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mandowifey · 8 months

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Exhume

Miguel O'hara x Reader

This is part of a nonlinear story.

Warnings: This has multiple changing POV's (Im trying here), PwP, dark!Miguel, captive reader, stockholm syndrome, NSFW, dead dove, this has officially become 'dub con' territory. Au events, following along the movie SORTA. Reader is referred to as she/her pronouns.

Lil warning: this was hastily written in different points of the past couple months. I wanted to release it as is and not over edit the work I put in. The next chapter(s) will be more refined. Enjoy the slop LOL

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The space behind Miguel's eyes throbs as Jessica speaks up. Not that he hadn't found kinship with the woman before everything, but lately, he'd been irritable more than usual. While he tried to conceal it and bury himself away in his work, of course, his infuriatingly perceptive companion would notice.

His patience was wearing thin. He didn't mind the company before, but now that he had you, he wanted time to check the cameras. More than once, he'd caught you attempting to break loose or creatively end your life. Keeping you alive meant being attentive, and right now, Jessica was making that difficult.

"Miguel, are you alright?"

What kind of answer could he really give?

'No, I'm exhausted trying to maintain the multiverse while simultaneously covering the fact I have lost my mind and am holding a young woman hostage in my loft.'

Instead, he sighs and drops his shoulders. "Yes, Jess, I'm fine-"

"You aren't, I know you. I know when you're hangry, or moody or brooding, or when you are in need of your 'medicine'. This isn't fine." The woman folds her arms just below her bossom, against the swell of her belly. Miguel had congratulated her somewhat bitterly when she told their group.

Gritting his teeth, he pawed his face before he looked at her. "What do you want me to say?" Miguel snipped, a flash of red glinting in those onyx orbs. Jess seemed unphased and stood her ground with a frown.

"Just tell me what's going on. You know me, anything that's troubling you, I'll help." Her voice changed, adopting something acute to motherly. Jessica was by no means a soft woman before, but pregnancy had upset the balance of her hormones and now, sometimes, her rough exterior broke to show the gentle soul nestled within.

Miguel watches her, catching her gaze before averting his eyes shamefully. "It's nothing you can help with." He turned the broad canvas of his back to her, staring at the array of holoscreens above the control board. His fingers itched to press the code to the loft, wanting to check on you. He typically watched off and on in five minute intervals, but with Jess standing and practically breathing down his neck, he couldn't.

The woman tilts her head at the vague response, her brows raised behind her yellow glasses. Persistence was one of her strong suits.

"Try me."

Time ticked down like sand through an hourglass. Dragging, unyielding in its slow descent. You struggled to amuse yourself now. Tv, YouTube, baking, none of it worked anymore. You felt compelled to do something with your time but couldn't determine what. Puzzles became boring now that you'd completed each one three times. Sometimes, you cleaned and took things apart just to put it back together.

All this time, locked in a tower.

You started to feel bad for zoo animals.

As your mind began to drift away, so did your resolve. Instead of dreading his return, you looked forward to it. In the morning following your break, you had almost begged Miguel to stay home with you. Your hands ached to feel the weight of his face between them. Your lungs missed the way he compressed you. Miguel left you yearning for more, especially after the evening you had consented his touch.

Instead of sleeping the day away, you turn music loud on the speakers and close your eyes. It wasn't much, but you imagined yourself on a stage, dancing in an empty amphitheater. Shy ministrations became wild as you lost yourself in the fantasy. You were having fun, feeling almost childish in your amusement. Miguel had never confirmed your suspicions, but you knew he had the place rigged with cameras.

Part of you hoped he enjoyed the show - as silly as it was.

You spun and twirled, throwing yourself over the chair and couch, dramatically flinging yourself off the furniture and laughing as it became less of a dance and more of a mosh pit. A sensation of freedom and peace washed over you, taking you off your feet with each lunge and jump. Arms out, you did circles on the coffee table before falling backward off of it and onto the plush couch. As the song faded, your eyes opened at the ceiling, and your smile began to fade.

Nausea hit you like a truck.

Even with the room spinning, you scrambled and found your way to the kitchen trashcan. Knocking it to the ground along with yourself, you shoved your face into it just in time to vomit. Lunch - a sandwhich and chips - mostly digested and not nearly as enjoyable as it was going down, fell from your mouth in violent, painful heaves. Sweat from your wild dance routine now mingled with the sweat of being sick. Beads traced down your forehead and temple as you puked again, your shoulders bunching.

A fever rocked through you, aching to the bone. Coughing, you gasp for air as your eyes water. Lesson learned: Don't mosh pit in the living room. You wait on the cold tile floor until the nausea passes. Drawing upwards, you fix the trash can and groan as you get woozy. Bracing a hand on the island, you wobble towards the bedroom, having to go slow and lean your weight against the nearest surface.

Once you reach the bathroom, you turn the cold water on and keep the lights out. Undressing was impossible now that your limbs felt like cement blocks. As you climb in, you lay on your side as the shower rains down onto you. With your eyes closed and fever addled brain not working, you don't notice the steam rising off your body.

"A... girlfriend?"

Jessica looked skeptical with her hips tilted in the opposite direction of her head. A frowned pinched in her face, and nose slightly crinkled. Miguel was a lot of things, but she had assumed that after all he'd been through, he lost interest in companionship. Though, it would explain why he'd been ducking out of missions and avoiding any talk about it. Her shoulders relaxed as she acted like she made sense of it in her head.

"Well, I- I mean, that's great." Her skepticism was replaced with a genuine smile. "That's pretty big, I won't tell anyone." She laughed and rested a fist on her hip. Before Miguel could begin saying thanks, she cut in; "If you tell me about her. I want details. Is she cute? Is she local? A Gwen?" A grin stretched across her features as she drew in closer, the other spider staring at her with a confused and somewhat uncomfortable expression.

Something beeped rapidly, and Lyla came into view near him. "Miguel, there's something wrong." Her voice chirped in his ear. Jessica looked between the two, her brows raising. "Multiverse? Anomally?" She was ready to spring into action. Miguel shut down the console, and his mask reformed over his face. "No, I'll be back tomorrow." He jumped from the platform and landed noisily on his feet. The man took off into a sprint, tearing past Jess and vanishing out the door.

Once gone, Jessica stood in silence. While the gears churned in her head, she frowned, knowing Miguel was lying.

With the loft situated at the tip of the tower, Miguel typically would ride the elevator up. Lyla had brought it to his attention that something was seriously wrong with you, and his instincts had him ferociously clawing his way up the side of the building. Pieces of cement and glass falling behind him as he tore himself upward, powerful shoulders and biceps flexing as he propelled on. Anything could have happened to you, and his mind went to the darker extremes.

After just a few moments, he crawled onto the balcony and ripped the door hard enough to break the lock. The force he used to tear the sliding glass door open caused an entire panel to shatter on impact as he walked inside. His mask pulled back, exposing wild red eyes and furrowed brows.

"Y/N?"

Miguel's sensitive ears picked up on the sound of the shower, and he cleared the living room in a single jump. A sweet smell tickled his nose, and he recoiled slightly, unsure what he was smelling. More panic pricked at his guts as he felt the desire to nest and protect you grow. "Y/N!" He barked, stepping into the bathroom and looking at your clothed, soaking form in the tub. "Dios- what are you doing?" He withdrew his gloves and felt the ice cold water. Hissing, he turned the shower off and dropped to his knees.

"Hey, hey," his voice softened, his burning red irises fading to brown as he delicately tried to lift and move you. As his bare hands touched you, he was stunned at the sheer amount of heat radiating off your body. "Hey!" He snapped, feeling a familiar dread building in him. Miguel was suddenly back in that alternate universe, watching everything fall apart and his daughter dying in his arms. That helplessness returning, realizing something was seriously wrong with you.

"C'mon, come on. Open your eyes, you're okay. You're okay." He pulled you into his arms and lap, cradling your soaked body against his. "Look at me, please. Please." His voice tightened, and a lump formed in his throat. Seeing you so pale and limp made him uneasy. His fingers press to your throat, feeling for a pulse. When you cough, he startles and stares down at you.

"There you are."

"Miguel.." You croaked, your throat raw from puking.

"Yeah, I'm here."

He was standing slowly, keeping you bridal style in his strong arms. "I missed you." You smiled, eyes still closed as you tucked your face into his chest. He felt his heart pound, heat rising to his cheeks as he took you to the bed and peeled your saturated clothes off. "You did?" He asked, flicking his eyes to your peaceful and tired expression. Miguel watched as you smiled and nodded, your little hands reaching to find him blindly. He leans close, pushing kisses to your palms and rubbing his face into them. A whine builds in his throat, relief hitting him now that you were conscious.

Miguel stood and tucked you naked into the bed. You curled up, still feverish but comfortable in the warmth. He runs back and forth from the kitchen, fetching you water and saltines, along with a small bin from the bathroom in case you need it. When you slumped and your breathing slowed, Miguel climbed into the bed behind you and curled his massive frame around yours, his own eyes feeling heavy. That sweet aroma persisted, making his heart pound and bones itch. There was a lingering desire to tuck you up somewhere high and far away, to build you a nest of webs and keep you from the world-

"Did you like it?"

Your voice pulled his thoughts.

"Hmm?"

Squirming yourself into his chest, you yawn and sag into the pillows. "My dance." You sounded dreamlike. Miguel was confused but pushed his face into your neck as he squeezed around you gently.

"I loved it, kid."

It was only nightmares in your slumber.

Your body, swelling and growing more until you burst. Spiders crawled out of your belly and along your skin, chittering as they began to feast on your skin. You were helpless to watch, sobbing and frozen, suspended in red, vibrant webbing.

"You're doing so well, you'll be ready for the next clutch soon."

His voice came from the dark, peering red eyes and a silhouette against the inky black. You sob and cry for help, but he only watches as your offspring take bite after searing bite.

"Such a good mother, Y/N."

As you sob, he says your name again.

Then again-

"Y/N!"

Blackness becomes light, and light gives way to the familiar face of Miguel. You gawk up at him, aware your heart was pounding. Miguel cupped his hand against your cheek, brown eyes wide and concerned as he leaned over you to check your eyes. "You alright? Bad dream?" He leaned closer, knocking his forehead to yours and sighing. "Thought you were a goner." He mumbled, his breath fanning your lips.

Everything in you felt electric. You recalled getting sick and stumbling into the shower, but you hadn't been sure what followed. It was difficult to discern your memories with him so close. He smelled differently to you now, too. His scent was stronger, comforting in the sense that you had a strong urge to push your face into him and inhale.

So you did.

Miguel jerks with surprise as you sink into his chest, clutching at him and breathing in. The smell was borderline hypnotic. You already had begun the process of crumbling for him, and now you were sinking even further. A large hand touches your back and rubs gently, uncertain. The change of heart confused him. "That fever really cooked your brain, princess." You smile against his shoulder and rub your cheek into his collar bone.

"I had a fever?" You lean back, looking up at him and admiring the strong line of his jaw. Miguel tilts, looking down at you. The eye contact makes your heart throb and heat rocket to your groin. "You were burning up when I found you. You had dragged yourself into the shower and passed out. Lyla picked up on the dip in your vitals." His thick fingers pet through your hair, dragging along your scalp and coming to rest at the base of your neck. The concern in his tone was palpable.

More warmth pooled on your insides, your heart quickening and loins catching fire. Miguel caught your scent, and his nostrils flared. At this distance, you could see when his pupils stretched and blew out. He drew a shaky breath and curled his fingers tighter against your neck. This reaction from him was new. Certainly he got riled up when it came to fucking you, but something was different. Your scent was amplified tenfold, and he could hear the patter of your fast pulse beneath your skin.

Jaw aching, Migule suddenly released your neck and tore himself across the bed. You were left stunned, sitting half obscurred by the think blankets as your captor stumbled out of the bedroom. Slipping out of the bed, you stand and realize how good you felt. It was a strange sensation, like having a really good nights sleep post workout. "Miguel!" You call, hearing him rummaging around. Stepping into the bathroom, you rinse your mouth and brush your teeth before heading out in one of his discarded shirts.

"Shit."

Miguel tossed things from the drawers and looked around. "Miguel?" You ask again, and he swivels to look at you. "Keep back." He warned, his teeth sharp and eyes glowing. One of his hands covered his nose and mouth, trying to keep your scent at bay. Miguel felt it had to be time for another shot. He had no idea you were having the same issue, like a tiger in a cage. All you could see was him, your body tightly coiled, ready to burst. Your skin itched, your bones tightened, and you struggled to form a coherent thought. The both of you stared at each other, wordless and trying to keep composure.

The scent of you was killing him. He could smell your sex and practically taste it with how strong your pheromones wafted over his olfactory sensors. This was different than when he was off his medicine. He wasn't hungry for blood. He was hungry for you. Every part of you calls to him like a lighthouse in the night. He wanted to nestle inside of you and draw your warmth for his own. In the same breath, he felt the powerful urge to breed you, to nest you, and to keep you safe.

His smell was doing almost the same to you. You had woken up with a new set of senses. You could see him better, hear him better, and smell him better. Your skin burned with desire, craving his own against it. An ache grew in your own jaws, the desire to sink your teeth into him and take him as yours, to cover him in your smell and ward off any others. To tell the world he was yours, only yours.

Something broke inside of you both.

Miguel came towards you as you rushed towards him and caught you in his arms. Your limbs wound around him like pythons as your mouths crashed together. The kissing was frantic and sloppy. Teeth against teeth, spit, and blood spilling from burst lips as you both fought tongue to tongue. He moves you backward, knocking you against the fridge and making you grunt into his mouth.

"Baby," you gasp, petting a hand through his thick, dark hair before gripping it like a vice. When you yank his head back, Miguel hisses. His red eyes are wild and teeth bare as he looks at you like an animal in a cage. "Fuck me."

Miguel takes you to the bedroom, bumping into various objects along the way as you devoured one another. He throws you down into the mattress - harder than intended - and you bounce and snarl. Something is different now. You feel alive, you feel *strong.* Baring your own teeth, you shift on all fours, lunging at him with your arms out. The bigger man catches you and throws you down again, and something in the bed cracks.

He descends upon you before you can retaliate. "You're an animal." His voice was breathless, amused as he grabbed your hips and flipped you face down into the mattress. Usually, Miguel controlled his strength to avoid breaking you. But now he grabbed you relentlessly, holding you down as he shoved the shirt up your back. "Gonna act like a wild bitch, I'm gonna fuck you like one." Miguel's voice was heavy with lust, growling out of his chest.

You struggle, but dip your back and widen your knees under you. While your new instincts begged for you to bite and mark him, they also simpered at being put in their place. Cunt leaking, you whine against the blankets. Miguel inhales, savoring your scent as he slaps your ass , claws out. The hit stings, making you lurch forward and shriek. Your own nails dig into the blankets, tearing them as you shove back towards him. Miguel watched the mark bloom on your skin, and he smirked as he cupped your mound and shoved in two fingers.

The heat of your insides is searing, and he gasps, pumping to the knuckle in quick, strong movements. You keen for him, shoving back to meet him as stars burst behind your eyes. "Fuck me, please." You couldn't recognize your own voice. The desire so strong you were certain you'd end up melting into the mattress itself. A chuckle rumbles behind you and you whine at the loss of those thick fingers, though you weren't empty for long. Miguel's cock forces inside, filling every inch of available space within you.

You two groan in tandem, and you shove back to force him to hilt. Miguel grunts, his large, calloused hands grasping your hips to start pumping you on his dick. His dark eyes honed in, watching your tight body swallow his length like it were made for him. The sounds you make are unhinged. Sharp cries mixed with breathless groans as he punches the air out of you. Your mind is white hot, and your cunt sears from the friction of him dragging within you.

"O-oh, o-oh f-f-fuck." You manage to gasp out between thrusts. The sound of your bodies plapping together nearly as loud as your cries.

Miguel grins, teeth flashing as a fist slides up your spine and grips into your hair. Grasping at the root, he curls his digits and yanks. Your face is pulled from the bed and your back in a deep arch as he continues to fuck you. "There's my girl. Look at you." He was panting too, his body wracked with the same heat that ravaged yours.

"I wanna feel you cum, princess." Miguel shifts his weight after a few good thrusts. Forcing your head into the blankets, he leans his weight over you and begins to rock harder. Pummeling your end with each pump, his hips colliding noisily with your ass. You are certain he might break you. Shrieking in response to the new angle, you drool and babble for him, his cock stoking the swelling bubble inside you.

You were babbling to him, pleading for him to stop - possibly from a force of habit - but also begging him to cum inside you. Miguel can't make it, and neither can you. As he collides his dick against the spongey, puckered hole of your cervix, you feel fireworks. Your cunt clenches down around him in a wave of convulsions so hard it nearly forces him out. Miguel holds your hips, no longer thrusting but pushing against you to keep himself nestled deep. The milking of your pussy tugs him over the edge shortly after you.

The hero bucks once more for good measure as he empties inside you. His cum hot and thick, painting your insides and saturating you with his essence. As you both catch your breath, you feel Miguel slip out of you and whine from his absence. Large hands flip you over, and he scoops you up. Settling back and leaning against the headboard, Miguel rests you in his lap. For just a moment you look at one another. Sweaty and flushed from sex.

You lean forward, hands on his shoulders as you steal one kiss, then another. Miguel chases your mouth with his own, his hands smoothing over your hips and squeezing before repeating the motion on your ass. "What has gotten into you?" He mutters into your starving mouth. You pause, a hand moving behind his head to grip his hair and yank his head back. Miguel flinches, looking up at you through lidded eyes.

"Aside from you? Nothing." You hum, admiring his jaw and the grooves in his cheeks. "That's funny." His voice was flat, but he did smirk. "Think you can go again, old man?" You release his hair to focus on sitting up on him. Miguel blinks, then nods, his hands back on your hips.

"Good boy."

When you both were fully spent, you laid in his arms. Miguel was watching the ceiling, listening to you as you rambled about trips you took outside the city. It all felt strange to him now. Your scent, your cooperation, the way you touched and looked at him. He couldn't place what happened - assuming maybe you had finally snapped. But that wouldn't account for your smell.

Breathing in through his mouth, he tasted your pheremones and felt his chest twinge again. He could feel those urges from before growing; to nest you, feed you, and protect you. Then, the pieces started to fall in place.

You getting sick.

The change in your smell.

The change in your behavior.

How you ached for him.

Miguel's mouth pressed to a thin line as he ran over all the facts again. Then again, and again. No matter how he tried to explain it, there was only one answer. His dark eyes flicked down to you, watching as you rubbed your face into his chest and sniffed at him. He watched your mouth open and the glint of your newly growing fangs as you nip at him. Miguel feels his heart begin to race, recognizing now that you were changing too.

There was no other explanation.

"Miguel? Did you hear me?"

The pound of his heart drowned your voice out. This had been what he wanted, hadn't it? To fill the void his daughter left? To find new happiness and move on, to have another chance?

Panic was building now. Everything was uncharted territory. You were changing, pregnant with his child(ren?) and he was going to be a father again. Miguel didn't register your little hands on his cheeks or the way you continued to say his name. All he could hear was the screams of people around him as their universe caved in. He could feel his daughter's weight fading from his arms, leaving him empty. Now you were pregnant and everything could go wrong.

How did he take care of a pregnant woman without getting caught?

Where would you go for check ups? It wasn't like an OBGYN worked in the tower. There were too many holes in his plan now, he would be risking keeping you to himself. He hadn't thought this part through. Now he could potentially lose you both - not to mention the complications of carrying mutant spider spawn.

"Miguel." Your mouth presses to his.

Eyes widening, he saw you. You sat on top of him, eyes big and face concerned. Miguel clasped your hips and held you close. "Where'd you go?" You ask, rubbing his chest. He stares up, watching for a moment before he sighs and takes your wrist. Pulling your hand to his mouth, he kisses your palm before pressing it to his cheek. "Long day at work, is all."

He knew lying to you wouldn't work for long. No doubt you'd realize sooner rather than later that your body was no longer just your own.

Miguel could cross that bridge when you got to it.

"I'm sorry." You mumble, shifting off of him. "Let's get some rest then. We can shower in the morning." Nestling yourself into his side, you stretch an arm over the expanse of his stomach and squeeze him gently. Miguel wrapped an arm around you and squeezed gently, his eyes still fixated on the ceiling.

It was going to work out.

It had to.

#miguel o'hara #spiderman across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara headcanons #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara headcanon #miguel ohara #miguel x reader #miguel spiderman #atsv miguel #miguel spiderverse #spider man 2099 #spiderman x reader #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara x reader

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romeoandjulietyouwish · 9 months

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From the intimacy prompts, 20. Knowing the sound of their footsteps. Vaxleth, firefighter au?

Vax sits hunched over on a bar stool, nursing a cup of coffee. At this time of night, the firehouse is mostly quiet. Everyone else is getting a bit of sleep before the alarm inevitably go off and they have to rush out. But for some reason, Vax can't find sleep.

So he brewed a fresh pot of coffee and figured he'd get a few minutes of peace and quiet in place of rest. However, the quiet is broken by the sound of footsteps on the stairs.

Vax frowns at the noise. They're too soft to be any of the other firefighters, not hurried enough to be a civilian. And then he smiles softly. He knows those footsteps, Keyleth.

Vax turns, standing up just in time to see Keyleth appearing in the loft, her arms laden with boxes. Vax gives her a strange look, "Good morning, Kiki."

She smiles, "Hi, I didn't think you would be awake."

Vax shrugs, "Couldn't sleep. What are you doing here?" Without a second thought, he takes the boxes from her and sets them on the counter.

"Stress baking," Keyleth tells him with a nervous laughter. "I figured you all could use them."

Vax stands up and puts an arm around her waist to hug her to his side, pressing a kiss to her head. "Thank you, Keek. I'm sure everyone will love them. You want to stay for a bit? I could use some company."

She grins, "Yes, please." They don't need to talk about why she's stressed, or why Vax can't sleep. They both know the answers. So instead, the two of them curl up on the couch, sharing one of Keyleth's baked goods.

She falls asleep after a few minutes, head resting on his shoulder. Vax is sure he'll be teased when the other firefighters wake up and find him like this, but he doesn't care in the slightest.

#firefighter au #critical role #vox machina #vaxleth

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thesokovianaccords · 10 months

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Fake Title: Work In Progress

After her dramatic breakup with Fred three days before their wedding, Peggy grabbed the first open flat she could find. She had imposed on Natasha's hospitality for long enough, and even though the housing market in London was horrendous, she managed to snag a room in a lovely fourth floor loft flat six minutes from the Tube.

There was never a dull moment to be found in Flat 4b - the ongoing rivalry between James (Barnes) and James (Rhodes) over their names, the will they-won't they of James (Barnes) and his handsome Air Force co-worker Sam (he of the perfect gumbo and even more perfect arms), the ongoing saga of Steve's creative block and its many foibles, James' (Rhodes) uber-wealthy friend and his long-suffering PA. Peggy was pulled into a whirlwind when she signed the lease, but she enjoyed every moment of the ride - her life with Fred had been so frightfully dull, and she secretly craved a bit of the chaos that seemed to always follow her flatmates around.

She also (not-so) secretly craved something else too. Or rather, someone else. Her partner in crime in their ongoing war with the landlord, her late-night stress baking buddy (insomnia loves company, after all), her go-to concert date, and her nonstop support as she fought her way through her highly classified job. Peggy collected all these little moments with Steve - unconsciously at first. Until one day, she looked at him and realised he was everything she had been looking for.

But that was complicated, wasn't it? She couldn't risk her little corner of imperfect paradise, but she also couldn't stop thinking about abandoning all reason and dragging him through her bedroom door.

What was a girl to do when everything she wanted most was right across the hall?

[fake fic meme]

#ummmm have a new girl AU I guess lol #steggy #fake fic meme #I've been trying to come up with a new girl au for YEARS thank you for enabling me #captainjimothycarter

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sk1ttery · 9 months

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Can you give us some domestic specs house hcs, like what they do on a regular day and just how they interact with each other

HI BESTIE WHAT’RE YOU DOIN HERE /lh

CW for brief mention of abuse.

This is gonna be long.

A little more background on the Specs household:

It consists of Specs, Dutchie, Blink, Skittery, Tumble, Spike (OC) and Elmer.

Dutchie and Specs are adopted brothers who ran away at a young age after Specs’ parents passed. They had a lot of money inherited from Specs’ grandparents and they moved into their old house.

Later, Blink moved in after Specs discovered he was essentially homeless, followed by Skittery and Tumble when they ran away from their abusive house. Then Spike, and then Elmer. Splasher and Finch are honorary members of tbe household due to how much time they spend there because Finch gets lonely and Splasher just likes annoying them. As is my OC Riff, because be spent a month staying with them when he was visiting from New Jersey.

A day in the Specs Household usually consists of whoever’s up first feeding the cats and making breakfast for everyone. They try to eat together but sometimes people sleep in so stuff is put aside for later.

If they don’t have a day out planned or people coming over, they tend to mostly do their own thing and just co-exist as I’ve mentioned before. For example, Blink will sit on the floor in the lounge and play guitar while Specs reads. Skit might be upstairs making jewelry or playing with Tumble. Elmer might be gaming in his room in the loft.

They like to have group hang outs where they’ll play card or board games, or watch movies together. Sometimes, if they have guests over they’ll play Truth or Dare. And people tend to come over a LOT. This is because Specs’ house has an open door policy and a really comforting and safe vibe. (Several other houses also have this vibe). They also enjoy baking and together while blasting showtunes.

Spike isn’t an insanely social person and he gets burnt out/drained super fast, so he and Dutchie tend to spend a lot of time in their room hanging out, but Spike does like to spend time with the others when he’s up for it. He likes the company and likes to lie with Dutchie and nap when everyone else is hanging out.

Quality time, co-existing and having their own spaces is a huge thing in the house. Considering most of them came from toxic situations before moving in, Specs and Dutchie did their best to make the house as accessible and comfortable as possible.

They did this by removing any potential triggers (Throwing out any alcohol, replacing the glasses with plastic cups) and giving the others the space to decorate their rooms to their liking, to make their rooms their own spaces. Specs, Dutchie, Spike, Blink, Skittery and Tumble’s rooms are all on the second floor. The attic/loft has three rooms, Elmers, ans the two spares which Splasher and Finch spend a LOT of time in when they stay.

As far as interactions go, they’re very much like siblings to each other. Skit and Specs will have a lot of light hearted arguments about stuff and try to fight each other which usually ends up with them on the floor. Most of them tend to play fight and rough house a lot but one of the main rules in the Specs Household is about respecting boundaries (like a decent human) so if someone asks to knock it off, they will.

Specs and Skittery can be pretty affectionate at times /p. Platonic hugs and cuddles are a big thing for most of them, though Blink isn’t fond of physical affection. After a bad day sometimes Skittery will come and sit with Specs when he’s reading and just lean on him. Or they’ll go to each others rooms and co-exist for comfort.

On nights where they’re all hanging out in the lounge and getting sleepy, sometimes it’ll end up in a bug cuddle pile. Skit and Spike both like when people but their whole body weight on them/weighted blankets so they always end up on the bottom of the cuddle pile. How they aren’t suffocating?? Who knows.

Elmer is the little brother of the group next to Tumble. (Specs, Dutchie, Skittery and Spike are all 18, Blink is 17, Elmer’s 15 and Tumble is 7). Elmer gets babied a lot which he both hates and loves. On one hand he loves the attention and affection because it’s something he could never recieve at his old house, but on the other, he grew up having to be so independent from a young age its hard for him to get used to.

The little pats on the back, Specs ruffling his hair, Skittery throwing him over his shoulder to put him in ‘Air Jail’ when they’re play fighting. It’s those little interactions Elmer loves.

They have a system for chores. The chores are split between people. For example: Dinner duty changed daily. Mondays Skit would cook, Tuesdays Dutchie, Wednesdays Specs and so on. They try to be healthy with food and people like Dutchie, Spike, Elmer and Skittery would make traditional meals from their home countries. (Dutchie is Dutch, Elmer’s Polish and Spike and Skit are both Ukrainian).

They have a similar system with the weekly grocery shop. One week Specs does it, the next Skittery, then Dutchie and Spike usually go together, then Elmer and Blink. Whenever Elmer and Blink go shopping together, Specs and Skittery have to remind them not to buy anything they don’t need but Blink always gives in and lets Elmer pick up things. Specs and Skit are never actually mad.

On days that no one can be bothered to cook, they’ll just order from the diner and one of the diner boys delivers it to them, or alternatively they’ll go out for food and go to somwhere one of their friends works.

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demiclar · 1 year

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Home

Home - Ao3

Crow returns to his apartment after a harrowing mission, but everything is going wrong. Saint brings him home.

(On Ao3 I have this as two chapters, but it only fits into one #destcember2022 prompt, so you get both chapters in one here on tumblr. Enjoy!)

Crow lets himself into his apartment with an exhausted sigh. His whole body trembles with the effort of just standing, staying upright and making basic, normally undemanding movements after three grueling days in the field. It’s rare that his scouting work becomes so physically abrasive, but he’s spent the last three days in a game of cat and mouse with what felt like an entire legion of Wrathborn. He’d hit them hard only to be ambushed by more when he least expected it. He’d had to send out a distress call to local Guardians to even repel their forces, and had retreated back to a sniper’s perch while the other Guardians pursued Xivu Arath’s minions. He’d had to lay prone to even shoot, his body too shaky for him to even aim his gun standing.

He’d climbed into his ship, wished it to take him to take them to the Tower and let the paracausal forces take over. He’d tossed off his armor and passed out on his bunk for the short ride back. He felt like a dead man walking for the entire trip back to his apartment. He still feels ready to collapse as he pushes the door shut behind him, locking it with trembling fingers.

The silence that meets him isn’t the balm he’s expecting it to be. For the past few weeks, Crow has been spending much of his time at Saint and Osiris’ apartment. Initially, it was to help out. When Osiris was unconscious, Crow would come by to keep Saint company, to take his mind off Osiris for a while. He’d bring food, or help Saint cook or clean. After Osiris woke, it was much of the same. He’d bring food, or offer to help with little chores or errands while Osiris and Saint were loaded down with work.

Now, however, his relationship with Saint and Osiris has grown to something warm and pleasant. That isn’t to say Saint didn’t care for him before, but now when Crow goes over to their apartment, it’s because they’ve invited him over, which they seem to do every other day, if not more often. They teach him to cook meals he’s never eaten before. He and Osiris discuss the Hive, and Crow’s scouting work. With Saint, he talks about the Eliksni, and how they might better help them adjust to life in the city. Saint and Osiris have invited him into their Dawning traditions, sharing meals, exchanging gifts, watching movies, baking cookies. They’re eager to share the festivities with him. One night, after Osiris had been introducing him to a series of city-made wines and Crow had drank a bit too much, Saint had coaxed him into taking the guest room bed for the night. After that, Saint adopted a way of offering the room up for the night, and Crow has begun to feel at home with Saint and Osiris’ roof over his head, their warmth and care surrounding him.

His apartment is so silent compared to theirs. It’s so dark, so cold. As a relatively young Guardian, his salary isn’t great. The best apartment he can afford that’s close enough to the Tower to be manageable is a tiny studio apartment. To the right of the door that leads in and out are the only two rooms enclosed in the apartment, his bathroom, with a rickety old sink that probably hasn’t been tended to since before the Red War, and a shower with shitty water pressure and hot water that only works half the time. The single lightbulb overhead flickers and goes out when he’s trying to shower, and the toilet has a clogging problem. Beside the bathroom is his storage closet, where he keeps all his weapons and armor. To the left of the door is his kitchen, mostly functional given that the most he uses it for is meals that only get about as extravagant as macaroni and cheese, or maybe a quesadilla if he has the time to make it. His bedroom is a loft that sits over the kitchen. The one dazzling feature of the apartment being the massive windows at the end of the space that look out on the city below. Unfortunately, he’s sure the view he doesn’t often have time to appreciate hikes up his rent considerably, and in the winter months, cold seeps through glass, so chilling he has to go to bed under every blanket he owns, and still he shivers.

The cold hits him as soon as he enters. The city outside is covered in a blanket of snow, but Crow can’t find the beauty in it, not when he’s so worn down by stress and exhaustion. He feels like he’s going to snap, or burst into tears. He lets Glint transmat his guns and armor away, grabbing a loaf of bread from the kitchen and checking over it only long enough to confirm it isn’t moldy before he tears a hunk of it off with his teeth. He grabs the half gallon of milk from the fridge and drinks straight from the carton, hoping the minimal sustenance will be enough to get him through his shower and to bed without passing out.

“Crow.” Glint’s voice is gentle when he appears beside Crow. He turns on the light in the loft, adding a layer of illumination where the only light previously had been the dim light in the fridge. Crow caps the milk and shoves it back inside.

“I’m tired, Glint. I just want to shower and go to bed.” He’s covered in dirt and grime. He’ll need to clean his armor before he wears it again, but even with it off his body, his underlayers are matted down by the mess too. Old blood from injuries since healed clings to his skin. The evidence of fighting had marred him so badly the doorman in the lobby had yelped in surprise when they’d spotted him entering. Had Glint not been hovering at his shoulder, they probably would’ve mistaken him for an ax murderer, rather than a Guardian covered in his own blood.

“Okay.” Glint agrees quietly, his voice hesitant. “I’m just worried about you.” Crow can feel it down the bond, but he brushes it aside rather than acknowledging his Ghost and the complex feelings bound up inside him. He’s too exhausted to even consider them.

He heads to the bathroom, stripping off his shirt as he goes. When he leans into the shower to start it, nothing happens when he turns the tap. Crow feels his body stiffen. He cannot deal with this right now. He leans back, looking up towards the showerhead. Just as he moves in front of it, a burst of icy water spurts from the tap, drenching his hair and his face before it stops completely.

“No fucking way.”

He tries the other taps in the apartment. The bathroom sink sputters for a moment but only a few drops come out of it. The same happens in the kitchen, and by the time he returns to the shower to check it again, the icy cold water in his hair has seemed to seep into his scalp. The apartment has never felt so cold around him, and he feels himself shudder. Tears prickle the backs of his eyes.

“Crow.” Glint’s voice sounds again, and he drifts into Crow’s view, his voice pinched in sympathy.

“What?” Crow snaps, unable to fight the vitriol in his tone.

This is just his fucking luck. He should have just stayed in the field, or in his ship. He could have taken a bath in some half frozen lake and slept it off in his sleeping bag, or in his bunk. He wants to crawl up to his bed and pass out but there’s still blood all over his skin and he’s not willing to make a mess that big, not when things are already going this badly.

Faintly, the sound of music reaches his ears, pounding bass followed by cheers and shouts. Stomping feet sound from above the loft, and Crow presses his back to the wall and sinks down to sit on the bathroom floor. He presses the heels of his palms into his eyes, but can’t hold back his tears.

“I’m going to call Saint.” Glint tells him.

“No, Glint, don’t–” His voice is choked with tears. He reaches out to stop his Ghost but Glint flits out of his reach. Within seconds, Crow’s faced with a projection of Saint, smiling towards him.

Saint’s smile disintegrates as soon as he lays eyes on Crow, his mouth falling open with clear concern.

“Crow, are you alright? I thought you’d be asleep by now.” The Titan’s voice is filled with worry. Distantly, Crow can make out Osiris’ voice, but he doesn’t catch his words.

“I’m–” He breaks off, rubbing hard at his eyes as he fights to stop crying. He gasps in a shaking breath against his will, and Saint visibly softens, his whole face pure sympathy and concern. “I just got back from the field and I haven’t slept in days. The water’s not working and it’s freezing in my apartment–”

The bathroom light overhead goes out, plunging Crow into darkness. A sob tears itself from Crow’s throat.

“Crow,” Saint’s voice is honey sweet, filled with warmth so opposite to the cold apartment around him, the tile floor biting into his bare feet and the wall against his back, the icy water still in his hair.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be bothering you with this, I didn’t mean for Glint to call you I just–”

He breaks off into hiccuping sobs. He has to close his eyes against the image of Saint in front of him.

“Stay there, Crow. I will come and get you.” Saint is already standing by the time Crow opens his eyes.

“No, Saint, you don’t have to–”

“I will. I’m coming, Crow. I’m going to take you home.”

Crow hasn’t managed to stop crying by the time Saint makes it to his apartment. In fact, he hasn’t really managed to do much of anything. The first bit of tears he let slip opened the floodgates to devastating sobs, and in the time that he’s been alone with Glint, Crow has collapsed onto his side on the bathroom floor and cried harder than he has since Spider beat him to death on a regular basis.

He feels like an idiot. He shouldn’t be crying, not over something as little as being deprived of a shower, some broken lights, and loud neighbors. But deep down he gets why he’s crying. He knows it’s about much more than the apartment, and the weight he’s feeling is as much in his control as it is beyond it. He’s exhausted, malnourished and dehydrated from being on the run from Hive for three days. He’s covered in blood and dirt, his adrenaline is crashing, and he’s still hung up on the fear of being stalked like prey. He can’t help that he’s crying. It makes sense that he’s crying.

Still, he hates himself for it. He hates himself for curling up on the bathroom floor, laying shivering on the cold tiles, bare from the waist up. The cold drives into his skin until he’s numb, and he sobs and gasps even as he hears Saint knock on the front door.

“Crow? It’s me. May I come in?”

He sends Glint, because he can’t manage to form words. He peels himself off the floor as his Ghost lets Saint into the apartment, even though Saint has his own key, given to him for emergencies. He’s managed to sit up by the time Saint crouches in the bathroom doorway—the room is so small the two of them would hardly fit together—but the soft look on Saint’s face sends him spiraling straight back into sobs.

“It’s alright, Crow.” Saint reaches out to him and Crow practically throws himself into the Titan’s arms. It says a great deal about how far their trust has come over the months they’ve known each other. Crow can’t think of anyone he’d really embrace without second thought, but Saint’s very being is comfort to Crow, and right now he needs all the comfort he can get.

Saint whispers soothing words to him, gathering Crow into his arms. He lifts him up, off the tile floor, slipping him into his arms like he weighs nothing, and he carries them from the tiny bathroom. Saint carries him up the staircase to the loft. He holds Crow with one arm while he sets a towel on Crow’s bed, no doubt having noticed the blood and dirt covering Crow like a second skin, then he sets Crow down on top of it. He cradles Crow’s face in his hands, his palms heavenly warm against Crow’s skin.

“I will help you into some new clothes, then I will take you home with me, yes?” Saint tells him gently, and Crow nods his assent. “You will wash up once we get there, but I do not want you to be so uncomfortable until then.”

Crow swallows hard, but he nods again. For as long as he’s known Saint, it’s still hard not to be blindsided by his generosity. He takes care of Crow as if he were a member of Saint’s own family, embraced and looked after without condition or expectation. Saint’s thumbs wipe away some of the tears on Crow’s cheeks.

A small stack of clothes appears beside Crow, Glint’s doing, and Saint thanks him even though Crow knows he should be the one thanking him, but Saint is ever patient, and constant with his care. He helps Crow out of his old, dirty layers, steadying him when his body shakes and shudders. He helps Crow dress in the new clothes, sliding thick socks onto his feet, helping him into pants and a sweater. There’s still grime underneath, but while they work, Glint transmats a bag onto the floor and fills it with more clean clothes, pajamas and regular clothes, wool socks and the sweater Saint had gifted to him as a Dawning present.

Once he’s dressed, Saint grabs the bag from the floor before Crow can pick it up, and he offers out a hand to steady Crow as he guides him out of the loft. When Crow tries to thank him, or to tell him that he’s alright, really—though he’s still teary eyed and breathing rough—Saint just holds him a little tighter, and shushes him quietly.

The walk to Saint and Osiris’s apartment isn’t long, but it feels like an eternity to Crow. Normally, Crow can walk over in less than ten minutes. Their apartment buildings aren’t far apart, though Saint and Osiris’ is worlds nicer than Crow’s. They walk for five minutes at a slow pace before Saint lifts Crow into his arms again, and Crow must’ve started to doze off, because the next thing he knows, he’s enveloped in warm air, and the scent of home, Osiris and Saint’s voices in his ears.

“Crow?” Saint’s voice speaks softly in his ear. “I’m going to put you down now, alright?”

Crow manages a noise of understanding, peeling open his eyes to look around. He’s in Saint and Osiris’ bathroom, the tub already mostly full with steamy water. Osiris sits on the tub’s edge, using his hand to test the water’s temperature. Saint lowers him down, setting him on the bathroom counter. He pushes Crow’s hair from his eyes with a fond, sympathetic smile, and Crow can’t help the way he leans slightly into his hand.

“How are you feeling?” Osiris asks him, just as Crow feels his eyes slip closed. The effort to drag them back open is monumental.

“I’m tired.” He mumbles. “And my head hurts. I feel shaky.”

“You haven’t eaten anything in several hours.” Glint reminds him, and before Crow can bring up his little snack from when he first made it back to the apartment, he goes on. “The bread doesn’t count. You also haven’t slept more than six hours in the past three days, and I can’t correct for something like that without reviving you.”

“You will have a bath, you will eat something, and then you will sleep.” Saint tells him.

“I might fall asleep in the bath.”

Saint laughs quietly. “That’s quite alright.” He says, cradling Crow’s cheek with a hand. “I will look after you.”

He unties one of Crow’s shoes and pulls it off his foot. Crow reaches down to help, but he’s hardly untied the laces of his other shoe before Saint gently guides his hand away to do the rest himself. He pulls off Crow’s other shoe, then his socks, and pulls his sweater up, over his head.

“I will go heat up some food. Would you like soup? I believe we have some leftovers.” Osiris turns off the faucet once the tub is full, rising to his feet.

“Soup sounds great.” Crow lifts his head, offering both Saint and Osiris a weak smile. “Thank you for doing this.”

Osiris sets a hand on Crow’s knee, while Saint reaches out to hold his shoulder.

“You will always have a home here, Crow.” Osiris tells him, then gives him a smile. “Try one of the bath bombs, I believe you’ll find them enjoyable.”

A genuine smile crosses Crow’s face despite his exhaustion. A few days ago, Saint and Osiris fell into a debate of whether or not bath bombs were enjoyable, with Osiris for and Saint against, both eager to have Crow serve as a tiebreaker.

“I will.” Crow agrees.

“I will leave you to undress. I will come back to help you once you are ready, if that’s alright?” Saint asks him.

“I can–” Crow breaks off. Part of him wants to refuse, the part of him that needs to take care of himself and not show weakness, but his exhaustion is clinging to his bones, pressing down on him like lead weights. He’s not sure if he could even manage a whole bath on his own. He’s not sure he trusts himself not to fall asleep and drown. “Okay.” He agrees, giving Saint a small nod. “Thank you.”

Saint and Osiris leave the bathroom and Crow eases himself off the counter. He picks out a bath bomb from Osiris’ collection and sets it beside the tub, then slips out of the rest of his clothes. When he eases himself into the tub, the water is hot at first, but as he gets his aching limbs under the heat of the water, a sigh melts out of him, and he lays back against the end of the tub, his eyes slipping closed.

He luxuriates in the heat for a few moments before he retrieves his bath bomb and sets it in the water. It fizzes to life, filling the air with a citrusy scent, and Crow watches it dissolve. It clouds the water until it's opaque, but it makes his skin feel smooth and soft, and it might be the comfort in the face if his stress and exhaustion, but he’s pretty sure he agrees with Osiris on the subject.

Crow’s eyes are nearly closing when a gentle knock sounds on the door.

“Come in,” he calls, and Saint pokes his head in. Crow gives him a tired smile. “I’m so ready to fall asleep right now.”

Saint smiles back, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. “Baths often have that effect.”

Crow’s whole body feels relaxed. His head still aches slightly, and his body still feels weak from hunger, but the utter anguish and stress that had driven him to tears earlier has faded in the face of Saint and Osiris’ care. His headache already seems to be subsiding when Saint sits on the edge of the tub beside him, tilting his head back to use a bowl to pour warm water over his hair.

Saint washes his hair, running his fingers over Crow’s scalp until Crow practically melts from the touch. He scrubs the blood from Crow’s face and neck, his arms, and his back, and Crow tends to the rest. By the time he’s clean, he feels ready to collapse, but Saint slips out and Crow forces himself to stay awake. He drains the tub and rinses himself off under the shower before he dresses in the pajamas Glint had packed him. When he makes it out to the kitchen, Osiris has a steaming bowl of soup ready for him, and Crow feels more loved than he’s ever been in his entire life.

“Thank you.” He tells Osiris as he sits down at the breakfast bar in front of the bowl of soup. He imagines he will have to tell them the whole story later, not on their insistence but on his own desire to explain, but neither Osiris or Saint ask him about it. They need no explanation, no reason for the warmth and comfort they provide. They offer it without question and Crow drinks it in.

Osiris smiles at him, and Saint wraps a blanket around Crow’s shoulders, hugging him through it.

Saint repeats Osiris’ words as he holds Crow close. “You will always have a home here.”

#destiny 2 #destiny game #destiny fanfiction #destcember2022 #destcember #destiny osiris #destiny saint 14 #destiny crow #demiwrites

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triskhellion · 7 months

Text

Amīca

Rated: General (1.5K)

Relationship: Derek Hale/Melissa McCall, Derek Hale & Melissa McCall

Characters: Melissa McCall, Derek Hale

Tags: POV Melissa McCall, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Pre-Relationship

Summary: Melissa befriends Derek after Scott and the rest of the gang leave Beacon Hills. On the anniversary of the fire Derek comes over wrecked and comfort turns into kissing...and maybe eventually more.

Super Blue Moon prompts: Special, Unravel & Woman

It began with a forehead kiss.

For months now they’d been enjoying each other’s company, light conversation over dinner a couple times a week or sharing stories about all the exasperating, but amusing and lovable teenagers they knew when he came over to fix some broken appliance or another. Sometimes they wouldn’t say much of anything at all, reading or writing in a comfortable silence.

A much different one than the quiet of absence in the house after Scott and the rest of the bunch went off to college or other endeavors out of town. For a while it had been refreshing not to have a gaggle of rambunctious troublemakers yelling and roaring about the place. Getting bloodstains on the furniture, mostly accidentally smashing things, and generally being underfoot when she was trying to get something done around the house. But eventually the novelty had worn off. She missed them.

One afternoon on her way to work she’d seen Derek broodily wandering on the side of the road and it occurred to her that he must be lonely too.

Not even Peter was around these days for dubious companionship and while some of the new kids remained — going over to Liam’s now instead of her place — they weren’t really part of his circle despite being the only Alpha actually in residence. So a few days later when she’d had a day off she brought food over to the loft for the first time figuring that he could use a home-cooked meal. Enchiladas de mole poblano with esquites and salpicon de res.

Watching the play of emotions on his face, the surprise and confusion giving way to a cautious smile, had filled her with warmth and satisfaction. Melissa was just planning to drop it off, but he stiltedly invited her inside and offered her a beer. It was pretty awkward at first, but became less so and when Derek stopped by her house the following week to return the platter, bowl, and baking dish she told him he should come back the next evening for lasagna. He did, bringing a bottle of red wine, and they ended up watching some artsy movie he mentioned liking when she scrolled past it while looking for something to put on.

And so it went, their friendship a bright spot in this new mother-of-adult-child stage of life and the dinners, movie nights, and occasional joint errands something to look forward to. They had more in common than she would have guessed, swapping books back and forth and sending each other music, but they were also very different in other respects, which led to some lively debates from the philosophical to whether pineapple belonged on pizza. (Yes, it does, Derek! Sweet & salty-savory is a time honored flavor combination.)

Sometimes he showed up when he was obviously troubled, but Derek usually didn’t want to talk about it. Melissa wished that he would, but at least her presence seemed to help and she was glad that she could do that much.

Then the anniversary of the fire came around again and he was suddenly there at her door, shaking, and all those bitten-back words and bottled up tears starting coming out.

She guided him over to the couch and sat down with him, wrapping her arms around him as he clung to her, the hint of claws making tiny holes in her blouse, but not causing any actual pain. Eventually Derek ended up partially cradled in her lap on his side facing away. She had one hand carding through his hair and the other lain across his torso. His eyes were closed, tear laden lashes in little peaks, and his breath slowed now that he’d calmed, but with the irregularity of wakefulness.

Melissa looked down at him then, this powerful yet vulnerable creature. Beautiful and broken and brave, special and so so warm, and she felt a fierce protectiveness and love for him. Tucking an errant strands of hair behind his ear, she smiled softly and leaned down to plant a kiss on his forehead.

Glossy green-hazel eyes flew open and he froze momentarily before turning onto his back, staring at her anxious face and then lowering to her lips. Licking his own he then rose up slowly, eyes never leaving hers and giving ample time to pull away. She didn’t.

Eyebrows raised and flushing, Melissa watched him get closer until her eyes unfocused and his mouth was meeting hers, at first clumsy, soft, and unsure and then vigorous and desperate. Heat flashed low in her belly as the kiss deepened and a large, strong hand fisted in her hair. When they paused for breath she was left panting, gripping his back and her head resting on his shoulder.

Their eyes met when she straightened up and astonished smiles were exchanged, but when he aimed to go further, tentatively reaching for her blouse, she took his hand firmly in both of hers and kissed the back just below his knuckles.

Derek averted his eyes and went to pull away, an apology clearly forming on his tongue.

“Shhh, it’s okay. We’re okay,” she said, gently squeezing his captured wrist. “You didn’t do anything wrong and I’m not…” — she lifted one of her hands and waved it around — “uninterested, as I’m sure you can tell. But I think we should think about this. Not rush into anything at such an emotional time and try to figure out what you, what we, really want. Okay?”

Derek hazarded a glance at her and nodded. Melissa smiled and kissed his hand once more before letting go. She was worried that he would immediately run off, possibly out of the state or even the country, but after fidgeting a bit he chose to stick around while she grabbed the remote and put on some random black and white movie, sitting on the floor with his side against her left leg.

At some point she fell asleep and when she woke up with a blanket over her he was indeed gone, but she felt somewhat better about the prospect of seeing him again. However this went she didn’t want to lose him. More importantly, she didn’t want him to lose a source of support and comfort either. Melissa sighed.

Now she had some decisions to make. They both did.

The next evening found her thinking in the kitchen while drinking coffee before her night shift. She looked at the pictures on the fridge of her son and then turned away. This wasn’t about him or anyone except her and Derek.

Melissa ruminated on her lack of intimate connection, her long dormant desire raising its head at the possibility of being allowed out of its constraints. How tightly wound she’d become, just begging to be unraveled. To flourish.

It wasn’t like Melissa was unaware of how attractive Derek was, she had eyes after all, but she hadn’t approached him with any such designs in mind. Had only occasionally gone there in the privacy of her mind and bedroom and mostly just kind of ignored it. Part of her was raring to leap at the chance to experience him, but she wanted nothing to do with hurting him more.

She thought about what she knew of his various relationships and entanglements, some of which she’d inferred on her own and some she found out from overhead or occasionally direct conversations with Scott and the others.

There was the tragedy with Paige and then of course Kate, who took advantage afterward, and used him in order to destroy — to murder — his family. That Jennifer Blake woman, the vengeful darach who tried to sacrifice her and used Derek yetagain.

She had no idea about what happened in the intervening years in New York. If he couldn’t let down his guard down or had too much guilt and trauma to date at all or if he hooked up with someone new every week to try to the dull the pain, or something in between. However it had gone she was going to assume there hadn’t been anything meaningful. Derek had never given the impression that he left someone behind, though who could say for certain with how close he usually kept things to his chest.

Finally, there was Braeden. She at least didn’t seem to have damaged him and as far as Melissa knew they had fun and companionship and parted on good terms, but she doubted he’d gotten what he clearly so desperately craved from the no-strings mercenary either. What he needed.

And with that thought she made up her mind.

Maybe he’d realize that his feelings got all muddled up and he didn’t really see her that way. Or that even if he did that it wasn’t a good idea to act on it, which would be completely understandable. Whatever reason he might give she would accept.

Melissa wouldn’t push. God knows he’d had enough of that.

But she also decided that if he truly wanted to give something more between them a shot then she wouldn’t say no. And that whatever happened she would do her damnedest to at least make sure she left him better than she found him.

Now the ball was in his court.

#derissa?#derek hale/melissa mccall #rare pair #s&s super blue moon #part of a story that grew from a kinktober idea last year #sbm special #sbm unravel #sbm woman #s&s events #s&snonster #sbm trisk #trisk

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rolandopujol · 2 years

Photo

Wonder Bread, as the old jingle went, was “just a little slice of America.” In my decidedly carb-friendly childhood, a loaf of Wonder Bread was always in the pantry. As a youngster, I didn’t know sliced bread came in any other color but white! We were so devoted to Wonder Bread that we used slices of it instead of buns for hamburgers. The ketchup always bled through. Yes, Wonder Bread was the biggest deal since, well, sliced bread, the selling of which Wonder Bread helped pioneer. Times change, and the nutrient-enriched bread that once claimed to build strong bodies in eight (and later 12) ways was no longer seen as a wonder. Sales slipped, and the introduction of Wonder Light – billed as “diet” bread – on Sept. 30, 1986, was not enough to reverse the trend. As the parent company struggled, Wonder Bread factories closed. By 2009, the ovens were turned off for the last time here, at the Wonder Bread factory in the Italian Village neighborhood of Columbus, Ohio. By the end, they weren’t even baking loaves here anymore – just hamburger and hot dog buns. Parent company Interstate Bakeries, which had just emerged from bankruptcy, said the facility, baking Wonder Bread since 1934, could not handle the production of its all-natural bread. Workers who had made wage concessions to stave off this outcome felt betrayed. The days of bread-making were over. But the 70,000-square-foot building wasn’t going anywhere, and an idea emerged to name it Wonderland and turn it into a cultural complex. That idea had a run-in with reality, and by 2013, the building had found its next and current calling, becoming the Wonder Bread Lofts. There are 66 apartments here of various shapes and sizes, and the complex has been a hit – only three rentals are listed as available now, and one has an application pending. The developer, Kevin Lykens, preserved important historical touches on the inside and outside, most notably the old signage – a towering neon sign and the wonderful plastic sign featuring the Wonder Bread logo. No, the aroma of fresh-baked bread will never waft through Italian Village again, but that old factory can still inspire wonder. #retrologist (at Wonder Bread Lofts) https://www.instagram.com/p/CiMBB4IruP8/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#retrologist

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rainydaycafe · 2 years

Text

Like Real People Do

Lawyer!Bucky Barnes x Baker!Original Female Character

Summary: James never thought about happiness too much, but stumbling into a bakery one evening promises to sweet his life in a new way with a bakery with a soft smile and kind words

Warnings: Well, James has a terrible relationship with his dad so jerk!dad alert, but other than that it’s sweet feelings and insecure!Bucky.

The dream of becoming an author, or even an editor at a nice publishing company was something Emilia had really banked on but eventually let go.

It had been her dream to have some physical representation of all of her thoughts and feelings. To have those be something people clung onto and enjoyed to read. Though, the older she got, the less she felt the pull towards that aspiration and the more she felt set on something else.

It was like an itch she could not quite ever scratch.

It was as though said itch had not been scratched since her dad had died when she was 15. The memories of her father teaching her to bake with such love and patience put through cupcakes, danishes, and just about anything he knew to bake. A thick recipe book in his handwriting was always open on the counter where he’d point and explain things to her, watching as she absorbed the information like a sponge.

But when he died, it was as though she couldn’t bear the thought of turning an oven on until her brother had taken her to grief counseling where it was okay to be sad, and it was okay to feel confused and all around lost about the loss of the person who made up half of her DNA suddenly being gone.

Nothing about your parents being gone is easy, and it never got easier but she got used to the dull hum she felt in her chest when she thought about him out of the blue. Most times she liked to believe that when that happened it was because he was thinking of her, too.

She did her time, and she got an undergraduate degree in English lit and she was proud of herself for reading endless amounts of Chaucer and analyzing countless poems from Keats but she needed more. She wanted more.

She wanted her dad to be somehow in her life, even if he was gone in all forms aside from her memories.

So she worked, and she worked hard as an editor for a small local publishing company in Colorado, but the days left her exhausted and the clients were less than kind.

However, she had gotten an idea in her head.

An idea that had been a fleeting thought that she hadn’t been able to let go of. It was always in the back of her mind, and she couldn’t quite let it go and chalk it up to a pipedream because it made her body thrum with excitement of the sheer potential of it all.

Which is how endless amounts of research and emails to leasing ads led her to Newburyport, Massachusetts one chilly morning receiving the key from the man selling with her brother, Blaine by her side.

After much deliberation, she had chosen to use the money her father had left for her to buy the bakery as well as get everything set up to have it up to par.

It was a two story brick building with the setup on the bottom meant for business while the second floor was an apartment which was wildly convenient. Overall, the place needed a bit of work in terms of getting it ready for business, but it was something she felt so proud and honored to have so she didn’t mind it at all.

The apartment was led up to by a flight of stairs in the back kitchen which led to the front door of her loft which was straight out of a dream.

With the coat closet directly to the right with a half restroom adjacent to the front door, the kitchen was directly to the left of the door. The kitchen was spacious and open, looking over the dining area where she had barstools set up facing the counter and a longer, light colored dining room table.

The table was before the living room area where Emilia had a sectional couch Blaine had insisted on buying her alongside the rug he insisted matched the entire feeling her home gave off. Blaine insisting on choosing the couch meant it was expensive, plush, and perfectly matched with the rug.

She and Blaine had set up the couch so it was facing the left wall with the TV mounted onto the wall after much struggle. Directly in front of the living room area was a large window where she had set up her desk where she found herself settling on long nights writing down bursts of ideas.

In the corner was a flight of stairs which led up to her loft bedroom, a dream she had only ever kept in the back of her mind but found fulfilled with the purchase of the building.

The stairs curved right where to the left was a nook Emilia had set up with short bookshelves and a couple of lovely love seats. To the right of the stairs was where she had her bedroom area, the headboard of her bed was pushed against the furthest left wall with a wardrobe against the far right wall.

To the left of her bed was an open closet area before it led into her restroom.

It had taken months and months to get everything right and to get it all to feel akin to home. Bookshelves here, record player underneath the stair area, and getting the little things fixed around such as having blankets in the right places and art hung on the right walls.

But after much work, it all felt like it was meant to be where it was and that’s all she had ever wanted.

_________________

James’ life was somber.

At least, that’s how he’d go about describing it if he were in need of providing an adjective to give a solid foundation regarding his life.

There was nothing particularly invigorating about his life, and he found himself feeling as though he were running on a monotonous treadmill that led him to feeling as though he were in a vicious cycle.

Sure he had a lot going for him at the age of 26, and he was well aware of that, but it wasn’t enough. It left him feeling empty after a long day but he couldn’t complain because in retrospect he was living an absolutely fulfilling and successful life.

An affluent upbringing with his powerful parents consisting of a litigator father who was a force to be reckoned with and a mother who was a well respected pediatric surgeon. Their life was more than comfortable and they oozed the upper class family feeling with every opportunity.

Their first and only son, James Buchanan Barnes, was their pride in joy as he excelled in lacrosse throughout his schooling, but was also academically gifted which the Royce Academy, a school which his parents dumped over $40,000 in tuition into, helped develop and turn him into a properly educated member of society.

They had the money, the status, the picture perfect life, but what else did they have?

Two successful parents meant two busy parents. Byron, his father, spent more time cooped up in his offices lining up this or that, or working up a case file. Victoria, his mother, practically lived at the hospital sometimes, though she was home more often, it wasn’t by much.

He had grown more than accustomed to spending evenings alone, and simply shrugging with a soft smile when other parents would ask about his own when they were missing from yet another varsity lacrosse game.

Eventually it came time to choose a major for his undergraduate degree and his father had led him into the study for a serious conversation.

When asked about his true interests, James knew better than to mention his appreciation for photography after his father had smashed his Canon AE-1 35mm after having received an A- on a chemistry midterm.

James had opted to tell him he wasn’t sure but he was debating between criminal law and business which earned a firm nod from his father.

His father wasn’t someone you argued with.

Byron continued on to tell James, “You will continue the family tradition and carry on the family legacy. You can come work with me at my firm or at another firm I approve of,” He told James who nodded and thanked him before heading up to his room.

He wished he could’ve said something, anything, but after years of getting his ass handed to him verbally and sometimes physically, he knew better than to test the waters with his father.

So he didn’t, and he shut his mouth and appreciated the fact that his father paid for his tuition, his housing, and other expenses without batting an eye for 6 years of school after high school.

Years of private school from preschool through high school went into breeding what Byron Barnes considered to be a mediocre man, at best.

James had managed to work hard enough to finish his undergrad degree in criminal law in three years after having successfully obtained enough dual enrollment credits in high school to have him enter as a sophomore during his freshman year of college.

Graduating from his father’s alma mater, Yale, by 21 and obtaining high marks on the LSAT meant he got his top choice of law school which was Columbia University’s law school where he passed the bar exam with flying colors.

By 24 he was working with Bryer’s and Barnes after his father had secured him a junior partner position before he could interview for one anywhere else.

He was too afraid to say no, so he took it.

So here he was, 26, successful, working for his father who was more domineering than ever but he was successful, all things considered.

He had a beautiful apartment with a beautiful view, a nice car, a well paid salary, expensive suits, nice shoes, and everything he could ever want.

But he felt empty and as though he were just going through the motions and attempting to avoid getting yelled at by his father at another faculty meeting in front of everyone. By this point he was certain his father got a deep sense of satisfaction from humiliating him in front of everyone when he got the chance.

It was early on that he had schooled his emotions around his father and he could take the verbal beating and nod before giving a smile to everyone else staring at him to let them know he was alright, and that it was all fine.

Most days he walked out of the office feeling defeated and as though he were on the verge of either crying or screaming, but he never did. He instead let himself memorize all of the flaws he had, and how they impacted his work and why he was such a disaster which led to his father acting how he did.

__________________

“This is garbage!” Walter yelled while standing from his mahogany desk, “Rewrite this, immediately, and have it on my desk by tomorrow afternoon. I will not be humiliated because you are handing in substandard work!” Slamming down the file, he gave James a disgusted look and James nodded before grabbing the file and heading out.

Ignoring the glances, he looked at the clock and felt elated because it was time to leave.

Heading into his office, he quickly collected his items and placed them into his satchel before saying goodbye to his assistant Miley and the receptionist, Lyra who had wished him a nice day.

Fishing out his keys after the elevator ride, he remembered he had parked down the street and around the corner because the parking lot had been closed for repaving and the closer parking spots along the sidewalk had been taken.

Walking, he forced himself to take deep breaths because he had worked so hard on forming the outline for his father’s most recent case and obtaining all of the information but it had still not been enough.

Nothing was ever enough, and he was sure that reflected on the way he saw himself as a person which was less than kind and more bad than good.

Crossing the street, he glanced into the shops he passed and smiled a bit at them before turning the corner and breathing a sigh of relief as he saw his car but as he reached his car, he looked up and saw a bookstore directly in front of where his car was parked, but to the right was something else.

The sign read Rainy Day Bakery which caught his attention.

He should get home, he should. He should work on redoing the argument but he had been craving something sweet so before he knew it he was crossing the street and looking into the place.

Pulling open the door, a bell chimed above his head and he looked around to see it was painted a very light yellow and it felt so cozy, and warm.

There were a few richly colored wooden tables around the sides and in the front had two large display cases side by side with the register to the right before a longer counter with a few stools there for seating.

Behind the front counter was a larger counter with other items such as an espresso machine but before he could see the rest, the double doors flew open and out came a woman holding a tray with both hands smiling at him.

He felt as though he were a huge goof because he was taken aback by the girl, but he tried to play it off.

But she didn’t say anything, she only smiled more when he returned the smile and she walked behind the display case where she filled the designated section with what seemed to be red velvet cupcakes.

James looked at his options but he couldn’t choose between the strawberry and cream cheese danish and the blueberry muffin.

“Let me just put this back in the kitchen and I’ll help you, okay?” She asked softly and James nodded mutely because she could have been the human embodiment of calm.

This entire place was the embodiment of calm, and it felt like a soft hug but when she returned he hadn’t chosen yet but he was starving.

“I- I can’t decide between the blueberry muffin and the danish,” He explained sheepishly and she smiled at him in understanding, “Well if it’s any consolation, they’re both delicious,”

James nodded and he knew he should be eating something that had protein because he had skipped lunch in favor of finishing the outline but he was too deep into this to leave.

Plus he didn’t want to leave because he wanted the girl behind the counter to smile at him forever but he quickly snapped himself out of it and opted for the Danish because he thought he was being annoying with all of this internalized debating.

“Wonderful choice…. Did you want a coffee to go alongside it?” She asked and James found himself nodding before asking for a vanilla cappuccino since he thought it’d compliment the danish well and she nodded dutifully.

She gestured with her hands as she told him to take a seat, but instead of sitting in the back corner as he would usually do anywhere else he sat himself in one of the stools alongside the counter and watched as she got everything together.

He didn’t know her name but he was sure it would be beautiful.

She wore a dark green knit sweater with a french tuck with a rose gold necklace, black jeans, and casual sneakers.

Did he blatantly stare at her ass when she turned around to the espresso machine? Yes, but he couldn’t help himself either.

Her chestnut brown hair was a bit below her shoulders in a half up half down way clipped in the back with a yellow clip. She was on the small side, shorter than him by quite a bit but he felt her sense of being was bigger than his.

Sooner than later, she walked over to him and placed his items in front of him, “I really hope you like them.” She told him sincerely and he found himself asking for her name because he needed to know, even if they never spoke again he just had to know.

“Emilia,” She told him, and it fit her so perfectly that when she asked him for hers he said, “James Buchanan Barnes,” instead of just James and he felt like such a fool-

“Oh, full names? Well then I am Emilia Mattea Pearson,” Emilia told him with a grin and he couldn’t help but grin back because he was stupid but she was as sweet as can be.

Looking down at the danish, he picked it up to take a bite and it was probably the most delicious thing to ever grace the Earth and when he looked up she was watching him with a small smile.

Swallowing, he wiped his mouth with a napkin, “That’s really delicious,” James told her, and the way she lit up…. Well he’d tell her everything she ever made was delicious if he were ever given the chance again.

She left him to eat, and he ate and sipped his coffee as he looked around and ignored the satchel on the seat next to him and all of the weight it left him with.

But before he knew, Emilia was returning with something else on a plate and she gently set it on the counter and slid it to him before explaining, “I figured you were hungry for something other than just a pastry considering you’re dressed so formally so I can only imagine you came here from an office-” She stopped herself and blushed, “Sorry, I’m rambling,”

Emilia flushed and this guy was so handsome and he had been so kind she couldn’t help herself but James shook his head.

“No, no. Don’t- thank you. I did come from work and I am hungry, but I couldn’t stop myself from coming here, you know? But don’t apologize for talking, I like it,” James told her and Emilia nodded, both of them looking at one another before James broke eye contact and looked at what she had brought him.

“It’s a turkey and cheese croissant,” She told him and James smiled for what felt like the hundredth time since he had come into this place, but he didn’t mind it all too much either.

Before long, he had finished his danish and coffee before tucking into his turkey and cheese croissant which didn’t last long either. He ate while watching Emilia who walked back and into the back kitchen and came out, wiped down counters, and did things while there was music playing in the background softly.

She let him eat in silence without bothering him, but when she saw he was done she quickly collected his dishes and thanked him for eating there but he told her the pleasure was all his.

Standing, he collected his satchel and slung it over his shoulder, noting how the memory of his father bearing down on him about his work made it feel heavier, but he ignored it in favor of retrieving his wallet and meeting Emilia in front of the register.

Paying, he handed her a $20 bill and dumped the change into the tip jar with a shrug, “It’s the least I can do for such a lovely pre-dinner meal,” James told her and Emilia handed him his receipt with a soft smile

Her smile shouldn’t be that welcoming, but it was.

Everything about her was welcoming and James found himself wanting to run directly into it after having met her only an hour before, but he couldn’t help himself. She was something else entirely.

But this was something he couldn’t risk, he couldn’t risk ruining things and leaving her damaged because he was damaged goods and not worth the effort.

Readjusting his bag, he nodded to her before saying, “Bye, Emilia. Thank you,” Though her words felt heavy on his tongue, Emilia nodded, “Thank you, James. I hope you come by again?” She spoke as more of a question at the end of her sentence and though he knew he should stay away and stop himself from becoming attached he found himself nodding.

“Of course. I’ll be back… Maybe tomorrow? Uh- it’s Friday and I get off early so I can come by tomorrow for lunch if that’s okay,” He stuttered out.

“That would be great. I’ll have new items tomorrow, I promise,”

One final glance at her and he bid her goodbye once more at the door before leaving, not noticing the way Emilia watched him look both ways before crossing the street and entering a sleek black car before pulling away from the curb.

But as he did pull away, and even though his satchel sat there with work to be redone, he found himself smiling a bit as he drove down the roads towards his apartment.

_______________

By late afternoon, James hadn’t come around and while she knew getting out of work early meant different things for different people, she had expected to see him coming around at about 2 or 3pm, but he hadn’t so she decided to get her mind off of it and handle her customers.

But when the bakery was empty, she found herself thinking of James and how he seemed so subdued in an abnormal way which let her know something was bothering him.

It might be friends, family, relationships, or even just life in and of itself, but something had James so down.

Though it did make her feel better when she remembered she had managed to make him smile a few times, a few sincere times and that was enough to make her feel as though she had been some type of help after all.

It was around 6:30pm and she was thinking about closing since it had been slowing down but when she looked up from the display case she saw James pulling the door open looking exhausted. He looked as though he was ready to just sink into the ground beneath him.

He walked in and took a deep breath before walking over to the display case where Emilia watched him quietly but carefully, worried about him because he seemed so sad today.

“Can I have the caramel praline cheesecake, please?” He asked and Emilia nodded, gesturing for him to sit down. She watched as he practically dragged his feet over to where he sat the day prior, setting his satchel down with a dull thump onto the stool next to his own.

It was quiet while she got everything ready, making sure to make him an extra hot vanilla caramel macchiato, quickly setting it in front of him before getting a good look at him face to face.

“Hi James,” She said as he took his first sip, smiling a bit before looking at her and saying, “Hi Emilia, how are you?”

“I am good. Better now that you’re here,” Emilia told him sincerely and he froze a bit at the comment, not expecting it but he tried to play it off as best he could. Was she really glad he was there or was she just being polite?

She had to just mean it in a polite way.

“How are you?” Emilia asked him and watched as he thought for a moment before answering.

“Long day at work,” James responded and Emilia felt as though maybe he did want to talk about it, but he needed to be prompted to do so, so she did.

“Do you want to talk about it? I’m a good listener, I promise,”

He took a bite of the cheesecake and a sip of coffee before nodding, “Uh- I was supposed to be out of the office by 2:00 or 2:30 at the latest but my boss was unhappy with my rewritten argument outline and work so he made me rewrite it again, and then edit it again,” He explained, remembering the words his father had spoken word for word.

“I simply do not understand what I paid so much in tuition for if you are incompitent and unable to form a clear and concise argument- even after I told you to rewrite it because it was weak.” Byron yelled and James lowered his head.

“You have the audacity to hand me this piece of utter garbage as rewritten work? This is shit. I expect this level of work from a fifth grade, not a 26 year old attorney! You embarrass me!” Byron continued, “Did you even try?”

James looked up and nodded, “I did try. I tried a lot. My best.” He responded but his father slammed his hand on the desk and shook his head, “Then your best isn’t enough. Rewrite it, get it done better, make sure it isn’t complete shit before even coming near me with that again…. And you can forget about getting out early if you’re going to fuck around,”

It had taken another try, albeit only a few edits but his father had only pointed to the door when he approved of the final file.

“I’m so sorry, James,” Emilia said, stepping forward a bit, “I’m sure your work was spectacular…. Where do you work?”

Swallowing his mouthful of coffee, he gestured lightly with his head back, “Bryer’s and Barnes law firm,” Looking up, he saw the recognition of his last name and the firm’s name and she tilted her head.

“I’m guessing your last name being Barnes isn’t just a coincidence?”

James shook his head with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, “Not at all. My dad is the current owner and head partner, but it was started by my great great grandfather way back when,” He told her and she understood.

“So it’s a family tradition to be a lawyer?” Emilia asked and she suddenly remembered the sandwich she had for James in the kitchen and she felt excited to have him try it since she was experimenting a bit with his taste buds.

James nodded again, “It is. But considering the way my father reacts to my work, I would say the natural knack for being an attorney skipped a generation,” James finished the sentence with a humorless laugh, but Emilia didn’t like how he used himself as the butt of a joke.

“Don’t say that. I’m sure you’re a fantastic attorney and I’m sure you excel. Parents are… parents are tough sometimes.”

Looking up, he saw she looked worried and that was the last thing he wanted so he nodded in agreement, “I’ll take your opinion to heart,” He told her as he patted his chest with his right hand.

She grinned and told him she’d return before she quickly went to the back to warm up the sandwich she had made for him in the broiler, leaving James to watch her as she left.

It had been an awful day and he wanted nothing more than to burrow into his bed and never leave again, simply withering away but at least it was Friday. Plus, Emilia had looked so happy to see him, so it was like a balancing act of that day.

Soon enough, she returned and she pushed another sandwich towards him, explaining that it was a mozzarella and tomato sandwich with avocado on a nice french baguette.

“You treat me too well,” James said pulling the plate towards him and Emilia bounced on her heels watching him take a bite which of course, was heaven on Earth, and he told her as such.

She clapped her hands together but was distracted by the bell above the door ringing and in walked a man and his son, his son quickly ran over to the display case and Emilia excused herself for a second as she went over to tend to her customers.

James sat and watched, smiling to himself despite his awful day as he watched Emilia’s soft mannerisms with them and the way she was patient with the kid who couldn’t make up his mind about the brownie or the cupcake.

Emilia chatted with the father who told her they had spent the afternoon at the park since he had gotten 100% on his spelling test which compelled Emilia to slide in a chocolate chip cookie for the kid as a reward before closing the box.

She was just so… kind and he couldn’t help but compare Emilia to something cozy and welcoming.

Soon enough though, they were on their way and Emilia watched them with a bit of a sad look but soon enough, it was gone and she was back standing in front of him, watching him but he didn’t feel uncomfortable under her gaze.

“How do you like being an attorney?” Emilia asked and James pondered for a bit before answering, “It’s a good job, it pays well and it lets me have a comfortable life,” He said, and Emilia knew it sounded rehearsed so she shook her head.

“No, I mean how do you like it? Do you like what you do?” She asked before realizing it was really quite the personal question and she apologized, “Oh- I’m so sorry, that’s such a personal question,”

But James assured her it was fine, “Don’t worry, it’s not. You’re uh- you’re easy to talk to… As for my job, it's fine. I don’t dislike it, it fills my days up with things to do so it’s alright,”

Before silence could consume them, Emilia’s phone started ringing on the counter behind her and she excused herself when she saw it, said Blaine, quickly answering it as she moved away from James to be polite.

He tried to not listen, but even though he did listen for a bit of it he didn’t really understand but Emilia told whoever was on the other end about a couch and a rug before they said goodbye.

That is what really stuck to him.

“Yes I will take care of it, Blaine. I love you too, bye,” She said before she hung up and set her phone down.

Did she have a boyfriend? Of course she had a boyfriend,

There was no way that anyone like Emilia; so sweet, so pretty, so… perfect, would be single. Especially with all of the customers she got on a daily basis, she was bound to be involved with someone.

As she turned back to James who had set down his sandwich and seemed to be full of thoughts.

“Is that um-” James tried to stutter out, but Emilia was patient as she rested along the counter behind her, “Was that your boyfriend, I mean,” He said as he gestured towards her phone.

Emilia laughed.

She let out a genuine laugh, but James knew it was directed towards him or even at him as he let himself listen to her laugh so hard she was wheezing for a second before she regained her composure and stood up straight.

“Sorry, sorry,” She said as she huffed a breath before she explained, “No. That was my brother, Blaine. He helped me move here and he left a sweatshirt that I’m holding hostage because I want to keep it,”

It all made sense and James felt the slightest bit foolish for ever asking the question.

“Sorry, I’m being nosey,” James said as he picked up his sandwich, but Emilia wasn’t letting him apologize as she waved him off with a smile.

“Not at all, being nosey is how you get to know people,” She told him as she reached for a rag behind her, “But no, I don’t have a boyfriend? Do you? Have a girlfriend or boyfriend?”

Emilia was twisting it as James chewed his sandwich before answering, “No. No girlfriend,” He affirmed, smiling back at Emilia looked satisfied with the answer before she busied herself with fixing the display case as he finished off the sandwich.

Before long James was finished paying and found himself standing in front of Emilia with the counter separating them but the smile Emilia sent him made him feel close to her.

“I’ll see you next week?” Emilia asked, resting her hands on the counter, pushing herself up a bit and James nodded quickly.

“I’ll be here. I promise,” He confirmed before he sent one final smile to her with a wave before heading out to go to his apartment where he would spend the rest of his evening alone with his trusty confidant: Alpine.

But somehow it seemed less lonely because he had something akin to friendship, right?

_________________

He tried to stay away.

It wasn’t logical, perhaps, but he couldn’t allow himself to get attached.

He was something to be held at arm’s length, and he had been shown that his entire life so it was only a matter of time until that was demonstrated and he ruined things.

James knew he had a habit of making a mess of things, and it was represented in every aspect of his life from his work to the way his father treated him. All of the wrongdoings he had once done always came back to bite him, and he couldn’t fathom hurting Emilia because he was too much of a mess.

As much as he found himself wanting to eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner with Emilia he stayed away.

That was until Wednesday.

He had been avoiding it at all costs. He couldn’t go back in there and allow himself to find comfort in a person because it somehow made leaving all that much more dreadful.

It was dangerous to become attached to someone like James.

But when he had been eviscerated by his father for mentioning an alternate route on an argument he couldn’t fathom going home alone again.

He was finally able to escape work at nearly 7 after hours and hours of fake smiles he passed onto everyone like a robot. In a reflection of his inner turmoil, the sky was opened up and drowning the world in cold rain that had him soaked in no time.

He let his feet take him where they would as he jogged and loosened his tie with the hand not holding the briefcase he could cease to never see again because he felt his tie was threatening to choke him, but as if the universe were attempting to body slam him into an early grave: when he tugged on the cafe door it was locked.

Sighing, he wiped rain out of his eyes and sighed, but Emilia was suddenly pulling open the door, taking hold of his hand as she ushered him in before locking the door behind them once more.

“You’re soaked,” She said as she reached out to touch his hair, “Come on, I- I closed but you can- Jesus, just come on.”

Allowing her to take him by the hand, she led him around the counter he had been missing from for days, through the kitchen which was spotless, and up the stairs to a front door but all James was attached to was the fact that she was holding his hand.

They entered what had to be her apartment, and he took it all in as he stood in his soaked shoes before quickly kicking them off.

“I’ll be right back,” She told him dutifully before heading to her bedroom leaving James to look around her apartment.

The only way he could describe it was with the word “warm”. It was so well decorated, and it had such beautiful lighting with everything fitting together in a way his didn’t.

Where his apartment looked like it was straight out of a living magazine, top end furniture with everything expensive, hers just looked like an actual home with someone with a soul living there.

But she was soon returning with a bright smile on her face.

“I’m sorry, I don’t have anything that will fit you,” She apologized to him, “Well I do have shirts but not pants.”

“Don’t apologize.” He told her as he took the towel she offered, letting her usher him to one of the barstools as he wiped off his face.

Much to his surprise, she began drying off his hair with a genuine softness he hadn’t encountered since God knows when. But soon enough she was collecting the towels and letting them dry on one of the chairs.

“I could’ve just grabbed a couple of kitchen towels,” She said in retrospect as she walked around the counter, “But the bathroom ones are so much softer,”

James grinned at her, “I’m sorry for showing up after closing looking like a homeless dog,” He apologized sheepishly but Emilia wasn’t hearing any of it as she waved him off.

“No, I’m glad you’re here. It makes me glad to know you’re alive and that you haven’t forgotten about me,” She informed him as she grabbed a couple of oven mitts from a drawer and put them on, opening the oven door to take something out.

Her dinner.

James felt so impolite and out of place, he began apologizing profusely.

“I’m so sorry for just barging in on you during dinner,” He said as he tried to stand, Emilia reaching over the counter to gently pull him back down, “I didn’t mean to interrupt your dinner,”

“Stop apologizing, I’m glad you’re here, okay? I like spending time with you,” She insisted with a smile that James was certain could derail a burglary, “I was downstairs because I forgot to shut off the register’s computer but it was good timing because I was there for your arrival,”

She gathered two plates alongside a serving spoon with a deft skill developed only through repetition before asking, “I made baked ziti. Do you like ziti?”

“I’ll eat anything you make,” He confessed, a blush coating his cheeks but Emilia just preened at his comment, serving him a healthy portion before handing it over to him before doing the same for herself.

They were soon eating, James barely containing a moan at how delicious it tasted.

“Why are you standing up?” He finally asked as Emilia was standing across from him, but she just shrugged with an easy smile.

“I like standing while eating sometimes, it’s good for digestion or something,” She told him as she gestured with her fork, “Do you like it?”

He nodded vigorously, “It’s delicious. I- thank you, Emilia. I’m sorry I’ve been…. Absent,” He apologized as he looked down towards the yellow plate before him, spearing a few pieces of pasta with his fork.

“Don’t apologize for working and being otherwise occupied. You’re here now and that’s what matters, right?”

James didn’t respond but he gave her a lopsided smile that sent more butterflies in her stomach than could be contained within a museum. The silence between them was comfortable, almost like a blanket on a chilly day.

Before long they were both finished, James insisting on washing the dishes as Emilia stood nearby and asked about his day where she saw his physical reaction to his job being mentioned.

He became tense and uneasy, telling her his job was truly making him unhappier than he bothered to let on.

“It was… work,” James said before sighing in defeat, unable to find the will to put up a front, “It was fucking terrible. I- I suggested an alternate route of argument and use of information and my dad flipped out and just went off so that really dampened my mood,”

She listened dutifully as James told her what had happened, telling her the harsh words spoken to him by the very many whose sole responsibility was to love him unconditionally and support him.

“Oh James,” Emilia said as she moved to stand beside him and take the plate he was clutching in his hand out of his tight grip, setting it onto the drying rack but instead of asking how he felt- that much was obvious- she interlocked her left arm with his right and pulled him along, “Come on, I’ll give you a tour.”

That cracked a smile out of him as she took him around, the seemingly unbearable weight that had been on his shoulders was soon anything but there.

“These are my photos, I thought they looked nice on the wall and on the bookshelves,” She told him as she showed him the photos of her family, explaining every photo he pointed to in curiosity regarding the backstory.

There was one hung on the wall where the TV was mounted, it was obviously a younger version of Emilia, no older than four on the hip of a man who could only ever be her father given the similarities.

Their same eyes, beautiful smiles, and genuine happiness on the beach behind them.

“That’s my dad,” Emilia said as she gently traced a finger on the photo, “That day; my dad packed us for the beach instead of school and we drove out to the bay where we spent the entire day together just doing whatever we felt was right,”

James smiled at the photo, seeing all of her father in her in such a beautiful feminine way.

“Are you two still close?” He asked.

Emilia stared at the picture a bit longer before blinking herself out of the trance she was in and she turned to James with a sad smile.

“He passed away when I was fifteen, and all it took was a drunk driver on a late night,” Emilia explained, “But I owe everything to him. Everything I want, I have, and that’s because of him,”

He asked her what she meant and she gestured around with her hands.

“All of this is thanks to him…. I went to college and majored in English and while I loved it there was always this pull towards something else, something more,” She began explaining, “Growing up my dad loved to cook, and he always had me with him, telling me about this and that while he was cooking. This made me just gravitate towards the kitchen to be alongside him which is where he taught me to bake and to cook,”

Moving back towards a table she had underneath the staircase, she pulled out a thick brown book and set it on the dining room table.

“He left us some money when he passed away, and I used it to buy this building, fix it up, create a home as well as a business. I named it after his favorite song because he always told me that baked goods were especially good on rainy days,” Emilia opened up the book and showed him the handwritten recipes, “I couldn’t even turn on an oven or a stovetop after he died, but he opened up my life to this huge opportunity and I couldn’t let it go,”

James was quiet as he gently took in all that this book meant to Emilia, all of the memories that had to be within every single page because in a sense, this was a physical reminder of her father.

“That’s so beautiful, are these all of his recipes?”

“No,” Emilia shook her head, “These are some, but there are three others over there too. He was diligent about writing his recipes down because he always said that he could be the next Barefoot Contessa,”

That earned a laugh from James who watched as Emilia put it away before turning to him with a smile.

“He sounds… unbelievable,” He told her as they met on his side of the table, “I’m sorry for your loss but it sounds like he left you with enough to keep him alive,”

Emilia agreed, pointing towards one of her which had to be recent with her arms wrapped around someone who was wearing glasses, both of them grinning towards the camera as his hands were holding onto her forearms.

“That’s my brother, Blaine,” She explained, “He’s three years older and he is the coolest guy you’ll ever meet,”

They went through the photos, and she seemed so happy as she spoke of her family and a few friends she had photos with.

So carefree and pretty, James had to stop himself from grabbing her face and kissing her but he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t do that to himself and most importantly; he couldn’t do it to her. It would be so easy to ruin things, and it would only be a matter of time for him to demolish this as well so he didn’t.

Instead, they finished up the tour and James’ clothing was sufficiently dry to sit on the couch with Emilia who was searching for something for them to watch, James amicable to anything she wanted.

They settled on Gilmore Girls after James had confessed to never having watched it which Emilia told him was sacrilegious of him.

Soon, the memory of James’ bad day, bad week, and monotone life was just a distant memory as they spoke comfortably with one another; getting to know one another on a deeper level. James spoke of his life and his upbringing, though with less openness than Emilia who did the same at James’ request.

She told him of her mother, her brother, her father, and her upbringing in northern California. In some ways it made James stomach clench in indescribable ways because his childhood couldn’t have been more opposite.

Where she had love and affection, raising someone who welcomed people- even him- with open arms, ready for just about anything James had been raised to be quiet and shut off from people, closing himself off because that was how a man was. Though with her he didn’t want that, he wanted to just be free with her but he had to hold himself back.

They decided to watch a movie instead of watching Gilmore Girls since they seemed keen on talking over it, settling on Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

Through the movie and their chats, they moved closed together until they were close enough for Emilia to rest her head on his arm after they had been quiet for a bit, sleep taking over her and leaving her to lean on James.

He was suddenly tremendously aware of how well she fit alongside him as he let her rest, careful not to make any sudden moves because he didn’t want to wake her.

Forgoing the movie, he opted for leaning his head back and allowing himself to take in all of the feelings she brought out in him, feelings he had never allowed himself to with someone because of this or that.

Too busy with lacrosse practice, too busy with undergrad, then law school, then now it was too much with his work.

But in reality it was being too busy and too preoccupied with the fear of becoming attached to someone and the vulnerabilities that came with that.

The fear of maybe, just maybe having something wrong with him.

Something wrong enough to have his own father treat him like garbage, enough to have his mother’s apathy prevail, and wrong enough to be this unlovable man who just wasn’t cut out for having an earth shattering love from someone perfect.

Someone like Emilia.

But for now he allowed himself to hope and simmer in what it would be like if he were just normal and not afraid of the brutality a relationship could bring out.

Years of subduing his emotions had taught him that, but sometimes emotions still won out as he felt his eyes burn with unshed tears as he looked towards the ceiling of Emilia’s apartment because fuck he was tired of holding it all in.

Suddenly Emilia was moving and instead of waking up, she moved closer and towards his neck, prompting James to wrap his arm around her to keep her there.

His thoughts were silenced at the warm weight, minutes passed and they were unaccounted for on either of their ends.

Waking up an hour later, Emilia woke up to the strong presence of what she had grown to known as James’ cologne before it all came flooding back to her and she just jumping out of his arms, her face blushing bright red.

“Oh my- I’m so sorry,” She said as she hid her face in her hands, “That’s so embarrassing, I’m sorry I just fell asleep on you like some creep on a subway.”

“Stop it, you’re not some creep on a subway, Emilia,” James said as he moved his arm around a bit to regain some circulation.

Sighing, Emilia nodded though her blush was still prevalent on her face as she reached for the coffee table to check the time which made James realize he was more than likely overstepping his welcome by a large margin.

Finally saying their goodbyes, James was startled when Emilia wrapped her arms around him at the door where he wrapped his own arms around her before he made his way to his car.

His drive home was full of thoughts, his mind reeling with that entire day and what he had felt as he gripped his steering wheel with more force than was necessary

One thing was for certain, however.

He was completely enamored by Emilia, but that was a surprise because it was almost impossible to fathom someone who would be unable to fall for Emilia.

All that she was could be summarized by the word “warm”. She was all James could hope to have in his life, to any extent, but he knew his feelings were beyond those of a dear friend or a loyal customer.

Slamming the door shut behind him, he knew that he had never been one to believe in love at first sight, chalking it up to an old wive’s tale or something that’s one in a million yet here he was. Here he was feeling as though he were drowning in his vastly empty apartment.

The same apartment he had worked hard for, gone to years of prestigious schools and having nothing but the best at the cost of his self esteem and mental health.

He was taken out of his thoughts by a soft headbutt aimed at his shin by his truest confidant.

Alpine was demanding attention, allowing herself to be scooped up by James who led them into the kitchen which felt so much colder than it ever had, the only warmth in this apartment was Alpine.

“I think you’d like Emilia,” James told her as he took out her cat food, “Her apartment, too. There’s so much to like,”

Dumping Alpine’s food into her bowl, he set them both down as he thought about how in over his head he was, how much he wished things were different, but most of all he wished he had the ability to be normal and grant himself the possibility of obtaining a little hope with Emilia.

To just allow himself to feel without waiting for the subsequent blow that always came along.

Unbeknownst to him, Emilia was in her own apartment with her mind reeling with nothing but James.

How he had stepped into her bakery with a hundred yard stare she had only ever seen in herself after her father died and before the pain minimized.

But she had managed to crack a smile out of him, then another, and it all flowered so well together. He was intelligent, soft spoken, and it looked like he just needed someone to listen to him and perhaps and safe haven away from his very own life.

Though she wouldn’t deny the way she was drawn to him, one moment of eye contact during their first encounter was enough to draw her in and leave her wanting more, subsequently leaving her disappointed when she didn’t see him for a few days.

Love hadn’t been a top priority for her, having taken her father’s words to heart when he told her true love had no timeline and that she was destined for a soulmate but it would come when they both needed it the most.

James seemed so sad, his mood always set as a bare simmer but she was always able to have him leave with an extra pep in his step.

It was easy with them, but it was obvious James held back from really telling her how he felt but she’d let him open up to her when he felt it was right, let him come to her when he felt he really needed to get away from the negativity his life provided.

He was also tremendously handsome, God, his steel blue eyes paired with his dark mid length hair was enough to make any woman stutter. Combined with his broad shoulders, well worked body, and extended height… well that didn’t hurt either.

Of course she wanted things to be simple, for both of them to be open with their emotions but sometimes it was more difficult for people to open up. From what he had confessed about his father, it was evident he didn’t take his own emotions into consideration, setting them aside and ignoring them for the sake of his own sanity and to keep up appearances.

It would happen when it needed to happen, but regardless she refused to allow James to slip out of her lift and into his own loneliness again.

_________________________

This is the way things continued alongside the weather dropping.

James would visit, spend as much time as he wanted or could alongside Emilia who was always eager to have him there in her company.

The more he visited, the more he felt, the more he felt, the more afraid he became.

He had fallen for Emilia hard without the ability to find himself staying away for too long because he somehow felt himself worsen when he was away, and the bitter contentment with the fact that all they would ever be was friends was better than being away completely.

“What’re you doing for thanksgiving?” Emilia had asked one evening as they shared a slice of strawberry cheesecake, James shrugging and telling her that his parents were having a large dinner party but that he had made up an excuse to stay away from his family as much as he could.

Which is how he found himself standing outside of Emilia’s home at 7:30 in the morning on Thanksgiving day after Emilia had given him puppy dog eyes and asked if he wanted to spend it with her.

“Come on, we have much to do,” Emilia told him as she took his hand and led him to the back kitchen where much to his surprise, there was already someone there.

Well two someones, actually.

The guy from her photos, her brother Blaine, was there with a toddler on his hip spinning in circles until he noticed their arrival.

“Hi! I’m Blaine,” He introduced brightly, making his way around the large center counter to shake his hand, “It’s so nice to meet you, James. Emilia speaks of you so much…. This is Maya,”

Still surprised, he shook Blaine’s hand mutely before regaining his foot and speaking to them, “It’s nice to meet you too,” He said as he looked around the kitchen where Emilia was shutting a box of something.

“We have a lot of work to do, but instead Blaine is eating the rejected cookies.” Emilia explained as she lifted a pumpkin pie into another yellow box before shutting it and writing on the top.

Blaine grinned and set Maya down, grabbing the tupperware container from the counter behind him and offering them to James saying, “Some of them have oatmeal so it’s like eating breakfast oatmeal,” He reasoned, James smiled and took one without much hesitation.

“We don’t actually have work,” Emilia admitted with a smile towards James, “I’m closed today but I took orders so I have to hand them out when they arrive,”

Blaine studied James as he munched on his cookie before asking, “How attached are you to the traditional Thanksgiving ideology?”

“I’m not too attached, it’s a bit odd, isn’t it?” James answered after a bit of pondering, “But why do you ask?”

Setting aside the boxed pie, Emilia shared a grin with Blaine that James thought looked suspiciously excited.

“Well we have a tradition where we pick an all day dessert or two and we just spend the day together baking,” She explained “But we don’t do turkey or anything, we always just for a nice drive, order Thai or Italian food for dinner then enjoy our desserts,”

That seemed like genuine fun to James, his face lighting up like a child as he nodded at the thought of spending the entire day with Emilia as well as her brother who seemed to be a really cool guy.

Suddenly it seemed as though Thanksgiving and major holidays weren’t so rotten and so far from fun.

_________________

The entire day was filled with helping Emilia box up orders, getting to know Blaine, wielding Maya who was attached to his leg for a good portion of the time, and just having a good time.

He couldn’t remember a holiday where he had laughed so much and enjoyed himself with those he was with. Holidays were something he dreaded and often felt a pit of anxiety because of, but here he was enjoying himself.

Their brunch had consisted of omelets thanks to Blaine who had accompanied it with bacon, James smiling as Emilia shared hers with Maya.

Both siblings had insisted James pick the dessert which had him opting for cinnamon rolls which had Blaine cheering after peeking over James’ shoulder to see what he had chosen, Emilia rolling her eyes at her brother.

“You can mix the sugar and butter,” Emilia told James as she slid over the ingredients to him, his eyes lighting up as he took the rubber spatula and poked the softened butter.

Blaine's eyes widened at that, narrowing them, “You’re letting him help you? Last time I tried to help you, you grabbed my arm with a hot oven mit!” Blaine accused, but Emilia made an innocent face.

“You were eating all of the frosting for the cookies,” She told her brother as she subconsciously helped James pack the brown sugar into the measuring cup, “Plus I had told you to watch the cookies but you let the first batch burn,”’

Blaine huffed but smiled at Emilia and James despite himself, watching as she monitored the way he mixed together the ingredients as she rolled out the proved dough with a well floured rolling pin, Blaine the only one without a task.

Growing up Emilia had attempted to have Blaine learn to bake with her but he just didn’t have the self control to avoid eating the frosting or the delicious dough before it was cooked so he opted to let Emilia manage the baking.

There was something between both Emilia and James, that much was obvious, but it seemed they were taking it slow.

“So Blaine, can I ask what your family is up to today?” Blaine asked casually as he scrubbed the mixing bowl as his designated duty to clean up while they waited for the cinnamon rolls.

James paused his movements where he was wiping off the counter with a damp rag, attempting to figure out how to word things while Emilia watched him with worried eyes to see how he was going to take the question.

“They’re having a dinner party,” James told him, “But uh- I don’t really like spending too much time with them, you know? It’s rocky.”

Thankfully, Blaine seemed to be just as understanding as Emilia.

“I hear you, man,” He told James as he held up his sponge, “Families are complicated for some people, Emilia and I got lucky but we were always raised to open our home and family to people so I’m glad you’re here, James,’

Finding he was staring at Blaine, he finally snapped himself out of his trance and he nodded a few times as he swallowed hard.

“Thanks, Blaine. That means a lot to me.” James confessed, Blaine’s nod was casual as he continued to wash the dishes but Emilia noticed how stunned he seemed by the confession which had her making her way over to him, resting her hand on his as she gave it a reassuring squeeze.

He squeezed her hand back, the remaining tension that he hadn’t been able to feel dissipated disappeared from his body as he enjoyed the evening with the two siblings.

By the time they had eaten their fill of Thai food, cinnamon rolls, and watched all that they could one single day, James had to admit he had never had such a fun holiday. Perhaps the holidays when his grandparents were still alive were comparable, but even then he favored this thanksgiving above all others.

James thanked Emilia with a soft smile for the day after she had insisted on walking him out to his car with the smile that had been on her face all day was still unwavering.

“No, thank you for coming,” Emilia told him as they stood on the sidewalk next to James’ car, “I’m so glad you came, it was amazing having you here alongside Blaine.”

“I was really nervous seeing your brother, but you guys are just so welcoming and fun to be around.” James admitted.

The smile on Emilia’s face somehow managed to grow, she felt herself unable to hold back as she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around James’ middle tightly.

He paused for a moment, taken aback by the sudden affection but he was soon wrapping his own arms around her just as tightly, resting his cheek atop hers as she rested her head along his shoulder with her face in his neck.

Unbeknownst to both of them, Blaine was peeking through the window to see whether or not they would kiss though the hug didn’t disappoint him either. The entire day has been very telling regarding their feelings towards one another, but he hadn’t been sure about where they were exactly.

Emilia let go first, James would have hugged her until the sunrise but he also let go, taking in the last of her warm perfume before smiling down at her.

“Please get home safe, alright? I’ll be open tomorrow should you want to come around, alright?”

He nodded, his heart ready to burst as he told her he’d see her soon before making his way over to his car with Emilia’s watchful eye on him. She waved as he drove away, watching until he drove away and out of sight.

Entering her apartment, Blaine wolf whistled from where he sat on the couch.

“A hug? You two are sure to get arrested for public indecency,” Blaine teased Emilia rolling her eyes at him as she kicked off her Birkenstocks and began heading over to her brother to divulge her feelings about James and how to go about them.

A couple of blocks away, James was sitting in his car stopped at a red light thinking about how absolutely screwed he was.

He was absolutely and irrevocably in love with Emilia and there were few things in his life that had even gotten a jolt out of him like this one. A jolt of realization, the sudden feeling of your heart dropping into your stomach and getting caught in your throat all at once alongside your blood going freezing cold.

The honk from the car behind him announced to him that the light had turned green, but even when he accelerated down Briggs Ave. he still found his thoughts and heart stuck back a couple of blocks away.

Few things in life were easy, and being around Emilia was one of the easiest things James had ever gone about yet it also seemed to be the most detrimental.

____________________

Hope is a finicky thing, and James was well aware of that.

He was more aware of that than anything else in his life because hope had given him seldom in life.

The brutality of the reality of things was something he was more than accustomed to with his parents and upbringing shielding him from poverty but not much else.

Thanksgiving weekend dripped away and before long they were in December where the weather had soon dropped into inhumanely cold temperatures where the only solace James ever found from the coldness of the weather and his thoughts were alongside Emilia.

The first week of December had been a simple enough one for James until he had gotten in a verbal altercation with his father regarding whether or not James was to take on an assigned case.

It was simple in his eyes, he wasn’t going to defend a high school student facing real time in prison for smashing into a mother’s vehicle while street racing. However to Byron it was also simple: James did what he said, but he had never received such a headstrong from his son.

“You have to take on whatever case is presented to you.” Byron had demanded in his office, James knowing that the entire office was listening in on this argument but he didn’t care. He wasn’t going to stand up for another kid identical to the ones he had gone to school with.

The ones with lack of empathy, remorse, or the ability to think selflessly because he had fought long and hard to never become one so he sure as hell wouldn’t defend on.

His father had ground him down into nothing but he wouldn’t go against the little belief he had in himself about being a kind person.

Though he had stood his ground, earning less than kind words from his father ending with the coined phrase, “I am so disappointed in you.” Which stung less and less every time he used it until now it was nothing but a dull ache that followed him.

“Trust me, I know.” James had told him before stepping out of his father’s office, the weight of the not-so-subtle stares from assistant, partners, and clients were less than comforting but the dull ache followed him for only a few steps.

Fridays meant leaving early, and by 2:30 James was escaping the office with a quick goodbye to the receptionist before he made his way over to perhaps eat his weight in cheesecake or danishes.

What he hadn’t expected was for Emilia to be preoccupied with something, or someone namely.

It didn’t bother James of course, she was a business owner and she chatted with everyone she needed to.

Spotting James, she continued the conversation about what seemed to be tips on baking chocolate chip cookies as she went over to the display to grab him a slice of blueberry cheesecake before preparing his coffee without having to be asked.

Taking his seat at his usual spot along the counter, he thanked her with a smile he knew didn’t completely reach his eyes, a concerned look growing on her face but she turned back to the other man.

He didn’t listen in much in favor of drinking his piping hot coffee with his cake after Emilia had set it down for him.

God, he wished this guy would leave so the place could be empty. He needed it to be empty so he could tell her about his day and the reason behind why he looked as though he had just gotten his ass handed to him.

But wasn’t that so selfish? Selfish to want to vent to her again, tell her about his stupid life again when he had it pretty good. Sure his father was an asshole and his emotions were everywhere but that wasn’t her problem to solve, was it?

Why did he feel the need to run to her when they were nothing more than friends? Were they even friends or was he just breaking the customer-seller boundary again and again without Emilia finding it within herself to tell him that she really didn’t care.

What made it even more sad was the way his heart would do something like a kickflip whenever she’d glance at him from where she was still speaking to the guy who had been there the entire time.

Fumbling out of his thoughts, he listened in at the moment he later assumed fate needed him to listen in on.

“So, see you Saturday evening?” The man asked, James’ heart stuttering in a less than comforting way as he blanched.

Was it a date?

“Yeah, see you then, Nate.” Emilia confirmed with one of her grand smiles James had foolishly thought she had only ever reserved for him after weeks and weeks of… this.

Of James coming in and dumping his emotions on her, both of them going back and forth but it must be so exhausting for her to have him go in again and again, knowing he was lonely.

Closing his eyes, he swallowed hard at the realization as he fumbled to stand and grab his briefcase as he remembered he needed to pay for everything.

Blindly grabbing his wallet, he pulled out a random denomination of bills hoping it was enough to cover the tab without speaking a word.

Heading to the door, he nearly bumped into the man who had made plans with Emilia, almost as though fate wanted to rub it into his face that he had made a date with Emilia before James could do anything but pine from the sidelines.

“James?” Emilia asked worriedly from her side of the counter before he could exit, “Where are you going? Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I just have to go, sorry for always barging in here on you but have fun on Saturday.” He told her with a falsely bright voice, heading out towards his car leaving Emilia utterly confused.

Picking up his dishes she saw he had eaten less than half of his cake though his coffee was all but gone from the mug leaving her worried about what the hell was going on.

Why had he apologized?

___________________

As the younger sibling, Emilia had one talent and it was being profoundly stubborn.

The gnawing worry she felt for James had done anything but subsided after his quick exit, prompting her to call him again and again until he answered her fifth call and third text by the time she had flipped her sign from ‘Open’ to ‘Closed’ at 7pm.

It hadn’t been easy to have him agree to go back, though with the promise of a listening ear as she decorated 140 cupcakes for an elementary school aged party for the following morning.

“So what was your grand escape about?” Emilia asked when James’ hands were busy mixing pastel yellow frosting for her, knowing it was easier to open up when you weren’t directly focused in on opening up.

There was silence in the kitchen aside from the music Emilia seemed to always have playing when she baked.

She didn’t push, allowing him to go at his own pace after manhandling him and convincing him to go.

“I came to the realization that I come around here a lot and constantly dump things on you about my day. It must be so exhausting for you because you have so many other things to do.” James told her as he added another drop of food gel as he attempted to get the pastel yellow Emilia was going for.

Finishing her blue swirl, she set down her piping bag and looked at him, “You do realize that I do the same to you, right? We’re meant to help one another but I can assure you that you do not bug me. Not today, yesterday, or next October.” Emilia told him seriously.

There was no response, causing Emilia to put down the piping bag she had just picked up.

“Do I bug you, James? When I tell you about my day, my family, or even about how I slept?” Emilia asked him, earning a wide eyed look from James who shook his head as he set down his spatula.

“Of course not, I want to hear what you have to say.”

“That’s how I feel about you,” Emilia told him, “I know you weren’t raised to be very open with your emotions or thoughts so when you are you feel like a burden or as though you did something wrong, but you didn’t. Not with me.”

Continuing on to the next white bowl of frosting, he seemed to be lost in thoughts as he began mixing in a few drops of blue food gel before he was able to verbalize.

“How are you able to be so… open and just good with your feelings?” He asked, and maybe somewhere deep within him there was a small ray of hope where things would just click and there wouldn’t be such a gap between his emotions and his words.

Not looking away from where she was decorating her cupcakes, she told him her sincerest answer, “I just grew up in a home where it was safe and encouraged to be open about how you’re feeling. My dad was really big on that because his dad was really cruel with him when he was growing up so he never wanted to have his kids grow up in that kind of home where it was bad to feel and where they grew up afraid.”

“But,” Emilia continued softly, “Something bothered you today, something must have triggered these adverse thoughts in your ever intelligent mind.”

Satisfied with the green shade he pushed away the bowl before running his hand down his face.

“It was- it’s so stupid but I saw that guy today and I just wanted him to leave so I could talk to you and have you to myself? I don’t- it’s so selfish to want that, I know, but then I thought he was locking in a date which isn’t my business because you’re allowed to date whoever you want because we’re not- you know?” He stuttered out a mile a minute, “Jesus I’m fumbling here, can you- I should go.”

James made an attempt to flee after Emilia allowed him to stutter through his emotions, but he didn’t get far because Emilia was grabbing onto his arm and dragging him back to his spot, gently but firmly.

“No, no, no, no, no, this is good, this is called discourse and vulnerability, James,” Emilia told him as she moved him back to where he had been standing, “It’s just me, you’re always allowed to feel however it is you’re feeling around me.”

He nodded, settling down as Emilia made her way to her own spot.

“Sorry. It’s just difficult because I’ve never been able to be open with someone? You know that, though.” James said as he repeated it for the millionth time, but Emilia just smiled.

“Yeah, well they’ll never know you the way that I do.” She said so simply James felt his chest crack wide open in that kitchen, the affection he felt for her was uncanny to anything else in his life. He had fallen deeply, and it was as pleasant as it was painful.

________________________

It didn’t take long for Emilia to finish up the order, closing it up and setting it in the fridge when she came back with unfrosted cupcakes and a brilliant idea.

She had insisted on teaching James to frost a cupcake after he had expressed some interest in it as he watched her do it so easily and with such simplicity for over a hundred cupcakes, not one wonky or out of order.

So she stood close to him, placing her hands above his as she guided the correct pressure and movements she had perfected after years and years of baking, James’ movements clunky and unperfected underneath her hands.

James had moved so her back was pressed against his front, his focus on her warmth and the way her hands were so, so soft and so gentle with his own, making his heart want to hammer straight out of his chest onto the counter.

“You’re doing great.” Emilia complimented as she subtly loosened her hold on his hands, allowing him to guide it until he did his own slightly wonky swirl.

She moved aside, standing next to him as he continued on from a chocolate cupcake to a vanilla cupcake with the yellow frosting peeking out of the tip, his eagerness obvious.

Suddenly he felt hyper aware of how close she was to him and he just couldn’t stop himself anymore, he really couldn’t.

All at once he moved forward with his instinct without a secondary thought of doubt plaguing him, turning to the right where Emilia was standing, cupping her face with his right hand and leaning down in swift movements before he kissed her soundly.

Emilia’s lips were soft and warm against his own he knew were closer to chapped than not, the sensation he felt was nothing he could have prepared for in the instances he had restrained himself from doing this beforehand.

To James it was like the friendly deja vu he was privy to experiencing at times, as though they had years and years of practice doing this together. He felt Emilia really respond, pushing a little deeper where he was able to taste the remains of the unsold blueberry muffin Emilia had been munching on earlier during his arrival.

However much both parties enjoyed this, breathing was still a requirement which had them pulling away, James peeling open his eyes to see Emilia grinning widely at him, her eyes alive with affection he had been certain of concocting in his own mind.

Before he could speak a word or utter an apology, Emilia was cupping his face within her own hands and raising herself onto her toes where she kissed James again and again chastely, pulling away with an overexaggerated “Mwah!”

“Was this your plan all along?” She asked with a teasing smile, “Get me to show you my frosting technique, kiss me, and run away with this and my other secrets?”

James threw his head back and laughed, the laugh bubbling out of his chest as Emilia laughed alongside him. In the future, the sheer simplicity of it all is what stuck out in James’ head the most.

__________________

The way Emilia’s face lit up when she saw James appear the next day, a Thursday, made just about everything in his day worthwhile because that sent a jolt through him. It was after six thirty, his plans of lunch with Emilia had been thwarted by piles of paperwork, settling for a Clif bar and a water bottle.

His mood was negative, something he could feel following him like a cloud in one of those antidepressant commercials that came on tv, his father making his life a living hell because of his lack of appearance at thanksgiving. It had been over a week since thanksgiving but it was still fresh in his father’s mind.

Rude comments, damning his work, and just making him feel about as worthless as a human being could and he was so exhausted.

“Ahoy there,” Emilia greeted from behind her counter, walking towards James who was walking around it and practically throwing himself into her arms.

He greeted her back in a tired voice, Emilia wrapping her arms around his shoulders tightly as she allowed him to find comfort within her arms with his own wrapped around her middle so tightly she thought he might want to mold himself into her body.

“What happened? You look like you just got told your car is getting repoed,” Emilia asked, James pulling away with a shrug, “Nothing,”

“James,” Emilia said, not buying his lackluster answer, finally getting out of James what he had been harboring in his mind all day without anyone but Emilia to tell.

“My dad is an asshole who gets a sadistic high out of making me feel like shit, is all,” James said in a light tone Emilia knew was meant to be joking but the way his voice cracked at the last word had her making her way over to the front door, locking it securely before turning over the sign to announce she was closed.

“C’mon mister,” She told him as was back in front of him, grabbing his hand, “You can help me prepare some stuff for tomorrow because God knows the holidays make people love their baked goods and today was a riot in here.”

Suddenly he felt out of place and as though again, he hadn’t considered that she might be busy running an entire business where she was the sole baker.

“Oh shit. I’m sorry. Do you want me to go so you can work?” James asked as he stopped at the door of the back kitchen, prompting Emilia to tug him in with a shake of her head.

“No. I want you here, silly,”

“But you have so much-” He was cut off by Emilia grabbing his face and kissing him soundly, it was chaste but it got the job done because afterwards James was left short circuiting for a few moments.

“James, would you do me the favor of keeping me company while I do some work here? I’d love to have you here with me,”

With a smile, he shrugged and followed her back to the kitchen where she began to do her work.

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