#I want to remember to wear my Monday T-shirt. And pack a good lunch and ask my tutor how to start an essay introduction.

[saturdaymournings]

can’t tell if I’m happy or not tbh but something is up in my brain and it’s crazy shit. Like I’m not even stressed about the stressy I’m just. Vibes

[koushou]

i love it smmmm omg. the megumi fix is amazing it’s more than i asked for ❤️❤️ bro 6,9k is a blessing you don’t understand how glad it made me it’s so worth the wait. tumblr is so dry when it comes to anime fics and especially w megumi thank you for feeding me something other than the crumbs this website gives me. i don’t want to be too annoying but whenever you’re free if you could do a pt 2 cause that ending omg. i love it sm and i can’t thank you enough ❤️

pairing : megumi x f!reader [fluff]

warnings : slight makeout scene idk HAHA nothing too intense though (also not proofread because i wanted to get this posted as soon as i finished it)

wc : 3.5k

a/n : ur too sweet omg and im FINALLY back from procrastinating your request again anon… (i really apologize i don’t mean to take so long pls forgive me D: ) i hope this is what you wanted!!

pt. 1 (you don’t really have to read pt 1 to understand this part but i do recommend it)

loud chatter echoes through the large modern dining hall located on the second floor of the hotel.

“i’m… so full…” a certain pink haired male burps for the nth time as he still continues to stuff food into his mouth. gojo laughs at itadori’s passion for the hotel food, while doing the same as he takes a large bite of a pancake.

you chuckle, taking a sip of your drink and leaning back in your cushioned chair, already finished with your 3rd plate of breakfast. i mean, who could blame you? hotel breakfast food just hits a different type of way.

“so, spill all the juicy events that happened last night, i wanna know!” nobara nudges you excitedly, her eyes twinkling as she pulls her chair closer to yours.

rolling your eyes, you look away from the ginger female and pretend to not have heard her. accidentally, you were now faced towards megumi, sitting on the opposite side of you. your eyes met for a brief moment before you quickly turned away, breaking the awkward interaction.

“aww— c’mon, y/n! please—“

“nothing happened at all! and don’t think i forgot the way you ignored my knocks on your door yesterday,” you shot her a glare, earning a sheepish laugh in return.

“but... in the same bed..?”

you were about to retort back when gojo stands up and claps his hand over his stomach, which now seemed just… a few sizes bigger.

“alright! have we all finished our food? god, when did hotel food get so good— anyway, it’s time to pack our things and head back home!” your constantly enthusiastic teacher exclaims, as a waiter comes to collect your plates.

after thanking the waiter and paying the bill (poor gojo-sensei’s wallet), you all head back upstairs to drive back home.

a thick silence hangs over your room as you and megumi collect your items, not wanting to bring up any events from last night. finally ready to head out, you walk towards the door to open it until another hand reaches the handle at the same time.

you retract your hand quickly, while the other hand lingers in the air above the knob.

“oh— sorry, you can go first!” you gulp, backing up a bit so megumi can exit first.

he pauses for a second, twisting the knob until the door pulls open. you expected him to walk out, but he makes his way to the other side of you instead, still holding the door open.

you look over at him with a questioning look, receiving a slight shrug and a hint of a smirk.

“ladies first.”

why was his stupid face so handsome?

you shook your head at his teasing expression, making your way out the door to the carpeted hallway, him following close behind.

the others were already at the lobby waiting, their conversation becoming clearer as you reach them.

“what’s taking them both so long? you don’t think they’re too busy… y’know…” nobara’s usual cheerful voice carries her words to your ears, making you roll your eyes and spook her from being.

“boo.”

“i’m just sayin- oh my go—“ she frantically turns around, breathing a sigh of relief upon seeing it was just you.

“you scared me!”

“what were we talking about?”

“nothing important! come on, we should get going!” nobara nudges gojo and itadori ahead, escaping you as she scurries out of the lobby.

you hear a yawn from behind you, a tuft of black hair moving past you as you suppress the urge to laugh at megumi’s already messy hairstyle, amplified by his morning bed hair.

finally, you were all seated back in gojo’s car, ready to drive back to the school so you all can head back to your own homes.

the ride back was full of gojo’s irritating voice singing along to songs playing from the car radio, itadori laughing along, and the rest of you too excited to leave the car.

“alright kids! we’re here, make sure to be safe on the way back home!”

gojo waves to all of you as you hop out of his car one by one, basking in the cool summer air for a few seconds.

“see you guys!”

itadori jogs away, heading in the direction of his own home, followed by megumi, then nobara, and lastly, you.

upon reaching your house, your mother welcomes you, asking about your day, if you had fun, and other typical mother questions.

you were telling her about your day when you suddenly recalled the hotel night events, and scurried away embarrassed upstairs to your room, leaving a very confused mom behind.

you flop down onto the bed, face down, wanting to get a good few minutes of quiet nap time in before your phone dings with a notification.

grunting, you pull your phone out from your pocket, swiping across the screen to check the message.

surprisingly, it was from megumi, eyebrows suspiciously raising as you open the text message from him. you two rarely texted unless it was about school or business-related, so you couldn’t think of anything he would need from you right now.

megumi : Hey.

megumi : I have your hair tie with me. You probably left it in my bag or something.

megumi : I’m coming over in 5 minutes.

you sat up abruptly, rereading his messages to make sure your eyes weren’t playing tricks on you.

you had been so caught up with his prior messages that you failed to register that he said he was going to be at your house in… 5 minutes.

hurriedly, you swiped to see what time he had sent that last message. 12:34 AM.

your eyes moved to the top of your phone screen, reading the current time. 12:37 AM.

almost falling out of bed scrambling to your room mirror, you checked your appearance to make sure you looked fine and your hair wasn’t messy and-

you paused.

“why am i so concerned about how i look? why do i care about this?”

you slapped your face with both hands, bringing yourself back to reality when you were interrupted again, but this time by your doorbell ringing from downstairs.

making your way out of your room, you saw that your mom had already opened the door with a familiar tall figure standing in the doorway.

“oh! megumi, it’s been a while!” your mom lets megumi in with a smile, already going to the kitchen to make him some tea.

he bows politely, sitting down on the couch, now changed into a loose white t-shirt with black shorts.

“uh- theres no need to make me tea, i won’t be here for too long—“

“nonsense! you can even stay for lunch, dear megumi! i just have to prepare the last dish and—“

you finally clear your throat, standing at the middle of the stairs, catching both of their attention.

“oh, y/n! i have to go out to the grocery store for some ingredients, take care of our guest megumi, alright?” she places two cups of tea on the table in front of megumi, grabbing her keys to head out.

“wait, mom—“

she sends you a wink by the door, already outside before you can finish your sentence.

you sigh in defeat, sitting across from megumi on the other couch.

“here.”

megumi pulls out a black hair tie from his pocket, almost identical to the one currently around your wrist.

you raise your eyebrows in suspicion at the hair tie. “but i only have one? and i didn’t bring any extra yesterday..?” you motion to your own arm.

he looks back and forth between your wrist and the one he had in his hand, scratching his head in confusion.

“it was in our hotel room, so i assumed it was yours.” he shrugs, placing it on the table. “but if it isn’t, i can just throw it away.”

you hum, taking a sip of the tea your mom prepared as he does the same, cringing as the still hot tea burns his tongue.

“pfft…”

he glares at you, placing the cup down as his eyes scan around your living room, taking in the decorations.

“i’ll just keep it then, it seems new.” you take the forgotten hair tie on the table, and wear it around your wrist, now decorated with two black hair ties.

he nods, sitting back against the couch, silence falling between you both.

a question suddenly popped up in your mind, your mouth moving faster than your brain.

“you came all the way here… just to give me a hair tie?”

the question seems to set him a little nervous, clearing his throat and avoiding eye contact as he fidgets in his seat.

“well— i figured i’d return it to you before i forgot,” he shrugs, reaching out to take another sip of his tea before pulling back quickly again at the heat.

you nod slowly, still unconvinced with his answer. who goes all the way to someone’s house to return a hair tie?

“okay then, see you on monday?” you get up, ready to send him back off.

his head snaps up, still not moving in his seat as he opens his mouth slowly, as if unsure of how to respond.

“um- i thought your mom said i could stay…for lunch…?”

he averts his eyes, pink dusting his pale cheeks as he looks away. your mouth forms into an ‘o’ shape as you recall your mom’s words and those were - in fact what she had said.

it wasn’t that you were against him staying for lunch, but you two weren’t even friends or remotely close at that. rivals would even suit you both better than friends.

“but if you want i can, uh, leave now,” he starts to stand, looking uncomfortable in his position across from you.

it was then that you remembered megumi’s background, that his mother had left early at birth, plus his father wasn’t exactly present.

you couldn’t imagine living without your parents, and how lonely he must be without true family.

“no! i mean, that’s not what i meant, you can stay.” you sputter out before he gets the wrong idea.

his eyes seem to light up at your words, nodding before sitting back down on his previous spot on the couch.

you glance over at the time on your phone, it had been around 7 minutes after your mom had left.

the tension was thick in the room, and just when you thought you were about to explode from the awkwardness, he finally breaks the silence.

“do you… play that?”

you turn to where his eyes are placed on, seeing your black xbox console laying on top of a cabinet, having been untouched for a while.

“oh that? yeah, occasionally, why?”

you hear a snicker from beside you, snapping your head to find his lips curled into a teasing grin.

“oh, i just didn’t think a nerd like you would play games.”

you raise your eyebrows at his words. “you sure about that? it doesn’t seem like you’re very good at games either, megumi.” you make sure to stretch out each three syllables of his name to tease him further.

he huffs while leaning back, still maintaining intense eye contact with you, almost challenging each other to say something back.

“how about this, whoever wins against the other gets to make them do whatever they want. no matter what it is.” he nods over to the console, tilting his head as he waits for your response.

you chuckle, standing up to take the console, fiddling with it for a moment before turning back to him.

“alright, just don’t cry when you lose too much, okay?”

he shrugs, smirking as he looks around the living room for the other console, making you remember something.

“oh, the other console plus a TV is in my room, wanna just play there?”

he stiffens suddenly, before nodding slowly and following you upstairs to your room.

reaching the door, you suddenly stop, making megumi grunt and come to a stop, almost crashing into you.

“uh - wait here.”

you open the door just enough to slip inside, quickly gathering some of your belongings and cleaning as much as you could, to at least make your room seem presentable.

“okay!” you open the door for megumi, who makes no move to enter at first.

“...”

“you can come in.”

“... is this okay?”

you cock your head, not understanding his question.

“your mom isn’t home.”

“...so?”

“we’re alone.”

“and?”

“i’m… going into your room.”

“what is your point?” you began to grow frustrated at this conversation. then, it hit you all of a sudden.

“ahh, megumi? have you never been in a girl’s room alone before?” you snicker, shaking your head from laughter.

he starts to protest, before quickly closing his mouth and finally entering your room.

you connect the two consoles into your TV in your room, sitting down on the edge of your bed as you load up the games on the screen.

“you can sit here if you want,” you pat the empty spot next to you, to which he carefully sits down on, taking one console from your hand.

“ready?”

he nods, as you start the game.

-- --

“what--?!”

you throw your hands up in frustration, groaning as you flop backwards on the bed.

“i told you, you can’t beat me.” megumi chuckles, dodging a stuffed bear you threw in his direction.

you huffed, sitting back up, determined to beat him at least once.

“one last rematch!”

he lets out a laugh, a rare one that you think you might just never forget, and starts the game again.

after a few minutes of intense clicking, yelling and laughing, you let out a proud shout, the word victory flashing across your screen.

you pick up another stuffed animal from your bed and toss it straight at megumi’s face, celebrating as he lets out an ‘oof’ and glare back at you.

“but i still won around, 7 times, so i get to make you do something- oof-” he stumbles back again from another stuffed animal to the face.

“hmm? i don’t know what you’re talking about--” you pretend to not have heard him before your vision goes momentarily black from a soft object hitting your face, a pink bear landing in your lap.

“hey!”

“what, you keep throwing them at me!”

“fine…”

“hey, why are you getting so close--!”

you tackle megumi backwards onto the bed, throwing your pillows at his face -- not very gently -- as he tries to shield his arms in vain.

“ahh—! okay, okay, i’m sorry, stop it—“ he huffs as you finally stops your attack, his dark blue orbs looking up into yours.

you only now noticed your close proximity, quickly sitting back up to create some distance between the both of you. he clears his throat, fiddling with one of your pillows.

“well, a loss is a loss, what do i have to do?” you sigh, admitting your defeat.

“hmm…” he seems to be lost in deep thought, probably trying to find the worst thing he can make you do.

after a few silent, intense seconds, he finally speaks.

“are you… free tomorrow?”

you turn to him, giving him a questioning look at his strange question. he only stares back at you in response, awaiting your answer.

“um… yeah, i’m free the whole day, why do you as-“

“come watch a movie with me tomorrow.” he blurts out quickly, not even letting you finish your sentence.

you gape at him, still processing his words, unsure if you had heard wrong.

“... sorry?”

his face was reddenning by the second, yet his eyes remained firmly on yours the whole time.

“let’s go watch the new movie in the theater. i heard it’s quite popular already despite releasing only last week.”

“oh… okay, i can ask nobara if she wants to com-“

“don’t!” he says a little too loudly, clearing his throat after as he regains his composure.

“i mean, i- just, you.”

“just.. us?”

he nods.

silence fell again between the two of you, unsure if he was asking you what you thought he was asking you. you decide to test the waters cautiously.

“man.. it’s almost like you’re asking me out on a date, megumi?” you tease lightly, expecting a ‘tch’ or an, ‘as if’.

“so what if i am?”

now that was an answer you weren’t expecting.

“you’re.. joking, right?”

megumi sighs, moving closer until his body was mere centimeters away from yours.

“i’m serious.”

“do you... like me or something?”

he stares at you blankly. “would i ask you on a date if i didn’t have feelings for you, idiot?”

you only just realize how stupid your question sounded, trying to find a response until he reaches up to cup your cheek with one hand.

they felt soft, yet slightly gruff from constant training and fighting, large enough to cover one half of your face. they were warm, slightly trembling probably from nervousness, yet made you wish he’d never take it off.

“it’s okay if you don’t want to. we can forget this ever happened.” his own cheeks turning slightly pink, yours probably even worse as the space between your faces closed in slowly.

“but i don't think i can do this anymore, so just let me be a little selfish this once, okay?”

barely registering his words before he moves in to kiss you, soft lips moving against the other as his hand tightens against the side of your cheek. you barely register your own actions anymore, hands reaching up to tangle themselves in his hair, moving down to his neck, and finally finding home cupped around his face.

he groans against your lips, pressing you down until he was now hovering above you, never breaking the kiss even once in the process. you lost track of how long you both had been making out in your bed before you hear the front door open from downstairs.

frantically, the both of you separated in fear of your mom catching you in the act, catching your breaths while still processing what just happened.

you hear shuffling from downstairs, standing up to escape megumi before you were pulled back into a warm chest.

“wait—“ his arms wrap around you to trap you from leaving his grasp, your eyes looking everywhere but his, and suddenly your wall was the most interesting thing in sight.

“are we… really going to pretend that didn’t happen?” you finally gather the courage to look him in the face, almost melting at the soft pout set on his (now slightly redder than before) lips.

“ilikeyoutoo.” you get out quickly before you lose the chance to say it again.

he stiffens against you, eyes lighting up almost like an excited puppy receiving treats. “you like me? i didn’t hear you, so can you say it again?”

you huff, trying to wriggle your way out of his arms, only resulting in him pulling you closer to sit on his lap. he presses his forehead to yours, chuckling at your futile attempt to escape.

“i said— i like you—!” you ram your head into his, making him groan in pain, loosening his hold on you. the perfect chance for escape.

you saw the opportunity, dashing to the door, twisting the knob, almost getting it open until—

“nope,” megumi’s hand stops the door in time, instead twisting you around until your back was now flat against the wood, both of his palms placed beside your head.

“y/n? megumi?” your mom’s voice calls from downstairs, but all you could hear was your heartbeat thumping loudly in your chest.

“megumi! move, my mom’s home,” you place your hands on his chest, trying to push him away to no avail.

he grabs your pushing hand and places it on the left side of his chest, letting you feel the soft but fast thumping of his heart, almost matching the pace of your own.

“this is all your fault. you’re not gonna take responsibility for it?” he inches closer to your burning face, making you huff and grab his face.

you press your lips to his, feeling him immediately return the kiss, but you pull away after a few seconds, leaving him still trying to kiss you again.

“nope, my mom’s home, and i’m hungry.”

you open the door, seeing your mom begin to set the table with plates of food downstairs. you look back at megumi, who still looked sad after getting his kiss cut short.

sighing, you take his hand in yours, intertwining your fingers together before pulling him down the stairs.

“come on, it’s time for lunch. you’ll get more later.”

you feel him perk up, giving your hand a squeeze as he follows close behind.

you steal a glance at your wrist, still wearing both the hair ties. good thing he hadn’t noticed you stuffing one into his bag this morning.

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

How about a coffee shop au where the reader gets Cal's order wrong and gives him a matcha latte when he ordered a regular hot coffee with his breakfast sandwich and you can go off form that :)

Taking limited requests. 3 slots left.

Gender Neutral Reader.

___________________

The morning shift--Calum had been told about how chaotic this shift could be. During his closing shift training, it was all they really talked about. How glad they were that they didn't have the opening shift. And of course, closing shift took a lot of heat because maybe not everything got done like it was supposed to. And sometimes even if they did do everything right, one particular manager was a known hard ass and nothing really seemed to appeased them.

And though Calum woke up at the ass crack of dawn, not even the sun hitting the horizons just yet, the start didn't seem so bad. But the second the clock hit six it was as if the dam broke. Being two weeks into the job, he felt like he had a pretty good handle on everything. Though the thing that still made his hands shake was fucking up someone's order.

"Matcha latte with a toasted egg and cheese bagel," he calls out, setting the two out together. Another drink is done and he caps it. "And a regular black coffee."

He doesn't even pay attention to who comes up--vaguely responds to the thanks with a quick 'you're welcome' and goes back to the blender for the next drink on the line.

The frother is a distinct buzz in his ears as Sydney, one of his trainers and now slowly becoming a work best friend, works next to him. But even with that noise, the soft "Excuse me" catches his ear. Calum glances up, grabbing the towel from his apron to clean his hands.

"What can I help you with?"

The smile is still bright in front of him. "I think my drink order got mixed up. I ordered a regular coffee with vanilla syrup. But this is a, uh, green," you laugh.

His heart thunders in his chest. Fuck, he knew he should've double checked that ticket like he was taught. He just assumed. "Oh I'm so sorry about that! Let me fix it. You said regular coffee with vanilla syrup right?"

You nod at the man, his brown eyes blown wide. He apologizes again and before you can tell him not to worry about it--that it happens sometimes, he's spinning on his heels. You watch him, towering over most of the other people behind the counter. His hair tucked up underneath the black dad hat and the gray t-shirt he's wearing hanging loose around his torso but tight over his shoulders.

You've never seen him before--not in the mornings at least. Not that you're a regular, but you do come in consistently. "Hey," Sydney smiles at you, shouting out another order for the customers waiting. "Everything alright?" And maybe you were a regular.

You nod. "Yeah, just a small mix up."

"Shucks, sorry about that. Is someone on it?"

"Yeah, um," you look behind her to the man with a cup of coffee that looks more like your usual. "He's on it," you say, looking back to Sydney."

"Calum--he's new," she says, leaning against the counter for a moment and just in that moment, Calum returns with your correct drink, setting it onto the counter for you.

"Sorry about that again!" he states again.

You shake your head at him. "It's really not a problem. Things happen. We're human and all."

"Oh, ain't you just the sweetest," Sydney teases before walking around Calum to go back to the machines. "Just don't be too sweet on him."

You laugh at her comment, taking hold of the cup in front of you. Something brushes along your fingers and when you look, Calum's holding out a straw for you too. "Thanks. Don't let Sydney be too hard on you."

"Oh--I can handle her," Calum laughs, knowing the glare that's landing him right now from Sydney. "But really, I am sorry about getting that drink mixed up."

You look up to him, noticing the bags that have just started to form and can see he means it. "Calum, it's not the end of the world. And even if it was, at least you were nice."

"God, I really hope it wasn't the end of the world." He's not phased at the sound of his name from your lips. He knows the name tag is pinned to the outside of his apron. But he likes the way it sounds when you curl your tongue around the 'L' in his name.

And the two of you linger in a deep gaze, only for a moment before he hears down the line the shout of needing more clean blenders. "I," he starts, throwing his thumb over his shoulders, "I should probably get back to work."

You nod, "Yeah, yeah. I'll see you around, Calum?"

You say it like it's a question, like you're hoping he says yes. "I'll be here for the foreseeable future," and he pauses, not having caught your name.

You give your name and he tries it over his own lips, then grins when you grin. "Well, good luck with the rest of today," you offer and then take a half step from the counter. Calum does the same, but retreating further into the eye of the storm.

He watches you though, pushing on the side door and then out into the finally morning sunrise. He's grateful for a moment that he works mornings this week straight, clinging to the smallest hope that you step back through the doors again.

Tuesday you don't show, having to leave Monday in the day to out a few towns for a conferences. When Wednesday comes around and the morning's pushing afternoon, Calum's hope wanes, but doesn't completely fade. People live busy lives. He can't fault that. But he just hopes he's not being a fool to watch every person that comes through the door, or even passes by the windows.

And just an hour before shift change, as the day's quieted, Calum's mind fills with the rest of things he needs to do. He has to go to the pharmacy to pick up some toiletries and then try to get home to get a couple readings done before his evening classes.

"Hi, Calum."

He pauses his work on the table he's wiping down to spin around. And there you are, a backpack slug over one shoulder and giving him a small wave. "Hi," he returns, feeling a small flutter in his gut. "Whata-what's on the menu today?" he asks, moving to go back behind the register.

You try to stop him, noticing only a few people in the place sitting with their laptops or books around them. "Oh, no, I-I'm not here to get anything really."

His brows furrow as he spins back around, leaning now up against the part of the counter that finished drinks are served. "Not here to get anything?"

You shake your head. "Well, not right now. I'm on my lunch and came by hoping to catch you, really?"

"Me?" he questions, trying to keep the silly grinning to a minimum.

"Yeah," you nod, and then drop your gaze to the floor. His black Nike's fill up your vision for a moment as you exhale and then look back up to his face.

His cheeks fuller than you remember them being, but maybe it's just because now you're really getting a good look at them. "Well, here I am," he teases with a tuft of laughter.

"So like, I really don't want to ask this while you're working because that just feels awkward. And you totally don't have to answer my next question either. I just wanted to let you know I get it, if you're comfortable with it." And he just watches you rambles, part of it because he likes the way you fiddle with your fingers and use your hands as you talk. Part of it because he's too frozen by fear to respond in any capacity.

So on you continue, "I wanted to know when you got off--so that I could ask you what I really wanted to ask you not when you're working. Because like, that just feels presumptuous and also you're doing service so I don't want to make you feel like you can't say no without it affecting your job. So like, would I be able to talk to you? Once your shift is done?"

"I'm off in about an hour. But if you're on your own lunch break I don't want to impede your work either," he returns.

"I-I can work remotely. I was at our shared office space downtown. But like as long as I have WiFi and my computer I can do my work anywhere."

"As long as you're sure and don't mind having to wait? But also you should probably actually eat on your lunch break?"

You tap the side of your backpack and only now does he see a small lunch box attached. "I packed it assuming I'd eat at the office. But then I realized due to my travel this week, I hadn't been by and I definitely want to drop by."

And it's the way you say definitely, like you're dreaming while looking at him, or breathless. And maybe you are giving the whole spiel you've just given. The doors open again and Calum glances over, to greet the new person, but glances back down to you. And fuck, your eyes are just too pretty not to get lost in. "Well, enjoy your lunch and our free WiFi and when I'm done, we can talk, yeah?"

"Yeah, yeah, sure," you rush out, grinning and then watch him shuffle back to the registers. You turn, capturing your bottom lip between your teeth. And holy fuck, it feels like you're in middle school all over again dealing with your first crush. But there you didn't make any moves, especially not as outlandish as this one.

But you just need it to work out--that's all. Finding a table, you settle down, back facing the window, but able to see Calum at the register if you look up from your computer screen. He smiles whenever you catch his eye. The drink doesn't seem to take him long to make and before you know it, he's back out from the register, making rounds to wipe at tables and make sure no one else needs anything before heading back to you.

And he talks as he works, wiping more tables, putting chairs back where they belong. You find out he's in school, working as he takes night classes for his master's in Literature. He finds out you're working remotely for an agency, and though it's marketing, or that's what he gather he still doesn't quite understand it. But it makes you happy and he loves it when you laugh about your coworkers.

And the hour's flown by when the shift switches, Calum disappears to the back for a few minutes and you start the process of shutting down your laptop. But he's back before you get everything tucked away and he slides into the seat across from you with ease and a bit of a sigh of relief.

"You don't have to pack up unless you want too," he says.

And you pause, your laptop in its sleeve. "You really want to hang around your job after hours."

"It's not so bad. It's just the standing that's killer." You nod, understanding the struggle. "So," he starts. "What was this thing that-that you wanted to ask?"

And you can tell he's nervous, his gaze on the table and not on you. And it shouldn't be so goddamn endearing but it is. "I-I wanted to see if you wanted to go out sometime. With me?"

His head shoots up, his infectious grin lighting up his own face, even causing the skin around his eyes to crinkle. "I'd love too. I'm off next Thursday--if that works."

Thursday is nothing special, well you have your monthly town hall meeting that's just about the growth of the company, but you could take a half day and then make up the hours next week. "Thursday is good. Should we do lunch since you have classes?"

"Yeah, if you're okay with that. I heard about this new place, it's mostly breakfast but they stay open for lunch."

"Anya's?" you question and Calum nods. "Some coworkers say it's good. But I-I haven't gone yet."

"So there then?" he asks.

"Yeah--is it okay if we do it a little early. 11:30?"

His heart is a thunderous roar in his chest and he's really glad today he work a darker colored t-shirt because his pits are dripping right now. "Yeah, that's fine with me," Calum answers.

The two of you exchange numbers and he helps you carry your bag to the car. You insist he doesn't have too, but he does it anyway and up against the side of your car, you're kind of glad you took the leap of faith. The hat comes off and you can see fully now the mass curls on his head.

"Thanks," Calum starts. "For waiting to ask. I would've said yes, like literally either way. But I appreciate it."

"Yeah, no. I worked retail before this. It's hell with people hitting on you while you're on the clock. Don't even worry about it."

The sun is higher now, getting into your eyes just a little until Calum shifts and blocks most of it. "So I'll see you Thursday, for sure, at 11:30. Anya's."

"11:30 next Thursday at Anya's for sure. But I may also need a matcha latte before then," you tease.

"Oh, c'mon," he laughs. "It's barely been three weeks. And I apologized."

"I'm only teasing, Calum," you giggle.

He takes a small step backwards--he parked in the second row as to give customers the spots up front. "I'll have that matcha waiting on you next time then."

"I'd expect nothing less." And the two of you give one last wave before he spins completely around his apron thrown across his shoulder and he pauses for cars before crossing the parking lot. And you know you shouldn't thank the heavens you asked for a lunch date at the sight of his ass in jeans, but you do.

Inside your car, you laugh at your own giddiness. It's only one date. And who the hell knows how it's going to end--but for fuck sake, you did it. The phone rings through the bluetooth of your car as you dial your best friend to tell them the good news.

And unbeknownst to you, Calum sits in his car too, smiling to himself as he texts his housemates about scoring a date with you. And the entire thread rattles his phone from the coffee holder.

[atlafan]

Costumes Galore - One Shot

a/n: this one was based off a few asked for my Halloween themed one shot requests. A lot of you wanted to something around a costume rental store, so I just made Harry the owner of that store! Feedback and reblogs are helpful, hope you enjoy! (not proofread) 

Warnings: pining, smut, friends to lovers

Words: 8.7K

Don’t ask him how, but Harry is the owner of a costume rental shop. He was a business major in university, and with some luck and patience, he was able to take over the very shop he worked in as a teenager. Halloween was his busiest season, of course, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t doing well year round. He would give deals to the local schools and community theaters, and people who dressed as characters for parties would come see him. So, needless to say, business was steady. He often had big sales right after Halloween, and people would come in and clean him out.

Preparing for Halloween was his favorite thing to do. As soon as it was September 1st, he would transform his shop, pulling out tons of decorations, and putting out different bowls of candy. He liked making his customers happy, and everyone usually left satisfied. His changing rooms were comfortable and spotless, and he even set up backdrops in the lounge area for people to take Halloween pictures of their kids. People would come in to do that all year to save time and money. He was a smart business man. Harry did most of the work himself, he had a couple of teenagers that worked for him after school, but other than that it was all him. He didn’t mind, it gave him the control he needed over his shop, and he just didn’t have the money to pay someone for full-time help. He was only entering the fourth year of owning the place, after all.

Harry enjoyed the small traditions the downtown area had. Every year on October 30th, all of the shops would open their doors so kids could come trick or treat. It was a great way to give out pamphlets and coupons, while also getting to know the people that lived in the area. He loved kids, so when Harry was told about the tradition by his shop neighbor he got right on it, splurging for the king sized candy bars.

It was getting to be that time of year again, just about the end of September, his shop was looking good, and the Halloween crowds had slowly been trickling in and out. He was at the register when he heard the chime of the bell he keeps above the door to signal someone was coming in. It was a beautiful young woman, and she made Harry’s mouth run dry.

“Hello.” She says shyly as she walks up to the counter.

“Hi.” He swallows, and then smiles. “May I help you find something? Picking a costume up?” He moves to walk into the back door to see what reservations he had left for the day, but she stops him.

“No, um, I was wondering, actually, if you were hiring seasonally? I’m a grad student at the local university, and I could really use the extra cash before the holidays approach.”

“Oh.” He wasn’t expecting such a blunt and honest answer. “Well, I usually only hire high school students…it’s a bit easier to pay them under the table.”

“I don’t mind! I have another job at the university I get a pay stub for and all that, I really just need the extra money for the season. If you’re not hiring it’s okay, I can check with the other shops, I just figured since this is a costume shop you’d be getting really busy soon.”

“You figured correctly.” He sighs. “Do you have much experience in retail?”

“Oh, sure, tons! I worked in a grocery store when I was a teenager, so I know how to work a register, and then in undergrad I worked at an Old Navy, so I know how to fold clothes properly and check inventory.” She pulls a folded piece of paper out of her back pocket. “Here’s my resume, not the most professional way of showing it, but I brought it nonetheless.” She unfolds it and slides it on the counter towards him.

Harry takes it and furrows his brows as he reads it over. Seems like she was in her first year of grad school, but had graduated from her undergrad a couple of years ago. Her undergraduate degree was in social work, and it looks like she had been working in an office for a couple of years. Now she was going for a graduate degree in school counseling. She had plenty of experience, that wasn’t his worry, he just wasn’t sure he would be able to properly compensate her.

“My busiest hours during the season tend to be between 3 and 7PM, and then I’m swamped on Saturdays. How many hours a week do you think you could work?”

Her features soften as she perks up from his question.

“I’m honestly free by four most days, and Saturdays are no problem. Well, as long as I don’t have to be up at the crack of dawn.” She chuckles. “I’m no good early in the morning. I could do Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday if that works for you?”

“I wouldn’t be able to pay you more than ten dollars an hour, and you’d need to keep track of things on your own. I expect the honor system too, no trying to stiff me.”

“That’s perfect!” She was doing the math in her head. “Do you close right at seven? Would I stay after to close up?”

“Probably would need you here until eight. Saturday I’m open eleven to five, would need you here ten to six for that.”

She furrows her brows as she thinks about it. That would roughly come to about twenty hours a week, which was exactly what she was looking for. Then that would be $200 extra in her pocket a week, or $400 if he decides to pay her bi-weekly, and she wouldn’t have to worry about a dime of it coming out for taxes.

“Well, uh…”, she squints at his nametag, “Harry, I think we have a deal.” She smiles and extends her hand for him to shake. He takes it gently and smiles at her. “When can I start?”

“Why don’t you come in this Saturday around 9:30? I can go over everything with you without have to rush. There’s a little kitchen in the back and all that so feel free to leave food here if you feel like packing a lunch or snacks. I also keep a lot of snacks around.”

“Works for me.” She shrugs. “If you’re here until eight most days, what time do you usually open?”

“Around ten, I get here for nine.”

“Those are long days.”

“I don’t mind it, there’s always a lot to do.” It’s quiet between them for a moment.

“Well, I’ll let you get back to it. See you Saturday!” She beams.

“Wait, uh, the door will be locked when you get here, and I can’t just give you a key, barely know you.” He chuckles. “But here.” He grabs a business card and writes his cell phone number on it. “Just text me when you get here, and I’ll let you in.”

“Perfect.” She looks at the card. “Thanks, Mr. Styles.”

“Stick with Harry, we don’t need to be so formal.”

“Alright, thanks, Harry.”

Out the door she goes feeling way better than when she walked in. He wondered how close in age they might be, she had to be around the same age as him, if not only a year or so younger. It would be nice working with someone he could actually talk to. He likes the teenagers, but sometimes he just had no idea what they were talking about.

//

Saturday morning Y/N isn’t sure what to wear. Harry hadn’t said anything about a uniform, so she decides on a pair of khakis and a black polo to at least look the part of a retail worker. She tucks the shirt in to look professional, and to make sure she looked cute. She puts her hair up in a ponytail, and out the door she goes. She grabs a coffee from the shop across from Harry’s, and takes out her phone to text him.

Y/N: Good morning, Harry! It’s Y/N, I’m outside the shop 😊

She sips her warm drink as she waits for him to appear in the windows. She smiles as she sees him walking up, and he opens the door for her.

“Morning, Y/N.” He smiles, voice still a little gravelly from sleep. It makes her blush.

“Morning.” She nods as she walks in. “Oh…I should have asked you if you wanted a coffee.” She frowns at herself. “I’m sorry.”

“No worries, had mine a little while ago. I should’ve asked you if you wanted anything.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Anyways…”, he looks her up and down, “don’t feel like you need to dress so…well, I should have texted you about attire. Um, you can wear pretty much whatever you want. I just ask if you wear jeans that they’re not ripped, and if you wear leggings make sure you’re bum is covered. You never know what kind of old creeps might be coming in here to steal glances.” She nods at him and follows him behind the register and into the back room. “So this is where I keep reserved costumes. People will call ahead sometimes with their measurements and what they need.” He opens another door that leads into a breakroom. It was small kitchen with a slop sink, decent sized fridge, microwave, blender, toaster, and hot plate on the counters.

“I think you have every appliance known to man.” She laughs.

“Well, I can’t exactly have an oven in here, so I stalked up on other things. There’s some small pots if you feel like having pasta, that’s why I have the hot plate, you just need to remember to unplug it when you’re done. Turns out a lot of clothes are flammable, go figure.” His jokes makes her giggle, and he likes the sound of it. “And then through this door is the office. I have some lockers in here so you can hang your coat up, or put a bag away. Bring a lock if you feel like it, but I promise not to steal your things if you promise not to steal mine.”

“Promise.” She nods. “Where are the bathrooms?”

“In the back of the store along with the dressing rooms. We’ll get there in a moment. Every night I have a cleaning crew come in to make sure everything is spick and span, but accidents happen during the day sometimes so it’s on us to clean that up when it occurs.”

“No problem there. I used to clean the bathrooms at the grocery store all the time. Not my favorite thing to do, but I’m no stranger to it.”

He nods and then leads her back out to the register. He explains how he bookkeeps, and how important it is to save every receipt. Then he takes out what looks like a magazine that explains all of the types of costumes and accessories he keeps. He essentially had the shop on a grid system so everything was easy to find. She would need to learn this so she could properly help the customers. Then he leads her to the back of the store, shows her the dressings rooms and bathrooms, and then to the very back room where all of the storage was.

“Holy shit.” She says to herself. “You could get lost in here.” She swallows.

“You shouldn’t need to come back here too much. I usually have what people need out front, but sometimes you may need to snag some things from here. Mostly shoes.” He takes her back into the main area and into the office so they can sit. “I have cameras just about everywhere. Kids can sometimes pocket the costume jewelry. I have security codes for the doors as well, but I’ll always be here before you, so you won’t ever have to open, or close for that matter.”

“Okay.”

“What’s your class schedule like?”

“I have classes on Mondays and Wednesdays, and then on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays I go to a middle school for my practicum hours. I’m hoping to become an adjustment counselor, you know, helping students with more serious issues.”

“At the middle school level no less, wow.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Good for you.”

“Thanks.” She smiles.

“You said you had a job at the university too, how do you have the time for that?”

“Oh, I get a stipend as a TA.” She shrugs. “The classes I actually take are online, so I have plenty of time. This is just for the season anyways, so it’s fine.”

“Right.” He opens his desk drawer and slides a nametag towards her. “There you are, no you’re a proper employee.”

“Thank you.” She takes it and puts it on, her tongue slightly peeking out as she does so. “So, how do I get paid? Are you gonna sneak me an envelope every week?” She chuckles.

“That’s the plan, yeah. The pay period will be like Saturday to Saturday, so I’ll pay you on Fridays, sound good?”

“Sounds great! Thank you again. I’ve been budgeting just fine and making things work, but things add up during the holidays: dinners, gifts, parties, all that stuff, and I just wanted to have some extra cushion.”

“I think that’s really smart. It’s nice to see you don’t mind working hard.”

“How did you come to own a costume shop?”

“Worked here as a teenager, so after uni the old man was selling it and he took a chance on me. Been running it for four years now.”

“Shit, you’re really young to be doing all of this.” She looks at him wide eyed. “I still have to call my mom to ask her if I should separate my delicates from the rest of my wash, and here you are…owning and running a business.”  

Harry swallows, and nods at her.

“Um, let me show you how the register works, and then we can open up.”

They get up and go back out front. He shows her the prices for everything that he keeps on a laminated sheet of paper. She listens to him intently, nodding along and taking mental notes.

//

It was a little slow in the beginning, so Harry has Y/N put away some costumes that people left in the dressing rooms. A small rush comes in right at noon, and they work together to get everyone settled.

“No, I wanna be Batman!” Y/N hears a small girl whale out at her father.

“But you’d look so pretty as Cinderella, honey.” He pleads with his daughter.

“Pardon me.” Y/N says. “We have tons of Batman costumes in girls sizes.” She smiles.

“You do?” He asks her.

“Sure! Lots of girls like dressing up like super heroes, and their costumes cover up a lot more, so it’s much more practical. She’ll stay warm and won’t trip over a long dress.” She leads them over to the area. “And she’ll still look plenty cute.”

“Alright.” He sighs with defeat. “Batman it is.”

“Yay!” The little girl exclaims as she snatches a costume off the rack.

Y/N looks over and sees that Harry was watching the interaction. He gives her a thumbs up, and goes back to the register. They take their lunch breaks at different times, and when the end of the day comes she lingers while he checks everything over at his desk.

“You can go, Y/N. Good first day.”

“I…well, this is sort of embarrassing, but I walked here because I live close by, but it’s raining…”

“Oh…you need a ride?”

“If you wouldn’t mind.” Her face flushes. “I can order an uber if you-“

“I don’t mind.” He gives her a soft smile. “Sit on the couch if you like, I’ve got a few things I need to finish up.”

She nods and does as he says. She scrolls through her apps on her phone while she waits for him. She hears him sigh, and he knuckles at his eyes before standing up.

“Alright, let’s go. Where do you live?”

“Just over at The Ledges.”

“No shit? I live there too.”

“Seriously?!” She stands. “Okay, now I don’t feel bad.” She chuckles.

“No need to feel bad regardless.” He puts his coat on, grabs his keys, and they head out. He double checks that the doors are locked, and they make their way to his car. He even opens the door for her. “What building are you in?”

“Five, you?”

“Three. Got a roommate or anything?”

“Yeah, I live with a girl in the same program as me. She’s nice enough, we’re still getting to know each other, but we like a lot of the same movies and music, so it’s been easy to hang out when we have time. What about you?” She tucks some loose strands of hair behind her ear. “Got a roommate?”

“Nope.” He says proudly. “Can finally afford to live on my own, which has been nice.”

“Doesn’t that get lonely, though?”

“Not really.” He shrugs. “Most of my time is spent at the shop talking to people all day, so I don’t really mind the quiet once I’m home.”

“Not even a pet to keep you company?”

“I’ve just learned to take care of myself properly, I don’t think I’m quite ready to keep another thing alive.” She laughs at that and it makes him smile.

“You’re really funny, you know that?” He pulls up to her building once he’s turned into the complex. “Thank you so much for the ride, I really appreciate it. I definitely would have caught a cold if I walked in that rain.”

“Anytime, seriously, don’t be afraid to ask.”

She nods and gets out. He makes sure she’s inside before making the turn to his own building.

//

Harry drove Y/N home most evenings. Her help was the best he’s had in a long time, maybe he could afford to hire her on like a regular employee…only if she wanted. She was personable with the customers, and he noticed she’d pick an accessory to wear during all of her shifts to get into the Halloween spirit. One day it was a tiara and a sash, another day it was cat ears, and another it was devil’s horns. Harry would mostly wear graphic tees with old movie posters on them. She thought it was cute. Y/N noticed how well Harry was with the customers too. The kids adored him, so it seemed.

It really didn’t take much for Y/N to develop a crush on Harry. From the moment she walked into his shop she thought he was handsome, but as she got to know him she realized his personality was just her type. She tried to be sneaky decipher whether he was seeing someone or not. There were no pictures of girls on his desk, other than a family photo of him, his mother, and sister. Harry wore a lot of rings, but nothing that screamed he was in a relationship or married. Surely he would mentioned it by now if he was, right? She even got a glimpse at his lock screen on his phone, and all it was, was a picture of a sunflower.

“Just ask him out, Y/N.” Her roommate, Ronnie, says to her one evening over wine and popcorn as they watch The Addams Family. “What do you have to lose?”

“My job.”

“You’re a seasonal employee. As soon as Halloween hits, you’re done there.”

“Not true, he asked me to stay through November. He has sales throughout November so people can buy costumes at a discount. Also, a ton of people come to get fitted for Santa costumes, so I’ll be there a bit longer than anticipated.” She takes a sip from her glass. “I think that if he liked me he would have made a move.”

“He could be thinking the exact same thing about you! And from what you’ve told me, he seems either too shy or too respectful to do something like that. I mean, you work for him, he wouldn’t want you to think he was harassing you.”

“Hm, I never thought of it like that.” She chews on her bottom lip. “Maybe…maybe I could ask him to dinner one night after work. That wouldn’t be totally weird, would it? He drives me home anyways…”

“I think that’s a great idea. Totally casual, off the cuff.”

“Exactly, like, smooth…cool.” She takes a bite of some popcorn. “I don’t know if I can do that.”

“Y/N, you wrangle middle school kids for half the week, asking a guy out should be a cakewalk.”

//

Saturday Y/N decides to wear a sweater dress over some leggings, and goes with a small witch’s hat that’s on a headband to add some flare to her look. Harry had given her a key since he trusted her, so she lets herself in. She goes right to the back to go say hello. Harry was in the kitchen finishing up his coffee.

“Morning.” He says to her.

“Morning.” She takes a deep breath. “Um, do you have plans tonight, like, after work?”

He furrows his brows as he thinks about it, taking one final sip of his coffee before rinsing his mug in the sink.

“Don’t think so, why?” He almost wished he had made something up. It was sort of lame to not have plans on a Saturday night, wasn’t it?

“Well, I was wondering if I could take you to dinner…” His eyes grow wide at her, so she back-peddles. “You know, as a thank you for being so great to me, and driving me home and stuff.”

“You…you don’t have to thank me for anything, Y/N. You’ve been the best temp I’ve ever hired.” He watches as she looks down at her feet. “But, um, dinner sounds good either way.”

“Really?” She perks up as she makes eye contact once again.

“Yeah, where were you thinking?”

“Nowhere special…do you like Mexican? We could go to Chipotle…” It sounded awful leaving her lips, but it was all she could really afford at the moment.

“I love it there, that sounds good.”

“Great.” She smiles and walks over to the coffee maker to pour herself some. She slips around him to get the creamer out of the fridge. “I’m looking forward to it.”

Harry was distracted all day. Y/N rarely wore dresses to work. Had she dressed up in hopes they’d be going out together later that evening. He looks down at himself, and he’s thankful he decided on a black jumper. Was this a date, or was this to be a casual dinner between two people who work together? He really couldn’t be sure. He thought Y/N was insanely attractive, she was lovely inside and out, but he was her boss so that made things a little…sticky for him. She was around the same age as him, so it wouldn’t be weird if they went out, and she was the one to initiate dinner. So it’s not like he was using any sort of position of power over her.

Around lunch time a boy that works at the coffee shop from across the street comes in. Harry greets him, and he says he’s looking for Y/N.

“She’s in the back on her break.” Harry says. “Do you want me to get her?”

“That’d be great.” The boy smiles.

“Hey, Y/N? There’s someone here to see you.”

“Oh?” She swallows the bite of veggie wrap and stands up to see who it is. “Hey, Charlie.” She smiles.

“Hi.” He smiles back at her. “I…I snagged you some of those chocolate chip cookie squares you like so much.”

“You didn’t have to do that.” She comes from around the counter to hug him. “That is so sweet, thank you.”

Harry’s jaw tenses as he tries not to pay attention. He was looking over receipts at the register, but he couldn’t help but be a little nosey.

“No problem.” He hands her the small bag. “Um, I know it’s last minute, but would you wanna catch a movie tonight?”

“Oh, that’s so nice of you to ask, but I actually already have dinner plans tonight, so I can’t.” She gives him a soft smile.

“Alright, another time, maybe?”

“Sure.” She nods, and then he makes his way out. She goes back behind the counter. “Harry, you have to try one of these, they’re so good, nice and chewy. I get them all the time.”

“Clearly.” He reaches into the bag to take one out. “You know, if you wanted to go out with him…you could have…”

“Why would I break our date that I literally just asked you to this morning to go out with someone else?” Ah, so it was a date, he thinks to himself as he bites off a piece of the cookie. “Good, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Charlie’s nice enough, but I don’t like him like that.”

Harry leaves the conversation as that when she goes back to finish her lunch. Did she like him like that? Was that it? Dinner couldn’t come soon enough.

//

The ride to Chipotle is comfortably quiet, the radio could be heard just over the rumble of the streets. Y/N bumps Harry with her hip when he tries to pay for their food, shoving her card into the chip insert. She told him to go grab a table in a snappy way that made him smirk, but he listened to her regardless. He finds a quieter table for two and sets their things down. She comes over with some napkins and sits down.

“You really didn’t have to pay for me.” He says.

“Try again.”

“Thank you.” He sighs.

“Much better.” She smirks and dives into her burrito bowl. “I see you went with the tacos, those are my second favorite.”

“I love tacos, obsessed with them really. I must make them for dinner twice a week.”

“Really?” She asks with a giggle.

“Only because I usually have leftovers. I try to meal prep and stuff like that.”

“Same here! Every Sunday I go to the market, and cook up a storm when I get back. Then it’s all done, and you don’t have to worry.”

“Exactly.” He smiles and takes a bite of his food. It was a little messy, but she didn’t seem to mind. “So, what made you wanna grab a bite tonight?”

She nearly chokes on her food, and she takes a sip of her water.

“Um…I…well…” She stops talking and just looks at him. “I just thought it might be nice to do something outside of work for a change. It’s nice sharing a meal with someone, you know?”

He nods at her and takes another bite of his food. He asks her questions about school, and how things were going balancing working at a middle school and being a TA. She explains that she’s very organized, so she hasn’t been terribly stressed. She was looking forward to her school’s winter break so she could just work at the middle school and not teach at the same time. They had lost track of time, sitting there for over an hour talking. He drives her to her building, and she lingers in his car for a moment.

“That was fun.” She says to him.

“Yeah…thanks again for paying.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Do…do you have plans on Halloween?”

“Aren’t we doing that trick or treat thing at the shop?”

“That’s the evening before.”

“Oh, right! Here I am telling you I’m organized and I can’t get my days straight.” She takes her phone out to look at her calendar. “I think Ronnie and I were planning to put a bowl of candy out in the hallway and watch movies…why?”

“Well, I have a party to go to…my mate Niall throws a Halloween party every year…would you like to come with me?”

Her eyes widen, and he feels like he’s made a mistake. Had he misinterpreted everything?

“That’s only a week away, where on earth am I going to get a costume on such short notice?” She looks at him seriously, and then she laughs.

“Good fucking thing I own a costume shop, or you’d be shit out of luck.” He laughs. “Is that a yes, then?”

“Yeah.” She smiles and leans over the console to give him a peck on the cheek. “See you Monday.” She gets out of the car, tummy full of butterflies, and goes inside her building.

//

Ronnie was thrilled for Y/N’s upcoming date, and didn’t mind her breaking her roommate date at all. When Monday rolls around, Y/N can’t wait to see Harry. He was running around when she got in, and he basically yelled at her to get busy. He texted her Sunday night to warn her that the week of Halloween was usually wild with last minute costume buyers. The two of them run around, and don’t close up until nearly nine.

“I can come in tomorrow and Thursday if you need me to.” She tells him as they walk to his car.

“I don’t want you to be stressed out.”

“I won’t be! I’ll be stressed knowing you’re doing all of that alone. Please, you don’t even need to pay me.”

“Y/N.” He chuckles as he drives her home. “Don’t be silly, I’ll pay you. You can come in if you need the extra hours.”

“Alright.” She nods. “Have you already decided on your costume?”

“I think while we’re at the store it would be fun to dress up as a witches?”

“Definitely, and for the party?”

“You…you wanna dress as a pair for that?”

“Well, we’re going as a pair, so I thought that would be fun…but we don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“Okay.” He pulls up to her building and he turns to face her. “Niall’s dressing like Barney from the Flintstone’s and his girlfriend is gonna dress up like Betty, so I was wondering how you’d feel if we dressed like Fred and Wilma…”

“Do you have those costumes at the shop?”

“Yeah, in the back.”

“That sounds like a great idea.”

“Really? Not too cliché?”

“Not at all, I think it could be fun.”

“Great, I can pull everything out for you tomorrow, and you can tell me how it all fits.”

//

It was a busy week, but worth it to see all of the little kids come by the shop. Y/N and Harry made quite the pair of witches. He had invited her back to his place for a movie after everything was all said and done. Tomorrow would be another busy day with the really last minute people, but he wasn’t worried about it.

“Right, so, make yourself at home. I’m just gonna get us some snacks. Can I get you anything to drink?” He says to her as he leads her inside his flat. “I’ve got water, soda, seltzer water…”

“Anything with alcohol in it?” She chuckles. “Long week, you know?”

“Oh, sure! I’ve got these pumpkin ciders you might like, they’re really good.”

“Sounds perfect. Do you need help with anything?”

“No, go sit.” He smiles, and she goes to make herself comfortable on his couch.

Her eyes scan over his living area, it was nicely decorated. He had some decals in the windows for Halloween, little black cats and pumpkins, it was cute. He comes in shortly with some cheese and crackers, and a couple of ciders.

“I threw some pizza rolls into the oven, thought this could hold us over for now.” He says as he sits.

“Good thinking, thank you. This is a nice place, just a one bedroom?”

“Mhm.” He smiles. “I like living here a lot, it’s the perfect location if I need to get to the shop quick.” They each take a sip of the cider as he grabs the TV remote. “You like it?”

“Yeah! It’s delicious. So, what are we watching?”

“How do you feel about Beetlejoice?”

“It’s one of my all-time favorites.”

“Thank god.” He says with relief. “It’s one of my favorites too. I don’t love super scary movies, but ones like these are fun.”

“I’m the same way. I don’t get that thrill other people do from being scared.”

He queues up the movie and presses play. She takes her sneakers off so she can sit with her feet under her, and he likes that she’s able to get so comfortable. He hears the ding from his oven timer and goes to retrieve the pizza rolls.

“They’re really hot, gotta let them sit. I don’t want you to bun yourself.” He grabs the blanket from the back of the couch. “Here, you look cold.” She smiles and takes the blanket from him, draping it over her legs. “Let me know when you want a refill too.”

“I will, thank you, Harry.”

He sits back on the couch and pops a cracker into his mouth. This was normal behavior him. He often doted on her in the shop. If she fell asleep at the table during her lunch break she’d miraculously wake up on the couch in the office, or with a blanket draped over her shoulders and the lights dimmed. He knew how tired she had to be, working so much. She didn’t mind it one bit. She was used to taking care of herself, it was sort of nice to let someone else take a turn.

“We can share if you want.” She speaks up as she sees him cross his arms over his body. “If you’re cold too.”

“Are you sure?”

“It’s your blanket.” She chuckles, and places some of it over his legs. “There, all cozy.”

They devour the pizza rolls, and drink three cider’s each during the movie. They laugh at the funny parts, and are quiet during the more serious parts. She looks away a couple of times, and even squeezes his hand during one of the scarier scenes. They didn’t touch other than that, though. He didn’t want to make things awkward before the party.

“Oh, I love this part at the end with the football team.” She giggles and finishes her last drink. “I’m really glad we did this tonight.” She turns her body to look at him.

“Me too.” He stands up, and starts cleaning everything up. She follows him into the kitchen with the empty cans. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I don’t mind.” She tosses them in the recycling bin he has next to the trash.

“I can walk you home if you want.”

“That’s okay, I think I can make it.”

“I really don’t mind.”

“Don’t be silly, Harry.”

“Will you…at least text me when you get back?”

“Sure.” She nods and gets her shoes and jacket on. He walks her to his door with his hands in his pockets.

“I can pick you up before work tomorrow if you like.”

“That I’ll definitely take you up on. It’s gonna be cold tomorrow, I think.” She throws her arms around him and kisses his cheek quickly. “Thanks for a nice night.”

“Bye.”

He sighs as she leaves, and sighs heavier as she makes her way out of the building. She gets inside her own flat and tells Ronnie everything.

“Shit! I forgot to text him!”

Y/N: so sorry, I got in like 10 min ago

Harry: no worries, glad you got in safe

Y/N: thanks again for a really nice night…you’re fun to watch movies with

Harry: you’re welcome, and so are you

“God, why does he have to be so sweet?”

“So, he really didn’t make any moves?”

“No.” She sighs. “We shared a blanket, but that was about it, and I was too nervous to do more than to touch his hand a couple of times.” She groans and sits down on the couch with a huff. “Like…are we dating? Just friends? I’d love to know.”

“You should ask him.”

“You can’t just ask that sort of thing!”

“Why not?!”

“Because it’s awkward. Ugh, I just had to go work for someone like him. Why couldn’t it have been some old lady?”

//

The work day goes by like normal. Y/N uses ladies room to get into her Wilma costume. Harry had given her an orange wig for the hair, and she got it up into a decent enough bun. The dress was really cute on her figure, and she felt good about it. She’d be cold, but only for the couple of minutes she’d be outside. Harry was waiting for her in the main area with his Fred costume. He was not wearing a wig.

“I’m pretty sure Fred Flinstone has black hair.” She runs a hand through his curls and his face flushes. “But I suppose this will do.”

“You look great, Y/N.”

“You think so?” She does an innocent twirl. “Not too skimpy?”

“Not at all.” He smiles.

They drive to Niall’s, and Y/N is welcome with open arms from the second they walk in. Everyone at the party had great costumes, and she was happy her and Harry went all out. There was music playing, plenty of snacks and drinks, and even a few games. People were playing beer-pong in the kitchen, others were playing some card games. There were some people dancing in the living area. Y/N wondered if some other grad students were mixed into the bunch.

“Want something to drink?” Harry asks her and she nods yes. He takes her by the hand and leads her to the drink cart in the kitchen. He looks at her with raised eyebrows.

“Vodka tonic, please.”

“Coming right up.” He makes two drinks, and hands her one. “Let me know if It’s too strong.”

“Mm.” She takes a sip. “It’s perfect.”

Much to her surprise, Harry keeps an arm around her shoulders for most of the night as they mingled with his friends. It was loose around her, but he was making it pretty clear to anyone else looking at them that she was spoken for. They didn’t drink too much, enough to have a healthy buzz, but not so much that Harry wouldn’t be able to drive later.

“Are you having fun?” He says into her ear. She looks up at him and nods yes. He smiles and goes back to the conversation he was having with Niall.

Y/N liked Harry’s friends. They were all really nice, and did their best to include her in the chit chat. It was a fun night. A little after midnight they decide to call it quits, and head out. Y/N takes the wig off and shakes her hair out the second they’re in the car.

“Man, that thing was itchy.” She runs a hand through her hair and looks at him. “What?” He was already looking at her.

“You’re…you’re just so…” He reaches for her and cups her cheeks in his large hands. They were barely an inch apart, and she could feel his breath fanning over her face. “I really want to kiss you.”

“Please.” She nods slightly, and then he does it.

His lips slot between hers, and her eyes flutter closed. His lips were soft, and he tasted like the mint from the gum he was chewing. Her hands move to the collar of his costume and she tugs him closer to her. He pulls away just as she was opening her mouth a little more, her lips moving towards him. His forehead presses to her.

“Fuck, I…I’ve wanted to do that since the day you walked into the shop, but-“

“Do you wanna go back to my place?”

He nods yes, and throws the car in drive, speeding to their complex. His hand rests on her thigh, squeezing it occasionally, reminding her that he was there and this was happening. He parks in one of the free spaces in front of her building, and gets out of the car. He jogs around the other side and opens her door for her. The air was cold, but the heat radiating between the two of them was scorching. He helps her out of the car, and his lips are on hers again. They shuffle to the main entrance, and she keys in. He’s about to push her up against the wall, but she pushes on his chest.

“Cameras.” She says against his lips, and she tugs him down the hall, and to the elevator.

He keeps his hands to himself while in the elevator, unsure of more cameras, but when she gets them to her door he puts his hands on her shoulders as he stands behind her.

“Is Ronnie home?” He whispers in her ear and goosebumps raise on her skin.

“N-no, she decided to visit some friends for the weekend.”

She keys into the apartment, and she just barely gets the door closed when she’s being pushed up against the wall. If she had the strength to pick him up and carry him to her room she would, but she can’t, so she just tugs on him to move further into the flat. His lips felt so good on hers, and she sucks his bottom lip into her mouth, causing him to groan against her. She finally gets him in her room, and she pushes him back onto her bed. She straddles him immediately, and his hands squeeze at her hips.

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” He asks as he looks up at her. “It’s not too fast?”

“Consider it third date sex, I’m good with it if you are.” She reaches for the hem of her dress and lifts it off herself, revealing a white lace set of underwear. His hands slide up and down her sides.

“Third date, huh?” He smirks.

She leans down to kiss him.

“Chipotle.” Her teeth tug at his bottom lip and she lets it snap back. “The movie last night.” She sucks a mark into his neck, just under his earlobe. “And tonight.” She sits back up. “So, no, I don’t think this is too fast, do you?”

“No.”

He flips her over onto her back, and she giggles as he works to get his costume off. He hovers over her, and kisses down her neck. He mouths over her covered nipples and sucks on her through the fabric. Her hips buck up towards him as he continues working his way down her body. Her heart was about ready to beat out of her chest.

“Wh-what are you doing?” She asks just as his lips go right below her belly button.

“Uh…I was going to take your underwear off, if that’s alright.”

“And then what?”

“I’d love to have a taste of you, if you let me.”

“You really wanna do that? It…it doesn’t gross you out?”

“What’s gross about it?” He smirks. “This right here?” He cups her mound and she whimpers. “One of the greatest wonders of the world. So, can I?”

“Yes.”

He hooks his fingers into her panties, and he tugs them down her legs. He kisses on her hips as he opens her legs. He sucks on each of her lips before licking up her slit. He swirls his tongue around her clit, which was positively throbbing for him. He wraps her lips around the small bud and sucks. Her mouth falls open and her hands fly to his hair.

“Oh, fuck.” She moans.

He moans against her, and it just makes her pool between her legs even more him. He was really enjoying this, which was making her enjoy it even more than usual. It was usually a force with guys her age, but Harry had no problem with it. If she didn’t want to suck his dick before, she definitely did now.

Harry removes his mouth from, only for a moment, to suck his middle and ring fingers into his mouth. He slides them through her folds, and then carefully slips them inside her center. She gasps from the stretch at first, and then she feels like she’s melting into the bed. His mouth goes back to her clit while his fingers curl up inside her to pet against her front wall. Her hips start moving along with the rhythm of his fingers, chasing her release.

“Shit, Harry, ngh.” She was panting now.

Her legs move over his shoulders and her heels dig into his back. He groans against her as she falls apart underneath him. He works her through it, giving her clit slow licks as he pulls his fingers from her. He sucks his fingers into his mouth. They make eye contact, briefly, before she’s pinning him down, and she’s yanking his boxers off. Her eyes widen when she sees his length slap back against his lower tummy. She pecks his lips before getting situated between his legs.

Y/N licks up the underside of his hard length, and his head falls back. Her mouth wraps around his tip and she suckles on it before popping off. She spits into her hand and wraps it around him to pump him slowly. She cradles his balls and moves to suck and lick gently on them.

“Oh, dear god.” He moans. “Y/N, I’ll come if you keep doing that.”

“Do you wanna just fuck now? Wanna fuck me, Harry?” She pouts at him.

He was surprised by her. He nods at her, and she smirks at him. She gets up and takes her bra off while she walks into her bathroom to grab a condom. She tosses it to him as she knees back onto the bed. He rips it open and rolls it on, and he gets back on top of her. He rolls the head of his cock between her folds and around her clit before pushing inside her.

“Still sure? I can stop.”

“No, please, I want it, Harry.”

He smiles and continues to push inside her. She grits her teeth at the feeling. Once he’s all the way in he gives her a moment before slowly pulling back out. He sinks back inside her, and that’s when it starts to feel good. She was nice and tight around him, not that he really cared. He knew it would feel good because he liked her so much. He did wonder, though, when the last time someone had the privilege to stretch her out like this.

“You feel so fucking good.” He says and leans down to suck on her bottom lip. His hands move to knead her breasts, and she moans.

She wraps her legs around his waist to pull him even closer. She just want him to smother her. She moves her hips up to rock along with his, and she gasps when she feels him hit her g-spot.

“Fuck, just like that, don’t stop.”

“Yeah? Like that?”

“Fuck, Harry, yeah, keep going.”

He had per panting again, and her nails were scratching down his back. It felt good, though, to feel her just about breaking his skin because he’s making her feel so good. Her back arches off the bed as she comes undone again, and he presses hard inside her so she can really feel it. She thought maybe he had come too since he was pulling out, but he grips her hips and flips her onto her stomach. He pulls her back, spreads her apart, and pushes back inside her.

“Oh!” She gasps.

“This okay?” He grunts.

“More than okay, fuck.” She pushes back against him and he nearly chuckles.

Quick, deep strokes were entering her. Her bed was shaking, and her cheeks were straight up getting clapped. It was such a breath of fresh air to be with man who knew what to do with it. He grips the back of her neck to steady himself as his thrusts get sloppy.

“I’m gonna come.” He groans. “Shit, I’m gonna-“ He moans out as he spills into the condom.

He was so vocal, and she really liked that. He pulls out of her slowly, and takes the condom off.

“Trash is over there.” She breathes and points towards her desk. He nods and gets up to dispose of it. She gets up and waddles into her bathroom to use her toilet. When she comes back out he’s getting his boxers back on. “You, um, don’t need to leave if you don’t want to.”

“Normally I’d stay, but…” He runs a hand through his hair. “Sort of embarrassing to walk back tomorrow morning as Fred Flinstone.” He smirks.

“Right.” She nods as she throws on a bed shirt, suddenly feeling exposed and vulnerable.

“But I could stay a little longer, lay with you a bit.”

“I don’t want you to be upset if you fall asleep.”

“I won’t be…suppose it would be funny.” He comes over to her and gives her a kiss on the forehead before going into her bathroom.

He gets into bed with once he’s done, and she snuggles up to his side, laying her head on his chest. Her fingers trace around his various tattoos. He rubs her back, and it lulls her to sleep.

//

The next morning she wakes up to an empty bed. Where he was laying wasn’t even warm so he must have left soon after she fell asleep. She sighs and takes a shower, washing her night away. She checks her phone, and smiles, all worry leaving her body.

Harry: slipped out after you fell asleep, hope you don’t think I’m one of those guys…I had a lot of fun, talk at work Monday?

Y/N: definitely don’t think you’re one of those guys…now lol yeah, let’s talk Monday

She sighs and sits at her desk to get some grading done. Or she was hopeful to get work done. The ache between her legs was proving to be pretty distracting.

//

Y/N takes a deep breath before walking into the shop Monday afternoon. There were plenty of customers buying discounted costumes, so Harry’s only able to smile at her as she slips into the backroom to hang her coat up.

“I guess…do you think he’ll still like this in a year?” The woman asks Harry.

“I’m not gonna like to you, he easily couldn’t, but if I know kids, they like to have options. If he ends up having a couple of parties to go to, he won’t want to wear the same costume to each event.”

“That’s true…alright, you’ve sold me, Harry.”

“Excellent! I’ll you ring you up.”

Y/N brushes behind Harry as he works the register. The whole evening was busy, so when he’s finally able to put the closed sign up, he’s relieved to see her sitting standing in the office.

“Hey.” He says to her.

“Hi.” She blushes.

His hands grip her hips and he effortlessly lifts her up onto the desk. He presses his forehead to hers.

“Y/N, I know we’ve become close, but I’ve been feeling conflicted because I’m also your boss, and the last thing I wanna do is take advantage of the situation.”

“Hey.” She says, cupping his cheeks so he’ll look at her. “We weren’t even at work…everything we’ve done has been outside of this place. You didn’t do anything wrong. Do you regret the other night?”

“No, not at all.” His hands rest on her thighs as he stands between her legs. He tucks some hair behind her ear. “I just don’t really know what to do here.”

“Well, it’s not like I’ll be working here much longer, just until the end of November, right?”

“Right.”

“So…do you wanna, like, keep dating? Going out and stuff?”

“I’d really like that. I want us to keep getting to know each other. I wish I had stayed the whole night the other night. I felt like such a dick for leaving.”

“Don’t, it’s fine. I would have done the same thing.” She smiles and then bites her bottom lip. “Besides, you’ll have plenty of other opportunities to sleepover.”

“I will?” He smiles.

She nods and he leans in to kiss her. Harry was a simple guy who owned a costume shop, and thanks to the girl in grad school he hired for the season, he made it through Halloween yet again. This time, instead of celebrating his profits with Niall down at the pub, he was kissing the very same girl that took his breath away when she walked in.

[serrj215]

Please Pass the Tofurky

"I want to be alone"  Raven said those words so often Beast Boy often joked it was her catchphrase.  Raven normally relished solitude. It was a break from the constant emotional noise pollution her abilities picked up. It was a chance to put her mind in order and add new layers of control. Peace, quiet, a fresh stack of books to read, what more could demoness ask for?  Thanksgiving this year meant just that. The tower all to herself. Fate had handed her exactly what she wished for. "Alfred are you sure about this?"  Robin said over his cell phone. "Yes I know it's Thanksgiving but he has never made a big deal about it before." He was pacing back and forth through the empty common room. "Wait he wants to meet her?" he said a touch of panic creeping into his voice. "He's dying isn't he?.....I am not trying to be funny Alfred, this just doesn't sound like him. " Robin just continued pacing as Alfred on the other end tried to help him understand.  After a few minutes  Robin agreed "Okay the leer jet at Sullivan field tomorrow...okay….it's going to be good to see you too."  With that he hung up and stood there, just letting the last few minutes sink in.  He was going home for Thanksgiving and the closest thing he had to a father wanted to meet his girlfriend. "This is so...normal" he said looking back down at his phone. Starfire jumped at the chance to meet Robin's family literally. It was a good thing they were on the roof when Robin told her because she grabbed him and leapt into the air with joy. She was fully prepared to fly them both to Gotham right then and there.  Until Robin told her "Um Star my family already went to the trouble of sending the plane." "Oh I do not wish to be the rude. We will take the plane. Oh this is so wonderful! I feel like I am going to emfnar!" It was a good thing that they did take the plane. Starfire packed so much Robin wasn't sure even she would be able to carry it. She was still gushing  as they left the tower, and probably all the way to Gotham city.  She assured Raven as they were leaving  that when she returned that they would have the "girl talk"  and she would tell her everything in great detail. Cyborg ended up visiting/rescuing the Titans East. He got the call sitting in the driver's seat of the T-Car running another set of performance tests. "Hey Sparky we need a little favor."  Bumblebee said through the car's audio. "We need? or YOU need?"  He said as he was checking the computer's diagnostics. "And you never need little favors, you call me when you need to pull off something nuts." "WE! Volunteered to do a charity Thanksgiving dinner." "That’s nice, you're not getting Grandma Stone's Pumpkin pie recipe" He said flatly. "That says in the family" "Victor Stone, are you proposing?" Cyborg looked up from the readout on the console to the small speaker glad that this was not a video call. He cleared his throat. "Cute Bee. Okay Thanksgiving Dinner, what do you need from me?" There was a long silence making Cyborg think that the call had dropped until Bumblebee said quietly. "To cook it?" Another long silence this time it was Cyborg that had gone quite. "Cyborg you there?" "Let me get this straight" He stared too calmly for what he was just asked. "You volunteered to make the biggest meal of the year, for how many?" "Maaaybe 200." she said quietly "and then expect me to go across the county to cook it for you with two days notice?" "Oh course not, It's just that…" "What!?" he shouted back. "None of us know how to cook! I mean we thought Speedy could but all he knows how to make is chili and hot dogs!"   "You live with these people! How can you not know if any of them can cook?" Cyborg spat out. "What the hell have you been eating all this time!?"   The augment continued. Cyborg spent the next hour explaining what they would need to have when he got there. You had never seen someone be so passionate about explaining the difference between a dutch oven and a slow cooker and insisting he would need both.   Beast Boy was going east as well to see the Doom Patrol. It was a bit abrupt. Raven had found a note he had left on the kitchen table.

Dudes,

The DP asked me to come home.  Will be back Monday. 

Sorry won't be able to share the parade and Tofurky this year.

Beast Boy. 

Raven looked at the hastily scribbled note. She could almost feel the disappointment on it. She knew that Mento didn’t ask for anything, he ordered it. That the only reason that Beast Boy followed was some sense of family loyalty and it being the holiday.  Still a long weekend without video games, puns and stankball. She was going to call that a win. By Thursday morning Raven was in an empty tower. At first it was everything she could have hoped for, the empty common room was perfect for her morning meditation. Cyborg had left the fridge full, so there was no argument what was going to be for breakfast or lunch. She was able to finish the novel she was reading and start the next book in the series. All in the most glorious quite. "It's too quiet" Raven said to herself as night settled in. She didn’t believe her own ears. Sitting on her bed she pushed away the book she was reading. She just re-read the same page for the 4th time.  She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs.  Raven's eyes closed tight she tried to focus on her breathing, trying to slow the a new creeping panic.  She didn’t understand, she had been alone before,  and for much longer, just she had never felt alone here. This was her home this was different, the Tower didn’t feel right without the familiar presence of her friends.  It was cold and alien, like she was in a strangers house. It was a horrible realization that as much as she coveted solitude, there was always the comforting auras of the others nearby, now…she couldn’t help but wonder if this is what it was like to suddenly go blind or deaf. There was something missing and... In her mind there was a sudden flash of bright green.  Raven shot bold upright almost falling off the bed. Before she could process this a small envelope slid under her door and then the sound of rushed footsteps. "Beast Boy?" she said to the empty room.  He was supposed to be across the country, but it was definitely him.  Raven couldn't help it. She was actually glad that someone, even Beast Boy, was in the tower. Raven got up quickly snatching the small square of paper. She opened it and read. Ms. Raven 

Your presence is requested in the ops room for a Thanksgiving dinner.

Formal dress is not required but will not be discouraged. 

Thank you.

Garfield Logan. Raven looked at the invitation. "Garfield Logan?" She asked herself.  It was not often that she heard his real name.  She knew that he didn’t really care for it but looking at it on the paper it wasn’t a bad name.  This wasn't like the scratched out note he left when he left, she could tell he tried to make the letters neat, he even spelled 'presence' correctly. Raven looked back and forth between the note and her door.  Wondering if this was some sort of elaborate prank.  I mean this was Beast Boy.  But curiosity got the better of her, and it led her out the door to the ops room. "What is this?" She asked as she entered. The couch was pushed over to one side.  In its place was a long table set with a white table cloth In the center of the room. There were several covered dishes and a basket of bread, Two place settings in the middle of the table across from each other.  The biggest surprise was Beast Boy himself. He was wearing a white button down shirt, with a black vest and dress pants.  He had even tried to run a comb through that mess of green hair.  He looked up at her from arranging the different dishes. "Happy Thanksgiving." He said softly not sure how she was going to react. "Beast Boy, what are you doing here?" She approached the table. "What about the Doom Patrol?" "I changed my mind."  he said sheepishly and quickly turned his attention to the food. " We got a ton stuff here I hope your hungry."

She could tell he was holding something back. Despite the smile on his face he wouldn’t meet her eyes. Still this was quite a feat to set this all up on his own. The food, his look, setting up the room, then Raven remembered the invitation.    

"Will all this keep for a few moments?" Raven asked, referring to the table.

"Ah Yea." Beast Boy said, slightly confused. Raven quickly left to go back to her room. Leaving Beast Boy to fiddle with the table not sure what was going on.  When she returned she was waring Deep blue sleeveless floor length gown. Her hair was pulled back, and she wore small gold and ruby stud earrings.

"I think this feels more fitting." She said as she came back into the room. "Wow." Beast Boy breathed out his jaw hanging open.   "Don’t get used to it. " She glanced at him "But since you did put in the effort. " "I just didn’t think you had anything in your closet but blue capes." Beast boy said unable to take his eyes off of her. It was Raven. The dark blue the way the dress flowed like her cloak even in the red accent of the earrings, it was still her but she was breathtaking.   "Starfire found this for me, under the mistaken impression that there will be a ball sometime soon."

Shall we eat?" "Ah,..Yes..ya" He said, pulling out the chair for her. They were both seated.  

"So where do you want to start?"  Beast Boy reaching for a one of the casserole lids.  

"How about with the truth?" She said folding her hands together. "Beast Boy what are you doing here?"

"Eating sweet potatoes?" a stiff smile on his face.

"Empath. Beast Boy I know there is something your holding back"

Beast Boy sat there looking at her chewing on his bottom lip. His eyes met hers again.  

"You sure that we can't just eat green beans and not talk about this?"

Raven just sat there and stared at him. She knew that her patience would win out over his impetuous nature. They sat there looking at each other for a few moments. Or for 26 years depending on the perspective.

"The house was empty."  Beast Boy whispered.  

He picked up his fork needing to do something with his hands. "The mission comes first." The words came out practiced. As if he had said that phrase a thousand times before. "I got to the Manor and no one was there. The place was dark, I found a note on the door. It said I was late. Something came up in the Andes. "

"Beast Boy I-"

"No, you know what's really funny, I thought it was a joke, like a surprise party or something so I went in anyway and ran over the whole house calling them, checking every room.  They were gone the jet was gone. " A the moment she could see him trying to hold back the tears. "But the best part, the fridge was empty! No Turkey defrosting for the big day, no potatoes,  just some bread a peanut butter in the pantry."

"So you came back here."

"I made a sandwich first, but yea." He wiped his eye with the back of his hand. "Thanksgiving is supposed to be about family and I wanted to be with family, they knew that and used that to get me to come home, and put me to work." his eyes fell to the empty dinner plate in front of him. "I am sorry Beast-" her voice froze for a moment. "I am sorry Garfield."  

This snapped his attention back to her. He had gone years without hearing his real name.  He remembered hating it, but in her voice, it was different.  

"Rae, I am the one that should be sorry. I mean I know you were probably loving having the tower to yourself. I half expected you to see all of this, ask me to stay quiet and go back to your room."  

"Too much of anything, even quiet and solitude is not a good thing." I guess I have gotten used to this place, the people in it." She looked up at him. "I missed my family. Thank you for coming home."

The blood rushed up into Beast Boys face. This was like a dream, she looked amazing, and she was here with him, alone.

"Well we have food. Oh! there is a replay of the Parade on Tv we can watch, or we co-"

Raven reached across the table and put her hand on top of his. "We could just talk some more?" She said.

The both stared at each other until for a moment. "Yea okay…I would like that."  His voice shook a bit. Raven puller her hand away, he Immediately missed it.  

"Where is the tofurky?" she as she cautiously started to take the lids off the dishes.

"Avoid the brown one on the end."

"Thank you."  

They ate, and talked, and talked some more. It was one of those conversations that took on a life of its own.  It was early Friday morning before they gotten up from the table and he walked Raven back to her room.  

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

So its July, how about a Thanksgiving story? This was in the draft pile asked my wife to pick on and this is what she picked.  Besides some Fall would be welcome with this 100+ degree heat.  

[aoifeanamadan]

After School Special

Fandom: Minecraft YouTube rpf (mcyt)

Word count: 3888

Relationship: DreamNotFound (DreamxGeorgeNotFound)

Summary:

The sky is blue, the sun is hot and Dream hates George.

He really hated him, all smug and sarcastic and closed off. Where Dream was friendly, loud and outgoing, George was quiet and pretentious. It was like he thought he was above everyone else.

Needless to say, neither of them were over the moon when they found out they had to spend two months working together in weekend detention.

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Chapter One: Spanish? 

Dream was an early riser, he always had been. It was nice to wake up to quiet suburbia, to see the world jostle into life. He witnessed the cellophane peace stretch and tear. The house was quiet before sunrise. It felt delicate, holy. It felt like it was all his. Dream could wander, tiptoe around the soft quiet. It was like he was the only person left on the planet.

Lie-ins felt wrong on a cellular level. They made him feel a dirty kind of guilt, the missed opportunity. Every day since he was a child, he was up before the sun. And every day he watched the sunrise while eating breakfast. It was gorgeous. Watching the sweet pinks and dusted oranges floating up from the horizon assured him he was there, he was human.

It felt right, millions of years of evolution proving him right. Once the sun was up, the house got moving.

He loved the mornings, seeing his family bleary-eyed and cotton-mouthed. It was a different kind of vulnerability, one coated in familiarity. It made him certain that they were all there. Real and familiar and the same as always.

On the first morning of his senior year, Dream missed the sunrise. I was nothing ominous or scary, he just overslept. His alarm clock’s batteries had run out the night before and Dream couldn’t wake up without the siren blare. His sister had to knock on his hardwood door as she passed on her way downstairs.

Dream wasn’t superstitious. Witches didn’t scare him, he thought spells were bullshit. But missing the sunrise on the first morning of his last year of school, it scared him a little bit. He didn’t realise it at the time, head stuffed with shitfuckshitshit I’m going to be late , that end of the world feeling that comes with waking up late on a Monday. But the thing that scared him was the uncertainty, the proof that things were changing soon.

Normally, once the house was moving enough, he could take a shower without feeling guilty for shattering the peace of the sunrise. It was always the same, hair first then his body, his teeth.

No matter how many times he washed and changed his bedsheets, the night always made him feel dirty. Seeing the water go down the drain felt like seeing the air rushing into his lungs, his blood pumping. It was certain, it worked. Always the same soap, the same shampoo.

That morning, he had to run to the shower. Dream liked routine, a plan, but he liked efficiency more. Even his shower routine was streamlined to be as time-effective as possible. He’d had the same shower gel since he was 11, fresh and clear.

It was just his luck that his Bubble Cucumber & Aloe Vera Hair & Body Wash would run out the first morning in 7 years that he was running late.

But, he adapted. The family soap felt gritty against his skin. It felt like there was a snail leaving a trail of lime behind it. Dream felt dirty, the night was ground into his skin. But, ‘a positive attitude was his most important accessory’ according to his mother, so he got on with it. He showered, he got dressed and he rushed his way downstairs.

His socks thudded softly against the carpeted stairs as he jogged into the kitchen, wearing shoes in the morning wasn’t right in his brain. He was pulling his jumper on over his head as he walked in, really it was inevitable that he’d walk into the door frame. There was a red mark on his forehead under his hairline. Fuck. His sister’s laughter only added to the heat building in the back of his brain.

Dream was a creature of habit, he knew what worked. And why fix what’s not broken? Two slices of white bread toast (with the dial at setting 2) with blackcurrant jam, butter on both sides and no crusts.  A glass of orange juice without bits. It was an easy breakfast, it worked. He never felt hungry before lunch.

The bits in orange juice were gross, the way they congealed on the side of the glass. Just the sight of gravity dragging them down the inside of the glass, leaving a trail of orange guts and gore, it was enough to make him squirm.

So, naturally, when Dream reached to pour the orange juice that morning, he was met with a stream of obnoxiously bit filled orange juice. Dream took his deep breaths, but the rise and fall of his chest made his skin rub against his t-shirt. The feeling of the shirt sticking to his wet, slimy skin was the final straw. He punched his hand twice, squeezed his eyes shut and stood up.

In hindsight, taking the carton and pouring it down the sink was an overreaction. But at the time, despite the protests from his sisters, it seemed like the only option. There would have been no issue other than a new shortage of orange juice, but Murphy’s Law was at play.

Just as Dream was going to throw the emptied carton in the bin, his mother walked in.

“Oh Clay, for God’s sake. I had just bought that!”

Dream got into Sapnap’s car five minutes late with toast in his mouth, ‘thoroughly sorry for wasting perfectly good orange juice’ but more sorry for being seen throwing it away.

“What took so long dude?” Sapnap was smiling from the driver’s seat. The second Dream got in, he put his head on the dashboard. Sapnap only got an exaggerated groan as a response. Dream didn't lift his head.

“Okay!” Sapnap, still grinning, started them on the journey towards school. His predictions about how their senior year would go were a welcome distraction from Dream’s building stress headache.

It was easy, it always was. Dream and Sapnap, Sapnap and Dream. They knew each other better than they knew themselves. Dream didn’t need to pretend to be excited or upbeat. He just had to be there. And he was. And so was Sapnap. And that morning, that was enough for both of them. To know they had each other, each in the other’s corner.

Sapnap talked the whole journey and Dream loved him for it. They understood each other, knew what the other needed. That morning, Dream needed a distraction while Sapnap needed to get the nerves of a first day back at school out of his system.

By the time they were parked, they were running behind.

Dream was late to his first class, physics. He got into school just as first the bell rang but the receptionist wouldn’t let him past. He tried to protest but was only met with a lecture about time management. They didn’t want to hear about his excuse, his mother’s lecture about food waste.

“Well, how could I ‘manage my time’ if my mother was the one keeping me back? What am I meant to say to my mother? I’m not about to tell my mom to shut up.” Dream was almost pleading by that point. His day had gone from bad to worse, to worse, to worse.

“I’d be careful before taking that tone with a staff member if I were you, Dream.” Dream wanted to hit back, stand up for himself, but he swallowed his words. The receptionist didn’t care what he had to say, they were just happy to get him in trouble. Drunk on power and projecting their highschool experience onto Dream. This wasn’t worth the trouble it would cause.

Dream just nodded, bit back his ‘Fuck you’, apologised and headed to the other office for a late note, appeased only with a muttered whisper of ‘total bullshit’ as he walked away.

Such was the tyranny of high school.

When he finally got into the class, equipped with his note, the teacher barely paid him any attention. He didn’t even want the note. He just told him to sit down in any empty seat, then he went back to his diagram of magnetic fields.

Dream surveyed the classroom and was met with a packed grid of chairs. He could see his friends, all the way at the back of the class. It felt like light-years away. They were all frowning at him in sympathy. Dream didn’t like it at all, he didn’t want anyone’s sympathy. Bad was the only one who wasn’t looking at him like he just told them his puppy died. He was tapping his watch and mouthing ‘Don’t be late’. Dream smiled back sadly and shook his head.

The only empty seat was in the front row next to Weird Sarah. Dream bit the inside of his mouth to keep from getting mad, and sat down next to her.

He turned to her, hoping to make some kind of friendship using the ‘positive attitude’ that his mother so valued, but was only met with the sight of her picking her nose at age 18. She turned to him and glared.

Dream thought that might be the final straw, after everything that had gone wrong. His head felt like a tea kettle, he was surprised other people couldn’t see steam coming out of his ears.

But, he counted his deep breaths and clenched his fists until he could refocus on electromagnetism, or whatever the teacher was talking about.

Dream had been so focused on not letting everything from the morning get to him then and there, and culminate into a public rage, he had forgotten to pay attention. He was completely lost.

The teacher must’ve noticed the look on Dream’s face, because it was then he chose to engage  Dream in the lesson.

“Dream, can you tell me how to label exhibit 6.3?”

The words felt like a death sentence. Dream just stared blankly back at him, turning red. Everyone was quiet, all witnesses to Dream’s public execution by way of embarrassment. He wanted to yell, to tell them all he wasn’t stupid he was just panicking. Instead, he sat there in the silence. Any other day he would have had some cocky, charismatic answer but that Monday he had nothing.

He could feel his classmates’ eyes burning into the back of his head, looking at him expectantly. Dream couldn’t have remembered the answer right then if he had a masters degree in electromagnetism. The silence was starting to become painful. He had to say something.

“No?” It came out as more of a question than an answer. The teacher looked at Dream, disappointed. It was too early for this.

“No Dream, you cannot, because you were too focused on staring at your blank notebook. Pay attention please.”

The teacher, Mr McCarthy, was a nice man. He was old - maybe fifty or sixty - with grey hair and frail shoulders. He had three grandchildren and two kids of his own. His youngest grandchild, Lucy, was the apple of his eye. He liked golf, reading and the Netflix programme ‘Too Hot to Handle’. He was a good teacher.

None of that mattered to Dream, who at that moment felt like his teacher might have actually been the devil.

The embarrassment was burning in his chest, in his hands. And he hated it. He didn’t get embarrassed. Dream did not get embarrassed. He got mad and angry and mean, but not embarrassed. So, he flicked the switch. The blood that was flowing to his cheeks changed course to his ears.

He felt it building up inside him again, the same anger from earlier was rushing back in to suffocate the embarrassment. This whole class was fucking bull, what did Mr McCarthy even know about jackshit?

Dream didn’t even hear him open the question up to the rest of the class. He only heard George’s response.

“It’s particle radiation.”

George said it easily, nearly muttering. He didn’t even have to think about it. The class went silent. Dream heard Bad mutter an “Oh no.”

One thing everyone knew about Dream was that he did not like to lose. Ever since he was a kid, everything was a competition. Who could brush their teeth fastest? Who could finish the storybook first? He once stayed up for 27 hours just to make sure he was better than Sapnap at Call Of Duty. He was competitive to the core. It’s easy to be like that when you’re used to winning. Every time he was the best at something, it fueled him to be the best at something else. It was an easy cycle, the blueprint never failed him.

Dream didn’t lose, but somehow George always found a way to put him in second place. Ever since they were kids. When they were doing races, George was faster. When they were doing rock, paper, scissors George was luckier. When they were doing spelling bees, George was smarter.

Dream still didn’t lose, how could he, but he also didn’t win. And that wasn’t acceptable.

George knowing the answer to Mr McCarthy’s question was his final straw that morning.

“Yeah, of course he would need to answer.” It was a mutter to Sarah, under his breath. Sarah didn’t even glance towards him. But, in the silence of the classroom, it was 1000 decibels. Everyone froze, thankful to have front seats to their own personal soap opera.

“What’d you just say?” George’s head snapped towards Dream, all aggression and thought out anger. He was giving Dream a chance to retreat. Everyone knew he wasn’t going to take it. Dream wasn’t the type to retreat.

“I said of course you would need to prove how smart you are to the whole class.” Dream was looking back at him, matching his anger. Nobody was talking.

“Boys,” Mr McCarthy, bless his soul, tried to intervene. It was a lost cause. No one even noticed him. “Just because you’re mad that you didn’t know the answer. Stop acting like a little bitch.” George was talking as if he was speaking to a younger brother, scowling at Dream. He sounded like he barely cared about what was happening. It looked like he would be cold to the touch, like a statue. It made it look like Dream was throwing a tantrum

“George!” Mr McCarthy had never heard George swear before. Dream had. Everyone in the class had. George had been swearing like a sailor since he was eight.

“I’m a bitch? Coming from you? You fucking weirdo-” Dream’s anger was only building. Seeing George look cool and collected while he felt his face heating up made it worse. He stood up, the clatter of the stool bouncing off the walls.

“Boys!” That was the final straw for Mr McCarthy. He slammed his book down on the desk as he yelled. No one moved. Dream was left standing, breathing heavily. It was like they’d been snapped back to reality, remembering that there was actually a teacher in the room. Even if it was only Mr McCarthy.

He pointed his bony finger at Dream and then at George.

“You two. Outside. Now.”

In life, there were some simple truths. The sky was blue, the sun was hot. And, Dream and George hated each other.

But, in the same was the sky had been red in the beginning and the sun would be nothing in the end, it hadn’t always been that way.

When they were younger, much younger, everything had been different. When they were kids, five years old, maybe six, Dream, George and Sapnap had been real friends, or as real a friendship could be at age nine. Sapnap had been the glue holding them all together. He was a mediator, no matter how hard he tried to start the joking fights he was always the one to end the serious ones.

Sometimes Dream thought that without Sapnap, he and George wouldn’t have made it past the age of 10 without killing each other. They were always fighting, over catch, snap, tip the can, even tic tac toe.

Things changed as they got older though. Where Dream and Sapnap got more confident, bigger, taller, stronger, George went quiet. He wasn’t shy, he just seemed mad. He was all snark and edge and frost. He retreated into himself totally, Dream never had any idea what he was thinking. By the age of ten, Dream was sure George hated him, so he decided to hate George back even harder.  

The more time that passed, the more he believed his story. That George had shut him out, and Dream was only acting in self-defence.

After all, George was weird. Where Dream was loud, the life of every party, the centre of the school community, George was quiet and pretentious. It was like he thought he was better than everyone else because he didn’t engage with the school.

Everyone wanted to be Dream’s friends, everyone except George.

Bad came into the picture in high school, all kindness and unconditional friendship. He was just what Dream and Sapnap had needed, he kept them human. Bad stopped him from being a bully. Sapnap had always said to be nice because it was the right thing to do. Bad said to be nice because empathy was a virtue, he explained his experience growing up, how just one person being nice to him could’ve changed everything. He made Sapnap and Dream kinder.

Where Dream hated George, all sarcasm and snark, George seemed to have a vague dislike of Dream. It was as if he didn’t even care enough to dislike him. Even if Dream didn’t want to admit it, on some level he knew that he hated George more than George hated him. This only spurred him on to hate George even more.

Sapnap tried to stop him. Him and George were still good friends. He didn’t let them talk about each other and never told them anything about the other. That was Sapnap to a T, as loyal as they come. No matter how many times he started fake fights, Dream knew he’d always be there if he really needed him.

But, standing out in the hall in the middle of what should've been a normal physics class, Sapnap was not there. Mr McCarthy and George, however, were right in front of him, and they were on route to the principal’s office.

A solid telling off later, his third of the day, George and Dream had received their punishment. For swearing and publically fighting during physics, they were sentenced to two months worth of weekend classes together.

It was that or four months of after school detention. Dream didn’t want to admit it, but he had George to thank for negotiating it down to what it was. Dream would never tell a soul, but it was a tiny bit badass to see George debating the principal while she was mid-rant.

Dream was a lot more grateful than he was letting off.

If he wanted to stay on as the first striker on the soccer team, he needed to be at every practice. And practices were after school, exactly when their detention was first scheduled. He couldn’t have Sapnap out on the soccer field without him to pass to, how would he cope with the loneliness?

George had after school commitments as well apparently, considering how hard he fought to get the mandatory attendance to the weekend classes the school ran instead. He argued that him and Dream could improve their schooling and learn to co-exist, instead of sitting in silence and letting their hatred simmer.

They were even allowed to pick the class, as a way to start them on their journey of cooperation.

Once they left the office, miraculously still alive, Dream turned to George. He tried to push down the automatic response of ‘Fuck this guy’ in order to choose the class they would take. Before he could even open his mouth, George was talking.

“We’re doing English.” Before Dream could reply, he was walking away. Asshole.

Dream chased after him down the hall.

“Hey, hey!” George didn’t even turn around until Dream was tapping his shoulder. Asshole.

“Huh?” George had the audacity to look confused. “What do you want now?”

Dream just looked at him in disbelief, shaking his head. He was so fucking obnoxious.

“Why would we do English? I wanted to do-” Dream hesitated. He hadn’t actually thought about what he wanted to do, too distracted by what an idiot George was for speaking for the both of them without consulting him. Dream realised his pause for too long. “-Spanish.”

Dream did not want to do Spanish.

“Spanish?” George was looking at him like he was an idiot. It made Dream want to double down even harder.

“Yeah. Spanish.” It didn’t even sound convincing to his own ears.

“You don’t do Spanish.” George was getting annoyed. Dream was proving everything that he thought about him right.

“I do!” Dream didn’t know why he was committing so hard to his lie. He didn’t want George to know he was right, God knows how smug it would make him.

“Speak some Spanish right now then.” George was challenging him. It caught Dream off guard. He hadn’t expected the exchange to go further than him saying he wanted to do Spanish, which he did not.

He would’ve spoken some, but never having learned a word of Spanish made that a bit difficult. He hesitated too long for it to be believable.

“No.” Dream’s brain was stuttering. He was trapped in his own lie. This was exactly what his mother always said would happen if you lied, you’d get trapped in it. “No?” George looked at him, smirking like an idiot. Asshole. Of course he would like watching Dream in misery, Sapnap was wrong about him.

“No.��� They both stood there in the hall, Dream prayed for the bell to ring and give him an excuse to leave. The bell did not ring.

“Okay then. We’re doing English. For one, we both actually do it. And you need the help.” Before Dream could protest, George walked away. Dream wanted to punch him.

His mother didn’t take the news well. Most parents wouldn’t be over the moon hearing that their child was going to be in weekend detention for two months. Dream tried to spin it as a fun afternoon class but that plan was derailed when his dad came in holding the phone, with the principal on the other end of the line.

In school the next day, after spending twenty minutes complaining to his friends, Dream found George during lunch.

“Hey, I’m going to need your number.” Dream didn’t bother with manners. They were well past that point. He was just following the orders of his mother, who wanted them to co-operate completely. She figured Dream would need George’s number.

George looked up from his friends, eyebrows raised. When he saw Dream, he got up. They walked just a few steps away from the table.

“George, your number?” Dream just wanted to get it over with so he could go back to his friends and complain about the whole situation

“Oh yeah, it’s 08 fuck you 69.” George rolled his eyes, taking the phone from Dream’s hand.

He saved his contact under Gogy <3 and walked away. Dream was left scowling at George’s back.

[epochofbelief]

Breath Control, Chapter Twelve

An A Court of Mist and Fury College Swim Team AU

All characters etc belong to SJ Maas! 

Feysand and Elriel

Author’s Note: I promise we’re getting there ;) This chapter is a bridge to... other things... 

Enjoy!

LINK TO FULL FIC

TWELVE

“Please. There’s got to be something you can do.”

It was Monday morning. I’d come to the leasing office as soon as it had opened, harboring fruitless hopes that I would somehow be allowed to rid myself of Ianthe and my unfortunate living situation. 

The agent looked up at me through long lashes. “I’m sorry Ms. Archeron,” she said slowly, as though I was too dumb to understand that fixing my problem was an uphill battle, “but there’s nothing I can do.”

I sighed, my forearms resting on the tall desk in front of me, and pressed my forehead to the dark wooden surface. 

“Ms. Archeron?”

“No.” I said.

“Excuse me.”

“Don’t speak to me unless it’s to tell me I can transfer my lease to another, emptier, house.”

Surprisingly, the leasing agent didn’t say a word. I raised my head an inch. “So I have to leave now?”

She nodded. I sighed. Trudged out. Climbed in my car and screamed. 

Then I shifted into drive and headed to class. 

-----

I met Cassian for lunch. We sat at one of the tables in the Student Union, discussing that morning’s practice. It had been Rhys’s first day back in the water. Surprisingly, he hadn’t eaten shit. He’d been a little behind but kept up fairly well. I still hadn’t spoken to him.

I was in the middle of telling Cassian about Coach King coming to me that morning and telling me he liked my progress when he suddenly set down his sandwich. 

“Feyre, why won’t you just talk to Rhys?” 

“The same reason he won’t talk to me. He’s guilty, there’s no changing that.”

Cassian shifted in his seat. “I just… I’ve been close with Rhys for longer than you. He would never treat a girl like that unless there was a reason. God knows I’ve tried to get him to explain what happened between you two and why, but he won’t say a word. He’s hiding something. If he fucked up and cheated, which is what I’ve gathered from vague things Mor had said, he would admit it to me. I know he would. There’s something else going on here.”

I put my elbows on the table. “Cassian. He did the same thing to me that Tamlin did, if you would be so kind as to remember. He’s obviously not over his ex, and--”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. His ex? You’re not talking about Amarantha, are you?”

I nodded. 

“Shit. I can’t believe he didn’t tell me. What the hell were you two doing with Amarantha around?”

I explained what had happened when we had arrived at Rhys’s father's house and how Amarantha had turned up at the club. And because it felt good to talk about it, I ended up explaining the whole story. Cassian paid attention to my every word, his frown growing deeper and deeper as I went on.

I sat back in my chair when I finished. 

“Feyre, I’ve got to tell you. Amarantha was--is--messed up. She’s toxic. She never cared for Rhys. She liked that he was attractive, successful, and that his dad had money.  I’ve known Rhys since our freshman year of high school and never understood why he dated her. Something’s going on that we don’t know about.” 

I nodded slowly. Whatever Cassian said might be true, but if she was so ridiculous, why had Rhys gone back to her? I certainly wasn’t going to beg for him back. Even though I missed him. A lot. His sudden absence from my life had left a hole in my days, my head, my heart. He’d helped me heal and make friends after everything with Tamlin had gone down. He’d never pushed the fact that my training needed to improve immensely if I wanted to stand a chance on the team. He’d simply been there when I needed him and that had been enough. If he’d tried to come talk to me once in the past week and a half, I might have listened. But he’d kept his distance and I just couldn’t see that as anything other than a sign that there was no explanation for what he’d done. 

“Thanks for the info, Cassian,” I said. “But I’m not going to beg him to explain himself. Besides, I’ve got bigger issues on my hands.” I didn’t mention that even though my living situation and now-recovering position on the team might appear like more dire problems, my separation from Rhys hurt more. 

“I wish there was something I could do. I’d tell you to come stay with Az and me for free but we really don’t have any space in the house.” 

I shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. And thanks for hanging out with me, even after everything that’s happened.”

He leaned forward in his chair, eyes locking with mine. “Just because you and Rhys are on the outs doesn’t mean anything changes between us. We’re friends, Feyre. And teammates. I’ve got your back. If Rhys really did cheat, he’s an asshole for what he did. I just can’t help thinking that it’s possible there’s something going on with him that no one knows about.” 

I smiled, despite the state of my life. “That means a lot, Cassian.”

------

~~~Elain~~~

Finals started a week from today--next Monday. I was not looking forward to it. But after finals came Christmas break! I tried to focus on that as I blinked my eyes to keep them focused. It was eleven o’clock, the library was nearly deserted, and I had just dozed off for the third time since I’d arrived. I’d had a long day and had been holed up in a corner surrounded by bookshelves for the past four hours. 

I stifled another yawn. Yep, definitely time to go. 

I packed up my things and made my way down the three flights of stairs and out the front doors of the library. Campus after midnight was quiet, empty. Eerie. I hustled to my car, tossing my bag in and jumping into the front seat. 

I started my car, making sure to lock the doors, when my phone pinged with a message from Azriel.

Az: EMERGENCY. I’m taking an online anatomy test and I need help, Oh Goddes of Nursing School. What are you doing right now?

Me: Why are you taking this test now, may I ask?

Az: It’s due at midnight and I kind of forgot about it until right now…

Me: I’m on my way

Az: Angel

I didn’t question my decision to drive straight over to Azriel’s house. I’d never been inside before. I’d dropped Az off once and left directly after. But I hadn’t seen him all day. Plus, if he was taking an anatomy test the best way for me to help him would be if I was there. Five minutes later, I pulled up outside his house. 

After a brief five minutes of sitting frozen in the front seat in a blind panic, I opened the door and stepped out onto the quiet street. You can do this, I repeated to myself for the thousandth time since getting into my car fifteen minutes ago. All Az wanted was help on a test. Right?

I marched up to the front door before I could think of an excuse to bolt. It swung open before I could knock and I realized that my five minutes of anxious deliberation had been witnessed by Cassian. He held the door for me as I entered. I glanced at him and he grinned. “Az is in his room.”

I breathed a sigh of relief that Azriel hadn’t seen me panicking in the street. I headed in the direction that Cassian had pointed and knocked softly on a door at the end of their small hallway. 

It swung open. “I can’t thank you enough for this,” Azriel said, grabbing my arm and pulling me inside. His hair was a mess, his eyes wide and bloodshot. His room was fairly clean, besides the desk right next to the bed, both of which were covered with printouts that appeared to have anatomical diagrams covering them. “I have forty minutes left on this quiz and some help would be greatly appreciated. It’s open book and note, so it’s okay if you help me. I know absolutely nothing because I’m really behind in this class.” 

I nodded as he led me over to his desk, gesturing for me to take a seat. I forced him to sit instead. “You’re still gonna be the one to take the quiz, Az! I’m just here to help.”

“So you’re going to hover over my shoulder this whole time?” He glanced at me from the corner of his eye as he slid out the chair and placed himself in front of his open computer, a timer ticking away in the corner of the screen.

When I didn’t answer, he turned to roll his eyes at me. 

“Just sit on the bed, Elain."

I couldn’t come up with a sarcastic retort. So I did my best to appear nonchalant and plopped down on the bed.

Approximately 39 and a half minutes later, I was half asleep, my head at the foot of the bed. I stared at the ceiling as Azriel, seated about a foot away at the desk right next to the bed, submitted the quiz. 

“Done.”

I nodded, unwilling to open my eyes. 

I heard his laptop shut. The legs of the chair scraped across the wood floor. Then I felt the bed next to my hip sink as he sat next to me. “Elain.”

“Mmhm?”

“It’s late.”

“Mmhm.”

“I don’t want you driving home this tired… And I have practice tomorrow morning so I can’t drop you off with my car because you won’t be able to get yours back for a while… Why don’t you just stay here?”

I was so tired it was like I was watching myself agree from a thousand miles away. “Okay. Bathroom,” I said and pulled myself up using all the strength I could muster. 

I washed my face as best as I could, rifled through drawers in order to locate a hairbrush, scrubbed my teeth with my finger and Az’s toothpaste. Then I returned to the room. Azriel turned to me as I entered. “You can wear this, if it’s more comfortable than your jeans.” He handed me an extremely soft grey t-shirt. 

“Thank you.” 

“I’ll be right back,” he said, giving me a kiss on the forehead and then shutting himself in the bathroom. 

I stripped out of my jeans, bra, and t-shirt. I pulled his shirt over me, breathing in his scent as I did so. Then I sat down on the bed, twiddling my thumbs and trying not to fidget.

He came out a moment later. And stopped in his tracks in the doorway.

“Wow.”

I froze as well. He wore nothing but boxer shorts, nearly every tanned muscle he had on display.

“Sorry, it’s just...” He glanced down, and then back up. 

I blushed. Then mimicked him, my gaze sliding all the way down his body and back up.

And then he was striding across the room, grabbing my waist and pulling me up against him. I stumbled a bit, my hands coming up to rest against his chest. 

“Hi,” he said.

“Hey.”

He smiled and didn’t waste another moment before he kissed me. It was soft, the kind of kiss that told me this wasn’t going anywhere. But still… I reveled in the fact that he was mine, even if he hadn’t been so for very long. 

With one movement he swept me off my feet, not breaking the kiss, and carried me over to the bed. His lips moved from mine to my cheeks, nose, eyelids, forehead. I pulled him as close to me as possible, and it still didn’t feel like enough. 

“Go to sleep, Elain,” he laughed.

I pulled back a little to look at him.

“I’m serious. You were passed out not ten minutes ago. We can continue this later.”

And before I could object--because I knew he was right--he turned me over, wrapped his arm over my hip and around my stomach, and pulled me close.

---------

~~~Feyre~~~

My week had been shit in some ways, great in others. I had made the travel team for next weekend! I had spent some more time with Mor, studying for finals constantly. I’d even managed to grab lunch with Elain and Azriel on Tuesday afternoon. They’d barely been able to keep their eyes off of each other, in a way that was different from when I’d seen them last Saturday. I was so happy for Elain. 

And I hated myself for envying her her luck in finding someone who wasn’t a cheating asshole. Azriel and Elain’s official relationship had already outlasted mine with Rhys by more than a week. Pitiful. Absolutely pitiful.

It was Saturday evening, 5:46 pm, to be exact, when I received a phone call from a local number I didn’t recognize. I was locked in my bedroom, fairly certain Ianthe had left the house with Tamlin about thirty minutes before for a night of eating, drinking, and dancing. I just hoped they’d end up at his place for the night.

“Hello?”

“Feyre Archeron?”

“This is she.” 

“Hi, I’m Evelyn from Astrid Oaks leasing office. I’m calling to let you know that you have been cleared to move out of your unit, number 33, and into the vacant room at number 101. Please be moved in before the beginning of the Spring Semester on January 8th. We’ll need you to stop by our office to sign some paperwork and return your key, but other than that you are good to go.”

Was I dreaming? They’d told me moving houses was impossible… I’d given up the cause when the lady had rejected me on Monday. Had they changed their minds, reconsidered without telling me?

 I realized the leasing agent was waiting for me to say something. 

“Oh! Uh, thank you. I’ll come by your office as soon as I can. Thanks.” 

I hung up. Laid back on my bed. Who had done this? Had Mor made a call and talked them into it? It could have been Ianthe calling in order to get rid of me as fast as humanly possible. 

I called Mor to tell her the good news and ask her about it. 

“No way!” She screeched when I explained what had happened, and after a few moments of elated screaming, she asked, “How did you convince them?”

“I thought maybe you would be able to explain that to me.”

“Sorry, Feyre. I have no idea. Maybe they just changed their minds…”

“Maybe… So you’re still okay with me moving in?”

“Of course. We can move you in over Christmas training.”

“Perfect.” 

-------

On Monday morning, my first day of finals and the last week of the term,  I headed to the leasing office to make sure all the paperwork was squared away. Bundled up in several layers of coats, I was unwinding my scarf from around my neck in the lobby of the office when I saw him. 

Rhys was standing at the unnecessarily tall front desk, his head bent over the surface in order to look at something. Hating myself for admiring the lovely view I had of his backside, I glanced around, trying to find somewhere to hide until he left. 

But then he turned slightly, sliding the paper he had been reading toward the woman behind the desk. “Feyre,” he said from across the room. He shut his mouth as though saying my name had been a mistake.

“Hi,” I said. So articulate. Good going, Feyre. “What are you doing here?” I asked him, casting around for anything to say to keep this from being awkward.

“Uh…” He seemed unwilling to make eye contact with me. His eyes darted from my feet, to the wall behind my head, to his hands. “Just double checking my renter’s insurance.”

“Mr. Night, here’s your copy of the transfer paperwork.”

He cringed as the woman spoke up from behind him. Still avoiding my eyes, he turned around, retrieved the stack of paper from the woman, and then strode for the door, and consequently, for me. I moved aside, but couldn’t prevent myself from reaching out to place a hand on his arm. “What did she mean, transfer paperwork?”

His eyes cut to where my hand rested on his wrist. I pulled away slowly and he jerked backward as though I’d burned him. “She must have gotten the name wrong.” He still wouldn’t look at me. 

“Rhysand…. I wasn’t born yesterday, you know.” And now I had a feeling that he had been the one to somehow get me out of my lease. “You did this,” I said quietly.

He reached out to brush my cheek. “I know you hate me… And I wish I could explain. But I still want you to be happy. I promise I’ll stay out of your way when you move in.” He finally met my eyes, and the sadness I saw there nearly broke my heart all over again.

He left before I could say another word.

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

TAGS

@queen-of-glass​ @aknymph​ @sleeping-and-books​ @fabfire​ 

[revisionaryhistory]

Three Days ~ 43

~*~Emma~*~

 I remembered Will from a couple of parties and Kirk and Boone's wedding. Nice guy. Apparently, he and some of his friends thought I was the extra in a three-way with Eli and Angie. Eli didn't see a reason he should correct them. Angie invited Alissa out on one of our girls’ nights and she became one of the group. It had probably been six months since I’d last seen her. I liked her and we got along well. The friendship had never progressed past those nights. I can't remember if I met her before or after Jimmy and I broke up. Either way, I moved, and we only ever saw each other on nights out. Now I find she's married to one of Sebastian's best friends. We have at least three friends in common and our friends' group overlaps. Very cool, but very weird. Almost like we were supposed to meet.

 Wednesday I got the photoshoot "before" picture about fifteen minutes before my kids arrived. Looked like Sebastian in the morning. Hair a little messy, a crease on his face from his pillow, and his eyes not quite awake. His beard had grown in more and I ran my fingers over it in the picture, knowing it would be gone in the after. I didn’t dislike either version. I was just used to the way I’d met him.

 My aide took the kids to lunch and I went in search of my after. The first thing I noticed was his beard was trimmed super close, where it was long stubble, but it was still there. I guess they'd changed their mind. His hair was styled not that different than he did except every hair was in place and I was betting it was fixed where it wouldn't move. Makeup perfected his skin tone and somehow made his eyes even bluer. Maybe it was the dark blue robe he was wearing. It had been hours since he'd sent, but I still sent a text telling him how handsome he looked.

 I grabbed my lunch out of my mini-fridge and headed down to Mallory's room. I'd made some pasta salad loaded with veggies while talking with Sebastian last night and was looking forward to eating. Our secretary was walking toward me with a bouquet of cookies. They were shaped and iced like crayons, rulers, apples, notepads, and glue. Outside of teacher appreciation week that usually signaled a parent had gotten pissed at a grade or consequence and sided with their kid. At least, until they got both sides of the story. Cookies were good apologies and could be shared with the other grade level teachers who were sure to know every word you said and the tone of voice you used.

 "Who got yelled at this time, Jamie?"

 She lifted an eyebrow, "You."

"No one’s yelled at me." That meant they were from Sebastian.

"Then your new boyfriend sent cookies instead of flowers."

I laughed, "Good possibility." I took them from her. "Take one for you and Kim."

"I was hoping you'd say that. They smell delicious."

 I walked into Mallory's room with my healthy pasta salad and not at all healthy cookies. "I brought dessert." Our lunch group made appreciative noises.

Cindy laughed, "Who's parent did you piss off?"

I shook my head, "No one."

Mallory snatched the card while my hands were full, "I believe these are from the new man." I went ahead and sat down, trusting the card would be G-rated. Mallory read, "Halfway into the last full week. Hope this helps you all make it through. Sebastian." She looked to me, "Sebastian? That's a mouthful."

"Yes, he is."

 Before we dug into the cookies, I had everyone take one and gather together. I'd send the picture as a thank you. They'd heard about him Monday after the tournament and I talked more about him today. I wasn't ready to share him yet. I was a little surprised word hadn't traveled from the tournament, but I guess there wasn't enough overlap. Outside of my team, where I worked wasn’t common knowledge. This was an advantage of not working and living in the same school district. If there was gossip it was more than likely identifying me as the setter on that team than a teacher. The moment his last name entered my school it would be a topic of conversation in all three buildings. I don't know exactly what that would mean. I'd been here four years and it was common knowledge where I went over winter break. Ed may eclipse Sebastian, but not when you throw Marvel in the mix. We have superhero day during our anti-drug week. I see the Marvel costumes and t-shirts. There'd be a lot of talk. Once the kids were gone, I’d feel more comfortable sharing who this new man is. The kids could make this a zoo.

 Mallory, Cindy, and I were the last left. Cindy asked, "Will we ever meet this Sebastian? See a picture."

 "I’m sure." I smiled, "We haven't known each two weeks yet. It's good and I'm protecting the new relationship like you do a new kitten. It needs to grow a little more."

 Mallory agreed, "You know the Barbie Bitches at the high school are going to want all the details."

 I did know that. "I’m not ready to share."

Cindy took our trash to the cafeteria while Mal and I cleaned up the tables. We sat down to finish our drinks, stretching out our break as long as possible. Her kids coming into the room was my cue to head back to my room as mine would be a few minutes behind them. It wasn’t quite time yet.

My text alert went off with a picture of Sebastian. I reached for my phone, but not so quick that Mallory didn’t see. Her eyes went wide and I held up a finger, “Give me one minute and I'll show you.” He was wearing a dark blue suit, with an unbuttoned white shirt, and an untied bow tie. He looked amazing and about two seconds away from sex. I put my hand over the screen and pushed it toward Mal, "Can I trust you to tell no one. I'm not ready for this to be here."

 Mal put her hand over mine, "You know I'm not telling anyone. If that's who I think it is, the kids finding out will make Field Day crazy. Too much unstructured time to gossip and ask you questions." She started lifting her hand, "Let me see."

I moved my hand from the phone to my mouth.

Mallory looked at the picture a long time before she said, "Yep, that’s a Sebastian. Damn, Emma, you met him," she tapped my screen, "in the grocery?"

I nodded.

"Now I really wish I would have come to volleyball. Although, I probably would have just stared."

 "No, you wouldn't. A few minutes and you would see he's like anyone else. Nothing special."

 She grinned, "Except to you." Her kids started coming into the room.

 I stood, "Except to me."

 As I headed to the door she called out, "We're sitting in the back at faculty meeting."

 Sebastian had sent another picture by the time recess rolled around. He was in black jeans and a t-shirt a least one size too small.

 Emma ~ Might have to cut you out of that shirt. This is not a complaint.

Sebastian ~ It was stretchy.

 Emma ~ How is it going?

Sebastian ~ Good. I'm sitting in a chair having my hair changed.

 Emma ~ What are they doing to it?

 Sebastian ~ Making it look like it did when I got here. Apparently, people sleep in very expensive watches. I' II be done soon. No tommorow.

Emma ~ What will you do with the unexpected free time?

Sebastian ~ Clean my apartment.

 Emma ~ I was going to say you don't have to, but you do. Ha Ha, the first time at least.

Sebastian ~ Exactly. I’m pretty neat. Bathroom is a wreck.

Emma ~ Bathrooms always need cleaning. I have to run. Argument on the monkey bars.

Sebastian ~ Talk to you later.

 It would be Thursday night before we talked. Real-life set in. I had a volleyball game Wednesday night and Sebastian went out for drinks with the photographer once the shoot was over. I got home and was exhausted. We lost. I don't like to lose.

 Thursday during the day there were no texts. My guess is he got home late and drunk. Overslept. Busy at gym. Returns home to sleep off the night before. I was driving home when a call from Sebastian came in.

"Buna ziua, Sebasti-an.” <Good afternoon>  

 “Ce mai faci?” <How are you?>

 Thankfully he kept it simple. “Bine, tu?”  <Good and you?>

Sebastian switched to English. “I broke my phone. I pulled it out to text some woman, got elbowed by a guy on the sidewalk, and threw my phone on the ground. Screen shattered and I held it in my hand watching it slowly die. It just glitched and sputtered away in front of me."

"My poor, baby. Are you mourning the loss?"

 "Nope, an hour in an Apple store and I have a shiny new iPhone. They were able to transfer my data over. Good as new. That's why you hadn’t heard from me."

I smiled, "I thought you were sleeping one-off."

"I barely drank. Too much to do today. Sheets changed, bathroom clean, kitchen has some food, and the family room is clean. When are you going to be here?"

 "I got permission to leave a little early. I’ll definitely make the three o’clock train, but I’ll try and do the two. If that's ok with you?"

 “I'm not going anywhere after the gym. I'll be here waiting."

 "I'm excited. Seeing you. You with my friends and your friends. It’s going to be fun."

"It is."

Just to be sure. "Most excited about you."

"I like hearing that."

 I set my alarm a little early to give myself time to finish packing. I’m not normally an over-packer, but I couldn't decide on a dress for dinner. Or anything else. Insane. At least today wasn't a theme day I need to wear a costume for. I wore a pair of black capris and a bright pink top with rolled sleeves and a long zipper up the front. Up for school, a little less so for Sebastian.

 First text of the day.

Sebastian ~ Are you here yet?

 I had nothing but fun things planned for the day. Yesterday I'd had them vote for their favorite books and we read those at the top of every hour. We played math games, a science and social studies game show, and our top music and movement videos. I ate my lunch getting the STEM Lab cart and prepped everything for my assistant. The kids had been wonderful all day and I didn't feel the least bit guilty when I fled the building when she took them outside for recess.

 I waited until I was safely on the train to text Sebastian.

Emma ~ On my way

Sebastian ~ Early!

Emma ~ I’ll beat the worst of the traffic

Sebastian ~ Exactly what I was thinking.

Sebastian ~ I should shower.

 I put in my ear pods, clicking shuffle on my "Current Faves" playlist. This one changed all the time. Some never left the list. Recently there'd be an influx of happy love songs and sexy mood music. I think I even dozed off a couple of times. The closer I got the more butterflies were in my stomach. I was excited to see him, but a little nervous. I was going to his place. It would be different than surrounded by my stuff. I’m nervous about stupid stuff like where do I put my toothbrush, is it ok to look through the books in his extra room, what I do with my dirty clothes, and what if I get thirsty in the middle of the night? It's making me think back and wondering if I'd made him welcome... comfortable.

 I took a cab from the train station, looking out the window at the city I used to call home. I wasn't familiar with where he lived so I watched the numbers on the buildings. His building from the outside looked like an old converted warehouse. The brick was red with a gray stone line between every floor. Looked about seven floors. He'd texted me the entry code and I hopped on the elevator to the fifth.

 Sebastian opened his door so fast it was like he was standing beside it and I almost fell over. He was barefoot in ripped jeans and a Rutgers t-shirt. He held the door open with a hand high on the door. Add in the finger styled hair, bright blue eyes, and a smile that said he was happy to see me and he was the sexiest thing I'd ever laid eyes on. It was the barefoot part that got me.  "I'm here."

[mypassionfortrash]

Nothing Serious: Parts 1-3

With all your friends having married themselves off, having kids and getting boring, you turn to Tinder to fill your time. When you match with a familiar face, you quickly realise you’ve bitten off more than you can chew. (Modern Sugar Daddy AU).

Pairing: Roger Taylor x f!Reader Warnings: Filth, angst, daddy kink, morbid humour, strictly 18+. Notes: This was originally posted on my Queen blog (BoRhapRogerina) before I deleted it. If you’re new here, welcome. If you’ve read this before, I’ve reworked this quite substantially. I’m planning on finishing all of my fics for NaNoWriMo this year, so stay tuned for updates on all my WIPs!

[1/4]

It was a Friday evening, and you had just got off work. Not that you had plans. 

All your friends had partnered up and gone away on romantic weekends away. 

Leaving you alone, with no plans. 

On the plus side, you had a laundry list of shows to binge watch, and a full fridge of goodies, that would most likely last until Saturday morning. If you were lucky. 

Flopping down on the couch, you fired up the first show on your list and settled down, fully prepared to fester for two days. Bliss, you thought, absentmindedly opening Tinder for a glimpse of what could be. If you could stomach the dating game.

You must have swiped left on a hundred people in the space of ten minutes, never bothering to read their self absorbed ‘about me’ sections, or to look at more of their photos. Until Roger (37 years old, 20 kilometres away) caught your eye.

He was handsome. Recently divorced. And a musician. 

He looked familiar, too.

But 37 was too old. Curiosity got the better of you when you set your search parameters, casting the net as wide as possible to see what the app would throw up. 

It threw up Roger.

He was too old. 

But too intriguing to reject. 

So you swiped right. 

And then went back to your show.

The Umbrella Academy wasn’t boring, per se, but every now and again, your eyes would be drawn towards your phone on the coffee table. You wondered whether Roger had noticed you. Surely not.

When the first episode was over, you padded through to the kitchen and flicked the kettle on. You couldn’t help but kick yourself for not giving his profile enough attention. He caught you by surprise and you didn’t fully absorb his profile. Apart from the obvious. You swiped right without thinking. And now, he was all you could think about.

What did he do for a living? Did he have kids? Was his ex-wife a total nutter?

You stood, drumming your fingertips against the kitchen counter, waiting for the kettle to boil. Until you heard your phone vibrate.

Never in your life had you moved so fast, darting through to the living room and almost knocking over a lamp. You picked up your phone and looked at your notifications. Sure enough, there it was, ‘you have matched with Roger.’

Throwing yourself back on to the couch, you could feel your cheeks burning. It felt utterly alien to you to even match with someone you were actually attracted to, so you were determined to make a good impression. Staring up at the ceiling, your lips moved slowly, trying to verbalise what you were going to open with and all the ways you could woo him straight off the bat. A simple, ‘how are you?’ wasn’t going to suffice.

‘How YOU doin’ tonight?’ Uncool. 

‘Any plans for the weekend?’ Boring.

‘If you were a cocktail, what would you be?’ Better.

And then your phone vibrated again.

You looked down to see a notification flash up and disappear. ‘Roger has sent you a message.’

Your stomach churned. They never messaged first. At least he was keen, you thought, unlocking your phone to read what he had sent. 

‘If you were a fruit, you’d be a fine-apple.’

You snorted, feeling your face burn up even more. It was a stinker of a line. A stinker that somehow made your heart flutter.

Just as you were hovering your thumbs over your keyboard to type a response, another message popped up.

‘Sorry, that was rotten.’

And another.

‘It’s really nice to match with you. Any plans for the weekend?’

He stole your boring line.

Game on!

[2/4]

You and Roger spent the entire weekend messaging back and forth about everything from your favourite films to your favourite holiday destinations (he cited dirty weekends away at his villa - wherever that was - as a top pick). It turned out he was charming, witty and ever so slightly filthy, without being disrespectful. Despite your qualms about his age, you were aching to see if he was as enthralling in real life.

It was Monday morning. Sat at your desk, you desperately clung to any focus you could muster for your work. But, in the back of your mind, you couldn’t help wondering when Roger's next message would appear. You prayed it would be soon. You had a mountain of paperwork to do, but precisely zero focus to follow through.

By midday, you lost hope. 

Maybe he was too good to be true? Perhaps your joke about being ‘An Old Man Fucker’ was a step too far?

Packing up your desk to go to lunch, you decided to leave your phone behind. But as you walked away, you heard it vibrate.

You darted back to your desk and grabbed your phone.

Roger had a funny habit of appearing on your phone, just as you were about to do something. You scanned his latest offering.

‘What’s the difference between a tyre and 365 used condoms?’

Even without a punchline, it earned a giggle, which in turn earned you disapproving looks from your colleagues. You hurriedly tapped out a quick, ‘I don’t know,’ before stowing your phone in your pocket and following the mass exodus to the canteen.

Your heart felt like it was going to escape from your chest as you waited for the punchline to yet another dirty joke.

His response came quickly: ‘One’s a Goodyear, the other’s a great year! Doing anything nice tonight, gorgeous? Hope you're having a lovely day! I hate Mondays :(’

———————————————————————————————————

A few hours later, you were sprawled on the sofa, bouncing your leg impatiently. A typical weeknight consisted of a quick change into your pyjamas, scarfing down instant noodles and a side of hating the single life. 

But not tonight. Roger was coming over. And you were determined to impress.

You had swapped your joggers and a plain old t-shirt for a short, black tea dress. Makeup on. Hair done. You even wore a bra; a rarity at home.

The seconds ticked by at an impossibly slow rate and Roger was late. He said he'd be there for seven. It was five past. 

You got up to pace back and forth across the living room. Your mind wandered, anticipating what your evening with Roger would entail. 

What would you talk about? You had covered a lot of ground over the weekend. 

Would you watch a film? You knew he was into sci-fi. You could do sci-fi. Get drunk? On a school night, really? Maybe not.

Sleep with him?

That last question stopped you in your tracks. It wasn’t as if you didn’t want to. That was precisely the reason you joined Tinder, as tough as it was to admit. After speaking to him all weekend, you actually kind of liked him. But you just didn’t know him that well.

Your brain felt like it had just run a marathon when there was a knock at the door. 

It made your stomach drop, and your legs turn to jelly as you scrambled to answer it; your mind blank and exhausted. With a deep breath, you turned the handle and cracked the door open, peering out into the hall. 

Roger peeked through the gap, a mischievous smile on his face. “Hi,” he beamed. "Sorry, I'm late."

You flung the door open, eyeing him with a shy smirk. “Hi." That was all you could muster.

Roger quickly pulled you into him, squeezing you tightly. “It’s so nice to meet you,” he mumbled against your hair.

He smelled incredible. Like sandalwood and pine forests, enticing you to bury your face against his collarbone. “And you,” you sighed.

All those worries in your head melted away, but there was something between both of your bodies. Breaking away from Roger’s embrace, you looked down to find a bunch of flowers and two bottles of wine tucked into the crook of his arm. You gazed up at him, forgetting how to form sentences. It seemed like he did too. 

Luckily he noticed your stare trailing down to the flowers and the wine. Red and white. He rocked on his feet, remembering what was happening. “Oh! These are for you. Couldn’t come empty-handed and I wasn’t sure…” He babbled, passing them to you.

“They’re perfect," you smiled, waving him inside, "Come in.”

You led roger through the hall and into the living room, motioning him towards the couch. “Make yourself at home. What do you want to drink?���

Roger shrugged. “Whatever you’re having.”

The kitchen felt like it was worlds away, granting you a short reprieve from Roger’s company. He was so much more handsome in real life, you thought, rifling through your cupboards. So handsome, in fact, that you had forgotten when you kept your wine glasses. “The ones above the sink, fuck,” you grumbled to yourself, throwing open the cupboard and snatching the glasses. You tried to even yourself out with what little time alone you had, pressing your hands into the edge of the counter and bowing your head. Deep breaths.

A clatter from the living room pulled you back to reality. You hastily dunked the flowers in the sink and grabbed your drinks, to see what the commotion in the living room was. 

When you got back to Roger, you found him picking some records up off the floor. 

Roger looked up at you wearing a coy smirk. “Sorry. Had to make sure you weren’t a crazy fan.”

You gave an awkward laugh, wandering past him.

“It’s happened before,” he added, getting to his feet and giving a shrug. “You’ve got good taste though.”

“I thought you looked familiar.” You sat the bottle and the glasses down on the coffee table and joined him over by your boxes of records. 

He skimmed through your collection. “I can’t believe people still buy these,” Roger laughed, taking out a copy of Bruce Springsteen’s ‘Born in the USA.’ “Don’t tell me this is some new hipster wanker thing? Buying LPs?” he asked, eyeing you with his eyebrows raised.

You snatched the record from his grasp, screwing up your features. “I’ll have you know, vinyl is far superior.”

Roger rolled his eyes. “Yeah, with all that crackling and popping, it’s bound to sound better.”

“It’s all about the listening experience,” you sneered, taking the record out of its slipcase and placing it on the turntable. “You can’t be passive when you’re listening to records. It gives you more of a chance to absorb it.”

“I believe you,” Roger chuckled. 

“You haven’t told me what kind of music Queen play,” you added, waltzing back to the sofa.

Roger flopped down next to you, watching as you poured his drink and handed it to him. As he was about to take a sip, his eyes narrowed. “Do you know something? I’m shocked you haven’t heard of us.”

“Why’s that?” you asked, glaring at him.

“Well, you’ve got the music taste of a forty-year-old man for starters.”

You choked on your wine. He was on to you. But now wasn’t the time to tell him you had spent the entire weekend researching his band. Or the shame you felt when you realised how big they were. Or that you had overlooked them this long. Or that you loved their work. “Maybe you’re just not that good,” you grinned.

Roger shrugged. “That’s just one woman’s opinion, I suppose.”

“I suppose it is.”

“I’m glad, actually.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re not into me because I’m a rockstar.”

“But it helps,” you admitted.

Roger smirked. “You’ve got a thing for musicians? Never would have guessed.”

“You could say that.”

“So why are you on Tinder?” Roger asked, turning side on to face you. “I’m assuming picking up handsome drummers ranks pretty highly.”

“Well,” you began, moving closer to him, “all I wanted was an easy lay if I'm honest.”

The corners of Roger’s mouth perked up into a devilish smile upon hearing those words. “You know, out of all the members of a band, drummers are definitely the easiest. Speaking from experience.”

Your stomach fluttered. But you just couldn’t stop yourself. You weren’t even drunk yet. “Are you?”

Roger’s face was dangerously close to your’s at this point, his nose was practically pressed against yours. “Don’t you want to know what I want?” he prodded.

“Not particularly. No.”

“I love a girl who knows what she wants,” Roger chuckled, drawing his calloused fingers along your jawline, tilting your face up ever so slightly. Roger wasted no time in replacing his fingers with his lips, pressing kisses along your jaw, before settling on your mouth. His hand was firm at the back of your neck, pulling you into him. 

You put up little resistance when things became heated, slinking over his lap to deepen the kiss. 

Roger’s hands squeezed at your thighs when your tongue slipped past his lips. He was feverish, needy, almost, in the way that he kneaded your flesh, letting out breathless gasps.

The feeling that things were moving too fast began to claw at your gut. Your movements slowed, eventually breaking away from Roger. 

“Are you ok?” he asked, sweeping a stray strand of hair behind your ears. His eyes moved across your features. They were loaded with concern.

More aware of the music playing in the background than before, you moved in time to the last few bars of ‘Downbound Train.’ “I’m fine,” you whispered.

Roger took your hand and kissed your palm. His eyes saddened, peeking through your fingers. “Are you sure?”

You didn’t respond. All you could do was take Roger’s hand as you scrambled to your feet. Leading him out into the centre of the living room, you pulled him into you, swaying along to ‘I’m On Fire.’ “Do you like dancing, Roger?”

Roger gave a quiet laugh and pressed his nose to yours. “Only if I have the right partner.”

You danced slowly, intimately, until Side A spun out, leaving the pair of you rocking aimlessly away in silence. Your face rested against his chest, revelling in his scent. His arms bound you to him, and his chin perched on top of your head. And for just a second, you thought you had died and gone to heaven.

“Tell me something,” Roger said, breaking the quiet calm. “Are you really just looking for an easy lay?”

You continued to dance in circles while you thought up a response. Your heart was beating frantically at the thought you might have been wrong about what you wanted. “I don’t know. Are you just looking for the odd dirty weekend at your villa?”

Roger’s chest rattled with a warm laugh. “Touché. Are you going to flip that record or are we gonna dance in silence all night?”

You groaned into his shirt at the thought. It was near impossible. As hard as you tried, you couldn’t quite bring yourself to move away from Roger. 

So he did it for you. He moved over to your record player and flipped the album over on to side B, while you got to work on refilling your glasses. “I love this song,” Roger said, nodding in approval. 

“Are you a big Springsteen fan?” you asked, handing his glass back to him. 

“Yeah, I mean I like the E-Street band more than the stuff he did on his own. But his songs just resonate a lot with me.”

“I’ll drink to that,” you said, raising your glass.

Your glasses clinked together. And then your brain decided to remind you that this was your first date. The nerves were back. For both of you. 

The quicker either of you set about drinking more, the faster any awkwardness between you could dissipate. Before you knew it, you were on your fifth glass. And you had worked your way through yet another of Springsteen’s albums, ‘Nebraska.’

You and Roger sat side by side giggling away on the couch, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. It had you conflicted, though. Not wanting to come on too strong, or be too intense. But you weren’t keen on being sidelined by Roger. He was handsome, witty and it was so easy for you to feel comfortable around him. You could see yourself being happy with him; you felt it in your gut that he was more than the easy lay you wanted. But there was so much you needed to know. Your mind raced. And your face sank.

Roger noticed and he softened his gaze, running his fingers through your hair.

“What exactly are you looking for, Roger?”

“Do you want me to be honest?” Roger slurred.

You nodded.

“You’re not going to like it.”

“Just tell me.”

“I hate being on my own. I don’t want it to be that way.”

“I get that.”

“Now what do you want?” Roger asked, jabbing his finger against your chest. “Really want.”

You rolled your eyes, knowing your motivations weren’t so different to his. “I hate being alone too,” you admitted, not being able to look at him. Instead, you stretched out your arms lazily. “Guess that makes us a pair of losers.”

Roger looked away, his eyes misting over. “Guess it does.”

Roger’s sudden, sullen demeanour had you desperate to change the subject. “So where is this villa of your’s and how dirty are we talking?”

“What villa?”

Your heart sank. “You said you had a villa.”

“I have more than one, but I like the one in Ibiza the best.”

Your mind became a hamster wheel, wondering just how rich Roger was. “You have more than one?”

Roger was nonchalant as he shrugged his shoulders and nodded. “I have the filthiest times in Ibiza, but I’m not averse to the one in LA. Especially in the winter. I hate the cold.”

“How filthy do I have to be for you to take me out there?” you joked.

Roger snorted. “I reckon I could turn you into an absolute whore.”

“Well that sounds like fun.”

“You look like you could use a holiday.”

[3/3]

Your phone wouldn’t stop buzzing as you waited patiently by the window. Pressing your knuckles to your lips, you paced, keeping your eyes trained on the street below. Roger would be here any minute now. A suitcase and a bag sat beside the door, containing everything you thought you needed for your trip.

It had taken you three days to make the decision. You lay in bed every night since Monday, wide awake, trying to suss him out. 

It was insanity at best, agreeing to it. But, you knew it wouldn’t exactly be a conventional romance anyway.

He made you laugh and put you at ease. And you would be lying if you claimed he didn’t make you smile exactly when you needed it. One particular remark - 'that villa’s where I keep all ten of my wives, chained up in the basement' - that was the kicker. It tipped the scales all the way to a resounding ‘yes’ from you.

‘Any time now,’ you repeated to yourself, trying to block out the racket of your phone. You had lost count of the number of frantic messages from your friends. All of them tried to dissuade you. But the backflips your stomach did when a strange, black Mercedes slipped into view told you everything you needed to know. 

Grabbing your handbag and your suitcase, you burst from your flat, trundling your brimming case noisily down the stairs. Your heart felt like it was working overtime as you flung open the front door. 

A chauffeur stood by the back door of the car as Roger fell out on to the street, beaming at you.

“There she is!” He stretched out his linen-clad arms, ushering you into a hug. He felt even softer and smelled even better than he did on Monday. He certainly hugged you tighter, propping his chin up on your head. “You all set?” he mumbled, kissing your hair.

“God, I’m so nervous," you squeaked.

Roger held you away from him. From underneath his dark tinted lenses, you could tell his eyes were darting over the windows of the flats behind you, searching for intrusive gazes and curtain pullers. Then his attention snapped back to you, a look of seriousness cloaking his features as he gripped your shoulders just a little bit tighter. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. It’s your trip, you can enjoy it however you want.” He paused, looking down. The corners of his mouth perking up. “And I’m a bit nervous too, actually.”

Shattering the moment into millions of tiny fragments, the chauffeur cleared his throat audibly. “I’ve just put your suitcase in the boot, Miss. We should be going soon.”

“Yeah, thanks Lewis,” Roger piped up. 

The pair of you bundled yourselves into the back seat. The saloon was cramped, unaided by you and Roger’s need to sit almost on top of each other. Both of you searched for something to say, but, over the week, you seemed to have covered everything in your texts and long-winded phone calls. From Queen’s creative differences in the studio to stakeholders messing you about at work with their half-baked briefs and their fake deadlines. You touched on it all. And now, you were wondering what else there was to say, as your knee constantly knocked against Roger’s.

Your thoughts turned to spending an entire flight in his company. How awkward that might be if you didn’t find something. And fast. 

Luckily, the townscape whizzed past you at breakneck speed. You had only spent the longest ten minutes of your life in the car beside him before it was navigating its way through the airport complex. A wave of relief loosened you up, seeing the ‘drop off’ sign straight ahead. But those hoped were dashed when the chauffeur bypassed it.

“I think you’ve missed the drop-off,” you said, leaning towards the driver.

“Oh, he never misses,” Roger smirked, focusing on the view from his window.

You sank back, furrowing your brow as the car pulled up to a security barrier. You couldn’t quite pick up on what Lewis was saying, but it was enough to grant him access.

Your jaw dropped as the car rounded the corner on to the tarmac. “How the hell are you able to do that?” you asked, turning to Roger. “What about security? Baggage-”

Roger laughed, placing his arm around you. “When you’re in one of the world’s biggest rock bands, normal airport procedure doesn’t really apply, darling. But if you’re shocked by this, wait until you see the plane.”

“The plane?”

Roger pointed to the small plan directly in front of the car. “That plane.”

Your eyes widened. “You own that?”

“Well, it’s chartered. It’s very nice inside, though. Comes with a couple of stewardesses.”

It turns out ‘nice’ was an understatement. Never in your life had you seen that level of classless opulence. Your eyes were on everything as Roger led you into the cabin. Every gold accent, every marble surface, every red leather seat. Complete with two blonde and beautiful stewardesses who handed you a glass of champagne each. It was jarring, tacky and screamed ‘money.’ 

You followed Roger to the middle of the aircraft, where he threw himself on to one of the sofas with a relieved groan, sprawling out like a starfish. You roamed towards the bathroom, swigging away at your champagne, your mind overloaded by the situation. You poked your head inside the obnoxiously pristine cubicle. Ryanair hadn’t a patch on this. You could throw an entire orgy in here, and still have room for a few more. There was even a bottle of lube and a bowl of condoms sat on the counter. You had a feeling people like Roger used the plane for just that. “You could easily join the mile high club in here,” you thought aloud. 

“Yeah, well I wouldn’t touch anything if I were you. Steven Tyler was in here last week. God knows what he gets up to.”

“Lovely,” you replied, sauntering back to Roger. 

“I’m glad you like it." Roger observed you throwing back the rest of your drink. “You look like you needed that.”

You simpered, not wanting to meet Roger’s line of sight. “I did. And I think I’m going to need more.”

“More’s definitely good,” he laughed.

Without him asking, one of the stewardesses brought over a bottle, bending down at the waist to present it to Roger. It granted you both an impressive view of her cleavage. But Roger was having none of it. “That’ll be everything, thank you, Claudia,” Roger said, taking the bottle from her, his attention still on you. 

Roger’s shirt was unbuttoned down to his chest, and your head had somehow found itself resting on his bare skin. You gazed up at him while he poured you both drinks and slipped your glass back into your hand.

Settling into a comfortable position as the plane took to the skies, Roger’s arm found its way around your shoulders and his lips littered kisses over your forehead between sips of his drink.

“You must be loaded,” you pondered. “How many years have Queen been going?”

“Well over twenty now, I think, why?”

“You must have seen a lot.”

“I’ve seen everything,” Roger chuckled. 

“Where’s your favourite place in the world?”

“Hm, that a tough one. I love Japan. It always has this amazing energy to it. It’s brimming with people, everywhere, but it still manages to have a lot of calm about it. And the food? God, it’s delicious. Could eat Japanese food all the time.”

You raised your eyebrows. “Never would have thought that about you.”

“I’ll take you out there someday, you’ll love it.”

“Bet the industry’s changed a lot from when you started out,” you mused, turning from your side to your back. 

Roger’s arm dropped around your waist. “You have no idea. It’s sort of soul destroying. All this streaming business," he began. You hung on his every word. "If people really knew how little we get from that, I hope they’d think twice and just buy a bloody album like they used to. I’ve seen a lot of good bands go under because they can’t afford to live.”

“And how have Queen lasted this long?”

“Because we’re not just ‘good.’ We’re more than that.” He sighed, draining another glass. “I’m glad we made our millions and constantly toured in those early days. Enough to outlast everyone else in the long run. Now, we can do what we like. God, I sound like I’m giving an interview.”

“I like hearing you ramble, by the way,” you encouraged. “Bet you’ve met some crazy ones though.”

“Some of them can be intense… yeah, but-”

“And you’re out there on Tinder for the world to see. Dating women half your age,” you jibed, sitting up straight. You turned around, looking at him. His cheeks were flushed as he nodded away, agreeing with everything that came out of your mouth. “How have you not ended up dead, yet?”

Roger batted his hand through the air. “No one pays any attention to the drummer. It’s that rotter, Freddie, everybody fawns over! And besides,” Roger paused, moving just inches away from your face, “You’re not planning to kill me, are you, darling?”

“How would you know?”

Something in Roger’s demeanour changed. His sleepy, half-lidded eyes turned glassy. Sinking in on himself, he looked away. “I’m a good judge of character. Or at least I hope I am, after everything.”

Unsure of whether your newfound courage was down to the champagne or the chip in Roger’s happy-go-lucky facade, you felt emboldened to ask. “Is this about the divorce?”

Sure, you had done your research. The internet was awash with gossip about his drawn out, acrimonious divorce from his wife of ten years. The vitriol. The scandal. But you wanted to hear his side of it.

Roger nodded.

Backing away, your hands fumbled in your lap. You crossed the line. Too much too soon. How could that possibly have been the case with you and Roger was anyone’s guess, but the silence that fell over you two had you eyeing the emergency exit, wondering if you could survive a 27,000-foot drop.

“Put some music on, will you, darling,” Roger said, taking your empty glass and refilling it. “Anything you like. Just plug your phone in.” He nodded towards a towering sound system at the back of the plane. 

You went over to it and pulled out your phone. You felt like an idiot, but you had already made a playlist loaded with songs that reminded you of him. All before your time. Your finger hovered over the shuffle button, deliberating whether to put it on. You gave in and hit the button, letting the first few bars of Moonage Daydream to pour from the speakers, making the cabin vibrate. 

“I love this song,” Roger said quietly.

You turned back to him, feeling the rush of nervousness in your chest, seeing the way he stared at you. Aided by the champagne, you began to dance. You could feel his gaze relishing every inch of you and the way you moved. The way you swept through the blistering rays that shone through the windows. The halo it created around you.

“Aren’t you going to dance with me?” you pouted, nearing the end of the track.

“I prefer watching you, darling,” Roger said, lowering his sunglasses over his eyes. 

“What if I put on something you’ll really like?” you pushed with another quick twirl.

“Try me.”

You went back over to the sound system and scrolled through the collection of songs, pressing play on the perfect number. You glanced over your shoulder at Roger’s reaction. 

“Cover Me?” Roger asked, raising his eyebrows. “I’m tempted.”

You shimmied over to him. 

His foot, tapped away. His fingers drummed against the back of the sofa. A smirk on his lips as he looked up at you. “You’re gonna have to make me.”

You accepted the challenge. 

In one fell swoop, you grabbed his shirt collar and hauled him to his feet, sending the remainder of its buttons popping free. 

Roger quietly stood in front of you, dying to break out in a fit of hysterics. He desperately wanted to move with you. Instead, he made you do all the work.

But that was how you wanted it to play out. You wanted to be in control. To tease. He was so strung out that even the feeling of your fingertips curling through the hair on his chest made his breathing hitch. You prowled around him, working the fabric down his arms, pressing into his shoulders. “You’re so tense,” you remarked. “Don’t tell me I got you all worked up this fast.”

“You should be so lucky,” Roger quipped, attempting to play it cool. Full circle, you stalked into view again. His expression flipped from a broad grin to a look of false seriousness. 

“That’s funny,” you began, pressing yourself into him, “because that cock of yours feels pretty hard to me. Did you like what you saw?”

Roger still wore a wicked smirk, trying to avoid eye contact. Instead, he concentrated on something over your shoulder, leaving you both in silence for a moment. 

Then, when you least expected it, he barged past you, seizing your hand on the way to the back of the plane. He dragged you all the way to the bathroom. Bundling you inside and slamming the door closed. 

Before you knew it, you were sandwiched between Roger and the counter.

His hands shook, fumbling with the buttons on your blouse, distracting himself with nipping at the sensitive skin on your neck. And taunting you. “So you like teasing me, Princess?” He murmured, yanking your shirt off.

Your fingers snaked into Roger’s hair, while your free hand took the opportunity to ghost over his cock through his jeans. “You’re easy to tease.” 

Your sass was short-lived; Roger had taken to pinching your nipples through your bra, in time to his lips marking you up. It made you throw yourself back against the mirror, granting him easier access to the rest of you.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” he murmured, moving lower over your chest. 

All you could do was tug your lower lip between your teeth, watching as he made his way down. Your bra was gone before you knew it, and his hands had already found their way to the zipper on your jeans. Roger kneeled down, lavishing your stomach with slow wet kisses, looking up at you through his lashes. His fingers clawed at your waistband, dragging them lower - your underwear with them - into a pool around your ankles. 

You could feel that need spreading through you like wildfire. You struggled, even just to breathe, driving your hips against Roger’s efforts. Your fingers laced into his hair. It was a feeble effort at leading him to where you really needed him.

Of course, Roger noticed, smiling to himself. He grasped at your thighs, causing you to falter. “I can’t wait to taste you, Princess. Would you like that?”

“Yes please,” you sang, clutching the edge of the counter for support.

“Hop up there. Let’s get a good look at you.”

Without missing a beat, you hauled yourself atop the freezing marble counter, lewdly presenting yourself. 

He seemed like all his Christmases had come at once. Like he wasn’t sure where to look, or even where to place his hands. They just skimmed, ponderously over your inner thighs, never quite going anywhere. 

“Are you going to keep gawping at it, Roger?”

That drew a response out of him. The realisation that he was required to actually do something, rather than admire you for hours. Not that he would have minded. “Right, boss,” he grinned. He settled between your legs, dragging his thumb over your slick, pink folds, savouring just how aroused you were. “So pretty,” he remarked, before leaning in.

One long, lazy lap of you was all it took for all your inhibitions to melt away. Those tense and taut muscles in every part of your body loosened, while Roger’s mouth devoured and savoured every dripping wet inch of you. And then an almighty shockwave hit you. Roger’s tongue circled your clit, stringing you out again, forcing a surprised moan from you.

Roger’s quiet chuckles reverberated through you like tiny aftershocks.

It had you wondering what his next trick was.

He was hellbent on making quick work of you, his tongue zeroing in on your sensitive little nub, making you writhe against him. Ratcheting up your pleasure until it felt like all your nerves were on fire. And then slipping a finger inside you. And then another. And another. Curling them in on themselves, like they were daring you to claw at Roger’s hair with just a little bit more aggression. Daring you to howl louder for him.

“You love having that tight little cunt of yours stretched, don’t you, Princess?” Roger taunted, moving back to look up at you, his chin glistening.

“Yes,” you sighed.

You could feel your orgasm beginning to build. You weren’t exactly in control of your body or the things that came out of your mouth. But the words that tumbled from them shocked you, urging him on. “Just like that, Daddy.” It was as if your body had been torn in half out of shame and pure ecstasy. 

Roger never said anything about it. In fact, you could practically feel him grinning as his mouth delved back down to finish what he had started. 

“Oh, god, Daddy, I’m so close.” There it was again. 

It raised nothing but a giggle from Roger.

Between that, his mouth and his fingers, you were teetering on the brink of something wonderful.

“Repeat it, Princess,” Roger urged, “tell me how good I make you feel.”

“Da-”

Before you could finish that sentence, you lost control, viciously trembling on Roger’s fingers. 

You still saw stars when you came to. Roger had flipped you over, leaving you face to face with your own reflection. He was fumbling away in the background with a condom wrapper. “That was amazing,” you panted, burying your face in your arms.

Roger ran his thumb over your slit again. “It’s not over yet, sweetheart.”

You swayed your hips in response, smirking over at him in the mirror.

“You want Daddy’s cock in you, Princess?” His expression was just as wicked. 

You nodded, still making eye contact with him.

But he taunted you. “I wanna hear you say it,” he said, drawing the tip of his cock through your folds, coating it until it was slick with your juices. 

“Please Daddy, I need your cock inside me,” you whined.

“I’m never gonna tire of hearing you say that, Princess,” he said, slipping into you. 

Roger was far thicker than you had anticipated, forcing a shocked groan from you as he stretched you to your limit. Of course, he was analysing you in the mirror, studying every small change in your expression. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” you sighed, nodding vigorously, “I think.”

“You want me to go slow?” Roger asked, rubbing the small of your back, gingerly sinking back and forth.

“No. God no.”

“That’s my girl,” Roger beamed, thrusting into you harder. “Tell me if it gets too much for you, Princess.”

It was already too much for you in the best way possible. The more pace Roger gathered, the more unsteady your legs felt. The more he threatened to hurl you over the edge again. 

There was nothing left to do but babble on about how incredible he felt. You couldn’t even look at yourself in the mirror. Desperate to hold on for just a little bit longer.

“You’re taking Daddy’s cock so well, Princess,” Roger growled in your ear. “And you look so beautiful.” One of his hands found its way to your hair, pulling you upright while his other arm  squeezed around your waist. He goaded you. “Look at yourself, Princess, look how good you’re being. Open those eyes.” Even just hearing him say those things sent a shiver through you. 

But actually opening your eyes, watching him fill you. Seeing your skin, damp with sweat all because of what he was doing to you. The way you writhed against his grasp, your chest bouncing with every merciless thrust. The sheer lust in his eyes, glancing at your reflection, as he continued to taunt and tease. 

“Touch yourself for me. Touch yourself, Princess.”

You did exactly as Roger told you, spinning hasty circles around your clit as that warmth built in your stomach again.

“How does Daddy make you feel?”

There it was again. Sending another searing spark through your body. “You make me feel so good, Daddy. Oh god, Daddy, it feels so full,” you whimpered, nearing the end of your rope.

“Are you gonna come on Daddy’s cock? Be a good girl and show Daddy how much you like it.” 

Every time he said it, it drove you closer. And he wasn’t far behind. Your bodies were pressed so tightly together that you could feel the rattle of his breath and every animalistic growl that escaped him, growing more and more ragged.

“Yes, Daddy.”

Your head spun; he plunged you into delirium. Unable to focus on anything else, you lurched forward over the counter as it hit you. And Roger.

When it all subsided, you turned around to face him. He was already half dressed; jeans on, his shirt dangling from his hand. Your chest still heaved, your muscles ablaze. 

But the look that Roger wore was something else. A complete one-eighty from moments ago. Soft, and warm, he pressed himself against you, glueing you to him. He draped his shirt over your shoulders, placing a series of kisses on your damp forehead.

“That was amazing,” you sighed, wrapping your arms around him. 

“I never knew you were that filthy,” he chuckled.

“Well, you did say you wanted dirty weekends at the villa,” you mocked.

“How are you feeling?”

“Exhausted.”

“If you wanna sleep it off, I won’t hold it against you.”

“Sounds like a good idea.”

“Right,” Roger began, unsticking himself from you and unlocking the door, “I’ll leave you to clean yourself up. My shirt looks good on you, by the way.”

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

The sound of waves crashing drew you back to consciousness. Rolling over onto your back, you enjoyed it for a moment. Your awareness sharpened. Your chest rose and fell steadily under a light layer of silk, and a gentle breeze filled the blank space around your body. The last you remembered was falling asleep in Roger’s arms. On the plane. In the air.

Your eyes shot open to find your reflection staring back at you. Sitting up, you took in more of the room. The vast, empty space in the bed. The impersonal feel of the dresser to your right, neither a book nor a photograph adorning it. The way the red curtains wafted into the room. You craned your neck forward, catching the view out of the open balcony doors to be met by a bright blue sea for miles ahead. But there was no one there. No Roger in sight. 

Panic seared through you as your legs dangled off the edge of the bed. 

You sighed and embarked on a journey down the hall. It was lined with gold and platinum discs from all of Queen’s albums and large prints of the band in action. Portraits of Roger and his bandmates looking much younger. ‘Like fine wine,’ you muttered to yourself, sauntering through to the staircase. It looked out on to a grand, marble reception area with huge, marble doors at the front. It was unlike anything you had ever seen or been inside, and certainly not what you expected from Roger when he talked about his favourite villa.

As you began to descend the stairs, something caught your attention. Music. Finally, some sign of life.

You followed the sound down the stairs and through the hall, into a rustic kitchen. Standing at the island, with his back to the door, was Roger. Clad in white shorts and a Hawaiian shirt, he shook his hips to the music, in time with the drinks mixer in his hand.

“This song sounds familiar,” you mused, causing him to jump.

Roger turned around, his glasses askew on his face. Realising it was you, his form softened. He beckoned you into a hug. “Did you sleep well, darling?” he asked, kissing the top of your head.

“I did, thank you,” you responded, beaming up at him.

Roger shook the mixer, filling the room with the shimmering sound of crushed ice. “I’m making margaritas,” he announced, “want one?”

“I’d love one,” you said, breaking away from Roger’s embrace. Hauling yourself up on to one of the wooden stools around the island, you watched as Roger poured the drinks, finishing them off with a twist of lime. He looked rather pleased with himself, sliding it across the counter to you. He watched, waiting with bated breath, as you lifted the glass to your lips. 

But then you paused, sitting it back down on the counter. “How did you get me in here while I was asleep?”

“I didn’t wanna wake you,” Roger shrugged. “Just asked the driver if he could give me a hand getting you in and out the car. You never stirred once,” he explained taking a sip of his own drink, nodding in approval. “Christ, that’s good. You must be the heaviest sleeper I’ve ever met. But you did nearly sink an entire bottle of fizz on your own so I won’t hold it against you.”

You laughed, taking a swig of your cocktail. “Good.”

Roger leaned over the counter, closer to you, smirking. “You know, the cleaning lady genuinely thought I’d snapped and brought a dead body back.”

That wasn’t the worst joke Roger had hit you with, but you had made a habit of hyping up the shock value in those little tidbits he shared with you, moving back in your seat, open-mouthed. “She didn’t?”

“Yeah. Guess what I said to her?”

“You told her you were getting laid tonight, didn’t you?” you said, slapping Roger’s arm.

He sunk his teeth into his lower lip, slowly nodding.

“Oh you sick fuck,” you scolded.

“I know you love it though.”

“That’s debatable,” you quipped, taking another sip. “I love this album. I feel like I’ve heard these songs before. What is it?”

“It’s 1989 by Ryan Adams.”

You slammed down your glass and slapped the counter. “That’s where I’ve heard this before! These are Taylor Swift songs!”

Roger narrowed his eyes. “No, they’re not.”

A mocking tone took hold of your voice. With your hands on your hips, you sat up straight. “Uh, yes they are!”

“She can’t bloody write songs like this,” Roger said, rolling his eyes. “This guy, though? Genius.”

“She wrote those songs. And, he’s a known sex pest, Roger,” you explained. “Come to think of it, that’s probably why you like him, right?”

“That’s a low blow,” Roger said, sliding his phone into his eye line. “So if I’m right about him writing these songs, what do I get?”

“A kick up the arse.”

“You make that sound like it’s a bad thing, darling.”

“And if you’re wrong, you have to take me to all the villas you own. I quite like this one but I’m dying to see what the others-”

“You’re right.”

“What?”

“She did write those songs,” he said, showing you the Wikipedia entry. “You’re right.”

“Told you.”

“Well, short of going to the other villas, what are your plans for the rest of the day, darling?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you sighed, “what do you want to do?”

“It’s your holiday.”

“Honestly, I just want to get out of these clothes and chill out for a bit. I’m exhausted. Maybe you could show me around tomorrow?”

“We could go for a nice drive around the island if you want? Get some nice food, soak up a bit of sun.”

“Sounds good!”

“And just now, why don’t we take the margaritas upstairs and have a nice long soak?”

Like a pair of giddy teenagers, you and Roger raced each other up the marble staircase, and back into the master bedroom. You beat him, of course, and stood aimlessly in the doorway, wondering which door on the wall led to the bathroom. You hadn’t thought to find it when you woke up.

Eventually, Roger caught up. “It’s the first one, darling. But you missed the bigger bathroom, at the top of the stairs,” he explained, taking your hand and leading you back along the hallway. “We’ll never fit in that tiny little shower cubicle in my room.”

“Well I think you need a bigger shower,” you quipped. But you were quickly silenced by the sight of the free-standing tub in the master bathroom. Completely marble, again, with gold accents. You could easily fit an entire football team in it. But what struck you most was the view. The glass of the window stretched from floor to ceiling, providing you with a clear view of the sea and the beach below.

“Why would I get a bigger shower when I could have all ten of my wives in this?” Roger joked, sitting the margarita jug and glasses on the counter opposite the bath. 

“Don’t you get worried people might see you?”

“Why would I get worried? It should be a bloody treat for them.”

You waited patiently as Roger poured bubbles and bath salts into the tub. Awkwardly thumbing at the collar of your shirt, you wondered where this was going. If this was going to be anything like the situation on the plane. You weren’t exactly feeling flirtatious anymore. You suddenly felt gross. Unsexy. As Roger began to shed his shirt and shorts. Finally his underwear. Your hands shook as you did the same. 

“What’s the matter, darling?” Roger asked with one foot in the bath.

“What?” You asked. “Nothing.”

“Your face is like fizz. You sure you’re alright?” 

You laughed. “Guess I’m not as bold when I’m sober.”

Roger sank down beneath the bubbles and peered over the top at you. “For what it’s worth, I’m pretty sloshed. You could look like Elton John right now, and I’d still adore you.”

“You’re not helping,” you said, tugging off your jeans.

Roger watched you, utterly spellbound as you climbed in beside him. “You’re right, I just wanted to get you naked again. What can I do to help?”

You looked at him with one eyebrow raised. It wasn’t as easy as that, but you had to commend his desire to try. “I don’t know. I’m still really nervous,” you shrugged, allowing the warm water to soothe your weary bones.

He studied you. The way his eyes darted over your features, memorising every detail, told you he was deep in thought. Wondering what he could do to put you at ease. But you could tell he felt defeated. 

“This is all new to me too,” he sighed.

“You’re far better at this than I am. Waking up here, I had one of those ‘what the fuck am I doing?’ moments. I’m here. In a villa. On an island. With a man that I only met at the start of the week. And he’s far older than I’d ever usually go for.”

Roger’s shoulders sank. His eyes did the same, focusing on the margarita in his hand. “I don’t want you to think I’m some manipulative, perverted old man. I’m sorry if I’ve given you that impression.”

Roger was on the wrong track. You shimmied over to him and ran your fingers over his jaw. “Never! That’s the thing. I like you. This is the most terrifying thing I’ve ever done, and here I am, too stuck inside my own head to enjoy it.”

He keened into your touch for a moment, enjoying the contact. “That’s good,” he began, taking your hand and pressing your knuckles to his lips, looking at you with those glassy blue eyes of his. “Because I like you a lot.”

That was it. That was all he had to do to make you melt and throw yourself into his arms. You could think of worse ways to spend your evening, than watching the sun go down, in the biggest bathtub you had ever seen, with a handsome, filthy rich rockstar playing with your hair. “It’s just gonna take a bit of getting used to. Nothing serious.”

>>NEXT PARTS>>

[ramblinganthropologist]

N7 Challenge Month - 7 (Free Day)

Summary: Normally, the first yead med school class at Johns Hopkins has a demonstration from a biotic to understand the system. Problem is, he can’t make it. Luckily, they can rely on their quiet an unassuming classmate to help them out of a tight spot. Did I mention that classmate used to be Commander Shepard? 

---

-Brain fuckers group chat-

John: Ugh, bad news.

Al: ?

John: Biotic Bob can't make it for the demonstration Monday. Looks like we're having a lecture instead.

Al: Oh? That sucks.

John: Yeah I did not want to listen to Dr. Yamada again. Ugh... too bad all the biotics are military, right?

---

“Please tell me you brought coffee...”

“No, I thought we were having that demonstration.”

The 1st year class of John Hopkins was not in the happiest mood that Monday morning as they sidled into their normal 8 AM lecture. It was the middle of the semester, so that was to be expected. The reality of the next four years had settled in at last; the only thing waiting for them was more classes, labs, and eventual clinicals. To do it without coffee was suicidal.

And now, they didn't even have the biotic demonstration to liven things up.

That was somewhat of a recent addition to the curriculum. After all, biotics were less than 50 year development in human biology. Most of the times, cases presented as children with tumors or the rare adult who had been discharged from the military. Any others were handled by Alliance doctors, so it wasn't like med students got much to study from. Even their school had to face that.

Still, it was a disappointment they had to live with. It wasn't like they could make a biotic appear.

“Hey, anyone seen Al? He never misses class.”

A quick glance around showed none of the class' oldest student. Al as he introduced himself was hard to miss: his bright red hair drew the eye, as did his scars and artificial parts. He had been in the military before this, or at least that was what he had told them when they had asked. From his less than forthcoming replies, it was clear he didn't want to talk about it. Since he was a nice guy, they had left the matter drop.

Besides, trying to picture the long-haired Irishman in uniform was impossible. You got a headache trying to do it.

“Maybe it's his headaches again.”

“Poor guy, he's been getting those a lot lately. He missed our study session last week because of one. Hope it's nothing from...”

The conversation died soon after that. Even though it had been almost half a decade since the Reaper war, people didn't like to bring them up. Too many had lost loved ones or seen the destruction first hand. Hell, it was probably why most of them had gone to med school in the first place. Doctors had been at an all time need during the war, and after there was a dire need for replacing the ones lost. There would always be that reminder there, like a scar that wasn't finished healing. Maybe it never would.

But... that didn't matter. They had a lecture to sit through. Becoming melancholy saps could wait until after their brains had all been fried.

Right on the dot, as 8 AM hit Dr. Yamada entered the room. However, the small woman was smiling as she surveyed the class. There was a glint in her eye that made them worry about a pop quiz, but then they relaxed. She didn't have scantrons.

“Good morning, everyone. You're in luck, we found a replacement for our usual demonstration of the biotic system in action. If you wouldn't mind going outside, our guest is waiting for us.”

The mood improved immediately as students packed up their notebooks and stuffed them back into bags. Within a minute, the lecture room emptied as they followed their teacher out. Outside, it was a beautiful day as the leaves were really starting to change color. Their goal was an empty field not too far from class.

A giant of a woman was standing there ,wearing nothing but a tank top and some pants. Her muscular arms bore the scars of military service, which contrasted greatly with her bright pink hair and glowing red eyes. Most knew her immediately – retired Commander Bo Peep Shepard, humanity's second Spectre. Thanks to her, they were able to have class and, you know, be alive in general. She was standing there, arms crossed over her chest.

“Remember, you owe me lunch for this. There's still Burger Man's on this world last I checked.”

She was speaking to someone on the other side of the field. A general murmur picked up as they realized who was standing there. Honestly, it was a surprise they hadn't noticed them first. Then again, Al usually wore a hoodie when he was in class.

“I know, I won't forget.” Al was wearing just a t-shirt and loose shorts as he stretched. Much to their surprise... the little guy was actually pretty strong looking. He must've been hiding those biceps under his loose hoodies. That wasn't the only thing hiding either -  his prosthetics were in full view, gleaming in the light. With his hair pulled back, those behind him saw both his scars and the embedded metal they had studied in textbooks. It was the very picture of the standard Alliance L7 biotic amp – which meant their classmate was packing some serious brain heat. “Thanks for helping out.”

Commander Bo smirked as she shrugged. She too had a biotic amp, though hers was a bit more visible. “What can I say, you sounded so fucking desperate on the phone and I was near Earth anyway. Now, are we doing this or what? I'm hungry.”

Both turned towards Dr. Yamada, who seemed pleased by her ability to get such an entertaining class. Most of the class had fallen silent as they kept trying to figure out on who to focus on first. After all, it wasn't every day they had such a high powered biotic in their midst. They had seen Bo plenty of times on the vids, tearing reaper husks apart as she blasted her way through the battlefield. Al... well, he was always in class with coffee and chipper encouragement that they could get through the hell that was their first year.

Now... he was fucking biotic apparently!

“I would like to introduce our guest today. Commander-”

Bo interjected. “Retired, doc.”

“Yes, forgive me. Retired Commander Bo Peep Shepard agreed to help us out.” She nodded to the redhead on the other side of the field. “You of course all know your classmate. Al arranged this for us when our previous presenter had to drop out, so make sure to thank him later.”

He answered with a somewhat awkward smile as he rubbed the back of his neck. He often did that, but now they knew why – he was touching the spot where his amp had been embedded into his neck. Now most of them realized they had never seen him with his hair up before. Maybe this was why?

“It's a lot easier to understand biotics when you can see it in action.”

Yamada nodded, pleased. “Indeed, it is. I learn something new every time we hold this demonstration. Now, could you explain what you're going to do?”

Al nodded as he approached the class briefly. His posture shifted as he did, falling into a form that reminded most of other vids they had seen in years prior. Bo, after all, was the second human Spectre the Council had appointed in 2183. Another had stood with her, almost dwarfed by her size. The other Commander, the one who had commanded the famous Normandy. The man who had died, come back, and beaten the Reapers in the desperate days of 2186.

Retired Commander Alistair Shepard: a biotic, a medic, and their classmate.

“Well, we're going to go through some of the basic biotic moves.” his voice projected in a way it never had. It sounded like a post puberty version of one they had all heard on his appointment vid. “Bo's focused on on melee offense, whereas my specialty is more in defense. I would advise everyone to step back a bit more. We uh...”

Bo finished for him. “It's been a while since we've gotten to crack each other's skulls.”

Much to the class's surprise, Al laughed. “I don't know if we're going to crack any skulls, but it's been some time since we've gotten to practice with each other. Though, it has been a while since I've used my biotics, so I have a pretty strong charge to work off...”

Biotics had been mentioned in previous lectures when they had gone over the nervous system. Those who had better memory recalled the nodules, how they interacted with the brain's electronic impulses and the implanted amps that augmented their training. The class was supposed to be going over both the perfected system and all the side-effects that failed cases would be presenting with that week if the schedule was right. This demonstration usually served to help them understand how the human system responded to the training and implantation.

And... well, the cases were swelling post war. Eezo exposure had been on the rise ever since the final days of the battle for Earth. A lot of ships and Reapers had fallen after the battle, so it was no surprise they were seeing more biotic children.

So, now they got to watch two adults kick each other all over a field. You know, for educational purposes and all.

“A good idea. “Yamada motioned them back, behind a line someone had drawn in the field in chalk. “You can begin when ready.”

Al and Commander Bo both took their positions on the other side of the field. They breathed, and then a hum of energy filled the area with static that made people's teeth itch. Both of their eyes started to glow as they powered up, bringing up dust with them. Then a glowing blue wall erected around Al as he held out his hands.

“This is called a barrier. It's a basic biotic ability that allows for defense from physical attacks.”

Al was still speaking, projecting his voice as he held out his hands. He was bracing for something that soon became obvious. Bo had charge forward, a red field crackling around her head. There was a loud thud as she collided, head first, with the wall. Energy filled the field as their energies battled against each other, and sparks flew.

“Bo is using a technique she improvised from a krogan battlemaster named Urdnot Wr-”

He had to stop talking. She was applying more pressure, seeking a way to break his barrier. However, he let it down instead and used a smaller field to jump over her massive frame. She whirled around as he landed on the other side, not letting him rest.

“Improvised? This is shit I figured out on Omega!”

Al, despite the onslaught, laughed as he blocked and dodged. “My mistake, Bo's technique is a human reaction to krogan underground wrestlers trying take her title!”

“They still haven't, but they love trying!”

They clashed again, this time with Bo's hands glowing. Al responded with a wave of energy from his hands that he threw out. The textbook called hers Pull, while his most resembled Shockwave. Both sent out crackles of energy in red and blue that sent hair raising. In the center of this storm, the two participants were too focused on beating the shit out of each other to realize that a crowd was beginning to gather. Other students and various passers-by were stopping to watch, and more than a few omni-tools were recording.

This was definitely going on the extranet later. It wasn't every day you saw biotics sparring out of uniform.

“Your attacks feel different, is that because you're on T now?”

“Yeah, they're a lot stronger now. I had to relearn how to use Warp because of it, it kept going wild and I almost took a window out last time I tried.”

Despite their high level of activity, the pair were still able to talk to each other. Granted, it was more like shouting due to their adrenaline levels pumping, but they were definitely having a conversation as they tried to beat the shit out of each other. Maybe that was something they had developed on the Normandy or any of the galaxy saving missions they had been on together.

Or maybe it was just sibling banter. Who knew with biotics.

Al shifted at one point, and then it was Bo on the defensive. Unlike her opponent, she didn't use a full barrier. Instead, she shifted it to smaller fields wherever he tried to attack.  After all, she was the offensive master.

“Someone's been working out, your attacks are actually starting to sting a little.” And then she threw out a sudden wave of energy and he was back on defense. “Whoops, you got cocky there didn't you? Why don't you save the preening for the next dirty pics for Scars?”

His answer came with a shimmering wave of energy  - the aforementioned Warp. It made Bo back up to get out of range of the damage. Then she had to block a pretty vicious looking kick that came when Al dropped low. That definitely would've bruised her thighs had it landed.

“Get it straight, he's the one sending dirty pics not me.”

Bo whistled as she dodged. There was a conversation between them,built up on history, that most of them were missing. All that mattered was that two incredibly strong biotics were currently trying to beat the shit out of each other and they were getting to see it first hand. This was the kind of thing none of them ever got to see.

And maybe because of that, the comment about dirty pics and Commander Shepard went over their heads a little.

Al's hand was glowing as he lunged forward. To the more experienced, it could have been a warp or shockwave. With how fast he was going it was hard to tell. “So, how's my favorite sister in law to be doing?”

Bo blocked and sent him jumping back when she swung down with her fists glowing as well. Hers looked more like warp. “Still the best admiral the Fleet has. Well, not much of a fleet since they got Rannoch back and all, but you get what I mean.”

“Your house there looks great, by the way. We getting an invite any time soon?” Al laughed as he dodged, ducking lower than where Bo's fist could have reached due to her height. He was enjoying himself – they had never seen him smile like that in class. Even though he was breathing hard and his cheeks were red, there was no way to deny the fact he was having fun.

Weird, that fun for him involved nearly getting the shit beat out of him. Marines were weird, even the retired ones.

“She said something about winter break, so maybe.” Bo swung hard again. “Ugh, I'm getting bored. Let's just finish this shit before it winds up on the extranet. I think you've had enough of a workout to keep your amp happy.”

Al nodded as he flipped back with surprising grace for someone missing half his limbs. “Sounds good to me. Hope you're ready to bring it.”

“Hey, that's my line.” Her head was glowing as she reared back. “Let's see if you can handle what the last three challengers couldn't!

And then they charged, with the space between them suddenly feeling very heavy. The effect was coming from Al – he had launched a singularity just as Bo struck hard with her forehead. The two forces collided in the center, energies bouncing off each other as the explosion began. However, before it could spread, everything was stopped by a wall of shimmering blue force that kept the whole campus from exploding.

Well... that was a way to end it.

When the energy cleared, both of them were laying on the ground, breathing hard. Bo's forehead was bruised, and Al's hands looked a little sore. Despite that, they both looked pretty happy as they sat up, sweating like pigs.

“I needed that.”

“That makes two of us.” Bo got up first, holding out her hand. Al was soon back on his feet, barely coming up to her shoulder. “Your singularity stings like crazy, by the way.”

Al was grinning as the professor walked back over to take back the class. “I've been working on it.”

Just like that, the demonstration was over and they were heading back inside. The crowd was starting to dissipate, their phones full of images of two Spectres going at it. Nobody was going to forget that anytime soon, least of all the class of first year med students.

After all, it wasn't every day they learned their classmate had pretty much saved the galaxy before he was 40. Though, maybe it was more they had forgotten about it... they wouldn't be doing that anytime soon, thank you very much.

---

“I can't believe I missed that!”

“Well, lucky for you the video is everywhere. It's gone viral!”

Tuesday came with a buzz of activity as the first year med school class waited for their lecture to begin. Most of them had their phones or omni-tools out, watching the different angles of the very fight they had witnessed the day before. To say it had gotten popular was... putting it mildly.

Also people were seriously thirsty for both Shepards. Like calm down, they were both taken.

“I don't see Al, do you think he's out sick with a headache or something?”

His seat was empty. Maybe overdoing it with his biotics had caused a migraine or something. They were learning about that in class – something about the amp overheating and causing feedback. It didn't quite make sense yet, but they were still working on the biotic system. In time, they would come to understand it.

Luckily for them, the class didn't have to wait long. A side door opened, and someone slipped through with the trained calm of someone who had done it way too many times. Al sighed in relief as he closed the door behind him with his foot, already heading over to his seat.

“Morning, everyone. Man, it is crazy out there.”

He took his seat like he did every day, coffee in hand and a neon pink bandage over his cheek and nose. There was also a band-aid with cartoon cat paws covering a few fingers, and he had a few bruises to match that. It didn't take a genius to figure out where it had come from, but... it hadn't looked that bad the day before.

Al smiled at their looks as he waved it off with his bandaged hand. “I might have overdid it with the biotics yesterday, but I'm fine. Besides, we should probably be more worried about class. I think we've got a pop quiz coming if the look on Dr. Yamada's face was anything to go by when I passed her earlier.”

The whole room groaned as notes were grabbed for frantically. They could worry about that later – her pop quizzes were hell on earth. Besides, their biotic classmate who had more or less saved their collective asses would still be there, suffering with them through the worst of med school. In a weird way, that was a comfort.

But, seriously. No wonder he was so calm in class – the guy had shot a fucking Reaper in the face and lived to talk about it.

[pottercrew]

Locked Room pt2

Hey so I may have really liked the premise I wrote for the locked room drabble and also the feedback I got, so here is the second part/ end!! 

For @strictly-drarry @crash1012 @rose-grangerweasleyisbae who asked for more and loved the first one, you guys helped give me motivation to write this <3

@wolfstar-matriarch it’s not a long fic but I hope this will suffice :) 

The songs I listened to while writing this: 

Mother Tongue: Bring Me The Horizon 

Fresh Bruises: Bring Me The Horizon

Words Don’t Come So Easily: Lower Than Atlantis

Harry snarled in frustration as his toe slammed against his kitchen table leg, making his fingers fly from the tie they were undoing to the table top, supporting him. 

“Fucking shit” The day hadn’t improved since his attack this morning. He had had to stop a fight between two auror trainees just to get a hex to the face and spend all of his lunch break in the infirmary getting checked out far too long by an obviously flirtatious witch. Then, when he had finally made it back to his office; it had been to walk in on his desk full of incident reports and unfinished paperwork. 

The floos had been packed on the way out and even when he went out the back to apparate, apparently there had been some kind of dangerous potion spill there that rendered the exit useless. He had to wait in line for the floos for half an hour before he managed to get home, and now here he was big toe throbbing, tie half undone and one sock missing. 

It didn’t help that Malfoy’s words from earlier had been floating around in his head all day, bringing up memories that he only let himself indulge in under the cover of darkness and in his bed. Fucking Malfoy. 

He draped his tie over the back of the closest kitchen chair and checked his toe, nothing broken but fuck it hurt. Harry just hoped the bad luck he seemed to be having today was over. 

He filled the kettle up and flicked it on, sighing and leaning against the counter, he pulled out his phone and flicked through his messages. Ron wanted to meet up tomorrow night for dinner and he fired a quick affirmation in response. Hermione had asked him if he was okay, no doubt hearing about his attack from Malfoy as they worked together. 

Hermione had been the only one out of both his and Malfoy’s friends to think that them hooking up was not a bad idea. Which, to be honest, he found strange, after knowing her for half his life this was the first time she had been alright with something that everyone else was not. Maybe it was because they worked together? He didn’t know, but they had stopped fucking around to try and keep everyone else happy which was pissing Harry off. 

They were both grown up enough to keep their messes out of social nights and out of their friend groups. He supposed everyone worried that if it went wrong, their new found friendships would be at risk. However, when he had brought it up to Malfoy one night after dinner, he had gotten his answer. Malfoy, Draco then, had just sat there staring at him, a resgined look on his face, a look that Harry couldn’t forget. It churned his stomach whenever it resurfaced, the look of hurt and shock. He had been weird for the past three days, only talking to Harry when he had to and trying to bail out of their time together. It had made the choice easier, he supposed, to just be friends, maybe his friends had been right. But what he did know was that their friendship wasn’t the same as it had been before. There was a barrier there now, like someone had put a pane of glass between the two of them that they couldn’t get around. 

The kettle clicked off and Harry made himself a tea and sat down at his table, before replying to Herminoie and telling her he was fine. He loved her and appreciated her concern but sometimes he wanted to not make a big deal of things and move on. Not everything needed a conversation and a full break down. 

It was as he was sipping his tea that he saw a Whatsapp from Malfoy pop up on the top of his screen. He couldn’t see what it was about as he had had to disable that feature due to the snoops that worked at his office. He had learnt pretty quickly that just keeping his phone faced down was not enough to stop people from finding out what was going on in his private life. Hell, just remembering the way his sexuality had been plastered all over the newspapers had him twitiching nervously every time Malfoy text him. 

He was anxious to find out what Malfoy had messaged him about. They never messaged anymore. They used to when one of them was pent up and needed someone to distract them, but since that stopped they had no need to message each other. 

He tapped on the notification and felt his brows raise in surprise. 

Get a decent bottle of wine Potter, I’m coming round at 8. 

Who the fuck did Malfoy think he was? And Harry was pissed off at himself that he was slightly turned on by it. He stared at the message, a flutter of hope blooming in is chest, before tapping out a reply. 

Already have some, Indian sound good?

He already knew the answer and ordered what he knew Malfoy loved and something for him. 

Do you know me or not? 

Harry rolled his eyes and didn’t bother replying and got up to get ready. He was tempted to stay in the shower longer, but the thought of the food turning up when he was fantasising about Malfoy wasn’t a good look. 

He pulled on his grey lounge pants that he knew fitted his arse just right and a tight t-shirt, yeah, they probably weren’t going to do anything tonight but that didn’t mean Harry couldn’t make Malfoy regret it. He had missed him, had missed the time they spent together. Yeah, a majority of that had been spent exploring each others bodies but more came with that. The nights they spent calming the other down after a nightmare had torn them from sleep, or the numerous attacks Harry had went through every time it got dark. Conversations were had, stories told and secrets spoken. But their friends didn’t see that, didn’t hear the words that they spoke to each other as the sun set. There was not a day that went past that he wouldn’t be mad at them for it, he thought.

The food turned up and he set up his small table for two. He had been nervous at first, to move out of Grimmauld place, but this two bedroom townhouse had called to him like no place had. It was just the right size to not feel closed in while still being cosy. It reminded him so much of Hogwarts with its high ceilings and stone decorative walls in the kitchen and living room. Malfoy had held him a surprise moving in party, and when everyone was gone he had made sure Harry would have something to remember in every room he went in. 

He opened the bottle of red to let it breathe and checked his phone again, artfully dodging Hermionie’s question about what he was doing tonight by asking her if she had made any progress on her white paper about the treatment of ethnic minorities in the ministry. He did care about it, in fact, he had helped her write half of it, what being half Indian and all, but it was just a plus that he could use it as a way to avoid suspicion. 

He heard the floo flare and perched himself on the kitchen counter, wine glass in hand, trying to look like he was nonchalantly scrolling through his phone and not waiting for Malfoy to turn up. 

His grip tightened on the stem of his wine glass as Malfoy walked in wearing the jeans and sweater he had the first time they had fucked. Harry didn’t know why he remembered a detail like that, but his body certainly did. 

“Hello Potter, honestly, I feel so welcome with you staring at your phone” 

“You know where everything is” Harry shrugged and slid off the counter, acting like he didn’t notice the way Malfoy’s eyes roved over his body as he did so. He sat in his chair and Malfoy did the same, unwrapping his food and dumping it on his plate. 

“Thanks for dinner Potter” 

“Not like I had much of a say” Harry snorted, pouring Malfoy a glass. 

“You could have just locked your floo” Malfoy said with a shrug

“And have you hex me Monday at work? No thanks”

Malfoy just smiled at him and took a deep drink, eyebrows raising at the taste. “This one’s actually good Potter, I’m surprised” 

“I did learn some things from the time we spent together Malfoy” Harry rolled his eyes and took a drink himself. Malfoy’s face fell to an unreadable look and Harry shifted as he felt the shift of mood in the room. 

“What else did you learn?” 

“You know exactly what I learnt Draco” Shit, it slipped out and Harry wished he could take it back. 

“So it’s Draco in the comfort of your house is it Potter?” The venom in Malfoy’s voice made him wince but anger flared hot in his chest. 

“You didn’t try and stop it from ending Malfoy so don’t pin this on me” 

Malfoy sat back in his chair, jaw clenched. “Fuck you, Potter, like anyone can argue against you. It was obvious you wanted to end it so why would I put myself through just proving it” 

Harry stared at him, thoughts unable to connect in his head “W-what?” 

“You heard me, Potter” 

“You-you didn’t want to end it?” 

“Of course I fucking didn’t” Malfoy snapped. “But I didn’t want to hear your shitty excuses for ending it, I learnt long ago that it’s better not to hear why someone doesn’t want you anymore” 

“I did want you!” Harry shouted, breathing coming ragged now “How could you think I didn’t want you? All of the things we did together, all of the things we went through together? You really think I wanted to end that. But when I brought it up, that Ron and Blaise had told me it would be best, I wanted a discussion! But the silence you gave me showed me nothing, I had to make a decision on my own. You gave me nothing to work with Draco, nothing in those last days to make me think you wanted me as fully as I wanted you” 

Malfoy stood up suddenly “Fuck you, Potter, you gave me no choice! No time to say anything, to prove anything, you just made your mind up on your own and went through it all on your own! You always do! When are you going to stop taking the burden for everything! So our friends were nervous? So they didn’t like what we were doing? SO FUCKING WHAT! It’s not their life, it wasn’t their relationship. We were doing perfectly fine without them interfering, but I knew, as soon as Weasley and Blaise spoke to you that it would end what we had. You take their opinions too closely to heart, care about what they think about you too fucking much. I know, I know why you do it Potter but it doesn’t mean it’s right” 

Harry couldn’t respond, he knew he should but he couldn’t, he knew Draco was right, but it didn’t make it any easier. 

Malfoy looked at him, and Harry could see the anger fading from him. He waved his hand and his food put itself back in the container it came in and plopped itself back in the white carrier bag. He turned back to Harry. 

“Harry, I’m not blaming you for this, but I don’t think...you need time to think, so do I, just, owl me when you’ve made your mind up okay?” He came close, and Harry felt warm lips brush his cheek. “Please, don’t blame yourself, just think, we both need time to” He pulled back and Harry could see a faint sadness in his eyes like he knew the answer Harry was going to give would e the same as last time. 

“Thank you, for the food” And then he was gone, in a flash of green and smoke and Harry was left to mourn what should have been a great evening. 

It was two weeks later when Harry finally worked up the courage to owl Malfoy. Two long and lonely weeks where he had isolated himself from his friends to figure out what he truly wanted. Not what his friends wanted him to want, nor the public, the ministry or what he thought people wanted him to want. No, he had made himself question everything, look deeply into his relationships and ask himself what he wanted from them. And one answer came to him every time. 

Draco, he waned Draco. Not Malfoy, not someone who he had to hold himself back with. No, he wanted the blonde prick who held his hand in the cinema when the lights went low and rubbed his thumb across his wrist. Who used wrapped himself around him not matter the temperature at night. Who Harry had comforted and held when he had shown Harry his scars for the first time. Draco who had sounded so small talking about the mark on his wrist and how he had tried to tear it off. Draco who had asked Harry to help him understand the muggle world better. 

Draco, he wanted Draco. 

So he picked up a pen and wrote it down, wrote down everything Draco and him had shared when they were together. Wrote how at home he had felt whenever he’d floo or apparate into his house and find Draco there, looking at ease and like he belonged there. Wrote about the fantasies he had about Draco moving in with him, sharing everything and growing old together. 

He held the letter in his hand, flipping it over and over, thumb sliding over his wax seal every time and picturing Draco opening it. He was scared, scared that Draco had come to a different decision, sacred that he agreed with their friends and thought it would be better for them to remain so.

It took a sharp peck form his hired owl to force his hand and he quickly tied it and gave the owl Draco’s address. He felt his heart leap the same time the owl did from his window.

 It was up to Draco now. 

Harry looked to the window of his office for what felt like the hundredth time that hour. He hadn’t heard anything back. Normally, Draco would respond within the hour, or at least, he used to. 

Harry felt his stomach knot at the thought. Maybe he had come to a different decision. It wasn’t like Harry would blame him if he did. Harry knew he came with a lot of shit and being his friend meant that he wouldn’t have to deal with all of it. 

He sighed and stood from his chair, stretching his arms up and sighing in relief as the pain from hunching over paperwork shifted and dispersed for the time being. He was glad he had called into work sick today and worked from home, it meant that he could take a break whenever he wanted. Of course, it also meant staring out of the window for Draco’s owl but he wasn’t thinking about that. 

It was a Monday, Draco always had Monday’s off, somehow, Harry had never asked why. So he hoped he had been right in sending the owl to Draco’s apartment and that Draco wasn’t out somewhere, or with someone. 

Harry went down to his kitchen, craving a cup of tea and he scrolled through his phone while the kettle boiled. Hermione had introduced the whole Weasley family to the internet and Harry found himself snorting every time one of their Instagram posts popped up. Ginny had clicked with it straight away, becoming instantly fluent with every app on her phone. Ron still needed some help now and again, especially with the hashtags. But Arthur’s were by far the funniest to scroll past. He had a running series of how many places he could put his rubber duck. It was actually quite popular and Arthur had himself a large following, all excited to see where he’d put it next. Harry’s favourite had been on top of Molly’s face while she had been sleeping, while Crockshanks had been poised in the background ready to strike. Arthur had to stop round Harry’s for a few nights after that. Not that Harry blamed Molly, he’d be pretty pissed off too. 

He sat down with his steaming mug and put his phone down, leaning back in the creaky pine chair. He couldn’t get Draco out of his head, and had a moment of annoyance as he realised this was exactly what happened the last night Draco was here.

Draco was a fucking wanker...But Harry liked him anyway. 

He purposely kept his eyes away from every window as he went about the rest of his day. He moved his desk to face away from his office window, closed all the curtains in the house when he had finished all his work and put the TV on. 

As he got into bed he got into the opposite side he normally did, back to the windows in his bedroom, facing the door. He was restless but he wouldn’t be some stupid love sick fool staring for an owl he wasn’t certain would come. He pulled the blanket up higher over his shoulders and buried himself into his pillow, mouthing the words to the most recent song he had heard on blasting out of a car driving past to distract himself. 

He didn’t remember falling asleep. 

Harry was in a horrid mood the next day, and luck must have been smiling down on him as everyone else realised it too, giving him a wide berth throughout the ministry halls and nobody knocked on his door the whole morning. 

That was, until Draco came bursting into his office, locking the door behind him and spinning around staring at Harry, who had been signing an important transfer document that now was in serious need of a clean. 

“You’re supposed to knock” He said, not looking up from the smudged paper. 

Draco was silent but Harry still didn’t look up, he wouldn’t give the bastard the satisfaction. 

“I got your owl” Draco said, suddenly in the chair on the other side of Harry’s desk. 

Harry’s hand clenched his ball point pen “normally it’s common manners to respond to an owl” He said. 

“I’m sorry” Harry looked up at the pained words Draco almost whispered out. 

“What?” 

“I was...I was with my mother, I see her every Monday, she’s-well...she’s not very well so I” Draco took a breath “I didn’t have the time to respond I’m sorry” 

“Is she okay?” Harry asked, suddenly worried for her, she did save his life after all, if that was the only thing Harry could think of. But to him, it was a pretty important thing. His anger left him in a rush, and sympathy filled him as he took in the dark smudges underneath Draco’s eyes. 

“Yeah” Draco breathed, “She’s just, finding it difficult since my father...well you know” Yes Harry did know and he remembered the look of utter devastation that befell Draco’s face when he had received the owl about his father’s death in Azkaban. 

“I’m sorry” Harry answered, and he truly was. 

“But” Draco said, suddenly seeming to get some of his confidence back, but Harry could see it for the fragile thing it was. “I’m here to give you an answer...Harry” 

Harry let go of the pen “Yeah?” 

Draco let out a breath “Yeah” 

Harry couldn’t stop the smile breaking out across his face as he watched Draco stand and move around the desk to stop at his side. 

“I miss you Harry” He lent forwards and kissed Harry’s temple, causing Harry’s breath to escape in a rush. “I miss your smile” He moved his mouth down slightly with every word “I miss the way you say my name, the way you look in the morning, the feel of you by my side. I fucking miss you Harry” By the time he was finished, he was right by Harry’s mouth “I miss you” 

Harry closed the gap and brought their mouths together and kissed the one man he had wanted for years. “I miss you too”

“I don’t want to miss you anymore” Draco whispered. 

“You don’t have to, not anymore” 

Draco smiled at him and Harry’s world suddenly felt right again. 

“Good” 

Sorry for any spelling or grammar mistakes! This is part two of a drabble I did a couple of months ago. 

[cas-backwards-tie]

Happy To Volunteer

Steve Rogers x Reader (Single Parent AU)

Summary: As the class field trip approaches, you hope more parents will volunteer to chaperone. Thankfully, your hope is fulfilled when Steve Rogers signs up on the permission slip.

Prompt: Single Parent AU

Words: 2,086

Warnings: None.

Beta: @plaidstiel-wormstache  , who I want to thank for being so patient and helpful! She really took her time and honestly looked at every small detail. Thank you! 💖💖💖

Author’s Note: This is for @wxntersoldiers 3k writing challenge! I hope that you guys like it as this is actually my first time writing something for Steve.

Handing out the permission slips to your students, you watch their faces light up at the prospect of their upcoming field trip. “Don’t forget to get a signature from your parents by Thursday.” Reminding the students, you know they all want to go on the field trip this coming Friday. A smile quickly makes its way across your face as you help your students pack up for the day.  

“Does this mean we’ll get to see the tigers, Ms. Y/L/N?” Millie Rogers, a short girl with a mop of blonde hair and wide blue eyes, tugs on your skirt gently with a hopeful look on her adorable face.

You smile down at her sweet face, “Get your Mommy to sign this paper and it's a definite yes.” Knowing the trip will be hard to pull off without chaperones, you hope parents will read through the permission slips and volunteer. The PTA has a few members available, but a few more parents would be helpful. Watching Millie’s face fall, your brows furrow as you place a hand on her shoulder. “What’s wrong?” Kneeling to her height, you listen intently.

“Mommy can’t sign it. I live with Daddy now.” Her words tumble out with disappointment instilled in each syllable. A huff of laughter escapes your nose. Looking at Millie with a happy smile, you encourage her.

“Your Daddy can sign it, Millie, you can still go if he does.”  You rub her shoulder for a second before standing again. “See you on Monday, kids!” Waving to the ones already leaving, you watch as the smile returns to Millie’s face, excited again. She mimics the roar of a Lion, fingers curling like claws as she attempts to scare a boy nearby her. This field trip will be fun, you think to yourself.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Walking into school on Monday, excitement bubbles in your heart as you get to see your students again. The weekend was rather quiet as the only thing you did was grade spelling tests. Before stopping at your classroom, you run by the office to make sure things are ready for your class’s field trip on Friday. Soon enough, you arrive at your classroom, prepping activities for the day.

After going over the day’s plans with the children, you leave them to color quietly for half an hour. The classroom filled with the sound of small hands rummaging through bins filled with the kids’ individual supplies. You waited patiently for everyone to be seated and asked them to get their permission slips out. Walking past each table, you collect the signed slips. The classroom fills with the sound of scribbling crayons against paper as you settle at your desk, scanning and sifting through all the forms, making sure they are signed; along with counting the boxes to see if any parents had volunteered to be chaperones.

Quietly sighing to yourself, you notice a handful of parents have volunteered to be chaperones. Grateful, there are now enough chaperones for the field trip. Looking at the top of one of the pages, you see Millie’s name scrawled in her handwriting. Smiling to yourself, your gaze drifts to her Father’s note:

Mrs. Y/L/N,

         The zoo sounds like a fun field trip! Hope you have room for one more? If so, please add me to the list, I’d be happy to help chaperone. Will lunch be provided for the chaperones?

                   Thanks,

                            -Steve Rogers (Millie's Dad)

Writing yourself a reminder on one of the sticky notes on your desk, you need to double-check on the lunches; adding on account of the new chaperones before you leave for the day. Hopeful that this field trip will go swimmingly, you look up at your quiet class, dutifully coloring in the sheets you’d given.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Soon enough Friday rolls around. It’s the perfect day for the zoo; sun shining brightly in the morning sky, clouds slowly float across the sky. Filing everyone off the bus, you ask the students to circle up in front of the zoo’s entrance.

“Okay class, we remember the rules, right?” With a joyful ‘yes’ from the majority, you split the kids into groups of five, calling them off by name, before assigning a parent. Four groups in total. Sending each chaperone off with their group, there is only one parent left behind.

Wearing jeans, a white t-shirt, and navy windbreaker, his dirty blond hair short and tidy. You stare for a few seconds too long, you can't deny he’s quite handsome. The other parents are married or older, and you know from Millie's ramblings and creative work that he is recently divorced. It’s refreshing to see a new face for a change, a single one, at that. You decide to stick with Mr. Rogers considering he’s the only new chaperone.

“Looks like you’re stuck with me,” you attempt to joke, offering your hand. He takes it, shaking it lightly with a firm yet gentle grip. His gaze meets yours and you notice he has the softest blue eyes. The color reminds you of Robin eggs.

“Steve,” he speaks confidently with a nod of his head.

“Y/F/N. We'll join groups since it’s your first time chaperoning.” You said, before telling him the rules for the kids while you rounded them up and heading into the zoo. “Where should we start?” You ask the group in front of you. The chirping of ideas is loud and insistent, but you want to know what Steve thinks.

“I think we should start on this side so we can walk back this way,” Steve opens the map for you, illustrating his ideas. Nodding your head in agreement, your group’s path is set in motion as you shepherd the kids towards the right. Walking along the east side of the zoo, you’ll loop around to visit the west side briefly before making a circle back at the entrance.

Heading towards the lions and tigers, the first animals on the walk, you listen to the exclamations and murmurs of the kids while admiring the zoo’s layout. Your gaze occasionally drifts to Steve, making you shake your head once you realize you’re staring.

Approaching the viewing area of the ‘Big Cat Enclosure’, you gather the children in front of the floor-to-ceiling observation window, prompting them to point out the cats they can find. You lean against the railing while the children search for the African animals. Steve stands next to you, watching the group for a moment before speaking.“What’s your favorite animal?”

Shaking your head with a light chuckle, you respond, “I’d have to say, Bumblebee,” you silently hope he doesn’t judge your choice.

“That’s interesting. You know it’s an insect though, right?” A blush quickly sweeps across your cheeks at his comment. Smart and handsome, who knew? You think, watching the Lions roam about a good several feet below everyone, the kids squealing in excitement. You hush them, reminding them to use their quiet voices.

“I suppose technically, they are. What’s your favorite animal? What’re you most excited to see?” Awaiting Steve’s answer, he is interrupted right as he opens his mouth to speak.

“Daddy! Look!” Millie tugs on the edge of his jacket, practically jumping for joy as she pointed out the nearby Tigers. He sent a glance your way, you smile in response to be polite. It was cute, the way they interacted with one another; he didn’t undermine her excitement or try to get her to keep it held within. Crouching down to his daughter’s height, he points out two Tigers in the shallow pool playing with one another.

“Elephants have always amazed me,” Steve admits, catching your attention and bringing your focus back to him. He smiles your way and you know he wasn’t trying to ignore you.

Moving onto the Reptile House, the group continuously ‘ooh’ed and ‘aah’ed at every reptile, some of the girls grossed out. You found joy in asking your students to try and find the tiny tree frogs within their enclosure, camouflaged among the leaves. Arriving upon the insect area, you try to avert your gaze from the spiders, disliking them. Instead, focusing on the ladybugs and praying mantis’. “Maybe they’ll have a beehive here,” Steve suggested in a playful tone as he stood next to you, tilting his head while searching for the stick bug within the window in front of him. Smiling, you think he’s cute. “Ah! There he is.” Steve pointed out the stick bug to you, hand resting on your shoulder as he brought you closer to peer into the window. It’s fascinating, the slow, steady movements of the bug.

Nearing the exit of the Reptile House, you inform the group that it’s nearing lunch time. “We should pick a spot,” you suggested to Steve while holding the door open for exiting students. Receiving a nod in response, you pull the map out of your pocket. “Nearby the elephants is a picnic area, it says.”

“That sounds like a great idea,” Steve responds happily. Following after the last student out of the Reptile House, you gather your group before announcing where you’re headed next. Trekking back to the bus, you quickly have everyone grab their lunches out of your group’s bin. The quick walk to the picnic area was joyous as the children chattered about their favorite animals and which was ‘cooler’ or would win in a fight. Sitting near the garden bed, you smile at the panda mosaic tiled into the entrance. Sitting your lunch on the table, you’re pleasantly surprised to see Steve sitting across from you. “Is this seat taken?” He was obviously joking, you knew.

Laughing, you shake your head, inviting him to sit. “I’m afraid not. Looks like this is the grown-ups table,” you return his silly attitude before pulling your sandwich out, lying it on top of the brown paper bag. Chips, an apple, and milk are what’s in store. Opening the chip bag, you begin to quietly chomp on them while enjoying the peaceful atmosphere of the zoo.

“I brought you something!” Millie’s voice brings you back to the present as she hands her father a juice box. “Your favorite,” she spoke cheerily. The interaction made you smile, getting a glimpse of their world. Unwrapping the plastic surrounding your sandwich, you dig in.

The day passes much more quickly than you would’ve liked. Shepherding the kids onto the bus, you thank the other parents as they board. Stepping onto the bus last, you overhear the few people in front of you. “Can I sit with you?” It’s Millie’s hopeful voice.

A chuckle rings out, making your heart flutter knowing who it came from. “Mills, you should sit with your friends! You’re not gonna see them for the whole weekend.” Steve’s encouragement made you smile at the way he speaks with his daughter. Watching Millie swiftly agree and walk further back on the bus where her friends were indeed waiting, you look for a seat. Feeling someone’s hand catch your forearm, your brows furrow until you turn to see Steve with a wide grin on his face. “I saved you a seat,” he offered slyly.

“Oh, thank you.” Surprise laces your reply; a small smile makes its way onto your lips, blush coating your cheeks. Sitting beside him, you run your hands along your pants, smoothing them. “It was nice to have you as a chaperone,” you attempt small talk.

“Thanks for having me,” Steve chuckles as his face turns from the window to face you. His smiles seems to brighten his eyes. “I had a great time. Plus, a free lunch!” His face scrunches up for a moment, “well, really there is no such thing as a ‘free lunch’, but that’s beside the point,” he rambles. Noticing you still have his attention, Steve speaks up again. “Would you be open for getting coffee sometime? Or tea, if that’s your thing.”

Your heart flutters at his question. You can’t help but grin widely, nodding your head at his statement. “Yes, I’d love that,” you respond coyly. You weren’t expecting your day to go this way, and yet, you couldn’t help but feel like it was meant to be.

[musingsoflulu]

boston marathon recap

ahhhh, take me back to this past weekend, please?! i wanted to document everything so i could look back and smile, smile, smile remembering my first boston experience. 

after work on thursday, we drove up to my parents’ house and spent the night before leaving for charlotte the next day. my mom and my aunt laura came with us, which was so so so much fun. our flight left early friday afternoon and we landed in boston mid-afternoon.

our air bnb was THE CUTEST. an old victorian home located in jamaica plain (we got to stay in the turret!) our hosts were the absolute best- we had a private entrance, they stocked the fridge with essentials, and they also offered to leave me foam rollers, yoga mats, etc, etc. 

after settling into our air bnb, we set out into the city for dinner. we decided on a seafood restaurant in back bay, which was ~okay~ but not mind-blowing. while walking back to the T, we grabbed some pastries from whole foods and some wine from a shop we passed. mom giggled as she picked up a huge smirnoff ice and i totally thought she was kidding, but nope, she wanted it and i spent all weekend laughing about it. 

the next morning, i slept in and had coffee and my chocolate croissant in our cute little kitchen before heading out to bib pickup and the expo! 

it was so exciting seeing all of the celebration jackets from years past as we waited in line to get in. so many different colors and i thought about how many unforgettable experiences these people had at this marathon and how i was about to run it for the first time. how this would hopefully be my first of many boston marathons. how my kids will laugh at all of my colorful celebration jackets hanging in my closet years from now. 

???can you feel my excitement???

the highlight of the expo was stumbling upon scott jurek doing book signings for his new book, “north.” what’s more, clif was givng them out for free while their supplies lasted!!! so as i stood in line, i was pleasantly surprised when they just casually handed us a book for him to sign. when it was our turn to meet him, i mentioned that we actually lived off of the appalachian trail and he asked which part. when we told him, he said “omg i HATE that place! i was so close to quitting there!” and then he wrote a little funny statement about how our town sucks and finished it with a smiley face. it was the coolest and made me feel so badass for training in that area. 

around this time, logan felt so sick (?food poisoning from not so good seafood the night before?) and so we ran to tracksmith on newbury street to grab another swag bag and then grabbed a late lunch before heading back to the air bnb for the night. 

so much swag. 

while logan slept away his sickness, mom and aunt laura and i spent the night snuggled up on the couch rewatching “big little lies” and eating greek takeout. 

the next morning, i went out for a very short shakeout run in the nearby park while snow flurries fell. 

then we ran over to quincy market for lunch!

we explored downtown crossing and i had my first london fog (uhhh so good?!)

then we visited the finish line and there was SO MUCH EXCITEMENT in the air. it was so windy and cold and snow flurries were falling but i didn’t even care because i knew no matter what the weather brought, i’d be crossing that finish line the next day. 

we made dinner reservations at an italian place in the north end called “taranta” and properly carb loaded before the big day. 

i spent the last part of the night getting all of my stuff together. it was actually really stressful trying to figure out what exactly i needed to wear, when to shed it, making sure i had all my gels, extra socks, etc. 

anyone who watched the race knew the conditions SUCKED. i prepared well for the most part. i packed an old pair of running shoes i decided i would wear to the start line and wouldn’t mind leaving behind right before the race started. i also packed throwaway socks. we grabbed some used clothes at goodwill before we left for boston and i would wear these while i waited for my wave to start. i had eggs and toast prior to leaving the air bnb and packed a stroopwaffle to have while i waited at the athletes’ village. i packed 3 gu gels to have during the race- my favorites, chocolate sea salt and salted caramel. 

i debated back and forth about whether i should wear shorts or tights during the race and ultimately decided on my tracksmith twilight shorts. i’d run in these in heavy rain during training runs and they never felt like they weighed me down at all. i decided on the light, moisture wicking long sleeve shirt i wore at harpeth hills and my tracksmith run bra. 

sunday night, i had decided a sub 3:15 marathon was probably not going to happen given the weather conditions. i’d be happy if i got a sub 3:35 so i could come back next year. but then i woke up monday morning and read a post by tommy rivers puzey (one of flagstaff’s coconino cowboys). 

“All the best to those racing tomorrow. Don't squander this, or piss away this gift. Don't talk yourself out of accomplishing the goals you have just because of some wind and a little rain. Remember that there are countless individuals who would give anything to be in your place right now. Send it tomorrow morning. Give em hell. Respect the race, and the distance. Respect your competitors and the legacy of all those who have tread before you. The sacrifices. The servicemen and women. The survivors. The sweat and the tears and the blood.”

and i realized- in the end, it wouldn’t be the weather that stopped me from accomplishing my goals. it would be my excuses. so i wrote this on my hand and decided, yes, i was still going to aim for a 3:15. 

as i hopped off the T on monday morning, i was greeted by random people on the street high-fiving me, yelling “go runners! we love our runners!” and i had this overwhelming sensation and almost broke down into tears. this was happening. i couldn’t believe it. this race was already so special to me and i hadn’t even run it yet. 

i kissed everyone goodbye and hopped on the bus to hopkinton and immediately had to pee (why does this always happen?!). the bus ride to hopkinton was fairly quiet and our bus wasn’t full at all. i remember thinking “ugh, can we just wait on the bus until our wave starts?” it was so dry and warm and nobody wanted to go trudging out into the athletes’ village and stand in the mud. 

after power walking to the portapotties to empty my bladder, i made my way into a tent and stood in the mud huddled with other runners. a guy from scotland looked at me and said “i’d say it’s a treadmill day.” ha! i met two other runners that were around my age and they were in my wave, as well. it was one runner’s first boston as well and we talked about how we really knew how the pick the right year as the rain poured and the wind howled right outside the tent. 

i didn’t have to wait long before my wave was called and we started making our way to the start line. all along the way i was stressed about when exactly i was going to shed my throwaway clothes (not realizing they had donation bags right up to the start line). i left my old muddy purple Fates and dirty, wet socks outside a Hopkinton high school classroom. The windows were decorated with encouraging signs made by students- “run. walk. crawl. just don’t give up.” 

i finally made it to my corral, shed my pants and sweatshirt and decided to keep my rain poncho on for as long as i could during the race. before i knew it, 10:25 AM was here and i was smiling like an idiot as i crossed the start line of the boston marathon while rain smacked me in the face. 

i started off fast (oops)- the race started on a downhill. by mile 3, my damn bladder was full again (how?!) and i decided i would need to pee or else i’d probably not get enough water along the course. so i stopped for 30 seconds at mile 5 and peed as fast as I could. 

despite the weather, the streets were lined with spectators! people screaming from their homes in hopkinton and ashland. 

before i knew it, 8 miles had flown by and i thought “what?! no! where has the time gone?!”

the rain was constantly beating down in my face and i felt i wasn’t able to fully look around and enjoy a lot of the course, unfortunately. 

at mile 12.5, we passed the kissing wellesley girls. this was on my bucket list. even though the kissing mile is traditionally for the men running, i was determined i was going to get a kiss from a wellesley girl at my first boston marathon. i ran up to a group and pointed to my cheek and they were literally so confused. i am still laughing about it. finally, one girl kissed me on the cheek and i took off running again, yelling “THANK YOU!” 

the wellesley crowds were insane as we ran through the town and i remember a HUGE gust of wind blew and it became a torrential downpour and every runner around me started screaming “YES, BRING IT ON!” so much grit, so much determination. nothing was getting in our way from getting to boyston. 

around mile 16, my stomach started cramping. i’d had 2 gus and i thought if i didn’t go to the bathroom when i could, it might turn into something more dramatic. so i stopped again. and this time walked straight into a portapotty where someone had completely missed the toilet during their bathroom emergency. here’s the thing about runners- you put us in race mode and literally nothing bothers us. i was functioning off of pure adrenaline and didn’t even hesitate to squat instead of wait for another portapotty to open up hahaha. 

i was expecting to see my people around mile 16 of the course, but never did (turns out, they couldn’t find a way to make it out there and back to the finish line in time). and before i knew it, i was flying up and down the hills of newton. 

i was initially nervous about this part of the course, but once i hit it, i realized i was more than prepared for these hills. at mile 21, i kept thinking, “heartbreak hill” has got to be coming up and somebody else beside me voiced this too. then another runner was like “you’re ON heartbreak hill!” and two men were like “wait, this is heartbreak hill??? oh hell, we are three leg racing up this shit.” and they proceeded to step on the side of the course and tie their legs together. it was wild. and hilarious. 

i managed a decent time coming up heartbreak, although my legs and hips were feeling it and i could feel myself fading and slowing down. the last 5 miles of the course were brutal, with head winds becoming stronger. i couldn’t will my legs to move as fast as i wanted them to. it had been like running through a damn wind tunnel for the past 22 miles and it was only getting harder. 

despite my pace slowing, i was all smiles by the time i reached the landmark citgo sign and as i turned onto boylston street, the entire street was lined with crowds of people cheering as loud as they could over the sound of the rain. i crossed the finish line with a huge smile. i didn’t even know my exact time, but knew i was close to my previous richmond time. no idea if i had PR’ed or not (i ended up PR’ing- by 3 seconds lol). 

a volunteer put that coveted medal around my neck. i was wrapped up in a space blanket and set out to stand in the cold and rain while i waited for my family lol (literally worse than the marathon, honestly). when logan finally located me, we hurried home so i could sit in a boiling hot bath and defrost. 

we celebrated at a cute little restaurant in jamaica plain that evening (as recommended by @lauralovegoods) and i high-fived other runners who had come in to celebrate too. 

i know this was long-winded and if you read all of this- i love you. the amount of support i received from all of you wonderful humans throughout the entire process just blows me away. i received so many encouraging and exciting messages leading up to boston and so many congratulatory messages afterward. i also just want to give a major shout out to the incredible volunteers and spectators. these people make the boston marathon great. these people stood out in the pouring rain and cold so that others could achieve their dreams. they’re the real MVPs and their selflessness astounds me- something i’ll never be able to convey in words. 

i didn’t end up getting my 3:15, as planned. but that’s okay. i gave it my all and am so happy i was able to achieve such a solid time in such brutal race conditions. i know if the weather had been more ideal, i would have taken that 3:15 by the horns. 

i’ll be back next year, boston. ya won me over before it even started. 

[acoatofgold]

Everybody’s Got A Story

Semi-coming out of retirement to publish this really rough story I wrote on Monday in a couple of hours. Its the second non-explicit story on here (the first is: Three’s A Fit) and I will now fade back into obscurity. Its actually Pre-Sueprcorp, its an AU, and its also pre-Supergirl.

Title: Everybody’s Got A Story

Or: How Lena Luther Learned to Connect With Others

--

What happens is this: The Luthor’s are cold and cruel and even at their most loving are distant and lying and Lena just wants to know the truth, for once. She has very vague memories of her mother, a woman with sad eyes and warm hands and a warm chest as Lena laid on her chest to sleep. When she wakes up, her mother doesn’t. Her lips are purple, like the bruises under her eyes. Lena tries to push her awake, to shove her into consciousness, and when that doesn’t work, she goes to the neighbor who watches her when Mom is at work and they call 911. In her memory, Father is there before the police. Perhaps he is there before the police, it wouldn’t surprise her, but she does know she never sees her mother again.

The first day in the Luther household, she remembers vividly: holding Father’s hand, running to keep up with his stride, and he barges in the household. “I’ve brought a child,” He says. “Her name is Lena.” Lillian stands in the foyer, half frozen, and Lex barrels in at full speed, wearing Lacrosse gear. He has a mass of curly red hair, like he’s on fire. “Meet your sister.” They shake hands. Father takes her passed Lillian, who is stock still, and they go to the study together. She sits on the floor and he does paperwork. He puts her to bed himself; a bath, pajamas with the tags still on, and a finger of brandy mixed with water “for your nerves”. Lionel reads his business agreement out loud until she falls asleep. When she wakes up, she is alone.

 Father is confident and cold and loves her as much as he is capable of loving anyone, which is not a lot at all. Lillian is capable of love but not for her – all of it belongs to Lex and Lex alone; strong Lex, smart Lex, brilliant Lex, Lex who has a string of heartbroken women, Lex who the rules don’t apply to; Lex who goes mad and tries to kill a god. He pleads insanity and Lena knows its fake, its orchestrated: Lex has never been clearer or more intense in his goals, but that comes later. As long as Lena has known him, Lex has half-assed everything, the result of being born with more money than many countries and zero consequences. Lex punches a boy at MIT for looking at him and returns the next semester. Lex crashes a yacht on his twentieth birthday. Lex crashes a yacht on her twentieth birthday and she wasn’t even there.

 Lex is but the product of how he was raised. And so is she.

 It’s why she surprises even herself when she heads into the college for journalism just twelve credits shy of her electrical engineering degree. She double majors, takes the extra eighteen months, and walks across her stage to no one. Father sends her a car and a bouquet of pink cosmos and there’s money in her account, more than she’s had before on her own. Lex calls, half drunk, to congratulate her and flays a corporate underling alive for interrupting him. Lena hangs up. He doesn’t call back.

 Father tells her he is sick shortly after she gets the job at the Tribune in National City, as physically far apart as two cities can be in the continuous country.

 She’s fixing herself dinner and lunch for the next day, with Father on speakerphone.

 “Are you sure you don’t want to live in the brownstone?” He asks her. “It’s just sitting there. I already pay the taxes on it.”

 “No, Father,” She replies. She’s chopping cucumbers for a Greek chicken salad. “I want to live on my own.”

 “You would live on your own. Just a maid to come in and clean. Practically monkhood.”

 “No, Father,” Lena repeats herself, turning a pan on medium.

 He grunts eloquently, clears his throat and says, “I want you here for my birthday. It’ll be my last.”

 “Father, please,” She scoffs. “You’re as healthy as –“

 “I’m dying, Lena.” His voice is quiet. “I’ve been dying. Been fighting it, knowing Lex wasn’t ready for the company and you’re uninterested. He’s finally doing something with himself, though, and you’re a grown woman now. I can go. I just want you to say goodbye.”

Her hands are shaking. She puts the knife down. “How long do you have?”

 Father scoffs, “Like I’d let any doctor tell me what to do. I’m having my birthday and I’m going to be euthanized now that there’s a civilized option.” His voice grows stronger, “I wouldn’t be able to stand it, pissing and shitting on myself, letting my mind go. No, not I. I’m going on my own terms.”

 Lena clears her throat, feeling her breath catch, “Okay, Father. I understand.”

 “Good,” He says. “So you’ll be here?”

 “Yes, Father. I’ll book my ticket tonight.”

 “Good.” He hangs up.

 Lena puts the chicken tenders in the pan, watches it sizzle for a moment, and then goes to her cabinet for a bottle of wine.

 She burns the chicken.

 --

The day prior to her father’s birthday is when she’s given her very first story. Its thirty miles out of the city center and James Olsen comes along. He’s very cold to her, which she expects, but his photographs are amazing so she tolerates his attitude even when they’re in her car. She drives at the speed limit but barely and watches suburbs turn into desert turn into a farm that looks mostly like a forest. The parking lot is all dirt and houses not one, not two, but three beat up turn of the century trucks, a school bus painted blue, a van missing all four tires on concrete blocks, and an ATV. On top of the ATV is a chicken and it clucks at them menacingly.

 “What the Hell?” Mutters Olsen under his breath.

 She ignores him but has the same sentiment. She steps onto dirt in her Balenciaga sneakers and thinks, for the first time, maybe Gucci was not appropriate. Its desert as far as the eye can see until they get to the “farm” and there it’s covered in so many plants that she can hardly see ten feet ahead of her. They walk down a rough approximation of a path and stop at the first building they see. It’s steel, tan, and fairly new, with an AC sticking out of a rough cut hole packed into place with foam spray. There’s a window with a bell on it and she rings it.

 A dirty young man comes out, his dreads tied back, dirt up to his forearms, and asks, “Y’all here for Kara?” He’s wearing a yellow t-shirt and cargo shorts held up by a shoestring. He’s thin, almost reedy, with an easy smile.

 Lena nods, “Yeah, we’re from the Tribune.”

 His head bobbles as he eyes both of them, “Cool, cool, lemme go get her.”

 He ducks around the two of them and takes off running. They stand in the heat for about three minutes before the young man comes back with an equally young woman, both running with long, familiar strides. It’s now that she notices that they’re both barefoot.

 “Hey,” The woman grins, all blue eyes and white teeth, “I’m Kara Kent.”

 She’s as dirt covered as her companion but thrusts out a hand anyways. She’s wearing jeans so worn that the holes are visible in both knees and a gray t-shirt that says “El’s Farm”. She wears a John Deere hat on top of neatly buzzed blond hair, blue eyes glimmering. Her shirt is tight around her arms, all muscle, and her jeans barely hold her thighs in place. Lena is immediately half in love. She’s always loved women who work with their hands. James shakes first and then Lena.

 “James Olsen,” Says James. Then, he asks, “You know a Clark? The last name is familiar.”

 Her grin widens, “My cousin. You must be Jimmy.”

 He clears his throat, “Just James, please.”

 Lena shakes as well, noticing a split blister on Kara’s thumb and that all of her fingers are rough.

 “I’m Lena Luther.”

 Kara’s smile turns sardonic, “The orphan that could. They used to talk about you all the time at my group home, before I got to live with Clark.”

 She blinks, “Really?”

 Kara nods, her grin more mischievous now, “Oh yeah. The nuns were crazy about you. They always told us if we were on our best behavior, we’d get adopted by a rich couple like you did. When you went to MIT, you’d’ve thought you walked on water. The Mother was so overcome with joy, she cried for a week.”

 Lena isn’t sure how to feel about it and it must show on her face because Kara laughs and claps her on the shoulder so hard she feels her knees buckle.

 Kara jerks her head, “C’mon, I’ll show you around. Virgil, finish with the microgreens and we’ll meet up at the greenhouse in twenty.”

 He gives her a thumbs up, waves to them, and goes back into the steel building.

 She does give them a quick tour – the path is an actual path and less meandering when they’re further away from the initial opening, concrete pavers with leaf and flower imprints leading the way – “we did those ourselves, s’why they’re all sorta shapes, this flower set is from a broccoli plant that bolted” - first to two more buildings she points out as the storage room and the cold room, both similar steel buildings to the first with more foam sprayed air conditioners.

 “What’s a cold room do?” Lena asks her phone already on record.

 Kara smiles at her, “Ya wanna wait until the end of the tour? I fully intend to give you a real interview away from the heat but I know Just James wants pictures before it gets dark out.”

 Lena can’t stop her own grin. Her makeup feels like it’ll sweat off at the rate of the temps outside.

 Kara leads them to the first building, opens it to show them thousands of hanging bulbs of onions and garlic.

 “We just finished our allium harvest of storage onions and garlic. Beat our record: twelve thousand. Ten thousand is in garlic and half of that will probably be broken up and sold or used as seed garlic, and the onions are eaten, given away, goes into our CSA box, go to the pigs. The works.”

 James makes her back up, moves Kara further inside, makes her take the hat off, and he moves himself until he gets the right picture. He clicks off three or four of them before they move onto the next building. Lena notes that each of the buildings they’ve passed has gutters and the gutters go to PVC pipe that leads above ground to the east.

  The cold room, she discovers, is a walk in refrigerator for cheap. There’s foam board insulation, bare to the eye, and the floor is concrete. It houses about thirty totes, each with masking top on one part. Lena takes a closer look at the closest one. “Arugula, 41 lbs.”

 “We harvest about seven to eight hundred pounds of produce during the summer, more if we do root vegetables. Everything’s already washed and sorted in here, we just combine for salad mixes or braising mixes by the totes. Only about half of these are filled.”

 Kara continues to show them the market garden: there are four blocks of twenty five rows, each dedicated to a family of crops and a station set up at the beginning of each block. Only three are in rotation; the other is covered in black tarps to lay fallow until next spring. Each block is home to a hedgerow of berries, in between the rows are flower beds, and in the back are ironwood trees.

 “Nitrogen fixers,” Kara explains, “And they do great in the desert as shade. Our water consumption was reduced a lot by that and we’re almost entirely off of on-site rain water. There’s a well on the property but with the drought, I never want to use it, so we occasionally truck it in from some of the other places that collect rainwater that haven’t used it all but we don’t use groundwater.”

 James takes pictures as they walk, sometimes all natural and sometimes posing Kara or one of about three workers, including Virgil who passes by them as James takes pictures of Kara with a hoe. He makes Virgil backtrack and the two weed in between the rows of beans, and then their hands and bare feet by the lettuce. He snaps a picture of a butterfly floating by one of the open marigolds.

 Kara leads them up the land, passed the crop field, passed the fallow field, and to the greenhouse. Lena is sweating buckets and James doesn’t look far behind but if it’s hot outside, the greenhouse is sweltering.

 “Oh my God,” Lena says aloud, involuntarily.

 Kara gives them both bottles of water from a cooler right inside the door.

 “Yeah, it’s about twenty degrees hotter in here than it is outside. This is where we keep our tropical plants and the hardening off station for our nursery plants.” She jerks her chin to the man inside, “Virgil is in charge of all our nursery plants and the microgreens. Timmy does our cut flowers and Kate and I handle the rest of the farm. Everybody works together on packing and harvesting day, though.”

 Virgil shakes his head, “What would you do without me?”

 She grins back, easy, rocking on her heels, “Suffer, obviously.”

 People who smile easily have always confounded Lena. She wasn’t a happy child and now as an adult, the idea that some people are just easy to get along with has never settled well with her. She’s awkward and always feels like an imposter when trying to be friendly. Confronted with two of them, she looks around and through the plastic to a whole different field outside, on the other side of the hill with a round, canvas building on top of it.

 “What’s that?” She asks.

 Kara turns back to her, her hands in her pockets, “There’s my yurt and beyond that is the field for seeds.”

 “You grow your own seeds?”

 Kara replies, pride in her eyes, “Fifty varieties of them. It’s really my passion, the market garden and CSA are cool, ya know, gets the bills paid-“

 Virgil snorts, “What bills, hillbilly?”

 Kara plows on, “But seed keeping and the animal breeding is what gets me up in the morning.”

 “Can we see?” Lena asks. Kara opens the door for them, “Absolutely.”

 She takes them to the field, helping Lena mind her steps over and behind the steep hill, walking with the surety of a goat. Closer, she sees that some of the plants are covered in translucent bags. Kara shows them the varieties – seven types of lettuce, three peppers, five tomatoes, ten types of flowers, two types of snap pea, several types of dried beans and peas, six types of broccoli, and lots of herbs.

 “All of these plants are from seeds I’ve either gotten over the years at garage sales or plant sales or seed sales, even church sales when they clean out the storage room, and the rest is from people in the area. Normally, they’re disenfranchised or undocumented people who want their family legacy to live on or even aliens.” She points to a section covered in chicken wire and green posts, “That’s the chicken area where we collect eggs for the CSA and local neighborhoods, and on this side –“ She does a 180, “Are the pigs. They eat all the scraps, all the weeds, and we have two breeding pairs right now, and all their purebred piglets go to be breeders. One is a Mangalista and the other is Red Wattle. They occasionally ignore me and crossbreed and when they do, we raise the babies and then process and sell to some restaurants in National City, like Donovan’s and Area 51. Apparently, that mix tastes exactly like a blurghap from Planet Xhiauovrat.”

 Kara pauses to put her hands on her hips and start stretching at the waist, bending so far backwards that her shirt slips and Lena is aware that her happy trail is also blond and she has abs. She takes a sip of her water and nearly chokes. Kara taps her on the back, nowhere near as staggering as the shoulder clap earlier, and she coughs her water up.

 As promised, Kara leads them to the yurt. It’s a decent size – nowhere near the size of a house but much larger than a tent. There’s a basin outside with a bar of soap and she washes her hands, feet, and face in the chill water that she throws down the hillside before she comes inside.

 “Shoes off at the door,” She calls and they follow. Lena’s got it a sight easier than James, who wore hiking boots.

 The inside of it is crowded but orderly and lovely. As soon as she walks in, she sees a coatrack that’s all windbreakers and hats. Kara’s John Deere hat is at the very top, the brim bent and dirty.  The floors are wooden, a different type than the deck outside, and the windows are up so light floods inside. She looks up to find that the roof is translucent and much closer than it appeared outside. There’s a full kitchen pushed against one side, a small table in the middle covered in folders and paper and a beat up laptop, a bouquet of flowers in a tin can, and on the other side is a library. There are shelves there, just covered in books from floor to ceiling, and what looks like a handmade sofa. It smells like lavender and mint inside. There are plywood walls about 2/3rds of the way down and Kara calls over her shoulder, “Let me wash my face again and I’ll sit out there with you. Take a seat anywhere.”

 Lena sits at the table, twisting her empty water bottle between her hands when James comes inside. He’s got his camera around his neck still and sits across from her.

 “Talk about all day,” Olsen says and Lena nods. She takes her bottle and puts it on the back of her neck.

 Kara emerges in a clean, white t-shirt and a face scrubbed so briskly her cheeks are pink. She’s beautiful, Lena realizes again, with her soft, red mouth and eyes like stars.

 “You guys want something to drink?” She asks.

 Olsen says no but Lena says, “Please.”

 Kara opens the fridge, “I’ve got water, raspberry sweet tea, orange juice, and milk.”

 “I’ll take the tea.”

 Lena wonders why she says “sweet” and not “iced” when she takes a sip. It’s sweeter than any drink she’s ever had short of a soda but tastes good. There are a lot of other flavors to it, a little bite of herbs and a distinctive tea flavor.

 Kara sits across from her and smiles her easy smile, “You want to just fire away or do you want me to start and you just jump in when you need clarification?”

 Lena licks her lips, thinking, and Kara’s eyes dart to her mouth then back to her eyes.

 “Were your parents into gardening? How’d you get into it?”

 Kara nods, cracks her neck audibly, and says, “Neither of my parents was into gardening. My father was a geneticist and my mother was working at the state attorney’s office when they died. It was why my aunt killed them; she was an extremist eco terrorist and my father was creating a new type of corn to outcompete the native types in Mexico and improving Roundup because of all the birth defects and bee deaths associated with it at the time. My mother was helping fight a lot of the class action lawsuits, throwing stuff out, pretending to lose paperwork, paying police officers to lose certain cases, that sort of thing. So she went over for lunch one Sunday and she killed them and then herself.

 “I was riding my bike home from a friend’s place, at the time, because my mom was supposed to pick me up. We were supposed to go to the science museum. We had a dog and he barked like crazy until one of the neighbors went to see what was going on and called 911. My aunt’s husband said he wouldn’t take me, so I was taken to a group home for six months while they tried to find some relatives. My closest relative was Clark and he’d been adopted as a baby when my aunt and uncle died in a car crash. My parents were out the country at the time and by the time they got back, he was already settled with the Kent’s. They didn’t really keep tabs on him. My uncle and father apparently never got along.”

 “You talked about living with nuns. Tell me about it? How’d you end up living with them?”

 “I lived with the neighbors for two weeks but I was – sad, a lot, and destructive so they took me to the Catholic Church that had an orphanage while the police tried to find Clark. I got counseling while I was there and I realized being angry wouldn’t get me anywhere with a buncha women in their fifties who served a higher purpose. I started smiling more and I realized I was happier smiling more. I’d just gotten used to it when they found Clark and Clark was twenty four; he didn’t really want a kid around at the time but he took me in and left me with his parents. Uncle Jonathan was a farmer in Kansas – and this is really what you think of as a farmer, he had the tractor and the overalls and the acres and acres of corn. Aunt Martha baked a lot, sold some of it but most of it was for neighbors, and when that wasn’t happening, she was planning for the school year. It bored me to tears. I was from Argo and I was used to a lot of extreme sports – mountain boarding and snowboarding and hiking trails and cave exploration, that kinda thing. I was doing kendo and krav maga every day after school. Smallville was four thousand people and eight thousand cows.”

 Olsen snorts and Lena bites her lips to keep from smiling.

 Kara rubs her eyebrow with the heel of her palm, “Yeah, I’m serious. I’d bike to the library and read all day and I was so keyed up I’d pace the halls all night. Couldn’t sleep. Drove Unc crazy. Lucky I was too short to reach the pedals or I’d have been in the tractor from sunup to sundown.”

 “So he inspired you to be a farmer?” Lena asks.

 Kara scoffs, “God, no. He complained the whole time and told me to make something of myself. I got into farming from books. I was riding home one night, I think just after the fourth of July, and passed this garage sale. Some guy ran out on his wife and she’d put all his stuff out there. Everything was a quarter and I mean everything. Pants, shoes, shirts? Quarter for the pile. Golf clubs? Quarter. Fishing poles? Quarter. His truck? Quarter. Once I realized she was serious, with Lara Smith in the truck, pulling off, I put my bike on the rack in the ATV and picked up all the books I could. Paid fifty cents. Made it right to the barn when it ran outta gas.” The longer she talked, the deeper her accent got. She’d sounded like any civilized Californian to Lena’s ear initially but now it was the sort of Midwestern accent she expected from somebody who’d grown up on a corn farm.

 “I went through the books and found he’d recently purchased two: Making Small Farms Work by Richard Perkins, which was about a permaculture setup in Sweden and The Market Gardener by Jean-Martin Fortier. Wasn’t a thumb print on them. They changed my life, particularly Fortier. He’s Canadian and works the French intensive method, like Eliot Coleman, and talked about farming in a way I hadn’t thought before, and about how to grow, why to grow certain crops, and the small startup costs. By the time I finished, I was behind Uncle Jon every day, asking –“ She pitches her voice up into the whine of a young teenager, one who’s voice hadn’t deepened any, “when I could have my own garden, I only needed two acres, I wouldn’t even need a tractor. He got so sick of me, he asked who I thought I was that I could go from never even seeing a plant grow to thinking I could make a living at it. I’ve never been a sensible person so I asked Aunt Martha if she’d talk to him about an acre or two and she said, ‘Well, if it were me, I’d buy the seeds first.’ So I bought seeds and she would just drag me by the nose from point to point, maybe thinking I’d give up. ‘Well, I’d need to start up the seeds first. Gee, let’s look up the planting date, oh no, what about water, golly where will we put ‘em, man, a garden is needed.’”

 Kara suddenly laughs, “She got me to put in a full acre garden by hand, muck stalls for the compost, clear weeds, clear brush, everything. I was using a chainsaw before I got my permit. Hell, I was using the truck to take brush to the back forty to burn for her. I pounded T-posts for two weeks and fenced in the garden the first time I saw a deer near my plants.”

 “How much did you make your first year?”

 “Two thousand. Uncle Jon charged me for gas, using his chain saw, using his field, using his T-posts, using his chicken wire, the whole nine yards. I think he made more off of me than he did farming.”

 Lena frowns, “That’s depressing. I’d have given up.”

 Kara shakes her head, “I couldn’t. By then I had a point to prove. I used my money to work on infrastructure – a taller fence, my own gas, seed, a seeder, a little greenhouse. I argued that I was supposed to get some money from mucking the stalls and Uncle Jon said it was my room and board and if I wanted more money, I’d have to do more around the house. I did laundry once and dyed all his undershirts pink and he said he’d pay me to leave him the hell alone. I was so serious about it that Aunt Martha promised to take me to Wichita’s farmer market if I could fill the truck bed and we’d borrow the tent and tables from the church. She may as well have cussed me, because by the time it was April, I had the truck full. Snow on the ground but there was –“ She sucked on her lip, her eyes far away, “I think a full tote of peas, a full tote of spinach, chard, carrots, leeks, and storage onions. I just put everything in plastic bags and handed it to the customers. I had butternut and acorn squash from the year before, still good in the cellar, so I figured Hell, may as well and took those too.”

 She settles back in her chair coolly, “I made more that first day than I’d made the year before selling in Smallville. It was fantastic. After that, I was hooked.”

 Kara is not the only one hooked; Lena can’t stop listening. Kara’s a good talker so there’s never really anything she needs to ask as Kara talks about succession planting and maxing out on an acre and planting with the seasons to maximize space.

 “What’s something you’ve never grown?” Lena asks her as she extols the virtues of steamed turnip greens.

 “Commercially? Cabbage. It’s too cheap to bother with for any semblance of a price. Broccoli is easier and more money than cabbage. Less slugs.”

 “Something you love?”

“Beans. Plant ‘em and they go.”

 “How’d you start saving seed?”

 Kara grins, “It was cheaper than buying tomato seeds. I picked the best of them and then I’d slice and freeze and when it was time for buying seeds, I’d bury it in about an inch of dirt and take all the babies and switch ‘em to plug trays.”

 “You’ve got quite a few seeds now, so how did you start saving so many if it was just for the money?”

 Kara licks her teeth, “We had old neighbors. Mrs. Hamilton was about six hundred when I was a kid, I’m talkin’ bout old. Just dusty. And if she was six hundred, her wife was about five hundred ninety nine plus or minus a day. They saw me hauling produce out the garden day after day and I’d given them some lettuce I hadn’t sold, a couple tomatoes. One day she asked me what I intended to do for beauty. I said I had no idea what she was talking about. She threw her hands up, had to grab the fence before she fell over, and made me come inside with her. I was a half-step behind in case she fell but she didn’t and I waited in the kitchen. She gave me a glass of lemonade, an oatmeal cookie, and a little half pint mason jar of seeds. “Those,” She told me, “are Bachelor’s Buttons, sometimes called cornflowers. It’s where cornflower blue comes from and it is the exact shade of my lovely bride’s eyes. You’ll grow them for beauty and the first blooms belong to my wife.””

 She smiled, taking a sip of her sugary tea, “Oh I was mad. I thought I’d been doing a good job of the garden, it was colorful, everything had some little splash to it, it was in a spiral pattern. I was growing in abundance. I realize now I was insecure that she thought because my work wasn’t beautiful but functional that I would not be beautiful as an adult, simply functional. I had never worried about being beautiful before that – my parents were liberals and insisted that a child not be told they’re beautiful because it would make the child hinge their entire personality on it. They preferred that I be functional so I was told I was a strong girl, not a pretty girl, or an excellent athlete or a wonderful baker, that sorta thing. Lots of adjectives.”

 “Did you plant the flowers?”

 “Of course I did. I didn’t want to but by the time I made it inside, Mrs. Hamilton had called Aunt Martha, and she watched me go right out there and plant the seeds and water them. They were lovely flowers. I did bring the first bouquet to the Hamilton’s and then I sold some but I figured, “Whatever” and saved the seeds. I still have some. I plant a few every year just to save the seed.”

 Lena asks, “Were the rest given to you?”

 Kara nods, “Oh yeah. Small town like Smallville? Somebody young doing the planting, they ask you plant everything. I had beans from the statehood growing up one side of a trellis by cucumbers from somebody’s grandma from Armenia. Everybody had a tomato plant they needed growing. Everybody had a story to tell. Why’s that your favorite flower?”

 She is pointing to the bouquet on the table, sitting in a tin can of water.

 Lena blinks, confused, “It’s not.”

 “Well, what is?”

 Lena frowns, thinking, but James answers, “Chrysanthemums. My grandfather wore one every Sunday.” He smiles, “It always made me feel grown up when he’d put one in my lapel. We didn’t even go to church; we’d just put the flowers in and go for dinner together.”

 Kara nods, “And that’s why I do it. I preserve memories, I preserve families and histories and hurts with those seeds. The journey passes from person to person with those.” Kara blinks her eyes, glances at her oven and asks, “Want to stay for dinner?”

 Lena wants to. She’s sure James does too but she’s got a flight early tomorrow morning to the other side of the country and sees her father for what’s probably the last time.

 She grimaces, “I wish. I gotta type this up and then I’ve got a flight tomorrow.”

 Kara frowns, “Aw, that’s too bad.” She stands up and walks them all the way to Lena’s car, her hands in her pockets, and the John Deere hat on her head backwards.

 The chicken is sleeping on the ATV and she clucks, eyes narrowed, and sidles up to it. Lena is strapping into her seat but pauses to watch her walk sideways to a sleeping chicken, put a hand over it, and then grab and truss it under her arm.

 “This is Bonnie,” Kara introduces them. “She likes to run away.”

 Lena watches her go most of the way to the path, before the bend when she’s out of sight because of the ironwoods, and leans her head out her own window, “Hey, Kara!”

 Kara turns, light on her feet.

 “It’s cosmos! My father sent them for my college graduation!”

 Kara’s grin lights up her face and she walks the path backwards.

 The drive home is almost as silent as the drive to the farm. “She’s different from Clark,” Olsen finally says. “Hard to imagine they grew up in the same house.”

 Lena doesn’t say anything and Olsen stops making conversation. They listen to Lana Del Rey the whole way home.

--

Lena’s flight is direct and she lands just in time to catch an Uber to the mansion before the price surges.

 “This your place?” Her driver asks with a thick accent. Lena nods, grabs her backpack, and exits the car. Security lets her in immediately. Her key still works and she walks into the foyer like she did over two decades ago.

 Lex is in the piano room and Lillian in the kitchen. Lex smiles but it’s thin and doesn’t reach his eyes. Lillian is shaking slightly and Lena avoids her. Father is in his study, as always, and perks up just slightly when she walks in.

 “Lena,” He says and stands and they touch cheeks. He gives her a sheet of paper, ink still wet at the bottom. She knows it’s his will before he even hands it to her and she pushes it aside.

 His eyebrows rise over familiar green eyes, “No questions?”

 She responds, “Just one.”

 Father says without her asking, “You are my biological child. Lex didn’t know; Lillian did.”

 Her mouth parts and all that comes out is a tiny, “Oh.”

 He opens the scotch and grabs two tumblers. He pours two fingers in one and one in another.

 “Do you still take it with water?”

 She nods and he pours a finger of water in the glass, sliding it to her.

 She sips and he gulps, his silver streaked hair catching in the light. It makes her think of Kara and it gives her the courage to say, “Father, my question.”

 Father slams the glass down. “That wasn’t it?”

 She shakes her head, “No.”

 His brows furrow, as if what else could she possibly have to ask him but he says, “Go on, Lena-girl.”

 “What’s your favorite flower?”

             END

[thefastlanefanfic]

The Neighbors - TWO

Wattpad // Chapters 1-2

Sidenote: I’m so sorry if you’re on mobile lol this is gonna be long as shit (why does the “read more” thing not work on mobile)

5:00 AM on Monday morning came entirely too soon.  With the ability to select college courses all in the afternoon for my last semester, I'd been sleeping in until 11 o'clock in the morning.  It certainly didn't help that I'd been sleeping past noon the last few days I was at home on my "summer break."  There was something about finishing college that made me exhausted.  I would have thought I'd be energetic and stoked to greet the days void of research papers and group presentations, but instead, it was like every single all-nighter I ever pulled was catching up to me.

I threw on the new lavender scrubs my father bought for me and proceeded with my morning routine.  I made sure I had a lunch packed.  Since I was trying to be healthy, I packed a salad with some chicken I'd prepared the night before and some popcorn.  I loved popcorn.  I printed and filled out all of the grown-up paperwork I had to turn in to the company to make sure I got medical insurance coverage and direct deposit to my bank account every two weeks.  I felt like such an adult, having to do all of the background checks, I-9s, W-4s, and whatever other legal paperwork the company had to do before I could officially start work.  Then again, I had to call my dad about forty times in the process of filling out the forms because I had no idea what they were asking me.  Maybe I wasn't actually an adult just yet.

As I was walking to the front door, I noticed a group of crickets scatter away from the door inside the apartment.  I squealed and jumped backwards before I knew what they were.  Why were there so many of them in my apartment? I noticed the early morning sun streaming in through a sliver of a crack under the door.  I swore to myself.  The reason the crickets sounded so close to me last night was because they had come under the door into the apartment.  I figured they were just sitting outside my bedroom window as I was trying to sleep.  

I used my dustpan to chase a few of the crickets back toward the front door.  Some of them had disappeared under my couch.  Others were chirping from hidden crevasses in the apartment I had yet to discover.  I growled as I heard one chirp that sounded like it was in my ear, but I couldn't find it anywhere around me.  I checked my watch.  I was going to be late for work.  I opened the front door to shoo out the few crickets I could direct out of the apartment.  On my front stoop was a small bag.  The smell of warm shit filled my nostrils and began to crawl into my apartment, mixed from the humidity already clouding up the atmosphere outside.

"What the-"

I didn't have time or patience to decipher whether the dog crap was an insult directed toward me or just a rude, lazy neighbor who couldn't make it to his own trashcan.  I glanced out into the quad to see if anyone was out with their dog.  The quad was quiet.  Still asleep.  I slung my purse over my shoulder and switched my lunchbox to my left hand.  In my right hand, I pinched the very tip of the bag between my pointer finger and my thumb and quickly made my way to the trashcan along the sidewalk.  I threw the bag into the can and shivered, the smell of warm shit still lingering in the dense air.

"Early shift this morning?"

I nearly leapt out of my skin as someone approached from behind me.  I whipped around, my purse swinging with my body and slapping against my butt as I did.  It was Wilson.  He was in uniform and looked like he was returning from a night shift.

"Or are you just returning home?" He asked.

It was too early for me to be dealing with him.

"Heading out," I said.  "First day."

"Yippie-ki-yay!  Good luck, even though I'm sure you'll be outstand-erific," he said, winking at me. "Maybe later tonight we can do that dinner date.  Early birthday dinner?  I know your birthday isn't until tomorrow but I just found out I've got a 16-hour shift tomorrow and I'm not sure I'll be able to take you out on that day.  I'm covering for a buddy."

"You know, Wilson, I really just need to stay home and do some more getting settle-" I started, trying to weasel my way out of this "date."

"Oh come on, Leah.  One dinner date.  Maybe more after that, but only if you fall in love with me first."  He snatched my free hand that previously held the poop-bag and kissed it.

I pulled my hand away and fake smiled.  "One meal," I agreed, eager to get going.  I refused to call it a "date."

"Magnificent," Wilson said, raising his arms to the heavens as if God himself had granted Wilson the permission to take me out. "I will pick you up around 7.  Does that work?"

Just then, Harry sauntered into the quad wearing nothing but shorts and tennis shoes.  He had a t-shirt draped around his neck and was using it to wipe the sweat from his forehead.  His hair was sticking straight up into the air.  His chest glistened with more sweat.  I caught myself before my jaw dropped too noticeably.  Harry's eyes met mine and he winked at me, smiling.

"Leah? Dinner tonight at 7?" Wilson asked again.

"What?" I asked, snapping back to reality. Harry was walking past us.  I wished Wilson would shut up and leave. "Yeah, that's great.  See you later-" I said, turning and following Harry.  I called his name before he entered his apartment.  He turned and smiled at me again.  

"Lee." He wiped his forehead with his t-shirt.  The full-frontal view of his bare torso finally gave me a look at the ink that covered every inch of his skin.  Each piece of art came to life as his lungs expanded with each deep breath he took.

"Leah," I corrected him, laughing as though it didn't really hurt me that he couldn't seem to remember my name.  ""Like, Lee-uh. Lee-uh," I repeated.  I sounded like an idiot. "How are you?"

"Great," Harry said.  "Nothing like an early morning run."

I faked a laugh. "Yeah."

"Do you run?" Harry asked.

"Not if I can help it," I answered honestly, chuckling to myself.  Harry raised his eyebrows and nodded, the look on his face indifferent to whether I really ran or not.  There was a glimmer in his eye that made it look like he was almost laughing at me internally or just really enjoying the conversation.  One of those, or he just was being overly polite and wanted to go shower off the sweat that was flowing gently over his toned torso. "I mean," I said.  "I should probably start..."

"Not a bad habit to pick up," he said, wiping just below his messy hair with his t-shirt one more time. "I can see how it's not for everyone though.  You headed to work?" He looked me up and down in my lavender scrubs and smiled as though I was a four-year-old child dressed up for the job I wanted in the future.  To be fair, that's about how I felt.  I couldn't believe I was about to have my own adult job.

I nodded slowly, enjoying the way the words rolled off his tongue and dripped off of his lips before I snapped out of my trance and shot a look at my watch.  "Oh shit- I'm actually going to be late."

"Good luck-"  Harry said, turning and using a key to open his front door as I sprinted across the quad, holding my purse tightly to my hip.  I slid to a halt with a sudden courage to ask:

"Harry, are you doing anything later tonight?"

He had disappeared into his doorway but the door was not yet closed.  He reemerged and shrugged.  "I'm not," he called to me. "Sounded like you made plans with Wilson, though."

The hopeful smile that had spread across my face disappeared as quickly as it came.  "Oh, yes.  I forgot."

Harry smiled and shook his head. "Maybe another time, Lee.  Get to work."

"Leah," I corrected him once more.  

He merely laughed and closed his front door.

I was tense arriving to work because I was a few minutes late.  I rushed into the main foyer of Sunshine Days Nursing Home and nearly slammed into the front desk.

"Leah Fitzpatrick here for work.  It's my first day."

The middle-aged, overweight receptionist was wearing some Winnie-the-Pooh scrubs, though the way she had snacks and drinks and cheap romance novels scattered all over the desk made it seem that she didn't actually work with any of the patients personally.  The only spills her scrubs were catching were from her 64oz mega-drink soft drink cup she'd picked up from a truck stop and the ketchup swirled onto a half-eaten pizza that was laying in the empty receptionist chair beside her.  She peered over her glasses at me.  I found it hard to meet her eyes since so much dead skin and eye goop had congealed in the corners of her glasses where the bargain-brand frames met the bridge of her pale nose.  Her red, short, curly hair matched the cheap red lipstick that had found its way to her front teeth.

"You're late," she said.

"I just got a little held up at home.  My new apartment... the bolt lock was giving me problems," I lied.

I could tell the receptionist wasn't buying it.  She cocked her head at me and looked at me.  I was almost waiting for her to say, "Mhmm.  Really?" I was relieved when she didn't.

"There are people here who work a night shift and it's really fucking tiring.  Have you ever worked a night shift?" She snapped.

I shook my head.

"It's really fucking tiring.  People are going to be mad if you refuse to get here on time.  They want to sleep.  Don't you like your sleep?"

I nodded.

"Then get here on time. It's really fucking tiring to work a night shift."

"Okay..." I said.  "I got it."

The receptionist sat back in her comfortable swivel-chair and placed a fat hand on her chest like she'd been personally attacked. "If you're going to have a problem with coming to work on time you may as well quit now.  Do you need to turn around and walk out those doors or are we going to agree that you come in at five o'clock?"

"Six," I corrected her.

She gasped at me, again offended that I would even open my mouth.

"Six is what the email said.  I can show you," I said, pulling out my phone.

Clearly not wanting to be proven wrong, the receptionist held up a hand to me and shook her head.  "Just be on time next time, okay?  We don't have patience for people who don't take this job seriously."

"Jesus, Martha, cool it," a cool voice said from a hallway behind me.  A woman in her 30's approached me and the receptionist slyly.  She looked too clean to have worked a night shift.  I wondered if she was working the day shift with me.  Still addressing the receptionist, she said, "You were late on your first day because you spilled a Chick-fil-a milkshake down your front and had to go back home and change."  

Martha's face flushed red.

The new woman leaned on the counter and looked at me. "Leah?"

"Yes," I said, extending a hand, relieved that someone spared me from the unwarranted wrath of the receptionist.

She shook it.  She was a plain looking woman with brown eyes and brown hair pulled back into a low ponytail.  She was wearing no jewelry or makeup, but still had a subtle beauty about herself. "Nicolle.  I'll be showing you around these next few weeks.  Or until you pick it up on your own."

She put her hands into the front pockets on the shirt of her green scrubs and walked back down the hallway she'd originally emerged from.  I followed, finding nothing but administrative offices and break rooms.  "You can put your stuff here," Nicolle said, motioning toward a single wall of tan lockers once we'd reached the room the furthest down the hallway.  There was a table in the middle of the room with a few coffee cups, food wrappers, and magazines spread across it.  A cell phone was plugged into the wall, charging.  An old, square computer monitor was in the corner of the room I figured no one ever visited - the top of the computer was coated in a thick layer of dust.  As the outdated "Windows" icon bounced from side to side of the monitor screen, it seemed to shake dust particles onto the rickety-looking desk it was sitting on.  "Don't let Martha scare you," Nicolle said as I shoved my purse and lunch into a locker that reeked of old perfume.  "Martha was engaged and basically got dumped for a skinny girl.  It sucks.  I'd be pissed if that happened too.  But Martha then proceeded to gain another 200lbs after her fiancé left her.  Whole thing was a mess.  She just hates anyone she thinks is prettier than her." Nicolle stretched her arms over her head and yawned.

I wanted to feel bad for Martha, but because of the first and only encounter we'd had so far, I couldn't make myself feel for her.

Nicolle crossed her arms over her small chest.  "We don't do a whole lot of training here for newbies unless you feel like you need it.  You're fresh out of school though, right?  You should have a better grip on physical therapy and art therapy and meds than any of us."

I laughed.  "It's been a month since I've had to crack a textbook so I wouldn't mind a refresher of the meds.  The rest I think will come naturally."

"Don't worry about the medicine so much.  We have a registered nurse who sorts out dosages and brings the meds to you for whichever client you're with at the time.  You just hand it to the client and make sure they don't spit it out or choke."

"Sounds easy," I said.

Nicolle laughed.  "Easy unless you're working with Mr. Lewis.  He'll spit until he has no more saliva if it means he doesn't have to take his meds."

For the day, I basically shadowed Nicolle.  She was 35.  Married to a guy she'd dated since high school.  She kept assuring me that she loved the guy but proceeded to talk about all of the problems they were having and how tired of him she was.  She droned on about how she went out with some of her single friends a week ago and was hit on by a tall, handsome cowboy.  "I should have gone home with him.  Spiced up my life a little bit.  There is never any excitement anymore," she said to me as we carried lunch trays down the hallways from room to room.  Before I could give her my opinion, she spoke to the old man in the room we'd entered. "Mr. Davenport, salmon today."

The old man she addressed merely turned his back to us and continued to watch The Price Is Right on his television.  He curled his lip like he was disgusted as Nicolle placed the tray of food on a table beside him.

She rolled her eyes at me and motioned toward the door.  In the hallway, she said, "He's a chef.  Has a daughter who's a chef too.  He says her name is Kennedy, I think.  She lives in NYC.  Dating some famous boxer.  Mr. Davenport talks about her all the time, but she never calls or visits.  I can't tell if she's actually real or if he's just crazy.  He claims he won't call her because he put her up for adoption when her mother died during child birth.  I just think Kennedy's a figment of his imagination.  Anyway, the food is never good enough for him but he'll eat it if you just leave it for him."

By the time I got to take a lunch break, I was exhausted.  There was something about the slow day that made me more tired.  I felt like I wasn't really doing a whole lot, but making small talk with some old people who were mentally aware enough to recognize I was a new staff member, and other old people who weren't mentally aware enough to recognize that I was NOT, in fact, their grandchild.  One woman in particular kept calling me "Elizabeth," who Nicolle later informed me was the baby girl the old woman miscarried in the 1930's.  Really, it all made me sad.  It just made me think of my father.

During group art therapy time, I sat with a table of four elderly women and watched as they painted aimlessly on their own canvases.  Really, three of them were painting.  The fourth was tugging at the uncomfortable smock that we'd distributed to everyone to keep their clothes from getting paint on them.  

"Shelley, I don't like this fabric," the old woman croaked, addressing my new coworker across the room.  

Shelley sighed and crossed her legs as she helped one of the elderly at her own table.  She scratched under the heap of blonde hair on the top of her head, which I guess was supposed to be a messy bun.  "Lydia, we've told you, we are keeping your other clothes from getting dirty."

The old woman looked at me as if I was supposed to contradict Shelley and give her permission to take the smock off.  I smiled at her as politely and sympathetically as I could, but didn't say anything.  In the 8 hours I'd been there, I didn't feel I knew any of the clients well enough to ask anything of them or order them around.  

"This damn place..." Lydia muttered under her breath, turning to face the muted TV that had some low-budget soap opera playing.  Her stiff, grey hair stayed perfectly in place as she huffed and puffed in her chair.  Her overly-exaggerated actions almost made her look like an annoyed teenager who had just been told "no."

I got lost in the soap opera for a moment. There was something about watching those shitty actors on mute that made it seem like they might almost be good at acting for a second.  I felt something wet land on my arm and drew my attention back to the table where Mrs. White had accidentally flicked green paint onto my new lavender scrubs.  I pursed my lips and sighed.  It was only a small blot of paint, but they were my brand new scrubs.  I tried not to be mad.  I knew my face probably showed nothing more than indifference.  I was good at hiding emotion when I wanted to.

"I'm sorry, Elizabeth," she said to me, glancing down at the table where she'd also dripped paint.  "I'm so clumsy these days..."

I stood up. "It's okay, Mrs. White." Almost immediately after rising to my feet, behind me, I heard some kind of liquid splattering on the wood floor, like someone had poured their water straight onto the ground.  I turned to see another woman, Miss Jane, with her elastic-waisted pants around her ankles, her Depends diaper around her knees, and her bare butt hovering just over the side of an empty vase beside the doorway to the community room.  I gasped as I realized that she was mistaking the vase for a toilet.  Though she was aiming for the vase, she was really getting half of her pee into the vase and the other half of it on her shoes and the floor.

"No, don't!" I blurted, a natural reaction to Miss Jane's mistake.  The old woman jumped, my outburst having scared her.  She stumbled backward and tipped over the vase.  I could hear the urine in the vase slosh before the vase hit the floor.  It was like it was happening in slow motion.  It was another natural reaction for me to stoop down and try to stop the vase from tipping completely over, but I was too late, and the vase bounced onto the floor, showering me in warm old lady piss.  I stood slowly, held back a gag, and shuddered.  In the corner of the room, my coworker Shelley merely cackled, still scratching under the heap of hair tied up on her head.

"Not the first time that's happened.  Next time, let her finish peeing.  Easier to clean up if you don't knock over the vase," Shelley said, looking nonchalantly at the old man painting beside her.

By the end of the day, I was defeated.  Done.  Grossed out.  A little depressed.  How could I do this job?  How could I last more than a week?  How did Nicolle and Shelley work so long in a place with people who couldn't go to the bathroom on their own or even remember who their own kids were?  I knew what I was getting into by taking this nursing home job... but then again, I didn't.

I wheeled into the parking lot at my apartment complex and dragged my body from the front seat of my car.  No sooner had I set my feet on the pavement did Wilson come bouncing jovially around the corner of the quad.  He was decked out in his cop uniform.

"I've been waiting for you!" He said.  He had to have been staring out the window of his apartment until I drove up.  Unless maybe he was standing outside the quad waiting for me too.  I wondered how long he'd been waiting. His blonde hair was slicked back so tightly that it didn't move as he bounded toward me.  

I had forgotten about our dinner.  I wanted to groan.  It was times like these I wished I had the power to make myself vomit on command.  If I could have one super power, it would be to vomit whenever I wanted just so I could weasel my way out of hanging out with people.

"Can I take a rain check on dinner?  I've had a hard day... my stomach is hurtin-" I started.

"No escaping your birthday! Your dad told me you're not much of a birthday person but I'm going to force you to dinner!" Wilson said, locking my small wrist in a tight clasp of his fingers and pulling me toward his cop car.

I silently cursed my dad for telling Wilson about my birthday at all.  "Wilson, I just really am so tired- I mean, I'm covered in pee and-"

"No excuse is going to get you out of this.  Your daddio said you would try every excuse in the book so I'm not buying it."

I was trying to find a way to free my wrist from his grip without making it seem like I was whipping my hand away from him, but he was not letting loose.

"I made reservations for 7:00 and it's 6:45! We have to get there," he said hurriedly, opening the back door to his cop car. "Let's get to bangin' on all cylinders."

I hesitated, suddenly the only thought occupying my mind: "Wait... you want me to ride in the back?"

"Awkward, I know," Wilson said, uneasily sighing and laughing at the same time.  "You can't ride in the front unless you're a cop."

"I didn't know that was a thing..." I said slowly.

"It's a thing.  Big thing.  Big thing," Wilson said.  He looked impatiently at the watch on his wrist and bounced his knees.  "We gotta get going though so jump in! The back is not that bad, I promise.  It'll be fun.  A good party story later in life.  Tell your friends like 'hey, I rode in the back of a cop car once.'"

I stared into the black back seat where a gate was going to keep me from properly communicating with Wilson.  The window was also barred.  I looked over my shoulder at the blue low-rider I'd first seen him in the day that my father helped me move in.  "We can't take that car?" I asked, pointing at it.

Wilson bounced on his toes.  I could tell he was getting more and more annoyed with me as each second passed.  Maybe I could piss him off enough to make him ditch his own date.  He inhaled sharply.  "I'm on call so we have to take the duty car.  It's fun in the back!  Don't worry."

I sighed heavily.  There was no way this guy was letting up.  "Can I change first? I'm covered in pee-"

"Good golly-wolly," Wilson laughed harshly.  "Your dad was right.  You really don't like your birthday-" He nearly pulled me into the back seat like I was a criminal.  He slammed the door in my face, nearly crunching my foot in the process.  I gawked at him, though he couldn't see me inside the tinted, barred window.  He jogged around to the drivers' seat, and before I could protest dinner any more, flew backward out of the parking lot and onto the main street.  He was speeding like crazy.

We came to a red light and he hummed angrily.  I watched in disbelief as he flicked on his police siren and forced the cars to part like the Red Sea.  He drove recklessly through another red light at an intersection, but all cars halted for him to speed through since he had his lights on.  Meanwhile, he didn't seem to notice me sliding around all over the back seat.

We arrived at an Olive Garden.  Wilson had to come let me out since my door wouldn't open from the inside.  A family of four eyed me suspiciously in my nasty scrubs as I crawled ashamedly out of the grimy back seat of the cop car.  Wilson didn't address me as he aggressively took my arm and pulled me into the restaurant.  He shoved through the waiting crowd by the front door and tapped the bell at the hostess' desk obnoxiously.  The hostess, who saw him approach and was going to speak to him even before he dinged her bell, froze with her mouth open.  I tried not to laugh as I watched her face, a fake smile spreading from cheek to cheek as she kept her cool with this rude customer.

"Table for two? The wait will be about 45 minutes," she said.

"Reservation for Kilmer at 7:00.  Sorry we are late.  This one wouldn't stop bitching-" Wilson said, pointing his thumb over his shoulder at me.  

The hostess peeked over Wilson's shoulder at me.  I made the classic "what-the-hell-is-this-dickhead-talking-about" face at her and she seemed to immediately read me.  I was too tired to fight this.  And by this, I meant Wilson as a whole.  I had already accepted that this was going to be a disaster date I would talk about four years from now.

We sat at the table and ordered food.  I watched Wilson's face as he handed his menu to the busty, blonde waitress who wrote down our order.  His eyebrows were tightly drawn together and his jaw was clenched.  Almost like a flip had switched, his face relaxed with a single blink and he smiled at me.  "Happy birthday."

"My birthday is tomorrow," I said rudely, crossing my arms across my chest.

Wilson sighed heavily and relaxed in the booth seat we were in.  "My, my, my.  You are a little jokester, aren't you?"

I felt like he was trying to play off the fact that I was NOT, by any means, having a good time.

The waitress plopped down a basket of bread between the two of us.  Wilson grabbed a stick and shoved half of it in his mouth.  I watched as crumbs scattered down the front of his officer uniform, all blue this time instead of tan.  He chewed with his mouth open, flecks of spit flying my direction and landing on my arms and hands.  I crossed my arms across my chest as if it might actually help protect me from the flying spit.  It didn't.

"Let me get a Miller Lite.  Bud Lite.   Whatever beer you have that's light," he said to the waitress, half of the bread still in his mouth.

"Aren't you on call?" I asked. "You shouldn't be drinking."

He winked at me.  "I won't tell if you won't."

I sunk my head into my hands.  "Good god..." I sighed, mainly to myself.  Wilson ignored me.

We sat in silence after that.  Wilson tapped his short, stubby fingers along the table and clicked his tongue as he looked around at the other dinner guests enjoying their carb-loaded meals in the yellow lighting of the restaurant.  I didn't ever know it was possible to go from hero to zero so fast.  Not that Wilson was ever a hero in my book, but he seemed like more of an asshat than ever.  I was praying to God Wilson wouldn't get called into work for some kind of backup.  I was dying to escape this dinner, but after three beers, light or not, I was terrified thinking about what kind of damage this careless cop could do when he wasn't in the right state of mind.  Each time he ordered another beer, I would give him a death stare and tell him, "I don't think that's a good idea."

Each time, he ignored me and drank his next beer faster.

He motioned for the waitress to come to the table once more.  Without him asking, she brought him another mug of beer and placed it in his outstretched hand.

“I really wish you wouldn’t drink another,” I said to Wilson, unable to look this asshole in the eyes anymore as he cupped his fourth mug of beer in his hands.

“Listen, if you’re going to be my girlfriend, you need to be less controlling. I can’t believe this is our first date and you’re already trying to control me,” he said, lifting the rim of the glass cup to his lips and sipping the beer.

There was such a drastic difference between how Wilson was talking to me and treating me now as opposed to how he had been with me in front of my father. I wanted to believe that he was just playing a role to appease my father and give me a good first impression that day, but even earlier this morning, when he asked me to dinner, he seemed to be a totally different person.

“What did you do today?” I asked him.

He sighed in annoyance. “I’ve been on call all day,” he told me, putting to rest any thought that I had about him maybe just having a rough day. Whether he had a good day or not didn’t give him the right to treat me like he was.

He polished off his fourth beer and signaled the waitress for another.

I leapt to my feet. “I’ve got to go to the bathroom.”

Wilson just stared up at me.

I turned and made my way through the tables, the murmur of private conversations surrounding me as I turned my hips to squeeze through chairs and people. I walked back to where the kitchen was and met our waitress as she was rounding the corner of the kitchen with another beer in her hand.

“Don’t you have an alcohol serving limit?” I asked.

She blinked at me and began to stutter.

“He’s on call for work. For police work,” I explained, trying to make her feel bad.

“I mean, he’s the customer though… I didn’t know he was working. Anyway, what he chooses to drink is up to him.” She tried to push past me with the beer, but I put my hand on her shoulder and pushed her back.

“He’s not going to arrest you if you cut him off, you know,” I said.

She gasped at me. “That’s not what I thought would happen anyway-“

“So you’re just going to over-serve him alcohol to boost your tip?” I asked.  I knew my tone was rude but I didn’t care. This was important.  A few other waitresses had protectively gathered around the one who had been serving us.

“What’s the problem?”

The waitress inhaled sharply. “She just couldn’t find the bathroom. It’s this way to the left,” she told me, pointing a finger past me and waiting for me to try and bring up the alcohol issue again.

I glared at her, turned on my heel, and nearly ran to the bathroom. I pulled out my phone and googled the number of the Easton Police Department. I locked myself into a bathroom stall as the phone began to ring.

“Easton P. D., how can we help you?”

“Listen, I have a problem-" I said, running my finger over the latch on the bathroom door.

“Ma’am, let me transfer you to emergencies-"

“No! No,” I blurted. “This is about one of your employees. He’s on call right now. Officer Wilson Kilmer. He’s-"

“Oh… Hold on, sweetheart. I’m going to have to transfer you anyway.”

“What?” I asked. “To who??”

“Please hold.”

The phone began to ring again before I could speak to the receptionist anymore.

“Chief Moore speaking, who is this?” A voice sounded as quickly as the ringing had begun.

“Um, my name is Leah and I’ve got a problem with one of your officers. Officer Wilson Kilmer?”

The other end of the line was silent for a moment. “What has he done?”

“Nothing yet, I suppose. We’re at dinner and he said he’s on call and he’s just been drinking a lot.  He’s intoxicated I think and I just want to make sure he doesn’t get called in. I don’t want him hurting someone because of a lapse in judgment caused by the beer,” I explained hurriedly.

“What?”

“I asked him to stop and even told the waitress to stop serving him but-"

“Is he wearing the uniform?”

I nodded and said, “Yes.”

“Where are you?” He asked.

“The Olive Garden on… uh…. I don’t know… I just moved to Easton like, three days ago. I’m so so sorry-”

“Miss, please. It’s okay. Thank you for the call. We’ll take care of it.” The line went dead.

I walked out of the stall and saw an older woman watching me in the reflection of the mirror as she wiped the water off of her hands. I knew she’d heard it all. She merely nodded at me once and smiled before throwing away her hand towel and exiting the bathroom.  I walked to the sink and threw water on my face before peering at my own tired reflection in the mirror.  God, this had been a long and eventful day.

When I walked back to the table, I was surprised to see Wilson throwing our food into to-go boxes. The food must have just arrived. He looked rushed.

“C’mere, Leah, come on. We’ve got to go. I called you a cab. I’ve got to go to work. They just called me in-“

“What??” I asked, shocked for a moment before I had the idea that maybe he was being called into work by the chief to get his ass chewed.

He grabbed his uniform jacket and threw some money down onto the table. He grabbed both of the boxes of food and pulled me by my wrist through the restaurant and out the door. As we walked out, another cop car turned slowly into the parking lot.

“James,” Wilson said seriously, coming to a halt as James pulled up in front of us and stepped out of the car.  James had a cautious, and yet seemingly unnecessary, hand hovering close to the gun on his hip.  James was also young, with short brown hair covered by his police hat and dimples so deep that you could fall into them if you got too close. He smiled faintly at me.

“Wilson-“

“James.   What’s the problem??  Robbery??  Murder-“

“Hey, man.  Why don’t you jump in the car and I’ll tell you on the way to the station?” James said, almost like he was talking to a confused child.  He looked at me and blinked slowly.

Wilson didn’t even seem to remember that I was standing there as he sprinted around the front of the cop car and dove into the front passenger seat with both my dinner and his.

James instantly turned to me and lowered his voice.  “Miss, we want to thank you for the call.  I’d just be careful around him from now on.”

On, I was planning on it.  I was planning on staying far, far away.  I meant, as far away as I could while still living next door to him.  James stepped back into the police car, closed the door, and sent one more sympathetic look my way as he drove away with Wilson.

At that moment, the taxi arrived.   I hadn’t even thought about the fact that Wilson literally called me a taxi to drive me home.  Not even something more clean and modern, like an uber or a lift.   There was something about just looking at the rusty, yellow taxi that made me feel dirty - well, dirtier than I already was.  I climbed into the cab slowly, avoiding a splash of grey mystery goop on the faux-leather seat and trying not to lean too far back.  There was a rip in the seat behind my back, and I was nervous that if I relaxed too much, I'd be sucked into the trunk by some taxi-demon.  I was hesitant to even pull the slick, greasy seatbelt across my still pee-stained scrubs.

The driver coughed so hard that I was worried a lung was going to hit the windshield.  It was obvious he'd just polished off a cigarette, the smell lingering despite the car's open windows.

"Where to?" He croaked.

I almost couldn't remember my new address.  "Marble Park apartments," I finally told him after racking my brain. He tried to make small talk, but I was too busy running over the events of the day to have a conversation with him.

When we got to the apartments, I paid the cigarette smoke-ridden cab driver and dragged myself out of the torn-up back seat, accidentally dragging my hand through the mystery goop I'd tried so hard to avoid the whole 20 minutes home.  I groaned and wiped whatever the sticky residue was onto my pee-stained scrubs and sighed heavily and almost sing-song-y as I rounded the corner of the quad.  It was dark outside, all except for the three, dim porch lights that were bright enough only to illuminate the three feet of porch there was for the first-floor apartments.  The lamp post in the middle of the quad was also dimly lit.

I used the entirety of my body weight to open the front door to my apartment.  I immediately dropped my purse, pulled my shirt over my head and pulled my pants down to my knees, using my feet to push them the rest of the way off of my legs.  I walked straight back to my bathroom and didn't even wait for the water to turn hot before I had slumped against the shower wall, letting the water flow over my skin which felt like it had a thick layer of grime on it.  Grime from being coughed and sneezed on.  Grime from being peed on.  Grime from Wilson's spit.  Grime from the cab.  It was like I could feel it coming off in layers as I dragged a bar of soap slowly over my skin.

I hadn't washed my hair because I liked to wash it in the mornings.  I threw it up in a messy bun on top of my head. The bun looked way better than whatever mess Shelley had created with her own hair, if I did say so myself.  I wiped the mascara off of where the steam from the shower had made it bleed down my cheeks.  Took my contacts out.  Threw on my glasses.  Put on some old, purple sweats I had.  Pulled on an old bralette.  I walked into the kitchen of my apartment and opened the cupboard.  Without giving it much thought, I snagged a bag of popcorn kernels, threw it into the microwave, and pressed the "six" button.  I knew it wouldn't take that long, but I would stop it when the popcorn had popped.  I stood, leaning my bare stomach against the cold, fake granite of the counter and stared blankly into the microwave.  A ring from my phone snapped me out of my trance.

"Hello?" I answered.

There was no reply.  

"Dad, are you there?"

I began to walk around my apartment, searching for a clear signal.  I could hear bits and pieces of something my father was trying to say - probably just checking in on me - but I couldn't get a full sentence from him.

The call ended.  I was standing by the window at the front of my apartment.  I typed out a quick text to my father:

Couldn't hear you.  We can try again tomorrow.  I've had a long first day.  Love you - L.

As I sent that text, I scrolled through some of the other text messages I'd been receiving from old friends for my birthday - Impersonal and brief "Happy Birthday!" messages that didn't bring me as much joy as they did in the past.  Getting caught up in the messages, I didn't realize that my popcorn had begun to burn. The smell filled the apartment, and I scurried to tear the smoking bag out of the microwave.  Smoke began to cloud the ceiling.  I burned my finger on the top of the bag where the smoke was coming out and dropped the bag to the floor.  Swearing, I hurried to the window and threw it open to prevent the single smoke detector in my apartment from releasing a shrill alarm and disrupting the peace of my new neighbors.

As I stood at the window, I rubbed my eyes with my uninjured fingers.  I examined the part of my finger that stung from the burned bag of kernels.

"Alright?"

I nearly leapt out of my skin.  I thought for a moment someone was standing in my apartment, but I finally realized that Harry was standing just outside the window.  I hardly noticed him since it was so dark outside and he was still dressed in all sorts of dark colors.  

"Fucks sake-" I exclaimed.  "I- I- I'm okay.  I'm fine.  You scared the hell out of me-"

"I'm sorry," Harry laughed, coming a little bit closer to the window.  The light from my kitchen illuminated his handsome face.  It also allowed me to see that he was holding some sort of green gardening can.  "I was just putting a little bit of plant food in Miss Jones' plants.  I do it every week or so.  Helps 'em stay alive," he explained.  

"At night?" I asked.

"What?"

"At night?  You feed the plants at this time of night?" I repeated, raising my wrist to look at a watch I realized wasn't there only after I'd checked the imaginary time.  

Harry laughed awkwardly.  "Eh, well, yes.  She doesn't know I do it.  At least, I don't think she does."

I stood and stared at him, becoming more consciously aware of my appearance and clothing (or lack thereof) and the fact that he'd probably been peeking in the window the whole time I'd burned my snack and been chasing some kind of cellular service.  For as much as I wanted to be creeped out, my stomach was fluttering.  He wasn't creeping in my window.  He was feeding Miss Jones' plants.  Her goddamn plants.

I walked out the front door and stood to the right side of my porch, leaning over the banister toward Harry's silhouette.  He watched me only for a short moment before he returned to shaking some of the small pellets of plant food into the vases on the ground and the plants hanging from Miss Jones' porch.  I wanted to ask him something.  Tell him something.  Have him ask me a question or anything to get us involved.  However, I stood for a few minutes in silence, in the dim lighting from my kitchen and the small light in the middle of the quad, and listened to the plant food pellets tap against the sides of the plants' bowls and vases.

When he'd run out of plant food, Harry sighed softly.  "Good night, then."

His feet brushed weightlessly against the grass as he began to walk away.

"Harry," I called quietly, almost as if I was whispering it to myself.

He stopped.  I saw the black shape of his body turn toward me, his figure becoming more visual as he stepped closer into the small amount of light from the kitchen again.  He stood and waited without saying anything.

I had a sudden wave of confidence wash over my body.  I stood up straight, sticking out my chest even though I know he couldn't really see my perky breasts in my bralette.  I took a deep breath, but just as quickly as the confidence had come, it went away. "Um-" I started.  My inner self was begging me to say something.  Anything.  

"Come inside?" I said.  I asked.  I whispered.  I basically breathed it.  I wondered if he even heard me.  I felt like an absolute dumbass.  Should I repeat myself?  What if he said no?  It was late.  Surely he would say no.  What was I inviting him in for?  Burnt popcorn?  I didn't know what part of me was asking him into my apartment, but could only imagine it wasn't for a cup of tea and small talk.  What did I think was going to happen?  He was going to just lean in and kiss me and-

"Sure."

"What?" I asked.

"I'll come in.  Let me take a look at your finger," he said.

Like that morning, I had to keep my mouth from falling open.  I turned around abruptly and opened my front door for him.  He followed me inside.  He moved so quickly and so silently that I just about jumped out of my skin again when I turned around and he was standing only eight inches from me.  He gripped my hand and extended my fingers, like he had the day I was moving in.  This time, however, I let him look, even though there was nothing there anymore.  No evidence of any serious damage.

"I think you'll survive," he told me after evaluating the non-existent injury.  "Your heart line here is showing some pretty interesting stuff, though," he said, dragging a long finger along one of the creases in the palm of my hand.  

"What?" I asked, kind of laughing to myself.  I'd never much believed in palm-reading or horoscopes or anything like that, but it was always interesting to read about and learn about. "What does it say?" I asked him, looking down at my own palm.

"It's about your love life," he said.  "Did you have a good date tonight?"

"No," I gushed, looking up into Harry's eyes.  I laughed just thinking about it.  "It was a disaster.  Does the palm say I'm destined for a long, devoted, and romantic relationship with Wilson?  After tonight, I'd rather die before having to spend more time with him."

Harry's mouth curled into a small, almost triumphant smile, but he shook his head.  "It says something about a tall brunette kissing you.  Unless you object."

My heart pounded in my chest.  "Oh?" I squeaked, nearly losing the ability to speak.  "My palm is that specific?" I asked.

Harry took a step toward me and began to lean in.  "I don't know," Harry chuckled.  "I can't read palms."

I lifted my mouth to meet his.  I began to instantly feel drowsy, like the room was spinning and I was going weak.  Harry wrapped an arm around my lower back and pulled my body more into his.  I felt like fireworks were exploding in my stomach.  His lips were warm and full.  I wanted to sink my teeth into them.  Without separating our lips, I began to pull him toward my bedroom, tugging at the hem of his black shirt as we went.  Clothes began to litter the living room.  I flicked off the lights as we neared the bedroom.  For as much as I wanted to look at Harry's handsome face, just the feeling of his mouth, which was making its way up and down my neck, was creating an overwhelming sense of euphoria in me.  

He was like a drug, his touch giving me an immediate high.  As he pulled his fingernails over my skin, a line of goosebumps followed.  His moans as he felt my body were giving me a confidence I didn't know I had.  I remember that he was on top of me, kissing down my stomach.  I was on top of him, sucking on the soft skin of his neck.  His hands were twisting into my hair and I was tugging on his.  We were twisting and turning around each other, around the sheets... tangling our lips, our legs, our arms... and before I knew it, the sun was coming up.  

I blinked my eyes open.  I stretched and turned my neck to look at Harry beside me... only he wasn't there.  The sheets were tousled like someone had been there, but any other evidence of Harry was gone.

[mvssmallow]

Cloudy With A Chance

Part 17: …of maple butter.

Masterlist

“It’s awesome right?”

“It’s…a drawer of our socks.”

He looks over in irritation but Jiwon just gives him a blank stare.

“Okay, maybe you don’t appreciate it but that took me fifteen minutes. You just dumped everything in, closed it and walked off. That’s not really how you move in.”

Jiwon shrugs apologetically. “It’s just socks?”

He resists the urge to punch him on the arm. “How do you find anything in the morning? Do you go to work with mismatched socks?”

Jiwon looks at him with the slightest tinge of guilt. “Nobody looks at socks! They’re not important.”

He has to roll his eyes at that. “Well, now they’re all in order. I don’t want people thinking I don’t look out for you. I did your t-shirts too by the way. How the hell did you accumulate like forty white t-shirts?”

Jiwon shrugs again, like everything in his life was just some happy accident that didn’t require his active participation. “I don’t know. I need them though. 39 to wear and one just incase someone wants to steal it.”

His face glows warmly. “I put it back after I wore it!”

Jiwon comes behind to hug him to his chest. “Hanbin, if you want the Disneyland t-shirt you can have it. You can have anything you want.”

He already knows the Disneyland t-shirt is safely folded on his side of the wardrobe. He put it there and he’ll return that when Hell freezes over. Maybe not even then. 

“Anything? Really?”

“Yeah, really.”

“Even your snapbacks?”

“Yep.”

“And your Jordans?”

“Sure.”

“And your Winnie slippers?”

“No, you got those for me. You can’t have him back.”

He laughs and turns around in Jiwon’s arms. “I don’t want it back anyway, you kinda ruined them. They’re all shredded. I don’t even know how you did that.”

Jiwon leans in and kisses him on the nose. “They’re not shredded. They’re worn in.”

“You’re worn in.”

“Yeah I know. You’re brand new and mint condition though.”

He grimaces at the compliments. “God, you’re so lame.”

Jiwon’s arms squeeze him tight. “Yeah, get used to it.”

It takes them an entire week to move Jiwon in. His apartment was already small but with another life jammed in, it felt even smaller. Jiwon called it cosy but he’d say it was just shy of claustrophobic. There’s just enough space to hold him back from a nervous breakdown.

Or maybe that was still coming. Maybe this was the honeymoon period and he’s still in shock.

“I can hear you thinking. You okay?”

He rests his head against Jiwon shoulder and nods. “Yeah, this whole thing is just kinda new for me.”

“The moving in thing?”

“Yeah. And the you and me thing. Everything is just new. I don’t know what I’m doing, sorry.”

He didn’t. He’d never been in a relationship that lasted this long or gone this far. He’d never been with anyone who knew anything important about him.

“Well, for a rookie you’re doing alright. I’m still surprised you haven’t kicked me out yet. I think I messed up all the systems in your kitchen.”

He hums against Jiwon’s shoulder as he feels warm hands rub reassuring circles into his back. “It’s your kitchen too now.”

“That all you’re going to say? Not gonna yell at me for putting the tea towels with the plastic bags?”

He shakes his head, soothed by the hands moving across his skin. “I already put everything back.”

Jiwon chuckles. “Knew it. Sorry you ended up with a mess.”

“Sorry you ended up with a nutcase.”

Jiwon tips his face up and whispers in a low pitched voice, “I love nutcases. All the best people are nutcases.”

He can’t even look at Jiwon after that, just buries his face into the safety of that solid chest and holds on for dear life.

**** The second week is a blur. They’re both so busy that they only see each other for ten minutes in the morning and maybe a hour for dinner before collapsing into bed at separate times. Late shifts and deadlines eat up every spare moment between them and it feels more like having a regular roommate than a boyfriend. 

It was good in a way, he was so busy that he barely had the chance to overthink the whole moving in thing. There were some things he was already used to when Jiwon had stayed over before: the awkwardness of waking up with bad hair and in a bad mood, constantly battling his rage whenever Jiwon leaves towels on the floor or gets toothpaste all over the sink or frantically rushing to pick up the phone in case it was his parents calling. It freaked him out in the beginning, he’d wake up at 6am every morning so Jiwon would never see him all gross and he remembers shutting himself in the bedroom whenever he had to talk to his mother.

But after awhile, he realised that a lot of those small things didn’t matter. Jiwon learnt not to answer the phone when the parental caller ID was flashing and even better, he didn’t even care how disgusting his boyfriend could be. It was liberating being able to sleep in dirty clothes, eat like pig and wake up swearing at Jiwon’s alarm. He didn’t get judged for it, just a chuckle and sympathetic back rub. 

Things were different now though. Jiwon doesn’t leave to go back to his apartment anymore. There was no hiatus or reprieve and that’s something he’s still learning to deal with. There were no longer days where he could come home after work and sit on his couch for hours in silence. That’s gone and he does miss it, the solitude was his most constant companion for so long.

On the plus side, he learns a lot of new things about himself. He learns that he can cook decent food, live amongst the occasional mess and share personal space with another person without having a full blown panic attack (he just has smaller scale panic attacks). 

But the thing he loves the most is discovering his capacity to care for another person. Maybe he felt it in bits and pieces before, and obviously he feels it for his sister, but with Jiwon, it’s no longer something that he just wants to do, taking care of him is just something that he does now. Like a blood transfusion, it’s worked its way throughout his entire venous system. It makes him who he is now and he feels human knowing that his heart could do this all along.

****

By the third week things had slowed down for both of them. The holiday season was coming up, which meant time off work and eventually, he thinks with dread, family gatherings.

The magazine goes on vacation before Jiwon’s garage closes so he gets to wake up early and make them both breakfast. It’s not until one random Wednesday that it all catches up with him.

Jiwon is half sprawled across their breakfast table and complaining about garage life again. “Some rich dude is giving his girlfriend a Porsche. I can’t believe it. She doesn’t even appreciate it. She called it a cute little car. That’s like calling Jurassic Park a cute little dinosaur movie.”

He half listens as he flips the maple pancakes over and checks on the coffee. This type of comfortable mundane-ness is what he absolutely loves and would fight to the end to protect. He wonders if Jiwon ever thinks about things like this. 

“We had to fit the dumbest customised number plates. You wanna know what it said? BBGRL. I know it’s supposed to be babygirl but what if someone reads it like: babygrowl?”

He snorts as he pours the coffee and sets it down on their breakfast table. “What if they’re genuinely in love or whatever? He obviously just wants to make her happy. That’s nice isn’t it?”

Jiwon rolls his eyes and gives him a look like he’s gone crazy. “Is it backwards day today? You are meant to be the most cynical person ever. Why aren’t you roasting the shit out of them with me? How would you feel if I got you babygirl car plates?”

He laughs and starts stacking the pancakes. “I’d say thank you but poison your breakfast later.”

There’s a split second where Jiwon hesitates siping from his mug.

He grins. “Drink it, baby.”

Jiwon narrows his eyes and takes a long sip out of defiance.

“You know, evil brings out a really nice colour in you.” Jiwon says as he starts cutting into the pancakes and chewing thoughtfully. “Hey, these are really good. Can we have this again tomorrow?”

He tilts his head and can’t help but feel impossibly fond of this messy guy in front of him. 5 foot 9 of crumpled pyjamas, crazy bed hair and a face full of maple butter.

“I was going to make crepes tomorrow. Lemon butter crepes. Yoyo taught me the other day.”

Jiwon groans and it sounds more erotic than it probably should have. “Oh make that. Yeah, I want that too. And those chocolate waffles you made on Monday.”

He doesn’t say anything, just smiles like an idiot into his mug of tea. This is New. This weird satisfying feeling that he’s feeding someone he cares about. Jiwon doesn’t tease him or ask about the silence, he just rabbits on and on about all the cars coming through the garage that week. He wonders when they switched roles. Did they switch roles? He didn’t even notice.

After Jiwon goes to shower and get changed, he turns on their sound system (that he broke and Jiwon fixed) and starts cleaning the dishes as Sunday Morning plays in the background. It wasn’t even a Sunday but it felt like it could be one. He sings along to the music as he packs Jiwon’s Spacejam lunchbox, catching himself smiling at the packet of Oreos he sneaks in because he knows Jiwon is a sucker for them. That’s when his hand freezes. 

Oh my god.

You have changed.

You’re packing his lunch now.

You’re the sucker.

“Oh shit! I’m gonna be late!” Jiwon is a blur as he flies into the kitchen, picks up the lunchbox and runs out the front door. Two seconds later he hears the door opening again and Jiwon rushes back into the kitchen to kiss him twice, once on the lips and once on the cheek.

“You’re the best. Have a good day.”

“You too. See you when you get back.”

And then he’s gone again. The kitchen smells like maple butter and a woodsy cologne. It smells like a Sunday morning. 

He leans against the kitchen bench, taking in all the little bits that didn’t even exist a few months ago. From the way there’s two sets of plates and mugs to the scattered rap flyers and car magazines on the table to the random hoody (his or Jiwon’s?) that always seems to be draped over a chair. 

He doesn’t notice that he’s doing it until his face begins to ache-

He’s been smiling at an empty kitchen this whole time.

****

Left to his own devices, his mind wanders and his fingers get restless. He makes himself a schedule to continue writing his book but the research has him constantly chasing tangents and falling down the Wikipedia hole. He writes in fits and starts, mind always ending up in the same place. Even when he’s physically absent, Jiwon’s presence fills their entire apartment. 

There’s a note in his diary about an upcoming mic night and his finger traces over the words as he stares out the window, imagining what it might be like if Jiwon ever got a record deal and could live his dreams out for real. Things would change. Would he be a part of Jiwon’s plans or get left behind?

He doesn’t get much done after that and he’s still thinking about their future by the time they’re in bed that night. 

“What do you think you’ll do if you get a record deal?” 

“Accept it?” Jiwon laughs. “Why are you asking?”

“I was just thinking about it today.”

Jiwon pulls him closer until his head is resting on his chest. “Thinking about me getting a record deal?”

His hand smooths over the soft hoody next to his cheek as he thinks. “Yeah. Imagine where you’ll be in a year. Someone from a record company will find you and you’ll be all famous.”

“You’re optimistic.” The chest chuckles underneath him. “Where are you in all this?”

���Still living here, trying to get my book written and published.”

“How far ahead have you thought about this?” Jiwon asks with a smile. “Where are we at three years?”

“Oh you’ll definitely be a legitimate recording artist by then. We should get a bigger and better apartment. And you can say no but I want a dog.”

A hand cards through his hair. “You can have two dogs.”

“You know verbal agreements are legally binding right?”

Jiwon laughs again. “Yeah I know. What about in five years? What do you think we’ll be doing in five years?”

“Five years? Better book deal. Better record deal. Better apartment. Two dogs. Maybe we’d split time between here and the US.”

“The US? Why?”

“For all your collaborations.”

Jiwon’s fingers are soft against his skin and he can hear a strong heartbeat under his ear. “What else?”

“I don’t know what else. I want to write a lot more things but it might be hard though because you’d have tours and stuff.”

The hand in his hair moves down to gently caress his neck. “Will I? You gonna come to all my shows?”

“Yeah, I need to keep the girls in check.”

Jiwon lets out a loud laugh, it jostles his head about. “What about the guys?”

He looks up sharply. “What about them? You gonna ditch me when you get famous?”

There’s a kiss against his forehead which does nothing to calm his irrational thoughts, even though he knows they’re just talking fiction. “Nah, I’ll be too old to look for another relationship. I’ll just keep you, it’s less work.”

“I know you’re joking but-”

Jiwon rolls them over until he’s hovering above him. “Do you really think I’d leave you? Famous or not. Do you really think that you’re not my entire plan?”

He looks up at Jiwon’s serious face, surprised by the sudden change in mood. “I wouldn’t really blame you.”

“That’s a really weird thing to say Hanbin.” Jiwon says with a frown. “Why do you always say stuff like that?”

He frowns too, unsure how the conversation went from fiction to real life so fast. “I just mean, if you found someone-”

“-don’t even finish that sentence. Just don’t. I know what you’re going to say. Some bullshit about me finding someone better or normal or whatever. Why do you always think that there’s something better out there? Don’t you see me in your future?”

He reaches up to finger the drawstrings hanging from Jiwon’s hoody. “I do. But let’s face it Jiwon, there probably is someone better for you out there. I’m pretty sure I’m just systematically ruining your life.” He says with a chuckle, trying to lighten up the mood.

“Is it something I’m not doing right?”

He looks up in confusion. “What? Doing what right?”

Jiwon lies back down with a heavy sigh. “This is how all our conversations go. You talk about staying together but you don’t believe it’s going to happen. So I must be doing something wrong if you can’t see us being the end game.”

He rolls over and tangles his fingers between Jiwon’s hands. “You’re not doing anything wrong. I just….I don’t want to jinx it. Because…”

“Because what?”

“Because this is already end game for me. I don’t care if we never get any better than this.” He finishes quietly and snuggles right against Jiwon’s side.

There’s silence for a moment as they both run the thoughts through their heads. He plays with their fingers and holds his breath as he waits for Jiwon to say something.

“You got low standards, Hanbin.”

He smiles into Jiwon’s arm and just like that, the mood changes again.

“Does your low standard have a ten year plan?”

He presses a kiss into Jiwon’s arm and grips his fingers tightly. “Of course it does. We’re going be on your dumb apple orchard with five dogs and really neurotic hyper kids running around screaming their heads off.”

It’s not until it leaves his mouth that he realises what he just said. But it’s too late to take it back.

Jiwon looks over at him with surprise. “I thought you said you didn’t remember any of that?”

He shrugs. “I lied.”

“Why aren’t you freaking out about this?”

“I’ve been thinking about it for a long time. It gets less scary after awhile. Anyways, the kid thing is just a crazy dream. I’m going to need to practice taking care of you and the dogs first.”

Jiwon just shakes his head in disbelief and rolls over so they’re facing each other, inches apart. “I’m….I just….”

Sometimes he second guesses himself. Sometimes Jiwon’s impassive face gives him nothing. Sometimes he’s confident about Jiwon’s feelings. Sometimes even Jiwon has his own doubts. 

But this time, he’s sure he saw it, the way Jiwon looks at him as softly and with as much focus as the way he knows he always looks right back. It’s just a small moment, a few seconds, but it feels big. It feels huge.

“I know. Me too.”