spot the dazed employees left lying around on the platform. Convinced this must be Shredder’s doing, the team hop aboard a hand-powered sidecar and attempt to keep up. Donatello whips out a specialised magnet which provides them with a link to the back of the train, and this will be sufficient until they can board the Express when it stops in Munich. Meanwhile, The Boys sport disguises while carrying the supercharger to the front of the train, which means it’s time for a...

BEBOP AND ROCKSTEADY (AND SHREDDER) WARDROBE UPDATE: It feels like it’s been forever since our favourite hench-mutants were granted a costume change; for whatever reason such things seemed to fall out of favour during seasons five and six. Today both Rocksteady and Bebop are wearing the uniforms stolen from the conductors earlier, black trousers and blazers with a red trim alongside matching caps. Shredder is also in on the act, wearing the engineer’s grey and violet striped overalls and oversized hat on top of his normal attire, a bright red scarf wrapped around his helmet. In all three cases, even though the men they stole these clothes from were much smaller than them, miraculously the clothes are a perfect fit. Shredder begins the act of hooking the machine up to the train, ordering Bebop and Rocksteady to keep themselves busy by collecting tickets. With Munich approaching, Shredder stops the train as planned to avoid creating suspicion.

A sub-plot throughout this episode has Vernon insistent on attempting to get in good with the upper-crust types present on the train, but continually ending up covered in spilled food. As the train pulls to a stop, a waiter accidentally drops a bowl of pea soup on his head. Meanwhile the Turtles don lederhosen as they pretend to be a traditional German music band. After boarding the train they begin warming up, but are paid off by a wealthy, monocle-wearing dignitary with a fistful of cash to keep quiet. Despite having taken the money, the Turtles begin playing again before running into Bebop and Rocksteady. A fight breaks out within the tight confines of the carriage, with Leonardo accidentally elbowing Donatello in the throat.

The brawl continues, at one point roping in a shirtless Vernon in the middle of changing clothes (who’s somehow even more jacked than he was in “Son of Return of the Fly II”). Bebop and Rocksteady use laser weapons to cut a hole in the side of the train, causing the Turtles and Splinter to fall out the side and over the edge of a cliff as act one reaches its conclusion.

Act two opens with our heroes sliding down the cliff side and about to hit the autobahn below. The team ride Michaelangelo’s sousaphone across the road and down a further slope, eventually landing in the river Danube. In a true “this would never actually work in a million years” moment, Michaelangelo blows his bubble gum through the sousaphone, creating an enormous bubble that keeps the instrument afloat as the Orient Express passes by. The team plan to board the train again upon reaching Vienna, but this time Shredder doesn’t stop it as scheduled; now forced to keep up until the train gets to Hungary, Donatello attaches a propulsion unit to the sousaphone to speed up the makeshift boat.

April ropes Irma into clinging onto the side of the train with her as they make their way to the front, intent on getting an interview with the engineer to find out why they didn’t stop in Vienna. This is one of those occasions where I find myself questioning April’s journalistic abilities as it’s pretty fucking obvious this is Shredder, the weird voice he puts on fooling nobody. Eventually the penny drops as she spots the feet of Rocksteady and Bebop under a sheet, whispering that she’d recognise those “legs” anywhere though only the tips of their shoes are visible. On the way out, Irma unwittingly bumps into the blanket covering the mutants, and screams in horror as they’re revealed. With their cover blown, Rocksteady and Bebop capture the two ladies. Both are tied up in mail bags, and ordered by Shredder to be placed in the baggage car of the train, where they’ll be forced to witness the carnage of the train crash in the moments prior to becoming part of it themselves. Bebop remarks that “like they say, the chick’s in the mail!” as April is restrained in one of the mailbags, which might be his wittiest one-liner ever. I’m conflicted as to whether this is a good thing given that this is Bebop we’re talking about.

The Turtles arrive on the outskirts of Budapest ahead of the train, and the aroma of food nearby draws them toward a community of Romani travellers, who Michaelangelo inadvertently scares off while trying to invite them to “go halfies on a goulash pizza”. It’s revealing that the Turtles assume, as per their dialogue here, that everyone must know them as the world-famous heroes seen on TV. As we’ve seen many times over the years, while this would make sense, the Turtles run into residents of their own city who have no clue who they are all the time. Having scared away a group of innocent people minding their own business, it dawns on Leonardo that perhaps they could “borrow” their wagon as well.

Bebop and Rocksteady take a moment to scare a tired Vernon, causing him to faint and again look foolish to the other passengers, before reuniting with Shredder. The masked villain tells his henchmen that they’ll leave the train upon arriving in Bucharest, at which point it'll begin speeding up dramatically.

April and Irma look faintly ridiculous as they pop their heads out of the mailbags, attempting to break free. Elsewhere on the train Vernon has recovered and attempts to schmooze with a Baron and Baroness, insistent that he's of the same class as them though neither is convinced. A wagon parked on the tracks forces Shredder to hastily stop the train, sending Vernon's dinner flying into the faces of the couple.

Bebop and Rocksteady shove the wagon off the tracks, but soon find its passengers are already on-board the Orient Express: The Turtles, now dressed as Romani travellers. Raphael purports to be a fortune teller, offering to tell Bebop's future, in which he sees "two women". "O'Neil and that Irma dame? They ain't in my future," retorts Bebop. "They're in the baggage car!" This is all our heroes need to know, losing their disguises as they lure the The Boys away; at the same time, Splinter heads off to confront Shredder. Both Bebop and Rocksteady tumble out of the train into a nearby river. The same scenario plays out again as Splinter battles Shredder, with the mutant rat sending the masked villain flying into the river too, but in the process finding himself dangling precariously from the side of the Orient Express by his tail.

Act three kicks off with the Turtles freeing April and Irma, before turning their attention to Splinter's predicament; in the split-second before he falls Michaelangelo swoops in and pulls him back aboard. Meanwhile, Shredder dries off and reunites with Rocksteady and Bebop. In case you'd forgotten how abysmal the editing in these European Vacation episodes can be, a fraction of a second passes between Shredder demanding his men find a form of transport that will allow them to catch up with the train, and him being presented with a bike propped against a tree. Bebop explains that "it was all we could find!", and it's obvious that what we're watching the result of at least two scenes being smooshed together (possibly with one showing the search for a vehicle in-between being excised entirely). All three ride off on the bikes, with Shredder declaring this to be "humiliating".

Aboard the train, Donatello is initially dismissive of the supercharger, but is electrocuted upon trying to meddle with it, his insides briefly visible to the viewers at home. Laid out on the floor of the train, a stunned Donnie explains to the other Turtles that if they can't shut the machine down, it'll become "airborne" upon reaching Bucharest. The team have April and Irma tell the passengers that they'll need to jump from the train, a proposal that Vernon (rightly) considers crazy; ominously, he declares that he intends to relax while aboard the train even if it kills him.

Donatello hatches a plan to place the train in reverse, but before he can do so Shredder and The Boys jump back on board, taking him captive at the same time the locomotive begins to accelerate. A battle unfolds in which the Turtles are blocked inside a carriage by Rocksteady and Bebop but re-emerge by cutting a hole in the roof. It dawns on Shredder that Splinter isn't present and has snuck off to the engine room. The battle continues as the Orient Express arrives in Bulgaria, with Rocksteady being thrown off the side. Bebop, too, goes bouncing across the roofs of the train cars before being ejected.

Splinter finds himself facing down Shredder's laser blaster, about to be finished off "once and for all". I'm not sure if what follows next is another bit of shoddy editing or just poorly executed animation in general, but somehow the masked villain is hooked to a pole in a passing railway station and pulled out of the train. With only seconds to go until the train takes off, the Turtles struggle to yell orders to Splinter from nearby on how to disable the super charger, as the sound barrier has now been breached. Fortunately, Splinter can read Donatello's lips and places the train in reverse, the super charger being blown through the front of the Orient Express and into space on its own.

With the train now stopped, the Turtles catch up with Splinter, before also meeting up with a dazed April, Irma and Vernon, all three covered in food that was thrown around the vehicle as it sped up. Raphael remarks that while the Turtles were saving their lives, the ladies were engaged in a "food fight"; both April and Irma are angered by this, chasing him down the street as the story concludes.

Doug Molitor hops off the Turtles train here, having provided us with four episodes that have all in their own way been either good or great. “Beware the Lotus” introduced Lotus Blossom, a rare female antagonist in this incarnation of the series and a character almost unique for 1989 in terms of her complex motivations and moral ambiguity. "Four Musketurtles", on paper a rote amnesia story, was nevertheless an exceptionally funny episode, elevated further by the skills of the voice cast, in particular Cam Clarke's cavorting Leonardo and Rob Paulsen's increasingly frustrated Raphael. More recently "Artless" was easily the most conceptually ambitious of the European Vacation episodes, introducing new villains in interplanetary art collectors Dob and Yikum while connecting the Turtles with the works of their renaissance namesakes.

“Turtles on the Orient Express” could be viewed as the culmination of everything Molitor has done during his time writing for the show; here, we have a wide-reaching episode that manages to fit in multiple action sequences as well as some of the funniest dialogue heard so far this season; in bringing together these ying-yang aspects of TMNT so effectively, it feels like this should be in the running to be considered an all-time great, a bona-fide classic adventure.

Okay, but it’s not though, is it?

The sad truth is that a compelling script is only one part of making television animation work, and “Turtles on the Orient Express” can’t overcome the production problems inherent in every episode during this arc. We still don't have Rob Paulsen as Raphael or James Avery as Shredder, and their absences continue to weigh upon the show. While the quality of the animation has evened out a little since "A Real Snow Job", there are points in this episode where certain characters look downright hideous: Shredder comes off the worst of out of everyone here, appearing bowling shoe ugly throughout the first act and intermittently through much of what follows.

Editing has been a glaring issue throughout this side-season; sometimes this can be as innocuous as a character's dialogue getting cut off abruptly, other times it results in stories failing to flow in an intuitive fashion. By now I think it's obvious that some, possibly all of these episodes have been cut down and are running shorter than originally intended; perhaps this is a side-effect of them being shelved for years then revived with a view to airing as Saturday morning network fare in 1993 (although of course these shows did air throughout Europe the prior year; I wonder if additional content was present in the international dubs, particularly the French one, which could be considered the "true" source from which all the other variants of this side-season's episodes were adapted.) In much the same way that the two Paris episodes could have been reconfigured into a more coherent two-part story, I think the concept of the Turtles and Shredder's crew battling aboard the Orient Express would have benefitted from being given room to breathe over two episodes, there's simply too much going on here for everything to get the time it deserves.

Let's take some solace that this episode indicates, in more capable hands, that at least some of the Vacation in Europe episodes could have been contenders. Next time we'll join the Turtles in the Netherlands, as "April Gets in Dutch".

[mslizsteele-stories]

Soju

☾︎✯☽︎

"You did pretty well during your shift," Jiyong commented by the time my shift ended.

It was already three in the morning, and everyone vacated the club since it was closing time. The staff cleared and rid the tables of any empty bottles of alcohol and plates, placing the stools on top. The DJ was putting away his equipment in their designated cases, in preparation for his departure from the club. Chaeyoung left a bit early saying that she - and I quote - "needed to catch some Zs and watch Netflix later in the day."

"It was nothing I couldn't handle." I shrugged nonchalantly.

"Glad to hear it."

"So, did I pass the test?"

Jiyong smiled, extending his hand toward me. "Welcome aboard. I look forward to working with you."

"Likewise." I smiled, shaking his hand briefly.

"Make sure you go to the reception desk. Jisoo will give you your schedule and some documentation that you may need to fill in," he told me. "When do you wanna start?"

"Anytime is fine. I'm just glad I have a job."

"Alright. So, I guess I'll see you next week." He turned his heels and started leaving, but not before yelling. "Don't be late."

☾︎✯☽︎

"We get health benefits?!" I exclaimed surprised, staring at my contract.

Jisoo, the receptionist laughed. "Yes, everyone here has health benefits."

In all my years of bartending, getting benefits of any sort was rare. Most bar owners, club owners et cetera don't always feel obligated to provide such since it's the employee's responsibility. So, you can imagine the shock I got after finding out that not only did I get paid in addition to the tips I collected per shift, but I also had my health covered and health insurance is expensive as hell.

"Just how rich is this guy?" I thought out loud.

"He is a businessman. Not only does he own this establishment, but he also has his very own fashion label."

My eyebrows flew up. "Well flip me like a pancake. I won't be surprised if this guy owns a whole island because holy shit!"

Jisoo laughed again. "He is a generous man who treats everyone who works for him like family. You'll fit right in."

"Sure." I drawled out, checking the time on my phone. "Look, I gotta dip and head home. It's pretty late. See you next week."

"Okay." She smiled and waved at me as I made my way to the exit.

I went to the parking lot where my car was. As I searched for my car keys, I spotted the dancer from earlier hopping on her motorcycle. Gone was her stage outfit and lo and behold was her casual attire that consisted of a pair of tight jeans that hugged and shaped her small waist going down to her hips and slender legs with a pair of combat boots and a black leather jacket over her white tank top.

I watched her slip on her helmet before her eyes met mine. We stared at each other for what felt like an eternity. I awkwardly waved at her not knowing what else to do in the situation. She smiled, sliding down the visor of her helmet and kick-started her motorcycle before driving off into the night.

☾︎✯☽︎

"Can you explain to me why you were fighting with the police over garden gnomes at your gig?" Chaerin asked, raising an eyebrow at Christian.

"I-I don't know what you're talking about?" he stuttered with a laugh.

She took out her phone and open the video in question where Christian was arguing with the police while holding the garden gnome possessively to his chest until he was eventually tased and handcuffed on her Instagram.

I watched nonchalantly chewing on my gimbap while Christian's face flushed with embarrassment. "Okay. In my defence, I thought that was a Leprechaun." He said.

"Really dude?" I lidded my eyes, unamused by his excuse to hide the fact that he was drunk.

"What? Leprechauns are cool!"

"They're not real."

"But they're still cool."

Chaerin sighed while I rolled my eyes.

We were at one of the restaurants we usually hung up to catch up after our hectic and busy schedules with Christian running his record and filming company, Chaerin freelancing as a DJ at various clubs and events while also touring with Christian and me freelancing as a bartender.

"Anyway, how did your interview go?" Chaerin turned to me.

"Better than I expected," I answered. "I start next week and judging from the high-paying salary among other things, I'll say your friend's joint sounds promising."

"Oh, it is. I worked for Jiyong for years before I started my own thing. You'll love it there." She said. "Plus, with your good reputation, his place will attract new patrons and that will look good for business."

"You should give us free drinks when we come by some time, yeah?" Christian said, making me roll my eyes.

"You've been saying that for years and I will give you the same answer; no, I will not be doing that," I told him.

"Why not?" he pouted.

"Because one: that is unethical. And two: giving you free drinks means I have to pay for them and last I checked, you're old enough to pay for your own drinks, Christian."

"Chaerinnie! Olive Oil is being mean to me!"

"I'm not the one who's being a baby about it."

"And I'm not the one who's the namesake of one of the characters from Avatar: Legend of Korra."

"You're lucky I'm in too much of a good mood to even pimp slap the bitch outta you."

"Run them hands, boi. I will fold you like an omelette."

"Boys!" Chaerin reprimanded us with an unamused face. "Ton down on the testosterone, please. I am the middle child in this friend group - not the mum."

"Whatever." Christian rolled his eyes before waving at the waitress to come over to our table. "Can we have the bill, please?"

"Not a problem, sir. Will you be paying in cash or card?" she asked.

"Cash, please." Christian took out his wallet and opened it until he cussed under his breath. "I'm short on cash and I lost my bank card."

"Again?! This is the fifth time this month, Christian!" Chaerin scolded him.

"I thought I had more than enough cash to pay this time. And I was going to replace it first thing tomorrow!" he retaliated.

"How did you lose it this time?"

"...I got robbed while I was drunk."

"Unbelievable. Unbe-fucking-lievable. How Mei puts up with your shenanigans is far beyond me."

"Hey! Keep my fiancée's name out your fucking mouth!"

"I'll pay," I told the waitress, giving her an apologetic smile while my friends were bickering.

"Okay. I'll be back with your bill." She smiled.

I nodded, returning the smile, which caused her cheeks to turn red before she turned her heels and went where she needed to go.

"Oh no. I know that look." Christian commented.

I looked at him and raised an eyebrow. "What look?"

"The look you give when you set eyes on the next female you want to penetrate."

Chaerin cringed in disgust while I rolled my eyes. "I just smiled at her, and she blushed. I can't help the fact that every small thing I do will cause an attractive and sexual reaction out of every woman who sets their sights on me." I retorted.

"Sure." He drawled out sarcastically.

"Read this, asshole." I flipped the bird at him as he and Chaerin stood up and gathered their things.

"We're gonna head home and call it a night," Chaerin said before pulling Christian's ear. "And you better pay him back when you replace your card, you hear me."

"Aish! Careful or you're going to rip my ear off, woman!" he cried on their way to the exit.

The waitress returned with the bill and slid it towards me. I noticed the 'My shift ends in five minutes' written in cursive blank ink right underneath the amount I was supposed to pay.

I met her eyes and arched an eyebrow. She simply smiled and winked at me in response.

☾︎✯☽︎

I nearly stumbled as I entered the small bedroom inside of her small apartment. She pushed me against her door, closing it in the process, as she smashed and devoured my lips with her own. I placed my hands on her hips pulling her closer to me.

We kissed and kissed, Tongues brushing and dancing against another. Our heads tilted and switched positions after every few seconds or so. Our breaths mixed with the sound of our lips smacking against each other. Clothes were removed and thrown carelessly across the room.

Wanting to re-establish my dominance, I switched our positions, pushing her against her door. She gasped softly at the action then smiled before pulling me into another kiss. My left hand slid into her lace panties and brushed against her already wet clit. She pulled away and gaped her mouth. I moved my digits around her clit, rubbing it in circles and staring into her lust-filled eyes. Her body shook and trembled under my touch. Her moans occupied the silence in her room.

"You're teasing me." She whined.

"Is that so?" I inserted two digits inside her.

She titled her head back, crying out in pleasure. "Yes!"

I slowly pumped my digits in and out of her until I picked up and quickened the pace.

I laid her down on her twin-sized bed, pulling down her lace panties. I lapped up, using my elbows to support myself. I kissed her tummy, then her inner thigh and gave her throbbing womanhood a light blow, making her shiver with anticipation. I could tell that she was waiting and silently begging me to give her what she wanted from the way she moved her hips. And waste no time I gave it to her.

She arched her back and dragged out every syllable in the word 'fuck. I reached up and cupped her breasts while she grinded her hips, wrapped her legs around my neck and ran her fingers through my hair, tugging it in the process. Her moans grew louder with every stroke my tongue made against her clit and folds.

"I'm gonna cum." She cried out.

"Not yet." I pulled away, flipping her on her stomach, lining my hard cock to her entrance. I kiss her spine and work my way up to her shoulder.

"Once I go in, I won't hold back," I whispered in her ear. "Do you want this?"

She nodded with anticipation. I rubbed my cock against her entrance before slowly slipping inside her. A high-pitched gasp escaped her lips while a grunt left mine. When I was sure she had adjusted to my size, I slowly moved, snapping my hips back and forth.

Her head pressed against her pillow. Her hands gripped her sheets. She bit her lips trying to stifle her moans but to no avail. She adjusted herself, propping herself up on her elbows, lying on all fours as she moved her hips to meet my thrusts with her own. I buried my face in the crook of her neck and cupped her breasts.

Everything else became a blur that night in her room along with her moans.

[umichenginabroad]

Abhi in Paris

Week 10: Parisian Adventures

Hey everyone, welcome back to Week 10 of my blog! It feels crazy to think about the fact that I've been here for 10 weeks now - oh my god, the time is flying. And funny enough, from the Scottish Highlands to the Volcanos of the Canary Islands, one of the few things I haven't done so much is explore Paris. It's a massive city with so much to explore, and although I feel I've seen other parts of Europe really well, I know that Paris has so much more to offer. So, this week I'm going on Paris adventures - from learning more about the bakery scene to trying out new bars and meeting new people. So here we go...

Monday, March 18th - Monday began as a usual start to the week. I got a morning cycling class in before making my way to ENSEA in Cergy, France for my afternoon classes that day. I got my first ever midterms back, and I'm proud to say I didn't fail :) I was able to come back from class and catch a few hours of TV relaxation.

Tuesday, March 19th - Tuesdays are always the worst! I have a morning class at 8am, which means I wake up at 6am to make the hour and a half commute up to school. After one class, I have a six hour break before by three hour french class. It's so tough because if I got back to Paris for the break I only have two hours there, and if I stay in ENSEA, I don't have much to do. It's always a coin toss, but today I went back to Cergy, managed to hit the gym and grab lunch, before heading back up to ENSEA for my evening French class. After a tiring day of class, I always make my way back, cook up some pasta for dinner, and then crash.

Wednesday, March 20th & Thursday, March 21st - I'm gonna gloss over these two days a little bit, because as luck would have it I caught a cold. Somehow, I recovered pretty quick, but I was out for most of Wednesday & Thursday.

Friday, March 22nd - Friday was so fun! I started the day with a French Culture class, where our new Professor, started the clas by giving us some French treats from the Brittany region of France. After that, we had an amazing discussion of French work benefits, and hoenstly, after I heard what she had to say, I have to say I was tempted to move to France permanently. Here's a quick summary of what the average university graduate in a full time rolled (called Cadre or CDI in France) gets:

35 Hour Work Week & Any Extra work above that can be claimed in the form of extra vacation time later

5 weeks paid vacation per year, 11 public holidays, bonus Mondays & Fridays off when public holidays are on Tuesday/Thursday, 16/20 week paid maternity leave & 2 week paid paternity leave, 2 week paid leave if your child is ill, 1 week paid leave if you get married, and the list goes on!

Once you get hired as Cadre, it is literally impossible to get fired unless you commit a felony - in fact the french have a phrase that goes "to put in a cupboard" because its easier to silo a bad employee into a meaningless role (cupboard) than to fire them

Incredible social security type pension benefits

Free Public Insurance that covers a lot of things including all life-threatening ailments like caner & private insurance that costs 150-200 euros a month for a family of four

This is all a super longwinded way to say that the benefits in France are incredible. Anyway, after class I managed to go to the gym and relax for a few hours. That night, I went to a warehouse party in the 19th arrondissement with some friends in ENSEA. Man do the Europeans never quit - I was there until 5am!

Saturday, March 23rd - Saturday was a late start given the events of the previous night :) After grabbing a Portugese delicacy "Pastel de Nata" with friends from ENSEA, I came back home around noon and took a fat nap. I woke up without much homework to do and spent the evening going down a weird rabbit hole of algorithmic forex trading, working on building my own trading bot. Just a really random and weird evening.

Anyway, that night the same friends from ENSEA made thier way back to Paris, where we had a few drinks and played some card games. We then explored a youthful area of Paris known as "Bastille." It was amazing meeting a bunch of exchange students like us there!

Sunday, March 24th - As you might imagine, after the last two late nights. Sunday was a recovery day. I woke up super late, managed to get to the gym, and just spent the rest of the time catching up on homework.

For me, this was a week to explore in Paris, something I haven't had much of a chance to do with all the travel across Europe. But don't worry, next week I'm back off to the races with a 6 day trip across Germany!

A plus tard,

Abhi Athreya

University of Michigan, Aerospace Engineering 2025

ENSEA in Cergy, France

[merrock]

CHARACTER INFORMATION

face claim: Aaron Tveit

full name: Archer Silas Cromwell

nickname(s) / goes by: Archie

pronouns & gender: He/Him, Cis Man

sexuality: Gay

birth date: October 21st, 1985

birth place: Seattle, Washington

arrival to merrock: August 2023

housing: The Suburbs

occupation: Veterinarian

work place: Emergency Animal Services

family: Parents & younger brother are in Seattle, and his 7-year-old daughter is with him in Merrock

relationship status: Single (Divorced)

PERSONALITY

Generally speaking, Archer is rather awkward and reserved at first glance. He’s not exactly the type to approach someone and make conversation—except if he knows the person. Archer is also quite stubborn, and tends to overthink and set his mind on things with the intent of keeping it that way—he’s a sucker for routines, and, in that regard, doesn’t tend to give chances after the second time. However, he’s a very down-to-earth, laidback, and overall tenderhearted individual, and isn’t usually quick to anger if something upsets him. Despite his reservedness, he’s one of those people who are quick to read—and after a few exchanges, he’d be more than happy to talk about literally anything. He would do anything for his daughter and the people he cares most about.

WRITTEN BY: Lex (they/them), aest.

BACKGROUND / BIO

triggering / sensitive content warning: divorce, pregnancy

Archer Silas Cromwell was born to Richard and Laura Cromwell on a chilly autumn morning in Seattle. As a kid, he knew from a young age that his heart was set on veterinary work. He loved other things, like singing, theatre, and art, but veterinary work was his passion, even as a kid. He would play with stuffed animals for hours, taking his plastic stethoscope he got in a toy doctor’s kit for Christmas one year, and pretend to “heal” them. When he got a bit older, he would research the quickest ways to become a veterinarian. Of course, Google lacked much information, but that didn’t stop him nonetheless.

His parents, he remembers, were skeptical. They were both successful lawyers and asked him repeatedly if they were certain that this was what he wanted. At the same time, they assumed it was just a fantasy, like many children had. Archer didn’t back down. In high school, he put a lot of pressure on himself. He would stay after school for weeks on end, striving to ask his teachers for an explanation as to why he had to get a forty-nine-point-five on a fifty-point assignment. Despite his newfound stress levels, it paid off. He became valedictorian and headed off to Washington State University.

The summer before his junior year, he met a man on the beach, who was around his age during a family vacation to Los Angeles, who he quickly befriended after realizing they had certain things in common. Of course, Archer had other friends—but there was something peculiar about this man. They exchanged contact information and remained close even after Archer returned to Seattle. After graduating from university, he headed back to Los Angeles, hoping for better opportunities there. He reached out to his friend, and, to his luck, they offered to let him stay with them while Archer attended vet school.

For most of his life up until then, Archer wasn’t concerned about his sexuality. He figured he was always into women, but he could never really know. They had been somewhat flirty with each other more recently, but Archer brushed it off as just playfulness or something like that. He had no idea. After he finished vet school, he requested to stay with his friend until he could properly get on his feet, and his friend agreed. After a while of contemplating, he came out to his family via three separate phone calls, and they were all incredibly supportive, which eased his worries.

One cold night, he confessed romantic feelings to his friend and was genuinely surprised to hear they were reciprocated. After around of month of dating, they decided to marry—in Vegas, of course. Their families attended the wedding, though naturally, Archer’s family, specifically his parents, were highly skeptical about the sudden move. Archer grew defensive, stating it was his life and he didn’t need to be coddled about his decisions. His family backed off. Archer started work as a veterinarian and remained happily married for around three and a half years. Both he and his husband realized this just wasn’t going to work out, so they divorced amicably. Archer resigned from his position and moved back to Seattle, crestfallen, but it was for the best. He couldn’t possibly open his heart again after that experience. He knew that.

It wasn’t long before he began to re-question his sexuality. He was definitely into men, he knew that—but he’d never tried anything before his now ex-husband. One night, he met a woman at a bar, and they hit it off after many flirty exchanges. They hooked up, with her revealing she was pregnant not long after. Archer, after several hours to think this over, chose to step up for all of their sakes. He knew for certain he was gay and decided to come clean about it. Her response wasn’t at all negative, and they agreed to co-parent. Their daughter, Sabine Alexandra was born in December 2016.

It wasn’t long after this when she revealed to Archer that she couldn’t handle raising a child—her job and personal life had simply gotten too hectic. To Archer, this was understandable, and they mutually and calmly agreed he would become Sabine’s sole parent. They parted ways, and Archer managed to handle his job and be there for his daughter simultaneously, which worked out well for him. After years of being in the same location, however, Archer grew weary. He and Sabine packed their belongings and headed off to Merrock, Maine just before September 2023. A small town just sounded ideal to them both, though especially Archer. He just needed an escape.