#I was on my feet for 12 hours straight for three days this past weekend

[winged-mammal]

where’s that post about how annoying it is how good exercise is for you

because after working on my back and shoulder muscles for the past few months, I’ve suddenly noticed a distinct lack of pain and soreness and tightness that I’ve never felt before and it’s so fucking weird and I am ANNOYED

[talenlee]

Cancon 2023 Wrapup

Cancon 2023 Wrapup

As I write this, I have gotten home from Cancon 2023. The day started at around 7 AM, then started on the con floor at 8:30, and following that we had to pack down at 12:30 and finally got ourselves on the road at 1:30. It’s now many hours later than that and much of my time has been spent recovering from the drive and the weekend of standing on my two feet and shouting at people a lot. What follows is memories constructed, as best I can, from the notes I took of the time, and the information present to me now.

First things first, this is a convention that differs from most I do by being so far away from my home that I have to sleep near the event. This year, we got lodgings in someone’s spare room, with myself, Fox, and the driver who took us. That driver, who I won’t name on this blog so as to not blow up their spot, was super helpful the whole time, didn’t have to be there and was generally 100% great. I do not know how to repay them the effort they put forth to help us get the convention run.

But anyway, we drove down on Friday morning; this gave us time to get to the convention centre, register our presence, then set up our table area and the display of our goods. Our displays this year featured three 3-meter long tables arranged in a L shape, and we had some card tables as well, that put some of our stock out away from us, and meant that you didn’t have to approach us as people to look at the products we were selling. I thought this was a bad idea because I thought our most useful tool for converting attention to sales was me, talking to people, but I also didn’t think it was good to argue about it, so I just let it go.

Turns out I was completely wrong: By having the table there, we invited people to stop from the flow of traffic, then I saw them slip in closer to avoid being an impediment, then they’d come to the table and just… buy things. Just buy them! No explanation, no hard sell, no rules explainers, just… they’d buy them based on the boxes.

That’s weird enough as it is, but know what made it weirder? The things they chose to buy. There are a bunch of games I sell that are, in my opinion, aggressively weird. Some of our games have a great clear aesthetic that pulls the eye – games like You Can’t Win, Hook Line & Sinker, and The Botch and The Botch Is Back are all based around clear and bright designs that I think hold attention. But Winston’s Archive is a game I made with an incredible niche theme: Sorting books. What’s more, Winston’s Archive is a game where, thanks to trying to incorporate dysexic-free fonts, the cover kind of looks a bit… drafty? Like a first draft. Like the things that would normally make it look more interesting make it harder to read, so the result is a box cover that I feel a little awkward about.

We have one copy of Winston’s Archive left.

I have no story about it, no viral hit, no explanation from some source about a game that infected a group and then they all came back to play it more. I have no story about that. I just know that somehow, left to their own devices, a bunch of people looked at this game box and went ‘oh yeah, I’ll have that for $15’ and they just straight up bought it. That’s really exciting!

Another memorable thing is that on the first day, I wore my This Shirt Says Trans Rights shirt. I did this because I figured it’d be the busiest day and if I was going to get into a fuss over it, I’d rather get it over and done with. What I got instead was a consistent response from strangers, even people I walked past, complimenting the shirt, which was really nice. What’s more, I wound up having a lot of conversations with queer gamers and parents of queer gamers who wanted to be able to connect to people, and also get games that didn’t seem they were going to be likely to shock anyone with anything upsetting.

It reminded me of that awkward phrase I don’t like, ‘find your tribe,’ where the whole point in our disconnected landscape of socially unmoored people-bubbles, there are definitely factors that let us anchor ourselves to one another, and bereft of anything else, finding one another is helpful, it’s a way to be able to say ‘I can connect on at least this.’

We sold a bunch of Queer Coding too; a game that I think of as just an icebreaker, something you want for cons and meetups where you’ll be dealing with people you don’t know. Similarly, Senpai Notice Me flew off the shelves, but it always does: people love a meme and this one is also very pretty. Finally, You Can’t Win continued its weird presence selling itself, because despite the game being very clear about how hard it is, people kept buying it.

The other thing I usually bring back from Cancon, aside from stories of people I yelled at and a sore throat, is a haul of games I bought, and this year I didn’t buy any. It was a conscious decision: I was busy, and afraid of spending money at first, but then as things became more relaxed, and the large stall I was excited by dropped their prices more and more, I found myself nonetheless deciding to instead not buy new games this year. This wasn’t a wholly painless choice: What I wanted to ‘buy’ effectively, was more space in my house; by not buying new things until I had exhausted what I owned, I was making sure I didn’t have an ever-growing stack of games I didn’t know if I wanted any more.

There are a few things I kind of wish I had picked up, but not enough to have actually done it; Red Rising was down to $20, B’Twixt: A Game Of Thrones is a game I want to have a copy of but not a Game of Thrones copy, and that’s all we have so far. Wise Guys, a $100 big box game, was going for $10 and I passed it over, and I even saw games on my wishlist – like Not Alone and Fog Of Love at steep discount, and decided to not get them.

I am thinking about this feeling, this decision to do things this way and about how excited I was to see how many of the games I took to the Bring-And-Buy had sold. I want to make sure I’m not focusing on acquisition and instead on what board games are; Experiences.

The last story of Cancon – at least for now, as I remember it – is of my Tyranids. I have some Tyranids, a whole army’s worth, from 2004. I have played with them once, and then they sat in a drawer, in a box. I decided this year to try and rehome them, to put them in the bring-and-buy and sell them on to someone else. Since it’s a whole army, it’s expensive, and people interested in the field have told me it’s a good price for them… but also someone needs to want to buy a whole army’s worth of Tyranids, even retro metal ones.

They didn’t sell, but I’m not upset about it. I want them to go to someone who wants them, not someone who was afraid of missing out. We’ll try again at MOAB and maybe if they don’t move after enough tries, we’ll find some other place to put them. Who knows, maybe the spaces for play will have opened up enough that I get to play with them. I know One Page Rules is a cool looking system with something Tyraniddy in it. Could be useful there!

But this is the joy of material games: They are material. I can share them with people and I can give them away and nobody controls the central authority on how people play with them.

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

#Diary

[starlightsearches]

for hand holding prompt: 12 and/or 13 w riddler maybe pls 🌷🎀💝

Affection Prompts—possessive hand-holding / linking hands together during sex

Mine

requests are always open / let me know what you think!

Edward Nashton x Femme! Reader

Warnings: 18+ only, PIV sex, shitty guys, possessive behavior, established relationship, language.

He'd never believe it, but there's so much you love about your boyfriend.

Like how you'd sent him a text to let him know you'd be home late, and now—hours later—he's waiting outside the door of your office, standing under the streetlight as rain drops collect on his too-big jacket.

You see him, and it's like your heart is fighting to hop out of your chest, desperate to greet him. God, he's too thoughtful, too sweet. He's not like any other guy you've met before.

You couldn't tell him that, though. Eddie would think it was a bad thing.

"Hi, honey," you greet him, pressing a kiss to his cool cheek. Your boyfriend's never been a fan of PDA—doesn't like how red his face gets whenever your lips touch his—but this is a fine consolation.

"Hello, dove." He presses one of his gloved hands forward, holding out a dark coffee to-go cup you hadn't noticed before. You can smell the contents, lashes fluttering a little in pleasure with the heavenly scent of chocolate.

"Seriously?" —you take the cup, already feeling the heat seep through your gloves— "you're the best, Eddie."

Your favorite cafe is a few blocks out of the way, but the hot chocolate is the best in the city. It's exactly what you needed after a day like today.

He flushes again, dipping his head to the ground until his glasses slip toward the end of his nose, shoulders drooping with the weight of your praise.

God. You want his dick down your throat.

Taking his empty hand instead, you start the chilly walk home. Gotham's never quiet—cars buzzing by and shouting from distant alleyways, but you and Eddie seem to travel in your own little world, speaking quietly about your days, plans for the weekend, sharing thoughts you'd kept to yourselves while you were apart.

You're almost back to your apartment when you notice Eddie shifting closer, arm pressed tight against yours. You don't have to ask why.

There's three of them headed your way—overgrown frat boys in collared shirts like they hit the bar straight from the office—laughing and jostling each other as if the whole street is their fucking living room.

You grip Eddie's hand tighter, keeping your eyes on your feet, praying they won't bump into you, won't notice either of you as they pass by.

But all the gods in Gotham must be busy, because nobody hears those prayers.

"Where you headed, beautiful?" It's the tallest of them who talks to you, smiling with too-white teeth and stinking of beer and sweat, his breath so sharp with the smell of alcohol it has to be flammable.

If you only had a match.

"Home," you answer curtly, trying to sneak past with Eddie in tow. His friends block your path, trapping you up against a long-empty storefront.

"Don't be like that, baby," he coos, trying to brush a hand down your arm before you pull away, "you should come with us. We could show you a real good time."

Eddie's shaking beside you. He tries to move in front of you without dropping your hand and you pull him back, catching his red-splotched skin and a vicious look in his eyes.

"I'm not interested," you say, "and my boyfriend and I would like to leave now."

"Boyfriend?" The man smiles wickedly, and you know what's coming before it happens, watching every moment with a painful double vision.

"This guy?" he laughs, and his friends join in a mocking chorus, "sorry buddy, I didn't even see you there."

He slaps Eddie harshly on the shoulder, looking down on him although Eddie's a few inches taller—and then they walk away.

Minutes pass before Eddie's ready to move. He stands there beside you with his eyes shut tight, stiller than stone except for his lips parting softly in the silence. You think he might be praying under his breath.

You walk the rest of the way without saying a word. Eddie's footsteps broadcast his thoughts well enough, growing heavier with each flight of stairs you climb before reaching your small apartment.

"Eddie, honey?"

He's dropped your hand, shrugging out of his jacket and journeying deeper into the apartment. In the half-light of the kitchen, he leans heavily on the counter, head hung low.

"Eddie," —he hardly moves when you slide up beside him, resting a hand over his own— "you know I love you, right?"

The look he gives you is ripe with hurt, threatening to spill over with every blink of his big, sad eyes.

"I'm serious. Do you really think I'd rather be with a guy like that?"

Eddie doesn't answer. He doesn't have to. Your heart fucking breaks—snapped right in half along the dotted line. He thinks you'd leave him. Like it wouldn't break you just the same.

"Honey . . . do you think a guy like that would care if I got home safe? Or go out of his way to pick up my favorite drink for me?"

That gives him pause. You take advantage of the gap in his armor, sliding between the place he stands and the table until your bodies are flush, wrapping your arms tight around his neck.

"Guys like that are selfish, Eddie," you whisper, trailing kisses down the side of his face, "he wouldn't treat me as well as you do."

Eddie shudders in your grasp. Your tongue just brushes the shell of his ear. "He couldn't touch me the way you do."

He's already breathless at the idea. "God, can I touch you?"

You guide his hands to your waist in silent permission. Eddie's grip is tight at the fabric of your skirt, nails digging at your hips when his urgent mouth meets yours, kissing you reckless. He's sloppy, impassioned—the way he normally gets when you both already have your clothes off and he can't pretend he has any self-control anymore. His tongue is past your lips when he stumbles backwards, pulling you along with him until his knees bump the couch.

And if this were a normal night, he'd sit down on the cushions before pulling you into his lap. On a normal night, you'd ride him, bouncing on his cock until there were tears on his cheeks and he was begging you to let him cum.

But things are different with this shot of confidence in his veins, because he guides you down onto the couch—hand at the back of your neck so you couldn't stop kissing him even if you tried—laying you down against the overstuffed cushions as he crawls on top.

"Can I?" he asks again, fingers already pulling haphazardly at the buttons on your top. Your mouth has gone dry. All you can offer is a nod.

And he's so sure of himself as bares your skin, mouthing at your neck until your own hands shake. He's so sure of himself, sliding down the zipper on your skirt, getting it out of his way, a warm hand between your thighs.

"Eddie," you whisper.

"Yes, dove?" His wet words hit right at your collar bone, and he peers up at you with big dark eyes from behind fogged glass.

You don't remember what you were going to say. Maybe something like I need you or fuck me, please or I think I'm in love with you, but nobody needs words in a moment like this. You slide your hand into the space between your bodies, slipping his belt from the buckle.

And he understands that perfectly.

You're still half-dressed, feeling dirty and desperate while Eddie grips at your breast over your bra, hyper-aware of his other fumbling hand pressing the hot tip of his cock against your hole.

Your back lifts from the couch, curved like a half-moon from that first, deep thrust, a low moan on your lips. Eddie pauses, fully seated inside you, and he curls one arm around your waist, holding you closer. His other hand travels the length of your arm, slipping his fingers between your own.

He keeps his eyes on yours, and you maintain the contact even though it feels like you're dying, like you won't live another second if he doesn't give you the pleasure that's been promised.

He lifts your hand to his mouth, presses his lips to the soft skin on the back of your hand. His lips are wet enough that the print turns cold when he pulls away.

"You're mine," he whispers. He leaves no room for argument.

And then he's thrusting so deep inside you it's changing the rhythm of your heart. He buries you against the old, over-stuffed cushions, hand squeezing yours and his teeth scraping along your neck, mouthing those same words until they're etched into your skin.

You're mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.

[spencerreidsconverse]

When Evil Doesn't Sleep

summary: Spencer has been gone far too long on a case and when he finally returns home, reader shows him just how much she missed him.

word count: 3.4k

warnings: smut, implied dom/sub undertones, pet names

Pairing: Spencer Reid/Female Reader

A/N: My first fic!!! I hope you all enjoy! <3

“Y/n I’m really sorry but it looks like the case is going to take a lot longer than we thought. We had a recent development and the profile is now pointing to a partnership so now we’re hunting down two unsubs”. You sighed as Spencer rattled off his apologies through the phone before putting him out of his misery “Spencer honey, you don’t have to apologize. Quit worrying about me and focus on catching the bad guys.”

To say you missed Spencer would be the understatement of the century. He had been in Utah for six days already and now with a pair of psychos your odds of finding him in your bed by the end of the week were growing increasingly slim. It didn’t help that you had been swamped prepping for an extra class you’d agreed to take on at Georgetown where you worked as a Criminal Psychology professor. Between both of your hectic work schedules you hadn’t had a real weekend to yourselves in a few months, and while you knew when you first started dating Spencer that it was an inevitable of his job, it had never been this crazy before. They say evil never sleeps but lately it hasn't even taken a catnap.

“I love you Y/N. I promise I’ll come home to you soon and take you out on a real date. I’m sorry darling, I have to go. I’ll text you when I get to the hotel tonight and if you’re still up we can talk for a bit okay?”. “Alright Spence, I love you too. Stay safe okay?”. “I promise, goodbye love.”

Your farewell barely made it past your lips when the dial tone cut you off and once again your boyfriend of three years vanished from your side of the country. You let out an exasperated sigh before reminding yourself that there were other people who needed his help and that you could wait for his attention - at least until that night. Continuing the trek up the stairs of your and spencer’s shared apartment, you managed to haphazardly balance your grocery bags in one hand while unlocking the door and disabling the security alarm, internally cringing at the high shriek that rattled through your brain.

Walking through the living room, you sat the bags on your kitchen counter and began reorganizing the small fridge space to fit all the perishables you had brought home, absentmindedly hoping they wouldn't spoil now that it would be just you for several more days. Moving to the cupboard you replaced the few grab and go snack boxes you had made up to try and encourage Spencer to eat more throughout the day and refilled the paper plate stash that quickly became a requirement after you realized neither one of you could tolerate doing dishes every night. You ripped open the cardboard packaging of yet another microwave dinner and set the timer before leaving to change into more comfortable attire.

Opening the door of your shared bedroom, the smell of vanilla wax melts and dryer sheets hit you like a brick and immediately sent a pang of loneliness through your chest. Spencer was usually around by the time the chores needed done, and you rarely had to do them yourself. Unfortunately, the laundry was piling up and you needed something to distract you so you spent the day running errands and cleaning the apartment more thoroughly than necessary. You walked over to the stack of black dresser drawers and pulled out the first pair of pajama pants you touched, Spencer’s old caltech sweats that now fit you far better than him considering he had received them when he was 14. They looked more like capris on him now and it was embarrassingly difficult to convince him to buy a new pair that fit him properly. You slipped on a tank top and pulled your hair back before making your way lazily to the bathroom to take off the remnants of your simple makeup.

After scrubbing your face clean and pulling your dinner out, you moved to ready the couch for yet another night of binge watching cheesy 90s movies. You selected Clueless and watched the vibrant colors pop across the screen while you dived into your meal, making a poor attempt to ignore the slight freezer burnt taste that lingered after every bite. You finished your dinner and set the bowl aside before covering yourself with a blanket and allowing yourself to sink into the cushions, desperately awaiting Spencer's text.

You were jolted out of your doze by the loud buzzing of your phone against the wooden coffee table. Clumsily you reached for it and managed to swipe the answer pad before it sent your genius to voicemail. “Hello?” you managed before a yawn ripped its way through you suddenly. “Hey Y/N, I’m sorry it’s so late. I didn't mean to wake you, I figured you’d still be up. You should go back to bed love.” For the first time, you noticed the neon green numbers on the microwave. 12:30. You stifled another yawn and shook your head in an effort to wake yourself further “No way, I just dozed off while watching a movie. I was waiting to talk to you. Besides, I’m up now anyways so you might as well stay on with me for a bit. Did you get any further today?” “Well, JJ had the idea that the partners were originally a typical dominant/submissive partnership but that something in the dynamic must have changed because the MO began to deteriorate. We think the partners must have split up now, because we’re finding similar pieces of the previous MO at separate crime scenes.”.

You processed the information he fed you slowly due to your semiconscious state but eventually you put your words in order well enough to respond. “That should be helpful though yeah? I mean, they’re used to working in a partnership so being suddenly separated from your other half so to speak would throw you off track quite a bit right?”. You could practically hear him smiling through the phone as you drew the conclusions the team had come to only a few hours prior. “Yes. We’re hoping to be able to draw them out and trap them. Play them against each other.”.”Does that mean I can stop sleeping on the couch soon?”. You heard him let out a dejected sigh - you knew he hated that you would force yourself onto the cramped couch when you had a king sized bed a few hundred feet away but he understood.

When he had come home in the early hours of the morning after an abrupt end to a case a few weeks after you had moved into his place, he had caught you curled up on the sofa with a throw pillow stuffed under your head. When he questioned you about it the next morning, you simply answered that the bed felt too big without him and that you couldn’t stand the empty feeling. “Sooner than later I hope my love. Y/N I really wish you wouldn’t do that to yourself. It’s horrible for your body. It can put you at a much higher risk for chronic back and neck pain as well as-”. “Spence. I’m not a giant like you are. I fit on the couch much better than you do, and I barely notice the difference.”. You both cringed, hearing the lie clear in your voice. Still, Spencer must have felt bad because he humored you. “If you're sure. What did you do today my love?”. You smiled sadly hearing in his voice just how desperate he was to escape from his reality and come home to you.

”Well, I straightened the house. In fact, it’s so clean i think we could use it as a sterilization room.”. He let out a soft chuckle and you could hear him begin to relax as you recounted the rest of your day, excluding the part about the microwave dinner. Spencer loved to tell you how many of the ingredients were one step away from processed garbage and you decided to opt out of the lecture for the evening. He had more than enough to worry about without having to focus on your diet while he was away. After a half hour of light conversation, a loud yawn betrayed you as you were excitedly discussing the cute puppy you had met on the way to the market. Spencer immediately requested that you hang up and get some more sleep but you refused. After a few minutes of bickering, you relented on the condition that he would read to you until you had fallen asleep. You curled up under the fluffy blanket as Spencer’s even voice recited the collection of Grimm’s fairy tales quickly lured you to sleep.

You woke up the next morning as sunlight peered through the curtains, stretching your body out to ease the aches from the previous night. You smiled softly as your screen lit up with a text from Spencer wishing you a good morning and an update that they had a solid plan for boxing in the two unsubs that afternoon. “If all goes to plan I should be carrying you to our bed before midnight tonight.”. Your smile widened and you sent back “Can’t wait to truly see you - and love you- tonight. I’ll be waiting.” You plugged your phone into the charger and straightened up from the night before when your phone went off again. The one word message glared at you from the screen and you let out an involuntary giggle. “Tease.”. You hoped it gave him something to look forward to until he was back in your arms. You sent back a simple “XO” before deciding to reread one of your favorite books for a few hours to kill some time. You made yourself a sandwich for lunch and had a few glasses of water as the clock slowly ticked by. You were over halfway through the lengthy novel when you received another message.

“We apprehended both unsubs. Hotch is postponing the paperwork until Monday so we can go straight home. I’ll see you in a few hours baby.”.  You jumped slightly in celebration before finishing your current chapter, marking your place, and all but skipping to the shower to shave and exfoliate your skin. You knew Spencer would still be heavily worked up once he arrived home and luckily, his favorite release included intertwining your bodies as close as possible and loving you sweetly and slowly.

You took your time in the shower careful not to nick yourself with your razor. You scrubbed your scalp with your nails, letting your stress and soreness melt away under the steam. You waited until the water ran cold before turning the knob and stepping out, wrapping yourself in a fluffy towel and blow drying your hair until it layed perfectly even. You applied lotion all over your skin and stepped out of the bathroom to slip on your black silk robe, knowing it wouldn’t be worth it to dress up further. Spencer would be desperate to feel your skin against his and any fabric in his way didn't stand much of a chance.

You made an actual meal for dinner, a pasta dish with chicken that could be easily reheated for Spencer when he grew hungry later in the night. You helped yourself to a serving and after quickly cleaning up the kitchen and storing the leftovers, you retreated to the bedroom to wait for his return.

You were half paying attention to the feed you opted to scroll through on your phone when you heard the door creak open and bags drop to the floor. You set your phone on the bedside table and ran towards the foyer, all but throwing yourself at the exhausted man in front of you. He took a step back from the impact but still enveloped you in his arms and pulled you impossibly tight into his chest. “Hi baby.” you whispered against the scruffy skin of his jawline, peppering kisses up towards his earlobe. He let out a long sigh of relief and picked you up off the hardwood floor, wrapping your thighs around his waist resulting in a high pitched giggle to erupt from your throat. He kissed you then, slowly at first but quickly building more passionate. Your lungs were burning when he finally allowed you to pull away, opting to kiss down your neck to your collarbones and the skin of your chest that was newly exposed as your robe slipped open.

He carefully made his way back to your room, continuing his kisses back up to your shoulder, stopping only to leave marks you knew would only grow darker as time passed. At the very least he was sure to only mark you in places you could cover with little difficulty. “I missed you so much Y/N. The entire ride home all I could think about was you waiting for me in our bed. My gorgeous girl.”. You felt your chest heat up at his words of admiration, wrapping your fingers into his curls and pulling his lips towards your own once more.

You felt him groan against you and moved to quickly unbutton his shirt, slipping it down his arms and tossing it in the general direction of the hamper. He pulled you up with him then, so you were both on your knees, chest to chest as he pulled your robe fully down your back to the swell of your ass where he grasped at you through the slick fabric. You let out a whine and you pulled his belt off, undoing his jeans desperate to continue. He grinned against your neck and pushed you down so you laid flat on your back, completely exposed to him. He kissed at your stomach, making his way down to your inner thighs. He licked a slow wet trail from your pelvic bone to the top of your clit as you whimpered desperately. “Spence, please… I need more”. He humored you, creating slow small circles with his tongue moaning at the taste. You cried out as he created the perfect amount of pressure on your clit, legs threatening to close around his head when he moved to slip one of his fingers easily inside you as the mix of your own wetness and his saliva aided him. He smirked as he felt your thighs flex before using his left hand to throw one of your legs over his shoulders at a time. He pushed a second finger in, curling them up to perfectly reach your g-spot with every thrust. Soon though, you grew impatient with just his fingers. You needed more and you knew just how to get it.

“I want you so bad Spence. I’ve waited for so long and I just can’t anymore. I need to feel you deep inside of me.”. You were positive those words would leave him just as needy as you were and he proved you right when he kicked his pants the rest of the way off and went to line himself up against you. “Wait.”. He stopped immediately, examining your face for any indication of what was wrong. “What’s the matter baby? Are you okay?”. You shook your head and smiled at his concern before switching your positions so his back was resting against the pillows as you straddle his thighs. He smirked at you as he caught on, trailing his hands up the front of your legs to rest at your hips. “You gonna ride me angel?”. You responded with an eager nod and he squeezed your hips, pulling you up further so you were hovering above him. “Sit pretty like my good girl then.”. You whined softly at his words before slowly sinking yourself down around his length, sucking in a harsh breath at the stretch. Even with how wet you were, the adjustment took longer than usual due to the dry spell you were both suffering from as of late.

When you finally felt stretched out enough to move, you slowly ground your hips forward flush against his. He groaned out, lifting you back up so you were almost completely off of him before pulling you back down. You moaned both at the sensation and the idea of being manhandled by the genius below you. You realized what he was asking though, and began bouncing yourself up and down his cock, stopping every few thrusts to grind your clit down on him. You let out soft moans, and after a few more minutes you felt his fingers dig deeper into your hips and his breaths quicken. You knew he was close and as if on cue you started rubbing fast circles against your clit as he spoke again.

“Baby girl I’m getting close. You gonna cum with me angel?” You nodded furiously in response and you felt him start thrusting up to meet you. You panted as you hurried towards the edge of your orgasm, holding on until his thrusts grew sloppier. “You ready to cum with me baby? You gonna cum on my cock?” “Yeah.. gonna cum all over your cock Doc.” You fought to keep the grin off your face when he moaned at the title. He thrusted deep into you twice, before he ordered your release. “I want you to cum now baby. Cum all over my cock.” You felt your orgasm rip through you, electricity shooting through your limbs. Spencer groaned loudly as you tightened around him before pulling you down deep and releasing inside you.

You both fought to catch your breath as you rode out your highs before you found yourself slumping against his chest, suddenly drained from your activities. You felt him chuckle at your drastic change in energy as he wrapped his arms around you again. “I know you just washed the bed sheets and we’re both sweaty but do you think a washcloth will suffice for tonight?”. You nodded against his chest before slowly lifting yourself up and off of him, rolling onto your back on the other side of the bed. Spencer swiftly made his way across the hall, returning to wipe you down gently with the warm fabric. You shivered as the cool air dried your skin, watching him move throughout your room.

He slipped on a fresh pair of boxers before tossing the washcloth in the hamper along with his previously discarded clothes. He hung your robe on the back of your bedroom door then flipped the light switch off before rejoining you in bed to slip under the blankets with you. You immediately curled up into his chest, sighing contently as the sound of his heartbeat filled your ears. You kissed his chest and whispered goodnight, drifting into your first real sleep since before he left.

The next morning you and Spencer went shopping after you successfully convinced him to upgrade to a smart phone with video call abilities. He had begun to shut down the idea as he always had before but after the mere suggestion of what it could do to better your late night hotel room chats he was the one pulling you towards the nearest phone shop. You smiled politely while Spencer took his sweet time weighing the pros and cons of each model, letting your mind drift to the first time it would come in handy. As you finally neared the checkout counter, you took Spencer's hand in your own and gave it a gentle squeeze. After running his card through the machine, the salesgirl gave him the small plastic bag and wished you both a good afternoon.

As you exited the shop, you looked up at him, nudging him to get his attention “What do you think of an app controlled vibrator?”. He stared at you incredulously for a few moments, almost stopping dead in his tracks. After recovering from the initial shock at the vulgarity of your suggestion, he shook his head with a soft smirk and nudged back against you. “Tease.” he called you once more. “That’s the reason you love me right?”. He pulled you into his side, kissing you softly. “One of many Y/N. One of many.”

[percabethfeelsfandom]

Writing Prompt AU: Childhood Best Friends to Lover

PART 3: Age 12

Percy waves until the car and truck disappear into the intersection. There’s no way that Luke can still see him and his friends, but the four of them continue waving until all that is left of him is their memories from the past couple of years. They all live within the same neighbourhood, so they’re heading the same way, but it’s quiet without Luke’s loud presence.

“I can’t believe he actually moved,” Annabeth says in class the next day when their group of five becomes a group of four.

“Me too,” Thalia echoes with a frown, her eyes are glassy and Annabeth wraps her arm around her comfortingly. Percy wants to reach out too, but Annabeth slightly shakes her head, telling him no and he backs down.

At this point, the two of them can communicate better with actions and their facial expressions than they can with words.

Percy doesn’t like seeing his friends sad, so he spends the day cracking jokes, and forcing a smile on his face as they play games in the playground and attempt to ignore the obvious space that Luke used to occupy.

“We can always visit him on special days,” Percy tries, as they all lay on the ground later at the park after school, staring up at the clouds. He’s wedged between Grover and Annabeth so he feels when Annabeth stiffens by his side.

“Connecticut is pretty far from New York Perce, you know our parents won’t let us visit him all the time.” She says. Percy sits up and sighs, resting his arms against his knees as he looks down at Annabeth who is still laying down.

“It doesn’t need to be all the time, it can just be some of the time. We don’t have to be so sad about it.”

“I’m not sad,” Thalia snaps and stands up abruptly, grabbing her bag from the tree where they’ve thrown all their stuff.

“Thalia,” he calls, but she ignores him and starts to walk to where they’ve stashed their bikes.

Thalia is breathing heavily and roughly handling her bike when Percy catches up to her. She shoulders her bag and sits down not looking at him as he stands in front of the bike to stop her from leaving.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he says softly and places his hands on the handle of her bike to steady her when she tries to get away again.

“I’m not upset Percy. Just leave me alone.”

Despite this, Percy can see how her eyes have grown brighter, and her pale cheeks and nose are dusted with pink from rubbing them.

“Thalia-”

“No Percy. You don’t get it. He wasn’t your best friend, he was mine. You have Grover and Annabeth.”

She pushes his hands off the bike and turns it away from him, pedalling away like her life depends on it.

He stares off after her with an uneasy feeling in his stomach. He doesn’t like seeing his friends sad.

“Hey.”

Percy turns around and sees Annabeth giving him a small smile.

“Hey.”

“She’s not angry at you, I swear,” she says and tugs on his arm so that they can go back to where Grover.

As they’re about to lie down, he sits up, glancing at his watch.

“I should probably go too, my Mum said to come home early, I’ll see you at school?”

They both wave goodbye to him, and Percy holds out a fist for Grover to bump against. Moments later, Grover is grabbing his scooter and riding it to the exit.

Annabeth lays down and pulls him down with her so that they can look up at the clouds again.

Percy doesn’t answer, choosing instead to try and find shapes and patterns in the bright sky.

“That one looks like a trident,” he says pointing up. Annabeth follows his line of vision and nods when she sees it.

“Remember that one time we were in the school performance and you were” she starts.

“Poseidon? Yeah, that was cool.” Percy grins and closes his eyes remembering the night they performed. He hadn’t needed to do much, just sit on his blue throne and hold a trident while other students were famous greek heroes with actual lines. “Who were you again? Aphrodite?”

“Athena,” Annabeth corrects, “Goddess of Wisdom.”

“Because you’re so wise?” He says with a laugh.

“Why is that funny?” She asks, but her lips are tilted up in a half-smile.

“Aren’t wise people old?” He answers, holding back another laugh. Annabeth scoffs and rolls her eyes.

“Per-cyyyy.”

“I think Athena fits. You’re so wise, like if you were a superhero or something you’d be Wise Girl, and your superhero weapon would be like a pen.” The joke isn’t even that funny, but Percy is gasping for breath and rolling in the grass. Annabeth is staring at him like he’s grown three heads, but she’s biting down on her lip, holding back a laugh. He rolls onto his stomach so he can face her and starts playing with blades of grass, pulling them and throwing them at her.

“It’s not that funny.”

“It’s kinda funny, Wise Girl.” She finally gives in and smiles, but Percy pokes her leg, trying to get her to laugh.

“Shut up.”

“Nope.” He throws a handful of grass at her and giggles when she sputters, trying to get it out of her face and hair.

“You’re so dumb, Seaweed Brain.”

“Then we match. I’m dumb and you’re wise.” This time she lets out a small laugh and Percy finally lies back, satisfied.

They fall into a comfortable silence and Percy almost feels himself falling asleep when he feels Annabeth shift a bit closer to him, pressing their arms together. All his attention goes straight to her familiar warmth and he almost doesn’t catch her next words.

“Do you think Luke will forget about us?”

“W-What?”

“Luke. Do you think he’ll forget about us when he makes new friends at his school? He said he’s always been good at making friends. What if he forgets about us and never visits.”

Percy turns and looks Annabeth straight in the eye.

“I think we’re pretty unforgettable.”

Annabeth blinks, and then her cheeks slowly turn pink.

“Do you think that’s what Luke thinks?”

Percy swallows and slowly nods, realising that their faces are quite close.

“I think Luke would be dumb to forget us. We’re awesome friends, and even if he doesn’t visit. You don’t have to see people every day to be their friends. You don’t live with your cousin but he’s still one of your best friends, right?”

“Luke’s not dumb,” Annabeth says quickly, “But yeah you’re right. I only see Magnus a couple of times a year but it always feels like we never spent any time apart.”

“See, maybe I’m the wise one,” he says smugly. Annabeth rolls her eyes and elbows him in the side.

“Hey Annabeth, Thalia said something to me and I wanted to ask-”

“She was just a bit upset, don’t take what she says seriously. My Dad always says mean things when he’s upset, but he never means it, not truly.” Annabeth says a matter-of-factly.

“No it didn’t upset me, but she said that Luke wasn’t my best friend, that he was her best friend…”

“Well, she’s kinda right. Luke is mine and Thalia’s best friend.” Percy feels a weight drop into his stomach and has to sit up again to relieve some of the pressure. Annabeth mirrors his actions and casually ties up her hair.

“I thought I was your best friend.” He doesn’t try to hide the hurt in his voice, and Annabeth doesn’t even hear it.

“You are. So is Thalia and Luke.” She says it like it’s obvious but it’s news to Percy and he gives her a blank stare, trying to understand what she’s saying.

“What about Grover?”

“He’s more your best friend than he is mine.” She answers with a shrug.

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“It does to me.” The weight feels like it’s growing in size and it pins him to the ground, disabling all his efforts of moving.

“So you have three best friends?”

“Mhmm.”

“Well, who’s you’re number one best friend?” Percy is kind of scared of what her answer will be, but he needs to know. For some reason, he really needs to know.

“I can’t answer that. That’s not fair.” Annabeth says frowning and folds her arms across her chest.

“But you tell me everything.”

“Not this.” Then she mimes locking her lips and then throwing away the key, signalling that the conversation is over.

“Annabeth-”

“No, I’m not saying. Come on Percy, let’s go home, the sun is going to set soon. I don’t want you to get in trouble with Smelly Gabe.”

She pulls herself up and then grabs his outstretched hand, hauling him to his feet. He’s unsteady when he stands, still feeling the weight in his stomach like someone is pushing him into the ground.

Almost blindly, he follows Annabeth to where her bike is parked and grabs his skateboard and backpack.

She starts talking about something they learnt about in class but he’s only half-listening, still thinking about their conversation from the park.

“Percy?”

“Hmm oh sorry, what did you say?”

Annabeth lets out a huff and blows a piece of hair from her face.

“Don’t worry. Were you listening to anything I said, at all?”

Percy stutters over an answer.

“Something about architecture?”

“I talk about other things than architecture Percy. I was saying maybe we could do a group call with Luke this weekend. Do you think your Mum and Gabe would let you use the phone?”

He thinks about it for a moment, mentally counting how many extra chores he’d have to do so that Gabe would allow him an hour of phone time.

“I could figure it out.” He says after a moment of silence and ignores Annabeth’s worried look.

“If it’s too much don’t worry, we can-” She says in a hurry.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll talk to him.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.” Her face breaks into a smile and she throws her arms around him for a hug before walking up the steps to her family’s apartment. She gives him a wave before closing the door behind her.

He lives a couple of minutes away from Annabeth, but he’s the furthest from everyone because they don’t live in the expensive part of the city. The beautiful brownstone apartments turn to crumbly apartments until Percy rolls to a stop in front of his crumbly apartment and winces as he picks up his skateboard.

Gabe isn’t home (thankfully), so he’s able to get the TV to himself for a few precious minutes before he hears the keys jingling in the door.

He leaps off the couch and hurries to clean the small mess he’s made and jumps into bed grabbing a comic book from the floor and opening it to a random page.

“Percy honey can you help me please?”

Percy’s chest lightens at the sound of his Mom’s voice and he races to the front door, smiling widely.

“Hey Mom, you’re home early.”

She smiles and nods, handing him a bag, and presses a kiss on top of his head.

“Yeah, my boss said he didn’t need me to stay back too late today. Wanna help me cook tonight? I’m making Gabe’s favourite.”

Percy scrunches his nose. They only make Gabe’s favourite when something important has happened.

“Yeah sure.” He says slowly. His Mom hears his uncertainty and leads them into the kitchen, beginning to unpack the groceries she’s bought.

“Nothing to worry about sweetie, I just need Gabe to be in a good mood tonight.”

Percy’s jaw tightens.

“Mom.”

“It’s nothing Percy. Don’t worry about me. Tell me about your day.”

He still has a sick sneaking suspicion that his Mom isn’t telling him the whole truth but he recounts her day. Every little detail, from the moment he skateboarded through the school gates, to the moment he said goodbye to Annabeth. His Mom is the easiest person in his life to talk to (Annabeth and Grover are equal seconds) and he feels lighter once he finishes.

They’re more than halfway done with dinner so Sally leans against the kitchen counter and eyes Percy who has set the table and is sitting down, fiddling with the cutlery, trying to keep his hands busy.

“Can you have multiple number one best friend’s Mom?” He asks, looking down at the fork he’s playing with.

“Of course, I think when you have a big heart it means that you have a lot of love to share, which means that you can care about as many people as you want, as much as you want.” Slowly she approaches him and takes the fork from his hand, setting it down.

“Who do you think is my number one best friend?” He asks.

“Well I can’t answer that question, Percy, that’s one for you.”

“What if I’m not my number one’s, number one?”

His Mom sighs and runs a hand through his dark hair, before cupping his face.

“That doesn’t mean they love you any less Perce.” She answers, “But they are missing out.”

“I don’t think I’m Annabeth’s number one.” He finally says and frowns when he feels his stomach do an uncomfortable flip. “Does this mean I have to change my number one?”

Sally smiles sadly at him and gives him a squeeze.

“You can’t know for sure unless you ask. You can do whatever you want with your heart Percy, the best advice I can give you is that you trust it.”

PART 1

PART 2

[blouisparadise]

Upon request, here is a rec list of bottom Louis fics with everyone’s favorite trope - sharing a bed! We hope you enjoy this list. Happy reading!

1) Just Like Live Wires | Explicit | 5427 words

Harry climbs into Louis' bed when he's cold. Louis pines.

2) Been Gone Way Too Long | Explicit | 8836 words

“This can’t be happening,” Louis says, banging his hand against the window. “This seriously can’t be happening right now.”

Things like this only happen in the movies. Things like this don’t happen in real life. There’s no way that he’s seriously been snowed in. There’s no way that the heating is broken. There’s no way that it’s going to take upwards of twenty-four hours and probably a lot longer for the storm to break and someone to come and rescue them.

“Just sit down, Louis,” Harry sighs from somewhere behind him. He sounds miserable, like he’s already feeling the cold.

Louis whirls around and points a finger at him. “Did you plan this?” he demands a little hysterically. He regrets the question as soon as it’s out of his mouth, but he thinks he’s got a valid point. It’s not like this storm just came out of nowhere - it has to have been on the news for a couple of days, at least. Plenty of time for Harry to have canceled this excursion.

3) I'm Trying Not To Make A Sound | Explicit | 10452 words

Louis thinks he could die right there. He can’t feel anything but the tingling sensation all over his skin. He’s throwing away all his past thoughts on trying to be straight and denying his reactions towards other men, he just wants more of this numbing feeling. Everything else is a long lost memory, can’t think of anything else besides, wow, this feels incredible.

4) Enjoy The Ride | Not Rated | 11103 words

The one where Louis, an omega more than tired of being treated as lesser than alphas, is forced on a road trip by his beta besties only to meet Harry who might just be the alpha he never knew he wanted.

5) Cuffed | Not Rated | 15254 words

What would you do if you were handcuffed to your enemy for 48 hours?

6) Up For It | Explicit | 18223 words

The one where Liam is Mr Organised, Zayn is too perceptive for his own good, Niall is a compulsive matchmaker, and Harry and Louis might just have the surprise to shock them all.

7) Holiday Greetings (And Gay Happy Meetings) | Not Rated | 18417 words | Sequel

Note: This fic has no smut, but it has omega Louis. The sequel has smut.

The one where Niall's dead car and and a foot of snow conspire to force Louis into spending time with an alpha he hates.... or does he?

8) The Aurora Zone | Explicit | 19633 words

The one where Harry is busy crossing off his bucket list while Louis is busy falling for the guy he's supposed to hate.

9) I Wanna Be More Than Friends | Not Rated | 20721 words

The one where Harry’s an alpha with no sense of smell, Louis’ an omega who isn’t allowed to scent his best friend, and that’s all they’ll ever be. Obviously.

10) Etched In Salt (Is A Cathedral Of The World) | Explicit | 24417 words

Note: This fic has BH mentions. It is also locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

Louis asks for very few things in life, and they are: to solve cases, to keep bad people from doing their bad things, to get good coffee, to go home to a spacious apartment with nobody else in it, and to manage his stupid telempathy powers with minimal interference. And now he's stuck in a tiny cabin in a snowstorm in the middle of god-awful-nowhere with Harry Styles. Because of course he is.

11) Like A Siren In The Night | Explicit | 25868 words

“There is an infestation in my home,” Louis hisses, righting himself quickly and pushing his way past Harry, heading directly for the kitchen. He’s rather haphazardly dressed himself, a coat thrown on over a loose flannel shirt and black pants, slippers on his feet.

Harry resists the urge to sigh, closing the door and trailing behind him slowly. “What kind of infestation?”

For all he knows, Louis is going to claim that there’s a ghost infestation. Harry has no idea what the end game is here – all he knows is that Louis has found at least three complaints a week to bring up since he’s been living on Harry’s property, and he’s been living here for six months.

It’s way too many fucking complaints, is what Harry is saying. Especially when most of them are ridiculous to start with.

12) Always Come Back To You | Explicit | 28682 words

“I’ll do it,” Harry offers brightly. No one even blinks. “I’ll do it?”

Louis sighs irritably. “Shut up,” he orders, tossing a pillow in the general direction of Harry’s face. This is a terrible time for jokes, especially Harry’s lame, old people ones.

Not that it was an old people joke. Just that most of the time Harry’s jokes consist of knock-knocks or terrible puns. The type of jokes old people like, Louis’ pretty sure. His nan always finds them hilarious when Harry tells her one.

Harry bats the pillow out of the air without even blinking. “Be reasonable, Lou,” he says in his most reasonable voice.

Louis is perfectly reasonable, thank you very much, and he’s also frustrated and upset and tired and he really wants to punch something. Maybe he should have held on to that pillow a little longer.

“You’re not gonna fucking do it,” he snaps. “That’s the last thing I need.”

13) We’re Not Who We Used To Be | Explicit | 30611 words

“Harry…” Louis’ voice catches in his throat, thick with tears threatening to fall out, so he coughs to clear it before trying again. “Harry is Liam’s best man?” “You didn’t know?” Harry is standing at the entrance of the garage, mouth slightly open and face pulled together. He sets his bag on the ground and puts his hands on his hips. When he does that, he looks just like the Harry that Louis remembers (and loves, he thinks with an aching heart). “I’m sure I mentioned it,” Liam says, but Louis can tell he’s lying by the way he chews on his lower lip and twists his fingers together. “You’re all a bunch of dick heads, I’m getting in the car.” Louis isn’t sure if he’s being unreasonable. He has no idea what the protocol is when your ex-boyfriend shows up after three years and nobody bothered to give you a heads up. He’s pretty sure he’s allowed to be upset about it, even if it’s only for a bit.

14) Blind From This Sweet, Sweet Craving | Explicit | 31170 words

"So, I guess we'll go?" Louis asks later, when Harry has calmed down and eaten his weight in Chinese food. He plays with this chopsticks, spearing another piece of chicken and pops it in his mouth. "I mean, I wouldn't mind. We could make it an adventure."

Harry observes him, watches him seated across from him on their old living room carpet, with a container of food on his lap. He's fidgeting, avoiding meeting Harry's gaze–he probably knows that Harry's mad at him for ruining the one chance they had to get out of this situation. And he's not wrong, Harry is definitely very mad. Harry wants to strangle him and castrate him and smack him upside the head.

But he's also Harry's best friend, and despite everything, despite all the fuck-ups and the plot twists and everything just not playing out the way it should, he'd still rather be stuck in this situation with Louis than any of the other boys. He's got Harry's back, and in a weird, abstract way, he knows they'll be able to get out of this situation, together.

Harry sighs. "We're going," he says resignedly, his shoulders slumping.

Oh well. There are definitely worse ways to spend the weekend than pretending to be engaged to his best friend.

15) Welcome Back From The Friend Zone | Mature | 32584 words

The one where an idea to create a fake wedding with the sole intent to receive gifts from billionaires took a turn no one, but also everyone, saw coming.

16) Let Me Feel Your Heartbeat | Explicit | 34572 words

Harry is 98% sure Louis hates him. So he feels like his bewilderment is justified when the omega offers to help him through his rut.

17) Close To Nowhere | Explicit | 34589 words

Louis and Harry are psychics who kind of hate each other. They go to Tennessee to investigate a haunting.

18) Playing To Win | Explicit | 36732 words

Big Brother UK alumni Louis Tomlinson and Harry Styles are selected for the UK vs Australia All Stars series with a massive one million dollar prize in the offing. They’re both fit and smart and would make a great alliance... if only they can stop their feelings from getting in the way.

19) If I Stay | Mature | 37226 words

Harry and Louis agree to a temporary arrangement that Harry can't seem to walk away from no matter how many times he tries.

20) The Space Between | Explicit | 39917 words

Harry Styles is the alpha rockstar who can’t sleep and doesn’t know why.

Louis Tomlinson is the omega PhD student who helps him figure it out.

21) Strangers In Love | Explicit | 42207 words

Louis wakes up to find himself in a marriage with the last man he thought he'd ever end up with.

22) Tangled Up In You | Explicit | 45152 words

Harry blinks once. And blinks again. And says, his voice dangerous: “Niall, did you get me a mail-order bride?”

Because what the actual fuck. It kind of looks like Niall’s just purchased a person. For Harry.

Niall blinks back at him for a few moments, before throwing his head back and howling with laughter. Harry throws a pillow at him. Hard. “No, what the fuck, Harry.”

“A prostitute then?” Harry also doesn't want a prostitute.

“Of course not!”

“A stripper?”

“No!”

Damn, he’s running out of ideas. He settles for launching another pillow at Niall’s head. Niall bats it away easily, still laughing. “Stop!”

“What did you get me, then?!” Niall must hear the tinge of hysteria in his voice, because he’s pulling himself together, trying to stop himself from laughing.

There’s still a big grin on his face, though, when he says, “I got you a professional cuddler.”

A professional…what. “What?”

23) No Going Back | Explicit | 56102 words

Sales reps Harry and Louis are bored with their jobs and their lives. After meeting at a conference in Cardiff they hook up, have a few too many drinks, and jokingly apply to become remote lighthouse keepers. Six months, just the two of them, looking after the southernmost lighthouse off the bottom of Australia. It’s not like their applications will be accepted. Right?

This is the story of how one choice - a left instead of a right, a go instead of a stop, a yes instead of a no - can change the future forever and that sometimes, taking that leap of faith, is worth the risk.

24) Waiting For The Tides To Meet | Explicit | 59873 words

Soulmate AU. Everyone is born with heterochromia — one eye is their own eye colour, while the other is the colour of their soulmate's. It's only when they meet their soulmate for the first time that their own eyes match properly. After a hazy night at a frat party, Louis wakes up to blue eyes and the shocking realization that he had met his soulmate, without any sober recollection. Seven years pass where Louis comes to terms with the fact that he'll never know who his soulmate is. Then one fated summer, a beautiful green-eyed photographer arrives at Louis' workplace, with promises of endless laughter and a familiar feeling in Louis' heart.

25) Swallow The Knife | Explicit | 76158 words

“You came,” Louis says, still breathless, clinging to Harry, uncaring that his sweat is getting all over Harry’s presumably clean dad shirt, or that he’s making Harry hold up all of his weight.

“Of course I came,” Harry says. He shifts, one arm curled underneath Louis’ arse, the other spreading wide in the middle of Louis’ back. “If I ignored you every time you pissed me off we would have stopped being friends a long time ago.”

Louis already knows that, of course. It doesn’t do anything to stop the pleased squirm in his belly every time Harry proves it, though. They fight like nobody’s business, both of them too stubborn to pull their punches when they’re arguing, and it used to get them in trouble, but they always make up.

Adrenaline makes Louis loose-lipped, and they both know it. He tightens his arms around Harry’s neck, buries his face in his hair. “I missed you,” he confesses, quiet. “Doesn’t feel the same up there by myself.”

26) Waiting On You | Explicit | 76584 words

“Vampires,” Louis says with disgust, glaring over at the vampire who is noisily slurping from the woman’s neck nearby.

Zayn gives the neat fang marks on Louis’ neck a meaningful look.

“Can’t live with them, can’t live without them,” Louis finishes, ignoring Zayn when he rolls his eyes.

Louis takes a long sip of his milkshake, presses his fingers against the marks on his neck, and definitely doesn’t think about the vampire who left them there.

27) Perfect Storm | Explicit | 80230 words

What do you do when your best friend asks you and your (now) ex to be the best men at his destination wedding? You can either tell him the truth, tell him you’re not together anymore, and deal with the consequences, or you can pretend you’re still together and roll with it, just pray you don’t spiral. Fake it ‘til you make it. You know, for the sake of the wedding.

Harry and Louis choose the latter.

28) Nothing Worsens, Nothing Grows | Mature | 102528 words

Another roadtrip AU featuring Harry as the misunderstood hipster, Louis as the bitter psych major, Liam as the one with the secret boyfriend, and Niall as the one who just wants everyone to be happy.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

[turnupbrock]

Noise Complaint- Colby Brock

This is a request from one of my amazing readers on here. "Can you do one where the reader is Sam or Jakes neighbor and they are trying to sleep or edit so they go over and to tell them to quiet down and they meet Colby or something like that please. And anonymously please"

 Tired was an understatement. You were exhausted. After a long day, you were just finally coming home at 1:30 in the morning. Which was insanely annoying because you knew that you were going to wake up late the next morning. It was a stressful day, you woke up late for your hair appointment which in turn, made you late for your nail appointment, then of course you were late to your photoshoot which was supposed to be at 12 in the afternoon, but instead you made it there at 12:45 due to traffic. Plus you had to film a couple of videos with your friends plus your own video, then they wanted to go shopping which lead to hours of spending money, and then finally you all made it back to their shared house, where you lost track of time, hints why you came home so late. It wore you out.

You didn’t even care that you left all the bags full of your new clothes and jewelry laying on the floor of your living room. All you wanted to was go change out of your uncomfortable clothes, wash all the makeup off your face, and go to sleep. You were asleep on your feet- dead on your feet? Whatever the saying was. You sighed in satisfaction as you patted dry your freshly cleaned face. Looking up in the mirror you saw you now clean face accompanied with your puffy eyes, eyelids hanging low. Walking into your room you took satisfaction with the dark and coolness of the space. Slipping on an oversized shirt and some pajama shorts, you finally crawled into bed.

There were no dreams playing in your head, just blackness, pure peace. That was until loud music invaded your peaceful sleep. You groaned and turned over in bed, you threw your leg over the large space, looking for a cold spot. Once you found one you smiled softly and snuggled your face into your pillow. The music continued to play loudly through the walls making you groan and lift your head to look at the wall. You knew your neighbor, it was Sam with his girlfriend Katrina. She didn’t live with him but she was over a lot. You met them a couple of days after they moved in last year. You guys weren’t close but you were friends. With being neighbors and being friends you came up with a knocking code. Two is to say that you’re being too loud, three is that one of you needs something, and four is just to say hi. Raising your wrist you knocked on the wall twice. After a minute of not getting a response, you knocked again but this time a little louder. Again no response.The music still blasted, keeping you awake. “Fuck” you groaned while getting out of bed.

You bother to fix your messy bun, you just slipped on your vans that were laying on the floor next to your bed. Wrapping your arms around your body, you walked out of your apartment and straight to the door next to yours. Lifting your hand you finally banged loud on the door, not caring if you sound like an ass. You were tired and they were keeping you up. You kept in mind that it was a friday and that it was the weekend, time to party. Finally the door swung open to reveal a tall man with platinum hair and red solo cup in his hand. He offered you a soft smile before smirking, “Saaam you’re in trouuuble” he yelled into the full apartment. You smiled and shook your head at the boy who just shot you a wink and walked away. Sam approached the door but before he could get a word out, Katrina barreled towards you, almost knocking you over. “Oh my god,” Kat gasped in your ear. “I missed you girl.” Releasing her from the hug you reply, “Missed you too babes”

Sam chuckled and pull Kat to his side, “So what’s up?” he asked, his eyebrows drawing in together. You sigh, “ I’m really sorry Sam, you know I love a good party and I bet that this is an amazing kickback and I hate to interrupt-” Sam cut of your rambles with a cute chuckle and shake of his head, “Yes Y/n, I’ll turn down the music” You let out a breathy laugh and shook your head. “Sorry and thank you.” “Of course.” You turned to leave but Sam stopped you, “Wait I have some new merch that will be released in the next few days but as you know, me and a couple of my friends are starting to move tomorrow so let me give you some pieces now.” he explained. “Oh, okay. Great. Thank you sam.” “No problem dude, come in.” Sam stepped back, letting you in. You stepped in and you became very aware of the fact that you were in pajamas and the large shirt made it look like you had no pants on. Katrina saw the hesitation on your face so she slipped her arm around your waist and started to lead you into the living room where all of their friends were in. “It’s okay girl, you look fine.” she reassured you. You slightly nodded your head and gave her a smile.

“Guys this is Y/n, Sam’s neighbor.” she announced to the group. “Y/n that is Corey, Jake, Reggie, Ariya, Kevin, Griffin, Mike,” she pointed to each person as she said their names. “That is Tara, Devyn, Xepher, and Cassie. Tara is Jake’s girlfriend, Cassie is Reggie’s, and Xepher is with Griffin.” “Who used to be my girlfriend,” the one named Mike pointed out. You folded your lips in your mouth, “Welcome to the family meeting” Kevin said, smiling a brilliant smile. You smiled back, “It’s nice to meet you all.” They all seemed nice and you loved their style, it was just like yours. But one guy caught your eye more than the rest, the one with the striking blue eyes and blue hair to match. You eyed if for a moment before looking away because you didn’t want to get caught staring like some creep. Just then Sam came out of his bedroom holding a black hoodie that said xplr written on the strings that tighten the hoodie, a light pink hoodie that said never normal on it, a black shirt that also said never normal, and a white shirt that said I think she wants to be me on it. “Here you go,” he said when handing them off to you. You loved them and how soft they were. “ Thank you so much Sam but you didn’t have to do this,” you said taking them from his hands and laying them in your arms.

Sam wove his hand in the air, “No problem really, I just want some of your merch when it comes out,” he said, winking at you. You giggled and nodded your head, “Sure thing.” You turned back to the group and gave them one last smile and wave before making your way to the door again. “Goodnight guys, thanks again.” “Goodnight Y/n.” Sam said giving a soft smile before closing the door just to open it a second later, “I promise to keep it down mom,” “oh fuck you!” You laughed before walking into your apartment. You could hear their mixed laughter, making you laugh to yourself before closing your door. You walked back into your room and laid down, your mind still having the blue haired boy in your mind, you didn’t hear his name when Kat said it but you swore it started with a C or something around there. You smiled to yourself when you heard the music turn down. Laying back on the bed, you fell right back asleep.

“So who was that?” Mike asked Sam once him and Kat sat back down on the couch. “Oh that’s our neighbor. She does Youtube just like us, met her a couple of days after moving in here. She’s super nice.” “And pretty.” Kat chimed in. The girls nodded in agreement, “Yeah she was gorgeous.” Tara said. “How come she never came over for pizza night? You’ve known her for what? Almost a year at this point?” Reggie questioned. Sam shook his head and reached for his red solo cup, “I have in the past but she said that she didn’t want to intrude on a friend thing. I told her that she wasn’t but she insisted.” “That sucks, I would love to get to know her.” Devyn pouted, slumping into the couch. “Maybe I’ll convince her to come to the next one,” Kat suggested. Which everyone agreed to. Colby couldn’t stop thinking about how beautiful you were. Clean face, no makeup and you still were beautiful. You seemed nice. “Hello. Earth to Colbyyy,” Kevin said waving his hand in front of his face. He shook his head to try and clear his thoughts, “What- sorry. What’s up?” Kevin smirked, “Whatcha thinkin about?” Kevin teased his friend. His cheeks flushed and he felt them heat up, “ Nothing.” “Mmhm. So you weren’t thinking about the hot neighbor?” Ariya asked, tilting his head. Colby’s cheeks heat up more, “OOOO he’s blushing!!” Tara yelled pointing her finger at Colby’s red face.

“Shut up,” he grumbled. Everyone shared a laugh before all conversations resumed and the night went on for another hour and a half before everyone left. Colby threw his keys on the counter before tiredly waddling into his room before crashing on his soft bed. The next morning he woke and reached over to try and grab his phone. But when his hand landed on his nightstand, his phone was nowhere to be found. He lifted his head and groaned when he couldn’t see his phone. Colby sat up and threw on a hoodie that he had lying on the foot of his bed before walking towards the apartment door. Looking at the clock on the over he saw that it was 11, he knew that Sam would be up. Once he reached Sam’s door, he raised his fist to knock, soon after Sam’s voice rang out, “IT’S OPEN!” Colby opened the door and walked in, “Hey brother, I left my phone here last night. Have you seen it?” he asked. When he looked up he saw Kat and you on the coach, “Oh yea, it’s on the table brother.” Sam called from his kitchen where he was packing his silverware. “ Thank you.” Sam hummed in response.

Colby walked into the living room where you and Kat were. “Hey, Y/n right?” Colby asked. You looked up from the tiktok that Katrina was showing you. “Yup. I’m sorry I missed your name last night.” you said your smile morphing into a slight frown. Colby internally melted from how cute you looked in that moment. “Colby,” he replied. You smiled wide at that, “I love that name.” you complimented. Colby smirked, “I would love to have your number.” Your eyes widened, “That was smooth as fuck. I’ll give you points.” You laughed. Katrina and Sam laughed at your remark, “Give me your phone,” Colby smiled and threw you his phone, you pressed your number into it then threw it back. Colby smiled at the name, you put your name in with a black heart at the end with a winky face. You stood up from the couch and yawned, “I’m going to take a nap but I’ll see you guys tonight?” You asked about fixing your pants and looked over at Sam. He nodded, “Yup.” Colby’s eye’s widened along with his smile, “You’re coming over tonight? To hang out with us?” You laughed at Colby’s dumbfounded expression and nodded, “Yeah, figured I’d give it a whirl.” You teased. Colby playfully rolled his eyes, “haha very funny. We’re very funny and nice.” You winked at him, “I’m sure you are. See you later neighbors.” Kat stood up and followed you to the door.

“I wanna take a nap with you!”

[whumphoarder]

Death by Waffles

Summary: When Tony decides to adopt a cat for Morgan, Peter is almost more excited about it than the six-year-old. He just failed to mention one minor issue before coming to visit at the lake house for the weekend.

Or, in which Peter is horrifically allergic to cats but JUST LOVES THEM SO MUCH.

Word count: 1,638

Genre: Fluff, slight whump, humor

A/N: Thanks to @xxx-cat-xxx & @sallyidss for beta reading and giving me ideas! 

Link to read on Ao3

“I still think we should have called him Winston Furrchill,” Tony says with a shrug, watching Peter, who’s sitting cross legged on the living room floor, grinning ear-to-ear, stroking the long-haired cat’s fur.

“That’s so boorrring, Daddy,” Morgan complains. She grabs the little feather teaser and dangles it in front of the cat’s face. He lifts a paw lazily to bat at it. “All your ideas were so boring.”

“What are you talking about?” Tony balks at her, eliciting giggles from Peter and a dramatic groan from the six-year-old. “My ideas were gold. Mr. Meowgi. Bill Clawsby. Genghis Khat.”

Peter snaps once and shoots a finger gun Tony’s direction. “Luke Skywhisker!” he throws in, causing Morgan to groan. “Ooh! Call him Nick Furr-y!”

“No! His name is Waffles!” Morgan exclaims, throwing up her hands in exasperation and causing the kitty in question to dart across the room and dive into his favorite hiding place—the cardboard box that his brand new, untouched, three-hundred-dollar cat tree came in. Tony just rolls his eyes; it’s behavior like this that makes him almost regret spending the last four days in the workshop designing that damn feline an elaborate catwalk and perch system spanning every room of the lake house.

(Almost.)

Morgan sticks her lip out in a pout.

“Aw, Mo, we were just teasing,” Peter says, patting her arm with a kind smile. “Waffles is a great name—I love it.”

That seems to console her. She grins back at him. “It’s ‘cus when we brought him home, he was really scared the first day and he just wanted to hide under my bed. So Daddy said I could eat breakfast in my room with him so he’d feel safer, but then I had to go to the bathroom and when I was gone he stole my waffle,” she rambles.

Peter quirks an eyebrow. “Your cat ate a waffle?”

Morgan nods. “Uh-huh, and then he puked it up again on the carpet!” she explains cheerfully.

“Ah yes, fond memories…” Tony mutters.

“So I named him Waffles,” Morgan concludes. “But I almost called him Syrup, ‘cus he got that on his paws when he walked on the plate, and then he ran around everywhere and it was all sticky. Mommy says that’s why we got ants after.”

While Peter snorts out a laugh, Tony just runs a hand over his face and sighs. “It’s been a long week.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” Peter laughs, rubbing a hand at his eyes. He uncrosses his legs and gets to his feet to walk over to the box where Morgan is trying to lure Waffles out again. “I always wanted a cat, but May never let me get one—said they were too much hassle.”

“They are,” Tony says emphatically.

“Are not,” Morgan disagrees. As Peter sits down by the box, she picks up the bag of kitty treats and starts shaking it, causing Waffles to poke his head out. She pours out three little treats onto her open palm. He sniffs them suspiciously, then turns his nose up and buries himself back in the box.

Morgan turns to Tony and shrugs. “I don’t think he likes chicken flavor anymore. You gotta get him the salmon ones, Daddy.”

“But you told me this morning that he doesn’t like salmon,” Tony argues. “He only eats the premium chicken with gravy.”

Morgan shakes her head. “No, no that’s his wet food. He only eats dry salmon, and wet chicken. And sometimes tuna, but only that one in the blue bag.”

“And waffles,” Peter throws in with a wry smile, sitting down to start stroking the cat inside the box. “Don’t forget the waffles, Mr. Stark.”

“At this rate, I’m thinking it’d be better to just install a cat flap and let him find his own mice for dinner,” Tony grumbles.

As if on cue, Waffles meows irritably and leaps out of the cardboard box, straight onto Peter’s lap. However in doing so, the cat’s fluffy tail tickles the kid’s nose. Peter sneezes twice—rather violently—startling the cat to the point that it shoots across the room and climbs halfway up the drapes.

“Waffles!” Morgan cries and races after him.

Sniffling a bit, Peter gives a sheepish smile. “Whoops.”

Tony rolls his eyes and extends a hand to help lever the kid up again. Peter rubs at his eyes again—which Tony notices are redder than usual. He raises an eyebrow suspiciously. “Are you sure ‘too much hassle’ was the only reason May was against you having cats?”

Something flashes across Peter’s face, but it’s gone just as soon as it appears. “Yeah, yeah of course. Well, that and she’s more of a dog person, really, but they’re not allowed in the apartment.”

“Hm.” Tony glances at his watch. “Alright, well it’s almost His Royal Highness’ dinner time.” He gestures to the kitchen. “Let’s go see if we can get him to choke down some caviar and truffles or something…”

X

Three hours later, Tony can’t ignore the signs any longer. After witnessing Peter’s third sneezing fit since dinner, he privately pulls the kid out into the kitchen. “Pete, c’mon,” he sighs. “Just admit it already.”

Taking a tissue from the box Tony holds out to him, Peter shrugs innocently. “Alright, you got me. Guess I’m coming down with a cold.” He wipes his nose.

Tony raises an eyebrow. “A cold that began ten minutes after entering our home and has only gotten progressively worse since?”

Peter chuckles a bit. “Yeah, go figure, right? Perfect timing for my weekend off. What does Doctor Banner call that again?” He tilts his head to the side in thought. “Starts with an L…”

“Pete…”

“Leisure sickness!” he recalls, his face lighting up. “That’s the word. Think I’ve got that.”

Rolling his eyes, Tony starts ticking each symptom off on his fingers. “Your nose is running, your eyes are watery, you’re sneezing—”

“Which is all from the cold,” Peter cuts him off. He coughs twice into his elbow. “See? Sick.”

Tony scoffs. “In all the years I’ve known you, you’ve never once admitted to being sick unprompted.” He pauses a beat. “Including that time you were actively vomiting.”

Peter rubs a hand at the back of his neck and gives a sheepish grin. “So I'm really demonstrating growth, then, huh?”

Tony ignores him and soldiers on. “You’re itching,” he says, gesturing to the red welts emerging on Peter’s forearms and neck. “You’re getting a rash—”

Peter tugs his hoodie sleeves down to cover them. “I think that’s the new laundry soap I’ve been using...”

Tony blinks at him. “Your eyes are bright red, kid.”

Peter opens his mouth to retort something, but then closes it again. He drops his gaze to the floor and lets out a hard sigh. “Okay… okay you’re right,” he admits. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t wanna say it around Morgan.” He looks up and, with a totally straight expression, whispers, “I’ve been smoking weed, Mr. Stark. I’m actually tripping balls right now.”

“Peter, just admit that you’re allergic to cats!”

“Huh?” Morgan cries from the living room where she has her kitty on her lap while she watches Curious George. “Peter’s allergic to Waffles?!” The cat dives off her lap and out into the kitchen, hiding behind Peter’s leg.

Peter winces. Then his nose wrinkles up and he sneezes four times into his wad of tissues. When he draws in his next breath, it’s more of a wheeze.

Tony heaves out a sigh. “Alright, we’re done here.” He bends down and scoops the cat up. “Waffles is staying in Pep’s office for the remainder of this weekend.”

“What?” Morgan blurts.

“Yeah, what?” Peter echos, snatching the cat back from Tony’s arms. “You can’t do that!”

“Pete, he’s making you sick,” Tony points out as Peter sneezes yet again. “If you’re already this bad in three hours, how do you expect to breathe in a couple more days?”

Peter looks stricken. “But… But you don’t understand.” He hugs the cat a little tighter and Tony swears he can see fresh hives emerging on Peter’s neck. “I just love him so much, Mr. Stark,” he says earnestly. “I would honestly die for this cat.”

Tony sighs and pats his shoulder consolingly. “Yeah, and that’s looking more and more like it might become reality, kiddo...”

X

It takes some convincing—and a bit of bribery—but eventually he gets the kids to agree to his plan. In the end, Morgan and Peter settle for a six-foot-tall ‘Royal Castle Kitty Condo’ (complete with a litter moat) in exchange for Waffles’ temporary banishment. He then sends Peter to the guest room while he and Morgan transfer the cat’s most essential supplies into the office, grateful for once that Pepper’s staying downtown this weekend.

Waffles promptly makes himself at home on the very top of her bookshelf—after first knocking over two glass figurines and a meticulously ordered stack of papers, sending legal documents flying around the room.

(Tony wonders just what kind of royal castle equivalent he’s going to have to bribe Pepper with when she gets back.)

X

It’s 12:16 a.m. when Tony remembers that they forgot to give Waffles his anti-hairball paste that evening and comes grumbling out of bed to do so.

It’s 12:19 a.m. when Tony opens the office door to see Peter, sitting on the floor with that damn cat curled up in his lap, wheezing out a high-pitched chant of, “Who’s a good kitty? Who’s a good boy?” between puffs of his inhaler as he strokes Waffles’ fur.

It’s 12:21 a.m. when Tony just gives up trying to reason with the kid and goes raiding the bathroom cabinets for Benadryl.

X

Link to all my fics

If you liked this story, you might also like:

Beanimia

Morgan Stark, M.D.

Fevers, Bananas, & Math Lessons

[monstaxdesires]

The Arrangement (Chapter Seven)

A/N: Huge thank you to @mxflo for being an amazing best friend and wonderful Beta reader. This series means so much to me and she’s been the friend that has allowed me to bounce theories and snippets off of her and given such positive encouragement. 

(Chapter One) (Chapter Two) (Chapter Three) (Chapter Four) (Chapter Five) (Chapter Six)

Shownu’s contract rested on your kitchen counter. Red pen marks littering various pages. You bit your lip, trying to decide if this was something you could really do. The contract had been true to his statements of what he expected and you were okay with must it.

His number was saved in your phone and you knew he would be expecting your call any day now, but you were hesitant. You had been for almost three days now. It was Monday evening which meant it had been three full days of that contract in your possession and no word to him on your position with it.

That same night of having it handed to you by his driver you had poured yourself a nice glass of Pinot Noir and read through it. You were tempted to mark it up straight away but knew reading through it once before taking a red pen to it would be more helpful.

Saturday morning you read it again after an unrestful night of sleep and that was when you had chosen to mark it up. You had been blunt and honest with your questions and what you weren’t comfortable with and what you wanted to add. You knew he would be a little puzzled by it but it was how you felt and he had asked for your honesty.

You pressed his name in your phone before switching it to speaker. He answered on the first ring.

“You actually called.” You bite your lip. “I did.”

“Everything okay?”

You stand and begin slowly pacing across the width of your living room, not able to sit still and do this. “Yes. I, umm, read the contract.”

“Okay.”

You exhale running your free hand through your hair before looking at it. “I marked it up, a lot.” You murmur before quickly continuing, “Are you sure you want to do this with me?”

He chuckles and you can see the little smile on his face already. You close your eyes and try to steady yourself.

“Please don’t laugh at me,” you whisper and he immediately stops. “Shownu… I-I’m lost here.”

“I know,” he says, his tone shifting to one of comfort. “This is why I had planned to have you spend an evening with me to discuss it over dinner before we agreed on a final contract.”

“Okay.”

You hear rustling in the background. “Are you still at work?”

“Yes. I work late most days. Are you home?”

“I am.”

“Good.” He replies and you can imagine him sitting at his desk, stacked high with important business documents, coat jacket hanging off a hook somewhere, the sleeves of his button up rolled up displaying his forearms while he busies working away, the only one remaining in his office building. “I will be out of town for a few days this week. I come back in Friday, what if we have dinner Friday night?”

“Will that be our first dinner in agreement to the rules of the contract?”

He chuckles. “Yeah, sure.”

“Okay, what time and where?”

“6pm and you can pick,” he says. “Listen, I have to go back to work if I plan to leave at a decent hour tonight, but you can call me if you need to reschedule or if you change your mind before Friday, okay?”

“Will do.” You say before hanging up and dropping your phone on the cushion of your couch before going to procure a wine glass and a new bottle of wine.

————-

Your hands were clammy, but you grasped the manila envelope tightly. You knew it would create wrinkles in the papers but you couldn’t help yourself. You were nervous, so nervous.

“Right this way,” the hostess speaks quietly before gesturing for you to walk ahead. “The other member in your party is already waiting for you.”

“Thank you,” you say with a smile towards her.

She takes you down a dimly lit hall before gesturing to a door and then bowing and walking away. You slip in and close the door quickly. Shownu stands as you turn to see him. Your eyes widen at the amount of food already laid out on the table already.

“How long have you been here?”

“Half an hour,” he says taking your hand and guiding you to your seat.

You sit and he pushes your chair in for you before taking his own. You hold the envelope on your lap not sure if you should hand it over.

“Do you mind if we eat first?” He asks. “I missed lunch.”

“No, please,” you gesture to the dishes and he smiles before giving you food first and then himself. “Why did you miss lunch?”

“Meeting.”

“Do you by chance have a pen?” You ask casually.

He pats his jacket pocket before reaching in and pulling out a pen. You take it and duck your head down as you pull out the contract and add a little note. He watches you before you lift your head and push your hair back behind your shoulder. You meet his gaze and he lifts an eyebrow.

“We will discuss it. Please eat.”

“You too.” He says around a mouthful after taking a bite. He points at your plate. You laugh a little before putting his pen down and starting to eat with him.

“This is so good,” you beam and he smiles placing another piece of meat on your plate.

“Eat up.”

“You too.”

He ducks his head, blushing a little before taking another bite.

After you have both had your fill you place the envelope on the table and slide it to him. “My questions are written along with my comments on what I do not agree with and what I would like to add.”

He takes it. His curiosity peeking. You fold your hands in your lap while he takes out the contract. His expression masked from giving you any idea on what he is thinking as he reads it. His eyebrow knit together in concentration and his lips pucker, but no indication to his thoughts. He finishes and puts it down on the table top.

“Where do you want to start?” He asks.

You clear your throat. “The rules?”

He nods. “Which one? You marked a few.”

“Birth control?” You ask, getting right to it. “If you are not expecting anything sexual why is one of your rules for us both to get an STI test and for me to start birth control?”

He clears his throat. “You are correct, I do not expect it, but as a precaution to what could happen.”

Your jaw drops and you freeze.  “I’m sorry?”

“No,” he immediately backtracks. “I meant with someone else you may have in your life. I should have said that better,” he rubs the back of his neck before closing this eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“What do you mean Shownu?”

He opens his eyes and looks at you. “I am sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t.”

“Good,” he exhales. “I think it is a good measure to have if you do seek someone else out for comfort. It will prevent our contract from being terminated due to an unexpected… p-pregnancy. To the public you will be my girlfriend and getting pregnant with someone else’s child isn’t ideal.”

You could tell it made him uncomfortable but you needed to know where you both stood and his reasoning made sense now that you knew.

“Fine to the birth control though I don’t think it’ll be needed. But what about the tests?”

“Precautionary, all of my past companions have had the test taken.”

“Okay.” You pull at your sleeves. “The minimum number of hours, how will that work if you are working late often?”

He bites his lip, you and a point. In the past he had never established a minimum but he felt it necessary to ensure you at least a minimum payment you could count on.

“Weekends, company events, and our weekly dinners or coffee dates. I will also give you 24 hour notice before requesting you to join me at something outside of what we already have scheduled as I am sure you read.”

“I did, I think 24 hours is sufficient.”

A smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “Anything else?”

“I want you to eat. I want you to make sure you eat lunch every day.”

He chuckles. “I see you added that in.”

“I did.”

He flips to the next page.  “I can do that.”

“Will I be expected to go on any of your overnight trips with you?” You ask, fidgeting with your napkin.

“On special occasion you will and only weekends, so your work schedule is not disturbed. Costs will be covered as well. You have a passport correct?”

“I do.”

“Great,” he puts the contract away. “I agree to the other notes and we will amend the probationary period to be ninety days instead of thirty before agreeing to a 12 month contract. Anything else?”

“No. The rate seems fair. I tried to do a little research about that and have no issue with the selected amount.”

“Good,” he smiles before reaching over and squeezing your hand.

You turn your hand so that your palm presses to his, his touch warm and reassuring. You watch his long fingers brush the inside of your wrist, a little shiver running through you.

“I will make the adjustments before getting you to sign an official copy for yourself and a copy for me.”

“Okay. Thank you for meeting with me and being so open minded.”

He withdraws his touch. “I’m glad we could reach an arrangement that suits both of our needs. I was a little worried you would deny my offer.”

You smile at him weakly, you had seriously considered it, but decided you needed to do what you could to help your family and his offer was the only way you could see working out at the moment. You nervously pull your hair over your shoulder.

“I should order a car if we are done for tonight. I’m exhausted. I am sure you are as well.”

“Let me drop you off,” he replies before standing and helping you to your feet. He picks up the envelope, his free hand on the small of your back before guiding you out.

“Are you sure?”

He nods once. “You are my companion now. You can expect this type of situation moving forward.”

You blush and he smiles at you before thanking the staff of the restaurant as you leave together.

(Chapter Eight)

[hilarioushilarity]

(not) lost in translation pt. 2

{I am a lying liar who lies, 2-3 days my ass. You can read Part 1 here.}

The second time Alexei meets Kent Parson is at the All Star weekend that season.

When Mama and Papa had flown back to Russia, Alexei had rapidly realised that he was effectively a thousand miles away from everything he had ever known, and that:

1) Nobody around him spoke Russian; and 2) He couldn't speak English.

Alexei hates English. With a passion. He's not stupid enough to tell anyone this particular fact, but he thinks it every time he sits down for his English classes and wrestles with prepositions and adverbs, or heaven forbid, attempts to conjugate a verb. Every rule had a million exceptions, so what was even the point of the rule? English as a language was just unfair, he had decided, and he tells Mama this over the phone one month in.

She is sympathetic, in her typical Spartan manner. "You'll learn," she tells him. "Practise for at least three hours every day."

Alexei is appalled. "Mama, when am I meant to get three hours of practice each day?"

"There is always time."

He honestly doesn't know what else he expected. "Okay Mama," he says, and then turns the conversation to how stupidly big portion sizes were in America. Criticising the diets of North Americans was always guaranteed to catch her attention.

To his dismay, his father just laughs at him.

"Papa." Alexei may or may not be whining.

"Your Mama told you to just find time, didn't she," he says, when he's finally stopped cackling for long enough to take a breath.

Alexei hangs up on him.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Papa says, when he calls back a minute later. The wheezing laughs have stopped, which is a relief.

"Okay," Alexei says warily.

"I mean it." His father is abruptly serious. "I'm sorry for laughing, you're in a tough situation right now. English is not an easy language to learn." They both know that his father never truly gained fluency in it - never had the chance to need it.

"It's really hard, Papa." He doesn't think he's just talking about English anymore.

"Things worth doing usually are, Alyosha," his father says gently.

Alexei chews his lip. "I don't know if I'm doing anything right."

"Are you playing good hockey?" Papa asks.

"Yes, Papa."

"You aren't bullying anyone on the ice?"

"No -"

"Working hard? Doing your English lessons? Going to all your practices on time, practising anything your coach says you need to work on?"

"Yes -"

"Then you are doing it right. And I am proud of you."

His father's voice is warm, and it curls around Alexei. He suddenly, desperately, wishes he could hug his father tightly. "Okay Papa."

"Now go and practice your English," Papa says, and Alexei does.

So hockey is the only thing he has besides torturous English lessons, and he devotes himself to it. He racks up goals and assists every game, plays a clean defensive game, and keeps his stats glowing. English smalltalk remains his nemesis but he's getting there, one pleasantry at a time. Before he knows it, he's being invited to the All Stars Weekend. He dithers over the invite for a few days, until the head of Capitals PR eventually corners him on his way out of the locker rooms.

"You should go," LaRue tells him. "It's good for building up your fanbase." He continues to go on at depth about social media presences and ticket sales. Alexei dutifully nods his way through the lecture, and ends up promising to go just to escape.

For some unknown sin in this life or a past one, he is roomed with a D-man from the Aeros who talks loudly and snores louder than a chainsaw. Alexei realises this on the first night when he lays in bed, staring at the ceiling as the red digits on the bedside clock tick over from 11 to 12, then 1. There's a snore once every three seconds, accompanied by whistling through some gap between teeth. Alexei kills half an hour searching up English sayings to describe snoring and deciding that his roommate "snores like a foghorn" before he finally gives up and rolls out of bed.

The hotel they've been put up in has an indoor gym and swimming pool. Alexei slings on a towel, sneaking out of the room before taking the lift down. On first glance, the gym is deserted, because any sane person is currently asleep. Alexei, running on no sleep, does not qualify.

Except, when he's halfway through his reps on the elliptical, a quiet voice behind him says: "Um. Hi, Alexei?"

Alexei turns around and comes face to face with Kent Parson.

What they are is nebulous at best. More than acquaintances - Kent Parson had talked to his Mama and Papa and his Mama had said Kent was a Very Nice Person. But less than friends, certainly. After the draft, Kent had gone west to the Aces and Alexei had gone east to the Capitals. He hasn't really kept track of Kent's career, but he would have to be under an actual rock to not know Kent is the only other rookie at the All Stars weekend and the NHL's current leading scorer.

"Hello," Alexei replies. There's a drop of sweat slowly rolling down his face and he's painfully aware that he probably stinks a little.  Meanwhile Kent Parson looks fresh as a daisy at one in the morning. The limits of his smalltalking abilities in English remain breathtakingly small despite the benefit of six months of English tutoring, so he kind of hopes Kent takes pity on his poor, sweaty form.

Kent does not. "It's been a while. Good to see you."

Goddamnit, they're smalltalking. "Good to see you, too."

Kent looks unbothered at the lack of scintillating conversation. He rolls onto the balls of his feet, fiddling with the strap of the duffel slung over his shoulder. "So uh. How's your mum?" he says, then immediately blanches. "Shit. I didn't mean - I just -"

"Good," Alexei says, mostly to put him out of his misery. "She good."

Kent looks earnest. "Oh, that's really good to hear." And then he seems to waver a bit.

"How is family?" Alexei says, when the silence stretches on. "They come visit after draft?"

"Ah yeah." Kent visibly brightens up. "They did! It was great, we had dinner and hung out a bit, and I gave my sister your mum's autograph - she's so cool by the way, but I bet you already knew that - I'd love to thank her again."

There are just - so many words. Alexei takes a few seconds to work through the sentence. "Glad to hear sister like. Maybe you see Mama again at game with Aces?"

"Definitely," Kent says, and Alexei's heard so many people say that over the past six months, but he thinks this time he could believe it. "So, uh. What's keeping you up?"

Only the loudest snorer on the entire American continent. "Roomie." Alexei searches for the words. "Snoring like foghorn."

Kent winces. "Jeez, I know what you mean. Did you try poking him to get him to roll over?"

"To scared to poke," Alexei admits. "Big guy."

"Who are you rooming with?"

"Winkler?"

"Fuck, yeah, he's a big dude. Better not poke him."

Alexei sighs. "Snore so loud - and whistle too. Like train." At Kent's blank look, he tries: "Choo choo?"

"Choo - oh god, you mean like a steam engine?"

Alexei pulls out his phone in answer. "How spell that? Steam engine?" He dutifully plugs in the letters Kent rattles off, and hits translate. "Oh. Yes. He steam engine."

"Heh," Kent says. "I double dog dare you to say that to him." He must catch the look of utter incomprehension on Alexei's face, because he quickly backtracks. "Not up with the slang yet? Sorry. I meant, you should tell him that."

"But why?" Alexei doesn't want to get punched.

"As a joke," Kent adds hastily. "It's funny, because we know it's stupid so we wouldn't do it."

English was just ridiculous. "Okay," Alexei tries. "Double dog dare you cycle on elliptical, see who faster."

"That's not..." Kent trails off. He smiles, then shakes his head. "That's not how it works. But we'll work on it," he assures Alexei, with a firm pat on his shoulder.

It's worlds away from the way the Caps' coach tends to roll his eyes heavenward when Alexei goes left when he should go right, or his English tutor, who is nice enough but is prone to banging her head against the table a little when Alexei fumbles the conjugation on a verb. "Not now," Alexei says. "Later?"

Kent checks his watch and he actually looks surprised, like the complete lack of other people didn't clue him in. "Wow, it's pretty late, isn't it?"

Unbelievable. "Why you up?"

"Got caught up practising."

Alexei sideeyes him. "Practising?"

Kent flushes a little. "Practising my stick handling. Shooting accuracy."

Alexei can't help but boggle at him. "You practising? At 1AM?"

"I couldn't sleep," Kent says, a little defensively.

"You crazy," Alexei decides, but there's a lot of fondness that must be apparent to even Kent, who looks less offended than he does a mildly grumpy, like the family cat when he accidentally stepped on her tail as a child. "But you wipe ice with everyone, so you champion crazy."

"Damn straight I'm the champion crazy," Kent says, planting his hands on his hips like a dork. "Yeah, laugh it up, I'll definitely be wiping the ice with you."

Alexei pretends to cower. "Okay, Kent Parson, I try best not cry on ice then."

"You will be bawling your eyes out," Kent says with promise, and then looks so affronted when Alexei just doubles over, breathless with laughter.

"I believe you," Alexei says to the ground, from where he's still bent over trying to catch his breath. "Cry many tears."

"You better," Kent says, but then he's laughing helplessly too, dropping his duffel. "Oh god, I really am champion crazy."

Alexei reaches over to pat him on the back. "Is okay, still like, even if Kent Parson practice hockey at one in morning."

"You don't think I'm too crazy?" Perhaps it's meant to be joking, but Alexei can't help but look up sharply.

"Never. You think Crosby best because he slack off?"

"I don't think he's ever stayed up until 1 because he was nervous about All Stars," Kent says, then bites his lip.

"You nervous?" Alexei asks. Kent hesitates. "Why you nervous?"

"I just - it's been a lot," Kent finally says. He's looking to the side, staring at the elliptical. Alexei waits, and Kent says in a rush: "I feel like I have to be the best, or - or else -"

"Not have to say what," Alexei says gently. "Not make you say."

Kent scowls. "It's stupid. Everyone's thinking it, they just don't say it. That I'm the second choice."

At the Draft, Alexei had known vaguely that Kent Parson and another boy called Jack Zimmermann had widely been slated to go first and second - in either order. It was true that every analyst had put the latter in first place, and that when Aces called Kent Parson's name there had been a slight pause in the audience's murmuring. Kent's smile had been strained as he left their table.

Alexei's stood across from Kent on the ice before. He's watched countless hours of tape of the Aces' play and by proxy, of Kent. Kent Parson on the ice is a force of nature, skating circles around defence and sinking pucks into the net as easy as breathing. And in his heart of hearts, he thinks the margin between first and second had been far smaller than most people thought.

But now, under the harsh gym lights that highlight the remaining softness of his jaw and the dark patches beneath his eyes, Alexei realises that Kent's still just a kid. Alexei's just a kid. They're both just teenagers. And there's very little of the player who had breezed past Alexei at the last Caps game with the Aces, or of the player who had mercilessly crushed their four game winning streak without batting an eye. Under the padding and past all the hype, Kent was far from the figure he cut on ice and as vulnerable as any other human.

"Even if people say second choice, what matter?" Alexei says. "You first. You here now. Play well. Maybe bit annoy on ice but not bully. And seem nice, polite to Mama. Thinking of sister even at draft. Get autograph for her. That matter. Not other people."

He hopes he hasn't overdone it - perhaps Kent wasn't looking for a heart-to-heart in the hotel gym at 1AM. But instead of taken aback Kent looks - a little watery.

"Why you cry?" Alexei is horrified.

"I'm not crying," Kent sniffs. "I'm not."

Alexei bites his tongue. "Uh okay." He politely looks away as Kent wipes his eyes.

"I'm not saying I can't cry," Kent begins, which Alexei takes as his cue that it's safe to look back at him. His eyes are just slightest bit red, and even that's only if you know what to look for.  “I just try not to cry in front of others.”

"Okay," Alexei says cautiously.

Kent takes a deep breath. "Thank you."

"Welcome," Alexei replies automatically, then says: "But. For what?"

Kent stares at him. "For - listening? For not being an asshole about the fact I'm still some nervy rookie?"

Christ. People thanked each other for things like that in America? "No need thank," Alexei says. Then, desperate to change the subject, he adds: "So we agree! No need for nervous! You real KVP."

"The what?"

"KVP." Alexei gestures. "I see on Twitter - they calling you 'the Real KVP'".

"That's not - " Kent splutters. "That's my name, Alexei."

Alexei tries not wince. "Oh. Oops, sorry."

"Why are you sorry?" Kent brings out his phone, thumbing at something on the screen. He eventually holds out his phone, open to a websearch. "See? It's a joke on MVP. That's 'Most Valuable Player'."

"Oh," Alexei says again. "Make sense. Sometimes miss reference - thank you for explaining."

Kent stows away his phone, corners of his mouth twitching upwards again. "You've only been in the US for what, six months? Your English is great. If you put me in Russia I would probably just turn around and go back to the US."

"You miss good food then," Alexei tuts. "Russian food is best food."

"Hell no, I've seen what you guys count as soup. I'm not touching borscht with a ten-foot pole."

"Borscht is best soup!" Alexei tries to sound outraged.

"Look man, all I'm saying is that anything that pink should not be eaten."

Blasphemy. "You try pirozhki then? Small, baked -" He gropes around for the word, then gives up and calls up the translator app on his phone. "Dumpling."

"I've never had that," Kent says, but he at least looks intrigued. "What did you call it? Pay-roz-kay?"

His accent is actually appalling. "Pirozhki," Alexei corrects.

Kent frowns. "Poe-roz-ki?"

"Pirozhki"

"Poh-rosh-ki?"

Alexei nods in approval. "Good, sounds good."

"I like the sound of baked dumplings," Kent says. "Mm. Pirozkhi. I might go see if there's any places that do it in Vegas."

"Let me know if yes." Alexei nudges him. "I come try when Caps play Aces."

"You got it."

Alexei cuts off any further conversation with the embarrassingly loud yawn that escapes him then.

"Shit, it's like 1:30AM." Kent winces. "We have to get up at like 7 tomorrow - today? Holy crap we better go to sleep."

Alexei levers himself up, gathering his towel and bottle. "Hope not fall asleep on skates tomorrow."

"How about I check you if I see you dropping off," Kent suggests, then snickers at Alexei's raised eyebrow. "Bad idea?"

"Sure can check me?" Alexei makes a show of looking Kent up and down. He holds his index finger and thumb about ten centimetres apart. "So small."

"You asshole," Kent says, but he's laughing. "I'm not short, you're just a giant."

"If say so," Alexei shrugs. They start towards the elevator banks. "If help sleep at night."

"Fuck you, I sleep really well at night," Kent says petulantly. Alexei eyes the shadows beneath his eyes.

"I believe, I believe," he says instead with his best shit-eating grin. They get in the lift. "Okay, floor?"

Kent reaches over and pushes the button for 15. "You?"

"Twelve. Thank you." Kent nods, and they start moving up.

"So see you tomorrow, yes?"

"Yeah." Kent shoulders his duffel a little more firmly. "Be prepared to cry like a baby."

Alexei flaps his hands, just as the lift doors open on his floor. "Yeah, yeah, I cry so much."

The smile Kent gives him is small, but very real. "Good night Alexei."

"Good night," Alexei says, stepping out and turning to wave goodbye. The doors shut on Kent's smile, and Alexei stands there for a second, the airconditioning cool against his slightly sweaty neck.

"Hopefully not cry too much," he says to himself, before heading back to his room.

[artificialqueens]

The Goode Case, 14/14 (Multi) - Juno

Chapter Summary: Jaida, Brita and Jackie try to plan for the three of them to go bowling. Of course, that might not work out quite as planned!

(A/N: So ….. this is the end of TGC! It’s the epilogue, and I wanted to give them all an ending, so here it is. I’ve been so blown away by the support I’ve received for this fic, even though it’s completely insane and no one asked for it! Thank you to everyone who has left me a like, kudos, comment, or just read it and enjoyed it. It really does mean the world! xo Juno)

Tuesday 14thNovember

7.09PM

Brita:Do u want to go bowling this Friday? Xx

Jackie:The three of us??

Jaida:I don’t think three is quite enough sis. Not for a good game. We’ll be done in half an hour!

Brita:LOL if that’s a hint then yes u can ask Jan xx

Jaida smiled to herself. If she hadn’t been thinking it before, she definitely was now. She was having a great time getting to know who Jan was, and what made her tick, these past ten days or so. Hearing Jan’s unbelievable singing voice at full pelt in Jan’s little Fiat 500. Playing around doing lay-ups at the basketball court and normally losing to Jan, even thought she was the shorter of the two. Getting their legs tangled in the sheets at the end of the day …

Oh yes. Jaida had enjoyed every minute.

Jackie:Ok, I don’t need to read minds to see how this will go……..

Jaida: lmao really? X

Brita:Enlighten us Jacqueline xx

Jackie:Obvs we three want to go

Jackie:Jai invites Jan

Jackie:Brita wants to invite a gf if Jai is inviting one

Jackie:So now Aiden is coming

Jackie:Aiden always brings Crystal

Jackie:Crystal always brings Gigi

Brita:Aiden isn’t my gf

Jaida:and Im Oprah

Jackie:LOL!

Brita:shush Jai xx

Brita:we just had a couple dates so far thats all xx

Jackie:Ok so I actually laughed

Jackie:Heidi & Nicky heard me

Jackie:So they invited themselves

Jaida:oh that’s cool no problem x

Jackie seemed to see more of Heidi than Jaida did right now. Jaida might have felt strange before, the thought of her friend and her colleague mingling, no careful divide in her mind; but that was fading fast. Nicky had started teaching Heidi some useful French, rather than just more swearing, and now they were organising for Nicky to come into Heidi’s kindergarten class with some basic French for the kids.

As for Brita … well, if there was one thing Jaida had learned about her through the Goode case, it was that she often had a slightly devious ulterior motive in these innocent suggestions. And although Jaida still didn’t feel as if she knew Aiden very well yet, she’d noticed that Brita had never spent more time daydreaming in the office; prompting a few pens being thrown at her by Jackie all last week.

Brita:How many is that? I suck at math lmao

Jackie:is that nine?

Jackie:one more to make it even??

Jaida: Dahlia, I said I would organise something with her

Brita: sis u cant invite Dahl without Rock xx

Jackie:Ok look

Jackie:We can’t have eleven

Jackie:That’s an even weirder number than 3!!

Jackie:Maybe we should stick to us 3

Jackie:No friends

Jackie:no gfs

Jackie:No psychics

Brita:no psychics? So we not going either?? LOL

“Hey, Jaida.” Widow came out of her room, waving to Jaida on the couch, as she walked past to the kitchen. Jaida gave her a smile and a wave back.

Widow was still walking a little slower than usual, but finally getting back into a routine. She’d flown back from KC on Sunday night, but even the week before that, she’d seemingly made some progress. She had even started coming to talk to Jaida, feeling a bit more comfortable sharing things with her.

Jaida was struck with inspiration.

Brita:also Jackie why cant u just type a message in one line Xx

Jaida:I got it, my housemate Widow to make it 12 x

Jackie: Who?

Brita:yeah u may not have met her yet

Brita:Jai I thought u said she doesn’t like big crowds xx

Jaida: something tells me things may change x

Friday 17thNovember

7.25PM

“Child, I still don’t get why it’s called football.” Jaida teased Jan, as they sat waiting for their turns to come back round. Heidi was lining up her shot in the distance, but neither Jaida nor Jan knew the scores at this moment. “They don’t even use their feet! They use their hands! And it’s not a ball! It’s an egg! Hand-egg!”

“Jai, if you insult my precious Patriots one more time, I’ll –“

“Jan! Focus!” Heidi was calling her. “Your shot, boo!”

“Be right back after I hit a strike!” Jan reached over to kiss Jaida gently on the lips.

“Oh, so you’re not coming back?” Jaida tutted, unable to stop the grin spreading across her face. Jan playfully slapped her arm and grinned back at her.

The aisles were only good for six people each, so they’d booked two beside each other, and it looked like couples’ night in the opposite lane. Brita’s impressive round of strikes and spares was almost matched by a few strikes from Crystal, all of which she claimed were flukes. She hadn’t stopped laughing all evening, clinging to Gigi, who smiled coolly and pushed her hair out of her eyes whenever Crystal did so. Gigi herself was making a respectable score behind the two of them, claiming to just have a magic touch.

Dahlia, however, kept sinking almost every ball into the drain and sulking as she did so, going into the sixth round with only seven points on the board. Aiden, whose twelve points were almost as bad, ended up insisting on the fences being raised after her third straight round of hitting nothing, prompting Rock to hit trick shots for the rest of the evening, bouncing her bowling balls between the fences and making her turns take twice as long.

It was Widow who came to sit in Jan’s empty seat, the mischievous glint in her eyes slowly returning as the days went on. Jaida returned her smile, and Widow reached and rubbed Jaida’s forearm.

“Thanks for inviting me, sis,” she muttered. “It’s – it’s a good night.”

When Jaida had asked, Widow had hesitated in coming out as part of a large group. Following Tori’s funeral the previous weekend, Widow had insisted on a quiet time all week. But the crowd brought her straight in, particularly Heidi and Brita, who she had already met. She even seemed to click with Jackie almost immediately, both of them shrieking with glee at discovering a mutual love of Overwatch and swapping Xbox names to link up later.

But Jackie and Widow were already competing. On the scoreboard in their lane, Widow was leading the team, but only by two points, with Jackie right behind her, almost matching every single strike. Jaida was enjoying seeing them show competitive sides that they rarely did, both of them playing up the competition by pointing menacingly at each other after each turn. Jaida, Jan, Heidi and Nicky were all lagging behind them, all in a cluster, but none of them minded; they were far too amused by Jackie and Widow to care.

Jaida looked at all their names altogether on the scoreboard, and the other names on the other lane. It still felt a little weird, but Jaida was actively trying to focus on it, and tell herself that it was all good. The separation she’d held onto for so long had crumbled, and here they all were – friends, colleagues, housemates, girlfriends – all in the same space.

And bringing her friends together, into one space in her life, made Jaida feel a lot more complete.

She grinned at Widow and turned to watch Jan, who was picking up every spare bowling ball and testing their weights, before commenting on the balls all being too big and settling on the lowest weight. Jackie, next to her, was giggling at her comment.

“You like them, now that you met them?”

“I hate to admit it, but yeah,” Widow chuckled. “They’re all really, uhm –“

“Exuberant? Energetic?”

“Loud,” Widow chuckled again. “I’m getting a headache. But – they’re all so nice as well.”

They were interrupted by a whoop of joy and a leap in the air; Jan had somehow managed a strike with her tiny ball and was twirling on the spot, her blonde hair spinning a whirlwind round her face and shoulders.

“Your girlfriend – Jan – is she your colleague as well?” Widow motioned to Jan.

“No, I met her through Brita.”

“And the three students? Sorry, I can’t remember their names.”

“I can’t discuss the case, but I met them through work.”

“And the girl with blue hair?”

“That’s Dahlia’s girlfriend, Rock.”

“Rock?” Widow repeated. “As in, rock solid? Rock ‘n’ roll?”

“Yeah,”

Widow’s eyes moved between them all on the opposite lane. Gigi was lazily twirling a finger through one of Crystal’s curls, while Crystal gazed enraptured at the scoreboard, for once still and silent; Gigi seeming to be the only person able to quieten her. Aiden, whose turn it was, held a bowling ball to her torso and was trying to keep a straight face as Brita, stood next to her, held another ball and was somewhat innocently demonstrating which fingers were best to use for the holes.

In their own lane, Jan and Jackie were calling to Nicky, whose turn it was; but Nicky was curled under Heidi’s arm in the booth next to them, her long legs swung over Heidi’s lap, holding her phone and scrolling down while they both stopped for a few seconds, chuckling at whatever was on the webpage they were going through.

Jaida smiled at Widow’s bemused expression. “You’ll get used to them.”

——

THE END

[vaguekiwi]

72 Hours

idk. Last weekend was hard, I process through writing. Here we are 😅😅

72 Hours

Summary: Tony is hospitalised, Peter has to sit in the waiting room.

Word Count: ~1000

Other Inspiration: Below My Feet by Mumford and Sons | What If This Is All The Love You Ever Get? by Snow Patrol

Warnings: Major grief and angst, mention of hospitals/critical medical condition, hurt with a tiny bit of comfort, ambiguous ending

Peter’s heart had been broken before.

Whether it was the disappointing shudder from what-could-have-been with Liz, or the reeling betrayal from Quentin Beck, or even the mind-numbing world-shattering grief from the passing of his parents and Uncle Ben, he was always left with the same feeling afterward.

The feeling that there was a blunt cleaver in the middle of his chest. A knife that just sat there, festering and heavy. Occasionally someone would grab it, promising to pull it out, only to push it around more with an unpracticed hand.

The cold of the blade seeped into his diaphragm and made it so he couldn’t warm up. The hole it left behind always felt like it swallowed him from the stomach up, left his nerves frayed at his fingertips and toes.

This was the feeling Peter had been left with the past few days, made worse because he was not just enduring the pain of heartbreak but also the uncertainty of not knowing if it would stick around.

The cleaver went in the moment he picked up the phone and the voice on the other end said, “Peter Parker? This is Metropolitan Hospital, we have you registered as the emergency contact for Anthony Stark.”

That had been nearly three days ago.

Peter sat perched on the edge of a chair in the corner of the hospital waiting room. He couldn’t sleep; if his body and mind were charged with enough adrenaline, the spider bite didn’t let him sleep. The nurses kept coming by, telling him to go home, promising they would call him as soon as Tony woke up.

If Mr. Stark wakes up, was how they put it. The if kept pinging around Peter’s head, floating behind his eyelids when he blinked. He knew they’d said it on purpose, to avoid a lawsuit at the very least, but he wished they had just lied. Had just given him the false impression that Tony would be absolutely fine.

He’d only brought his phone with him, he hadn’t known how long he would be here. Ned brought his charger 12 hours later, and then Peter subsisted his time either curled up on the straight-backed waiting room chair or seated against the wall, tethered to his phone cord. He wasn’t sure why he felt so adamant he wanted to have his phone, the doctors who had new information were right in front of him. But it helped, made it feel like he wouldn’t miss anything.

It also gave him something to do, instead of just watching the swinging doors leading to surgery.

For a while, he did what work he could on his phone. Brainstormed ideas for a biochem paper, answered emails to colleagues and peers about a group project. He kept trying to play a game or scroll on Instagram or something, but he couldn’t get his mind to focus. He passed the headline Tech Billionaire Hospitalised one too many times and finally decided to inform the rest of the world he’d be offline for awhile.

Hiatus to handle real life 😢 he posted to Twitter. He updated his Discord bio and made his Snapchat and Instagram stories a black screen with the words 😫 busy, gonna be offline! 😫

He didn’t actually think it was necessary. The people that mattered to him knew what was going on, but he did it because it gave him something to do.

It filled up twenty minutes.

Then he went back to Subway Surfers, but his fingers were trembling too much so he stopped after five minutes.

The cleaver hadn’t moved in his heart. But, fortunately, no one had tried to touch it either. Things always got messy when other people tried to fix him, tried to dress a fresh wound when they didn’t actually know what to do except offer chocolate or hugs or ambiguous advice like it’ll get better.

“Peter.”

Peter had been staring at the same spot on the wall so long his vision had blurred. He blinked dry eyes and turned, ignoring the throbbing pain in his head.

“Hey Ned,”

Pepper Potts and Colonel Rhodes stood further away, they each nodded to him and waved a little bit. Pepper approached one of the nurses.

Peter’s focus shifted when Ned settled in the chair beside him, clapping him on the back.

“Have you eaten anything, man?”

Peter shook his head. He drew his knees closer to his chin and his gaze shifted back to the doors.

“There’s a Chipotle just down the street,” Ned said, but Peter wouldn’t look at him. When Peter didn’t say anything for a while, Ned hummed and offered, “I brought my Switch. We could Smash to pass the time?”

Silence.

“Or Mario Kart?”

Silence.

“Splatoon?”

This was the hard part. This was the painful wrenching around of the cleaver by someone who meant well and deserved all the love and appreciation in the world. But Peter didn’t want to play video games or eat. He just wanted to wrap his arms around Tony’s neck, wanted to feel the strength in his grip and warmth in his gaze. He wanted to go back to Friday and tell himself to relish the movie and cold pizza and cuddling because he didn’t know it but that might be their last date night.

Something damp nudged his leg and it made Peter jerk a bit. But he smiled when he saw the plastic water bottle. He tried to say “thanks” but only managed to croak out something completely unintelligible. Ned nodded his understanding, and that was the right move.

That made the knife pull out just a bit.

Peter sipped the water, the cold sparking in his system and immediately making his throat clamour for more. 

But the bottle stilled halfway to his lips when a familiar surgeon, Tony’s surgeon, pushed through the doors into the waiting room.

The doctor looked around, caught sight of Peter, and hurried toward him.

Peter felt a coldness in his chest now, a new weight as this woman prepared to either twist the blade or pull it clear.

She cleared her throat.

“Mr. Parker?”

[desperationandgin]

Strawberry Wine (Part 1, Chapter 12)

Rating: Mature

Author: desperationandgin

Previous Chapter

Also Read On: AO3

Summary: One sentence changes Jamie and Claire’s future.

Author’s Note: This is it! The end of Part 1. Thank you so much to @smashing-teacups, @missclairebelle and @lcbeauchampoftarth for being the most INCREDIBLE betas a girl could ask for. I have definitely had my moments in this fic but they’ve all three talked me off of various ledges. Also, thank you to @filledwithlight for being my mood board maker and all-around awesome wife :)

I hope everyone enjoys! Strawberry Wine will return in November! Thank you all for reading and loving this little story!

Chapter 12: When He Had to Go

As I walked along the old yet familiar path in the woods, I let myself drift back to those months before the war, before everything I’d planned for my life was obliterated. If I’d known the last time I saw him was truly to be the last, I would have savored the night we drank wine straight from the bottle, naked in bed. But he’d promised hundreds of thousands of days left together, so I took that one evening for granted.

I hadn’t counted on James Fraser being a liar.

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

That first Christmas Jamie and I spent together wound up being a grand total of four days, but they were four well-spent, wrapped in one another and oblivious to the rest of the world. Gillian had mentioned being gone the remainder of our break, but when I arrived at the dormitory on the 28th, there she was, sitting on my bed with a tin of biscuits. We ate shortbread and drank whatever alcohol she’d managed to sneak in, laughing well into the late-night hours to distract me from missing Jamie.

We did manage to see one another in February, and we were both diligent about writing and calling. The rhythm we fell into was comfortable, even if we both knew where we’d rather be. We were together just after the end of classes in May for a week; I went to France and met his cousin, then made love to Jamie for six days before flying to meet Uncle Lamb in Norfolk. He was working on-site at Sutton, near Woodbridge, a newly discovered cemetery alongside a ship graveyard — a perfect final hurrah for Lamb before his retirement from the field.

It was to be my last digging adventure as well, and it felt a bit like closing the door on a past that wasn’t exactly what it might have been, all while opening the door to a future I could already see vividly.

Jamie coming home and standing in the archway of Lallybroch, tall and proud.

Red-haired children toddling with arms outstretched to reach him.

Sitting on the front steps with a new baby in my arms, watching the reception, the hugs and kisses, patiently waiting for my turn.

June was spent carefully brushing artifacts free from centuries of dirt, sending Jamie frequent updates and photos. He sent books and good wine in return, but we weren’t able to speak on the phone due to my lack of one in the area. He’d decided to work for Jared as much as he could during the summer, a choice that failed to surprise me.

The hard work outdoors all day kept me too exhausted to focus on the ache in my chest from missing Jamie, but by mid-July, I couldn’t stand it any longer. With the dig site closing soon, I made plans to visit him near the end of August, but endeavored to keep it a surprise. Time seemed to crawl, and it was hard not to pass it by being absorbed in what was happening in the news. The world, and especially the UK, seemed to be holding its breath, teetering on the edge of a cliff. By the time August 28th arrived and I was on my way to Paris, the air was tense and filled with unease. Still, there was nothing to do but wait to see if the world would truly erupt into chaos yet again.

The closer I drew to Jamie, the more my mind eased, until I was trying to imagine the look of surprise on his face when he saw me. I didn’t have to wonder if he would be delighted to have the same stunt he’d pulled reversed on him, and the thrill of excitement made me smile to myself. When I’d first planned the trip, in an effort to be sneaky, I’d written to Jenny and asked her to write to Ian so he could meet me when I arrived. It was clever, and I couldn’t help but be proud of myself for thinking of it.

When I stepped off the train, there he was, greeting me with an embrace that lingered and tightened midway through — an effect of not seeing a food friend in far too long. When we parted, I held onto his arms, leaning back and smiling.

“Does Jamie suspect anything?”

Ian carried my suitcase for me to the waiting taxi. “No’ a thing. He’s worrit, everyone is, and he could use the pleasant distraction,” he assured me. “And ye have good timing, something to celebrate wi’ him.”

“Oh?” I questioned, wondering about the news Jamie hadn’t had the chance to tell me yet.

“He sold a good amount of wine, and the deal made Jared the most coin he’s had in months. Gave Jamie quite a large sum for it. Only happened yesterday evening, and Jamie thought ye’d be unreachable, ye ken.”

We’d had to keep him from suspecting, so I’d explained that Gillian and I were having one last carefree weekend before classes began and that I would phone when I returned. Of course, the truth would outweigh my small lie, I hoped.

When we arrived, I followed Ian into the four-story building, missing my paltry one flight of stairs at the dormitory. Leaving my things just outside the door of the flat, Ian walked in first, letting us inside before he moved through to a bedroom. Waiting in the living room, I glanced at the sparse (male) decor: two couches (seen better days), a flag of Scotland on the wall, and one small dining room table that could only fit two chairs. I could hear the conversation happening around the corner in what I assumed was Jamie’s room and stayed out of sight.

“Would ye just come see if ye like what I brought?”

I heard Jamie make a noise in the back of his throat, one I’d fondly come to think of as ‘Scottish noise of acknowledgment.’

“Ye ken I’m no’ particular about what ye put in the apartment.”

Covering my mouth to keep from laughing aloud, I tipped my head, continuing to eavesdrop as Ian valiantly tried to keep me a surprise.

“Aye, but if ye dinna like it I can still return it and get my money back.”

“Fine. In an hour. I’ll look then, but no sooner. I would rather finish the ledgers for Jared and be done so I can plan a visit to see Claire.”

I couldn’t help myself and tiptoed until I was standing in the doorway. Jamie’s back was to me, but when Ian glanced over at the movement, Jamie followed his lead.

His double-take was more than enough to make the trip worth it.

“Sassenach!” He was up and had me in his arms in a step and a half, sweeping me into an embrace that had my feet leaving the floor.

“Are you surprised?” I asked with a laugh as Ian excused himself to bring my things inside.

“Aye,” Jamie affirmed, eyes shining as his hands cupped my face. “How did ye — how long are ye here, a nighean?”

I had to kiss him first, pressing my lips to his in a gesture that quickly turned into something more, my tongue in his mouth before I was aware of what I was doing. Pulling back, I was in motion even as Jamie lifted me, my legs moving around his waist as he kicked the door closed behind him and carried me to the bed.

“Seven full days,” I answered, delayed by another kiss. Dropping onto the mattress, he sat on the edge and I stayed in his lap, our hands each getting lost in the other’s hair as we surrendered to long pent-up want.

We kissed for what felt like hours, not speaking as we nuzzled and touched, then inevitably began rocking into one another. It was slow at first, gentle ebbing and flowing as we whispered between our kisses. My I love yous sounded hoarse and needy; his were in Gaelic and sounded strong and sure. The removal of our clothing was slow, deliberate. Each part of me he exposed, Jamie leaned down to claim with his lips, both to warm my skin and tease at the same time. Once I’d slowly tugged his shirt over his head, I pushed my fingers up and through his sparse chest hair, then ducked just enough to drag the flat of my tongue across his nipple.

He began to groan loudly, I could feel it, so I raised my head and sealed my mouth over his, trying to absorb as much of the sound as possible. There was something to be said about being apart for long weeks at a time and the lovemaking that followed our reunions. As Jamie thrust into me, I spared a thought for poor Ian, left alone in the living room with my luggage, and buried a laugh that co-mingled with a moan against Jamie’s neck.

When pleasure eventually claimed us as willing victims, my body nestled perfectly against Jamie’s. The sounds surrounding us were different here; the muffled noises of pedestrians and traffic below, and from somewhere not far off, soft strains of someone listening to one of the Enigma Variations, though I couldn’t place which one. I waited until I could speak without being breathless, chin resting on his chest.

“Is it alright that I’m here? I know you might be too busy to spend all your time with me, but I—”

I was interrupted by a firm kiss to my forehead and Jamie gently tugging me up in order to claim my lips before he responded.

“I’ll never go anywhere ye cannae be, Sassenach. I do have work, but my evenings are free.” His hand pushed curls behind my ear, and as I met his gaze, my stomach turned to liquid all over again simply to see him this way; happy and soft, his eyes a brilliant azure. He looked content to never move again, as if the world could fall away around us and it wouldn’t matter. I wondered what had brought it on, but he answered before I could question him.

“To ken when I wake in the morning, and ye’ll be in my arms, and when I return home in the evening ye’ll be waitin’ to greet me, is motivation enough both to wake and work harder in order to get back to ye.”

I smiled, kissing his chin. “A glimpse of our future, this week?”

His grin was lopsided when he looked at me again. “Aye. A wee preview of our life.”

We lazed about for an hour or so, reluctantly dressing to rejoin Ian. He was my future brother-in-law, but I couldn’t quite meet his eyes and blushed furiously upon seeing him in the living room, listening to a record. I chanced a glance at Jamie and noticed the side of his neck had three red crescent shapes from my fingernails pressed into his skin. Pressing my lips together, I looked down and prayed Ian wouldn’t say anything about it. I occupied myself with looking through their meager book collection while they planned an evening out after supper with Jamie’s cousin. They supped there every evening, and Jamie had a room for the nights he needed to stay in order to work early before class.

“Is that alright wi’ ye, Sassenach?”

I pulled myself from my thoughts and finally joined the conversation. “Sorry, staying with Jared?” I’d been caught only half-listening.

“Aye, I think ye’ll enjoy it, Sassenach. He has a staff so ye can have Magnus drive ye anywhere ye want to go while I’m working, and ye dinna have to worry about what to eat, the kitchen will make ye anything.”

“This is quite the life of luxury you’ve been living without me, James Fraser,” I playfully accused. “Do you even go to class?”

He laughed, looping an arm around my waist. “Dinna fash, I havena let it go to my head, but you deserve it.”

“Aye, besides,” Ian interjected, “‘tis uncertain times. It could be good to have the extra money for both of us. In case we all need to get back to Scotland quickly.”

Jamie’s grip on me tightened, my head coming to rest on his shoulder as the three of us paused to wonder for just a moment what would happen next.

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

Each day that passed with Jamie brought us closer to the start of classes and, unfortunately, my impending departure. It made us selfish with our time, declining to join Jared and Ian on my third night for a dinner party away from home. Instead, we ate pastries and drank dessert wine in bed, straight from the bottle. After filling Jamie in on my last dig with Lamb, comfortable silence lapsed between us, and I tore off a piece of kouign-amann, handing it over before breaking off a piece for myself.

In the quiet, my thoughts wandered, and after swallowing I finally spoke.

“It seems almost certain that war is going to be declared.” I couldn’t keep from saying it any longer, and I felt him exhale, his body sagging against mine. He didn’t say anything for so long that I looked over at him just as he reached for my hand.

“That’s another reason I’ve been working sae hard, Claire. If war’s declared, I’ll be—” He paused, not finishing the thought as he raised my hand to his lips. “There’s money saved I’m giving to ye before we part.”

Blinking quickly, I wet my lips, hand clinging to his as if something were happening now. “If it happens, Jamie, we’ll both be out there. I’ll be nursing and you’ll be—”

“Fighting,” he finished, setting everything on the bed aside and pulling me into his arms.

“If Britain declares war, everything will change, Jamie. We could die. We could both—” I was the one who couldn’t finish this time, pressing my face against his chest. “You said we have thousands of days left. You promised.”

His lips pressed to the crown of my head. “Aye, I did even if it was foolish of me. I cannae control whether I stay or go, but no matter what comes, Sassenach, I willna have love of country spurring me on. Only the love of you.” His lips pressed to my temple now, his nose grazing down along my jaw.

It was an amendment to his original promise that I had to accept; and that night, I slept tucked into the crook of his arm, one hand resting on his chest so that I could fall asleep to the steady rhythm of his heart.

Our last Sunday morning together, we slept late, curled around one another, only to be woken by knocking on the door. Blearily, I stretched against Jamie as a quiet voice spoke through the door.

“Tu dois venir vite.” It was Suzette, one of the maids. “Il y a des nouvelles, monsieur Fraser.”

Sitting up, I looked over at him, creasing my forehead. “News? Of the business, perhaps?”

Jamie shook his head, unsure, and as informed as I was at the moment. “Perhaps, Sassenach.” He stood, then reached out a hand to me. “We’ll dress for breakfast, then go down.”

He repeated his words in French loudly enough that Suzette could hear through the door. Still, we took our time, touching and kissing and not getting much accomplished for another half-hour. When we finally made an appearance, no one was sitting in the dining room. We found Jared and Ian in the former’s home office. As soon as we walked into the room, the air changed to something charged; so full of tension that it could have been cut with a knife.

My hand reached for Jamie’s at the same moment he reached for me and spoke.

“What is it?” Jamie’s eyes narrowed as he studied his cousin.

Standing from his desk, Jared picked up the morning paper, staring at it for a few long moments before handing it over. I looked at Ian; he was sitting on the couch, leaning over with his head bowed. When I turned back to Jamie, his eyes were trained on the print in front of him, jaw clenched so hard I could see the vein in his temple. Frowning, I stepped closer in order to see the headline.

I thought I would vomit and meant to pull away sharply, but Jamie pulled me back fiercely, dropping the paper and pulling me against his chest. As he did, I glanced down at the fallen print, sagging against him as I read the bold letters.

War Declared by Britain and France.

A tear fell against my chin, and I didn’t know if it had come from him or me as we both tried to absorb the blow. I felt rather than saw Ian come close, standing beside Jamie.

“We need to go back before we have tae report. I need to see Jen.”

Jamie and I parted as he nodded, and as I looked at him, studied his face and eyes, I realized he looked older, suddenly; the weight of becoming a soldier in one sentence seeming to age him instantly. It was jarring, and it scared me in a way I couldn’t begin to wrap my mind around.

“Aye. We’ll return to Scotland right away, begin the journey this afternoon if we can.”

He reached for my hand, brow creasing as I held onto him, wanting to give in to the urge to let my knees buckle. He kissed my knuckles in quiet fortification before finishing his thought.

“And then we’ll go to war.”

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

I reached the riverbank and sat, clutching an empty glass bottle that once held sweet dessert wine. I rolled a piece of paper tightly and shoved it into the glass, pushing a cork into the top. It was a fantasy, really, and more a way to finally find a way to say goodbye. Next year, the tenth since I’d lost him, I would begin trying to move on. But for now, I left simple instructions:

‘3rd of September, 1949. Come and find me, Jamie.’

If he was alive somewhere, I could give him that. One more year.

[let-it-raines]

Betting on the Bullseye (Ch. 17)

Summary: Emma Swan loses a bet that means she has to ask her celebrity crush to be her date to her office's annual fundraising gala. Killian Jones is that celebrity crush. She expects all kinds of humiliation and for her dignity to be completely lost. What she doesn't expect is for him to say yes.

Rating: Mature 

A/N: Happy Saturday! I hope you’re all having a great weekend! Maybe make someone’s day and do a kind gesture, whether that’s sending a kind messages or cleaning up the dishes after dinner :D

AO3: Beginning | Current

Tumblr: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 

Tag List: @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @wellhellotragic​ @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @artistic-writer @branlovesouat @dreadpirateemma @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @galaxyzxstark @lifeinahole27 @andiirivera @ultimiflos @hollyethecurious @thejollyroger-writer @superchocovian @cs-forlife @qualitycoffeethings @jonirobinson64

“Oh my God,” she giggles, absolutely despising the sound that’s coming out of her mouth with every harsh rub of her calf and massage of her foot. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. It’s just…I have weirdly sensitive feet.” “And this is exactly why I never take you out to do this,” Ruby sighs in the chair next to her while they get their feet massaged and their toes painted.

“Hey, at least I’m not making sex noises like Marg over there.”

“I am nearly eight months pregnant,” Mary Margaret protests, cradling her stomach with her hands while letting out the slightest moan as her foot is massaged. “I have swollen feet that hurt. This is like bliss.” “That’s what a lot of people say about sex.”

“Damn right,” Ruby agrees, making all of their technicians laugh. When she thinks about it too much, having people work on her feet while she has weird conversations with her friends is, well, weird, but it does feel so good after she gets used to her entire body tingling with the touches.

But one of Mary Margaret’s students gave her a gift card before they let out for summer break at the end of May, and she insisted on taking Emma and Ruby out after they finished with work since she still hadn’t used the card. Ruby hasn’t wanted to go a lot of places since she and Victor broke up, usually liking going to work and then simply going home, but she and Mary Margaret have made a conscious effort to make sure that Ruby gets out. Ruby has absolutely known what they’re doing, and while at first she would get kind of pissed at them, as the weeks have passed, she’s gotten back to being herself.

It probably helps that they let her have an entire night to bash Victor and the fact that he had stopped making time for Ruby, picking up extra unnecessary shifts just so that he didn’t have to come home, and spending more time with his coworkers than Ruby to the point where they basically weren’t seeing each other at all. It was an asshole move, and while she’s never been Vic’s greatest fan, she was such a big fan of how good they were for each other.

Until they weren’t.

If he’s going to be an asshole and not put an effort into the relationship then Ruby deserves so much better. She just does.

Emma hates that she hasn’t been around to help as much as she should have. She really does. Ruby didn’t tell her that they were having issues, didn’t talk about it at lunch, didn’t call and ask to hang out on the weekends when Emma was in town, and the guilt nags at her for not being the best friend for Ruby. She doesn’t abandon people, not when they’ve been so good to her for all of these years, and even though she knows Ruby would tell her that it’s not necessary, she kind of feels like she’s trying to make up for lost time.

Ruby and Mary Margaret have been there for her for the past decade, and she will always be there for them. No question.

Even if that means dying a little inside while getting her toes painted.

“So does our new little friend have a name yet?” she asks to change the subject while pulling her hair up into a messy bun on the top of her head, sure that there’s some weird loops in there since she didn’t use a mirror. “Or are you guys keeping that a secret again?”

“I’m kind of leaning toward Brody,” Mary Margaret tells her, which is not what she was expecting. She was fully expecting to have to wait until the kid was born to know his name. “David likes George, but I don’t know…that just seems – ”

“Like it’s only cute for babies or old men?”

“Exactly. It’s like you have to think of names that work for when they’re babies, when they’re old, and when they’re middle aged. Like, no one wants to walk around talking to a fifty-year-old woman named Bunny.”

“Okay, but Bunny doesn’t work. Ever.”

“It does if you’re a stripper. You could wear a little cotton ball on your – ”

“Rubes,” she laughs, sticking her hand over to Ruby’s seat and squeezing around her palm, “there are some things that should just never be said out loud.”

She shrugs, the brightest smile on her face that makes Emma’s lips tug up in the corners until she’s smiling as well. She’s happy. That’s all Emma wants for Ruby. “I’m just saying. It’d be a great little get up. I bet you could do, like, specials for the spring time and make a lot of extra money.”

“Anyways,” Mary Margaret says as the blush rises on her cheeks, “so I’m thinking Brody William Nolan. It’s solid, not too weird, and I don’t think it’ll make anybody make fun of him when he gets older.”

“That’s the most important thing. Kids are cruel.”

“They make fun of you but in an accurate away.”

“Amen.”

Walking out of the nail salon in those awful flip flips, the three of them make their way down the sidewalk of the shopping center, real shoes in their hands, and let the warm mid-July sun beat down on them as they make their way to the café that’s down the street. It’s already pretty crowded, the dinner rush filling the tables, and she lets Mary Margaret and Ruby settle down at a table outside while she goes in and get their orders, grabbing the buzzer that always scares the crap out of her when it loudly goes off on the table.

Every. Damn. Time.

If their paninis weren’t so good, she’d really question her choices of coming here so often. They all practically inhale their food, even going back inside to get dessert for Mary Margaret, and with the sun setting over all of the surrounding buildings, the sky a blurred swirl of deep orange and light blue, she revels in how good of a time that this has been. If it wasn’t so damn expensive to eat out all of the time, they’d definitely do this more often instead of sitting at one of their apartments or at the Nolans’ house.

Or sadly eating cereal alone in her apartment.

And she is getting better at cooking, she swears. She’s been making the effort to eat out less and cook more. She bought a cook book and everything once she finished learning to make all of the recipes Killian left for her.

Her life is going in directions she never thought it would, and her buying cook books is definitely just one of those things even if it’s normal to literally everyone else.

Her grilled cheese recipe has really improved.

It’s a nice summer evening though, one of those where you really just want to be at a baseball game eating junk food with your feet propped up on the seat in front of you while you get horrible tan lines from your shoes and your shorts. She thinks she’s gone to more games in the past few months than she has in her entire life, but then again, so has all of Boston because they just won the World Series last year.

That had been a good time.

This is nice even if it’s not a game, maybe even better than the game, and by the time she loads up in her car to go home, she can feel a slight heat on her cheeks despite the sunscreen that’s built into her foundation.

After she’s showered, washing off the sweat and the day, she changes into her pajamas and settles down onto her couch with her laptop ready to spend the next few hours mindlessly scrolling through Twitter and Pinterest, doing anything to just not have to think for the rest of the evening. Sometimes she just needs to be able to decompress, to let herself relax and rest so she can finish out the last two days of the week.

The air conditioner had broken in her office today, and she thought she was absolutely going to die from sweat. It was awful. Absolutely awful.

She never would have made it before air conditioning.

A message pops up on her computer screen, Killian’s name scrolling across the top, and she clicks on it. It’s a picture of him staring intently into the screen followed by one of him with a goofy grin on his face next to his name on a door. He’s doing the press junket for Highland Waters right now. He’d spent last week in LA doing all of the talk shows that are based out there, and he’s just flown to New York to do more press on this coast. Yesterday there’d been a question asked about her on James Cordon (the late late late show, maybe? How many lates are in the name? All she can think of right now is Carpool Karaoke and how she would never be able to focus with Paul McCartney in the passenger seat), which was weird enough as it is, but it was weirder that Killian was almost communicating with her through the television screen since they hadn’t had much time to talk. “So how does your girlfriend feel about the love scenes you have in this show?” “Who says that one,” Killian begins, his jaw ticking in the way that she knows that it does when he’s trying to keep a straight face when irritated, “I have a girlfriend, and two, that I have love scenes in the show? This is all classified information.” “Oh come on, mate. As one handsome British man to another, we both know that the ladies love us.” “I believe it’s the accent.” “I believe it’s our smoking bodies.” Killian chuckles at the bad joke, and she can tell it’s genuine even if it’s a bit awkward. The joke was a bit awkward. “But seriously. I’ve been told I can’t let you off this stage unless you talk about your girlfriend, these sex scenes, or if you sing acapella while hopping on one foot.” “Well okay then,” Killian begins, standing up and jumping on one foot while the audience cheers and she laughs until he sits back down on the couch with a smile on his face. “Yes, there are some intimate scenes in the show.” The crowd wolf whistles, and she can practically feel how hot Killian’s face is through the screen. She can definitely see how red the tips of his ears are, especially since he just got his hair trimmed again. “And while I’m sure my girlfriend doesn’t love them, she understands that this is simply my job. She’s my real life.”

She shakes her head back and forth, wishing that she could talk to him through the screen even though she knows that this was filmed hours ago. God, he’s ridiculous, but he makes a good point. She’s not exactly thrilled about some of the scenes she’s seen previews to, but he’s acting. That’s all. It’s not real. “Aww, look at that, he’s a romantic in real life too.” The crowd really does “aw” and she wonders how the hell Killian does this without melting into the couch out of embarrassment. She hasn’t seen him in nearly two weeks, and while she absolutely misses him like something mad, this is weirdly helping. “So if I can prod you a little more about your life…I know you’re pretty private, but we asked Twitter to send us some questions for you and we picked out our favorites.” “Oh boy,” Killian laughs, bouncing on the couch and scratching behind his ear. “Hit me with your best shot, James.” “@Solangeisanorange wants to know if the hair on your face is incapable of being shaved off or if you have it insured for millions of dollars?” “Is that even possible? Can I do that? Because I will. It seems like an easy way to make some money, and then I’d never have to work again. But no, the hair on my face can be shaved off. I clean it up every few days, but I won’t shave it off. I like it this way.” “What about one of those long beards? Ever thought about one of those?” “God, no. Can you imagine the maintenance?” Killian laughs, reaching down and taking a sip of the water in his mug. “And I’m far too much of a neat freak for that.” “Hear that, ladies,” James begins, “he’s a freak.” Killian waggles his eyebrows before James speaks again. “Okay, so @Superior_woman has a question that says: Will you marry me?” “Only if you buy me a bloody fantastic engagement ring.”

“So it’s all about the jewels?”

“Family and otherwise, aye.”

“Oh my God,” she groans to herself, covering her face with her hands and peeking through her fingers. “That was so bad.”

“Alright, alright, alright then. Well, we’ll do two more. Honestly, Twitter, I know it was short notice, but you’ve really got to get more creative in your questions. You can ask Killian Jones anything you want, and you’re asking him if he has any nicknames. Come on, @HannahBG. You should know better.”

“It’s a valid question,” Killian answers, most likely relieved that he can answer something normal. “Um, well, I don’t really think so. My girlfriend calls me KJ and arsehole a lot. Those two are pretty interchangeable in her eyes.” The entire room laughs while she mutters “asshole” under her breath. Oh shit. She really does do that. “But I think KJ is probably about it. My nephew does call me something that resembles Killy, though, but I think that’s simply because he can’t say my name. He’s only got a few words down.”

“So I have to ask, and this isn’t for myself, I promise. It really is for the audience. How did you meet this girlfriend of yours? Because lack of creativity in nicknames aside, she sounds great. And I’ve heard it’s quite an interesting story.”

“Ahh,” Killian sighs, clicking his tongue, “so I think it’s pretty public how we met. She actually…she lost a bet with her best friend who really likes to mess with her. So the friend made Emma record a video asking me on a date to a charity gala for her work with The Children’s Shelter, which is a really great organization that I love to support. But we hit it off, I guess, on the first night, and while we didn’t immediately get together, she doesn’t have to ask me out through Youtube anymore.”

“So you’re saying that all anyone has to do to go on a date with you is ask you out on Youtube?”

“No. That’s all she had to do. No one else gets to ask me out on dates through the internet. I’m not doing that anymore.”

She scrolls back up to look at the pictures he just sent, noticing the way he needs to button down his collar but figuring he undid that after he filmed Fallon this afternoon.

Emma: Hot stuff right there. Hope you’re having fun!

She goes back to scrolling through Pinterest, getting into a deep rabbit hole of how to do a double dutch braid and absolutely failing time and time again until she gives up and twists her hair into a regular braid that falls over her shoulders.

Damn, her arms hurt after having them lifted in the air for that long. Is that pathetic?

Killian: I am, love. Exhausted. Isabelle and I are going to be on GMA tomorrow and then do a few others together. Then Friday I’m back to doing solo interviews.

Killian: There’s a lot of fake smiling.

Killian: I think my mouth may be stuck this way.

Emma: Well, I have absolutely no use for you if you can’t use your mouth.

Killian: Rude and totally untrue.

Killian: I’m about to go to bed. Can I call you during your lunch break tomorrow?

Emma: Sure. No guarantees that I’ll answer, though.

Killian: Love you, Swan. xx

Emma: Love you too. xx

She was completely joking when she said there were no guarantees she would answer. She fully intended to answer, to talk to him, but she missed his call. And then he missed hers. And it was like a revolving door of calls.

Phone tag. That’s the name for it. It’s phone tag. They’re playing phone tag.

And it’s definitely not the first time they’ve done it. It happens a lot. He calls, and she doesn’t answer. She calls, and he doesn’t answer. Her voicemail gets filled with messages full of the same kind of “I’m sorry I missed you. Call me when you can, love” messages nearly every time. She’s never been in a long-distance relationship, never been in a relationship this committed on both sides, and she doesn’t know what she was expecting, but she doesn’t think it was this.

Mostly, she thinks that they do a good job, that they do make time for each other. She knows that she gets to see Killian a lot more often most people in her situation do simply because he doesn’t work a normal job and has the means to fly to her pretty often. The tickets aren’t exactly cheap, at least for her, and despite her not really wanting to, she has let him pay for her last few simply so that he’s not spending all of his time in Boston.

They miss so much of each other’s lives, of their families’ lives, and it’s so damn hard that she just wants to cry sometimes.

She does cry. A lot. Like, probably more than she ever has before. And while she still sometimes struggles with showing emotions, with having emotions, she knows that crying doesn’t make her weak, that being vulnerable isn’t a bad thing. It’s actually a really good thing, and she cries because she’s allowed herself to be vulnerable to someone else, allowed herself to want to be vulnerable to someone else, and sometimes she just fucking misses him.

Like right now.

She misses him a lot right now and wishes that he could be finished in New York and be on his way here today instead of on Saturday.

But he can’t. He has to work, she has to work, and after not seeing each other for several weeks, she’s honestly just glad that he’s going to be here at all.

It’s a vicious cycle, but they’re handling it. They’re handling it because they have to. They’re handling it because they want to.

She just wishes she didn’t have to miss so many things.

The rest of her day inches by slowly despite how busy it is, another quarter ending next week meaning that she’s got to start prepping the financials for the donations so they can be renewed. It’s always hell, and someone from accounting should really do it, but she’s always the one who does it for some reason. It’s honestly a miracle they haven’t been audited simply because she knows that she screws up a lot.

Hopefully accounting does review her documents after she turns them in.

She skips the gym, calling Killian instead, and by some miracle, he actually answers, even if it’s only for a few minutes before he has to run off to dinner with Isabelle and Robin. It’s nice, though, just to get to talk to him for a little while, and she’s not going to complain when she’ll see him in just over a day.

Just one more day.

-/-

“Bloody fuck,” Killian mutters as her front door opens and he stumbles inside, shaking out his foot and rolling his suitcase behind him. He looks up at her and grimaces, though she thinks it might honestly be an attempt at a smile. “Hello, darling. I promise I’m excited to see you, but I’ve stubbed my toe and it hurts like hell.”

“The great Killian Jones,” she monotones, rolling her eyes and getting up from the couch to close the door behind him, her heart beating wildly in her chest simply because he’s here, “is brought down by what I assume were the front steps outside.”

“You assume right,” he grits, reaching down and pulling off his sneaker before massaging his toe.

“I’m sorry, babe,” she sighs, standing in front of him and pushing his hat off of his head so that she can glide her lips over his and feel the soft warmth that she’s been craving for so long. “That happens every now and then, and it hurts every time. I don’t know why, but it does.”

“Believe it or not, but I think I’ll survive.” He places his hands on her hips and tugs her closer so that she has to tighten her arms around his neck. “Hi, Swan. I am so glad to be back here.”

Her breath hitches, the intensity of his gaze taking her back a bit, but she adjusts, letting her lips form a smile. Why wouldn’t she? She’s so damn happy that he’s here. “I’m glad you’re here too. It’s not quite the same watching you fumble in interviews.” She can feel the gentle slap on her hip, and it makes her chuckle under her breath almost as much as the way Killian’s staring at her with his lips parted, offense clear in his features. “I absolutely aced those interviews. Probably my best set of promotions yet.”

“You had a pie thrown in your face on Thursday because Isabelle knew more about your character than you did.”

“I didn’t remember his father’s name, which isn’t my fault because that’s honestly more in Isabelle’s script than mine, and it’s been a long time since I even filmed the brief scene where he was mentioned.”

“Mhm, sure. But you did do a great job describing Ezra’s journey without giving too much away. I was impressed by that.”

He dips his head and quickly captures her lips again, and she loses all of the breath in her lungs from the way it surprises her. She should have been expecting that, but she wasn’t. He’s got to stop literally taking her breath away because she’ll suffocate. And that won’t be romantic.

“I’ve gotten very good at not telling the truth without actually lying.”

“I feel like that is the absolute last thing that you want to be saying to your girlfriend.”

“Probably, but according to the last two weeks of my life, I’m very swoon-worthy. I can get away with things like that.

“Yeah, that’s definitely not how that works.”

She presses up on her toes again, capturing his lips with hers and tilting her head to deepen the kiss. He tastes like that mint tea that he likes and she hates because of the weird smell, but she can’t say that she minds the taste right now, especially with the way his tongue moves over hers in a warm slide that makes her spine tingle more than the pedicure did the other day.

Making out with her boyfriend is obviously much better than getting a pedicure.

“So, like,” she giggles, a smile breaking out across her face while Killian continues to chase her lips, “you know, I just did laundry this morning. I washed my sheets and everything, so they’re really soft. I even bought some new pillow covers the other day.”

“This is quite the roundabout way to ask me to fuck you.”

“Who said anything about that? I just want you to see my new pillow covers.”

-/-

The world hazily comes back to her as she wakes up, the only light stemming from the brightness of Killian’s laptop as his fingers tap away, the keys clicking with each movement.

“What are you doing?” she mumbles, rubbing her fists into her eyes and flopping over onto her stomach so she can wrap her arms around her pillow and nuzzle into it more. “More importantly, why the hell are you awake this early?”

“Woke up to use the restroom and couldn’t go back to sleep. I figured I’d pay some bills and answer some emails. I’m reading through a few scripts.”

She props herself up on her elbows and reaches over to grab Killian’s wrist, looking at his watch that he didn’t take off last night and being shocked that it’s not even two in the morning until she remembers that Killian is three hours behind. Still, waking up before five on a Monday morning is not exactly what she would call pleasant.

“Babe, go back to sleep.”

“Not tired,” he mutters, still typing away. “But you should go back to sleep, love. You have work in a few hours.”

“Turn off the laptop, and I will.”

“Just a few more minutes.”

It’s not a few more minutes. It’s for the next hour, and she eventually gets up and goes into her bathroom, taking a cold shower even though she absolutely hates the way the water feels on her skin. She’s tired, though, wishes that she could have gone back to sleep, but she couldn’t. And she can’t get any of that time back no matter how much she wants to.

Work today is going to be a hell.

By the time she leaves the bathroom, her makeup applied and hair dried, the sun is peeking through her windows and Killian is nowhere to be seen, his laptop closed and resting in the middle of the mattress. She can’t help but shake her head. She’s honestly a little pissed at him, even if she has no real reason to be, but she’s tired and irritated and Killian may get some of the blame for that for the way his typing made enough noise to wake her up and keep her up.

She needs coffee. She just needs some kind of caffeine and maybe to take a nap on the couch in Ruby’s office. That sounds like the dream.

She quickly grabs a dress out of her closet, throwing it on and letting the skirt hit just above her knees before she finds the sandals that match. They’re practically falling apart, the straps buckling, and she really needs to get some new shoes.

These were good shoes.

She buckles them and walks out of her bedroom only to immediately smell coffee. God bless Killian Jones because he may have pissed her off this morning by inadvertently waking her up, but at least he’s smart enough to make her coffee.

“Figured you might need this,” he tells her as he hands her swan mug. “What do you want for breakfast?”

“I was just going to eat cereal.” She shrugs, taking a long sip of her coffee and sighing a bit even though she knows the caffeine will take awhile to kick in. “And you’re probably so tired that you are a liability when it comes to the stove anyways.” “I can make you an omelet, Swan. I’m not going to burn your apartment down.” “I don’t care. Just make what you want.” She waves her hand at him goes back to drinking her coffee and opening up her phone to check any of the messages she missed throughout the night. There’s not really anything, but she’s honestly just trying to wake up.

Killian slides her a plate with an omelet on it, nudging it in front of her phone, and she puts it down before looking up at him. How much time passed without her even realizing it?

“Thank you. It smells good.”

“No problem.” He takes a bite of his own, wiggling his fork around before popping it in his mouth. “I’m sorry that I woke you up. I should have gone in the living room, but you’re such a deep sleeper…I didn’t even think about it.”

“Killian,” she sighs, sitting up in her stool as she cuts up some of her food, “it’s fine. Yeah, I’m tired, and yeah, I wish I hadn’t woken up when I did. But honestly, it’s not a big deal. I sleep through the cars blaring their horns outside, so it’s weird that your typing woke me up. Why do you have so much stuff to do anyways?”

“I’ve basically worked for two weeks and spent the past two days with you. I haven’t had the time. Figured I’d get it all out of the way. I was reading this bloody brilliant script, though. It’s, well, it’s about this man who’s lost his wife and is going through the grieving process while also raising his young son. I don’t know, love. It’s just…I know it’s been done before, but this one is different.” “Yeah?”

“Absolutely. Brilliant, I tell you. They’re filming next spring if they get all of the contracts and such down. I obviously don’t have the role, but I need to set up a meeting with the producers.” “That’s fantastic,” she promises him, taking another bite of her food. “I bet you’ll get it, especially if they’re already interested in you.” “I mean,” he starts, reaching up and scratching behind his ear while his tongue clicks, “maybe. I hope so.”

She doesn’t want to ask, but she has to. “Do you know where they’re filming?”

“Canada, I believe. Rob didn’t have the city or anything, but I think that’s where it’s projected.”

She lets out a little sigh of relief, holding her mug up above her lips so that she doesn’t look too relieved. She feels selfish wanting to keep him here when she could never ask him to give up his job for her. He’s already done it once, and as much as that made her heart swell, made something inside of her twist at realizing just how much he loves her, she can’t let him do it again. She just can’t. He’s already so excited for this role, and all she wants is for him to get it.

They can figure out them when the time comes.

Maybe she can go to Canada. She’s always wanted to go.

“Let me know when your audition meeting thing is. I can run lines with you.” “Love, you were absolutely horrendous the one time we tried that.” “Hey,” she protests, sticking her fork up at him as she chews on her eggs, “I was okay. Obviously acting is not my calling.”

He winks. “Maybe with a bit of practice, my love. Are we still on for lunch at your office?”

“Yep. But you’ve got to bring something since I probably have to work and talk. It’s like a mad dash for the next week.” “I believe I can do that.” “Bring coffee too.” “Obviously.”

Her head is heavy throughout the rest of her morning, the caffeine only helping to keep her functioning. She didn’t even lose that much sleep, but two hours can make such a difference when she didn’t get a lot of rest this weekend. Plus, it’s Monday, and sometimes they just suck, especially if you have a really good weekend.

She had a good weekend. She and Killian literally just stayed in her apartment and did nothing. Usually they like to go out and do something, but hoarding themselves away just…it’s what worked for them this time. Besides, he’s going to be here for a few more days. They have time to do whatever they want. It’s a nice luxury that they don’t always get, the weekend trips still continuing to be nothing but a tease, so it’s a nice thing to have a little more time than a jet lagged Saturday.

“What’s up, little bird?” Ruby asks as she steps into Emma’s office, sitting down in one of her chairs before kicking her heels off.

“Little bird? That’s a new one.”

“I was just texting Marg and called her little mama. Figured you needed to be called something different than little mama unless there’s something going on over there that you haven’t told me about. And if there is, I’m going to take away the coffee you were chugging away on this morning.”

She’s glad she just saved her file because she definitely just slammed down on her keyboard. “God no,” she sputters, heat rising in her cheeks that she just can’t stop, “that is not happening right now.” “What’s not happening, Swan?”

She looks up to see Killian standing in her doorway, takeout bags in hand, and a part of her really does wonder if sometimes she’s living in a movie or something with the timing that sometimes happens. Looking down at her computer, though, she does see that it’s exactly one, and she shouldn’t be surprised that Killian is on time.

Exactly on time.

“You haven’t knocked her up.”

“Rubes,” she groans, rolling her head back so that all of her hair falls off of her shoulders and down her back, “sometimes a filter is a good thing.” “I am simply commenting on the fact that you guys use safe sex practices, and I applaud you for them.”

“Ah, I feel like I’ve walked in on a rather odd conversation here.”

“It’s nothing, KJ.” She tries to calm the heat that’s still in her cheeks as she rolls her chair over to the other side of her desk. “Ruby is just being Ruby. I think she’s been cooped away in her office for too long. What’d you bring for lunch?”

“Coffee, as you requested, milady, and then I figured I’d indulge you and give you your favorite greasy foods as an extra apology for this morning.”

“Ooooh,” Ruby hums, “what happened this morning?”

“Well, you see,” she begins, trying to figure out the best way to mess with Ruby, “our sex was so rough this morning that it required more than just a condom as protection. There was also a helmet involved, maybe some knee pads, but none of it really helped when the kitchen cabinet opened and all of my pots and pans crashed down around me, banging me far worse than Killian was.”

“You almost had me going until you acted like you have a bunch of pots and pans because you don’t.” “Bloody hell, lass,” Killian sputters, walking into her office and shutting the door behind him before putting the food on her desk, “you believed any of that?”

“Emma’s not the most vocal about her sex life. She could be into some freaky stuff.”

“You’re so weird, Rubes,” She laughs, shaking her head as she rolls her chair back toward the desk. “You can share my – ” She peeks into the bag, pulling out a box of onion rings. “ – onion rings with me.” “I got some for Ruby too, love.” “Bless you,” Ruby groans, getting up from her chair and coming to stand next to them all the while she goes back to working as well as eating. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

“Because I bring you food?” “Exactly. You didn’t even know I was going to be here, and you brought me food. That is a good man.”

“You and Emma are kind of a packaged deal at work.” Ruby waves a fry in Killian’s face all the while Emma watches the two of them go back and forth with each other, a bright smile on her face that she can practically feel stretching into her eyes.

“And don’t you forget it, Jones.”

[quarterfromcanon]

Unexpected

Heather & Valencia - Femslash February - Day 12 - Surprise [3,003 words]

Heather was not in the mood for company. Thankfully, the usual Home Base crowd at that hour of night was not a chatty bunch. Most just caught her eye when they wanted a refill. At least it eliminated the need for small talk. Weekend time slots were already something Heather preferred to avoid, but filling in for Greg while he and Rebecca attended Jayma Chan’s wedding left her feeling especially averse to the social requirements of customer service. 

Heather was cleaning glasses when she heard the determined clack of heels approaching where she stood. She couldn’t really say who she’d expected when she turned around, but it certainly wasn’t Valencia Perez in a strapless pink gown.

“I want a drink.”

“People who come in here usually do.” Heather set a tumbler aside and draped the rag over her shoulder. “So, like, a cocktail? Martini? Mimosa?”

Valencia shook her head, which made her disheveled hair slip further from the grip of the metal clasp intended to hold the style in place. “Something straight out of the bottle.” 

“Okay, that’s a start. Vodka, brandy, whiskey --”

“Sure. That sounds fine.”

“Whiskey?” Heather verified. “Do you want scotch, Irish, bourbon, or rye? We don’t have Tennessee or Japanese.”

“Why are there so many choices?” Valencia impatiently smacked her hands against the bar. “I just need to get hammered. Surprise me.”

“I’ll get you bourbon.” Heather tucked her lower lip into her mouth, prematurely dreading the response she might get to the next thing she had to say. “How much?”

Valencia spread the thumb and forefinger of her left hand as far as they could go. “I’m thinking about this much. Maybe times two.”

“Whoa, there. You really don’t drink, do you?” 

“Not usually, no.”

Heather stretched across the bar and adjusted the measurement between Valencia’s fingertips with the pressure from her own, pushing lightly until they were one finger-width apart. “Let’s start with about... that much. See how it goes.”

Valencia let her hand drop. “That works.”

Heather prepared the order and returned a few seconds later. Valencia slid a bill forward and set her clutch purse beside the drink. “Keep the change.” She took the first sip and leaned back in surprise. “Interesting. Different from what I thought it would be. Is that nutmeg?”

Heather’s shoulders lifted. “It might have similar flavor notes. People don’t usually ask about that stuff. It’s called Angel’s Envy.”

Valencia shrugged disinterestedly and took another drink. 

“Cool. Enjoy.” Heather went back to the used dishes.

Valencia attempted to hike herself onto a stool, but the dress was too restrictive. She settled for a chair instead and kicked out her legs, crossing them at the ankle.

Not even five minutes later, Heather heard her voice again.

“Men suck.”

Heather rolled her eyes. She focused her attention on the present task and did not engage with the conversation starter. 

Valencia glowered at some nearby barflies who were studying her. “That means you, too. Turn around.”

Heather’s lips twitched at the exchange she heard but did not see. Despite her effort to ignore Valencia’s outbursts, Heather internally conceded that she was curious what Josh did now. Recent observations suggested that it likely had something to do with a proposal or, rather, a lack thereof. Though she had her suspicions, Heather had no intention of voicing them. She was on the outskirts of the group’s interpersonal drama, and she intended to keep it that way. 

“Can I get another?”

Heather dried off her hands and grabbed the bottle. She poured Valencia a second serving, double the measure of the first. While she did so, Heather kept her eyes averted to deter additional interaction. 

“I know you, don’t I?” Valencia asked. The inquiry sounded semi-rhetorical as if she knew full-well this was not their first encounter, and yet it was clear that she expected verbal acknowledgement. 

Goddamnit.

“Kind of,” Heather replied. “We met on that super dramatic party bus ride and then hung out at the beach? Also, I’m in here when you pick up your little sister, so, there’s that.”

“Right!” Valencia feigned a light bulb recognition. She pointed at her and nodded. “Greg’s date. Sporty. Lots of bracelets.”

“I mean, I’m wearing the same accessories right now so I don’t know if that really counts in your favor, but yeah. That was me.”

“Wait, did he throw you over for Rebecca?” Valencia tried to move into Heather’s line of sight as the latter went about her routine procedures. “I saw them tonight at the reception, on the other side of the room. I didn’t say hello, obviously. But did he?”

Heather busied herself with a stack of utensils.

Valencia gasped. “He did!” She angled against the bar and gripped the far side. “Hold on. You called her ‘neighbor’ before, didn’t you?” She popped onto her tiptoes, eyes wide. “Were you friends?”

Heather stopped what she was doing, crossed her arms, and finally looked at Valencia. “We still are. I wasn’t gonna let some CW-style love triangle change that.”

“How can you forgive her after what she’s done?” Valencia demanded incredulously. “She completely betrayed your trust and tried to steal Greg when she knew you two were together!”

Heather’s brow furrowed. The undercurrent of projection was evident, but she couldn’t exactly say that Valencia was incorrect either way. She sighed and tossed her towel beside the register. “I was upfront with her that it hurt my feelings when I first found out but, like, at the same time, she couldn’t really steal him from me if he didn’t wanna go, y’know?” Heather gave Valencia a meaningful look. “I had to deal with that. I had to accept that he didn’t have strong enough feelings for me to make him want to stick around.”

A rapid succession of emotions flickered across Valencia’s face. One instant, she appeared geared up for an argument. The next, she deflated and her shoulders sagged wearily.

“You’re right,” Valencia murmured. “That was the bigger problem.” She dropped back onto her feet and hiked the top of her dress more securely into place. Valencia drank and put it down with a rough thunk. “I called him on that tonight. He was never going to truly commit to our relationship.”

Heather edged away and purposely wiped down flat surfaces in the opposite direction from where Valencia stood. “Yeah, I feel like this isn’t about me, so I’m just gonna--”

Valencia rotated her glass between her hands and continued speaking, undeterred. “I don’t see how you’re supposed to fix a thing like that. If you’re giving him your perfect body, the perfect relationship, the perfect future right on the horizon -- what more could he want? What part of drinking gross tapioca balls with a backstabbing little lawyer from out-of-town fulfilled a need of his that wasn’t being met?”

“Maybe he needed someone who listened to him?” Heather suggested pointedly. “Someone who wasn’t gonna talk over him or say something judgy?”

Valencia drew up short and gaped at her. “Did he talk to you? Did he tell you that’s what was wrong with me?”

Heather wrinkled her nose. “What? No. I don’t really know the guy that well.”

Valencia shook her head in bewilderment. “It’s just that he said almost that exact thing right before we broke up. That I never listen to him.”

“Huh. What a weird coincidence.”

Valencia lifted her gaze to Heather’s face with shame. “Am I really that awful?”

Heather’s features softened. “There were some major communication issues between you two, but it wasn’t all coming from one side.” She drew closer to stand across from Valencia again. “Most of my information is secondhand, so I might not be the person to ask, but I always felt like you and Josh were not on the same wavelength, like, at all. You clearly had a life you were trying to build for yourself and Josh was like this buff, clueless puppy who kept running around the neighborhood. He was supposed to fit into your big picture, but he didn’t. Or didn’t want to.”

Valencia threw back the remainder of her second round. 

Heather’s mouth twisted at the corner. “Sorry. I kinda suck at sugarcoating. I was just giving you an outside perspective.”

“It’s okay.” Valencia waved the apology aside. “I’m the one who asked you. And you’re not wrong. It just...”

“It sucks,” Heather supplied.

Valencia’s laugh carried the hint of a sob. “Yes, it does. Fifteen years gone down the drain.” She reached reflexively for her glass but realized it was empty. 

The majority of the patrons had wandered toward the parking lot during the course of their conversation. Heather left the bar and tidied the vacated stations.

“Better fifteen years than the rest of your life.”

The words washed over Valencia and she dropped her head to rest on her arms. “I don’t know what life has left for me without this.”

Heather awkwardly patted the back of Valencia’s dress as she crossed behind her. “Hang in there... pal... You’ll get through it.”

“I guess so.” Valencia stared into the middle distance with bleak uncertainty. “But I have no clue where to begin.”

“Well, wherever you start, it can’t be with our alcohol,” Heather told her. She jerked her head in the direction of the clock. “We’re past last call.”

The only other customer, a man in a corner booth, tossed down a few dollars beside his empty bottle and departed. Valencia cast a look around the vacant room and landed on something fixed to the wall. 

“Do you have darts?”

Heather gathered the money the man left behind and wiped down his table. “I know I literally did that exact thing after my breakup, so it makes me a hypocrite, but you really don’t wanna be throwing pointy objects right now. Okay, actually, put it this way: you might, but our walls don’t want you to.”

‘I need to let out some of my anger,” Valencia protested. “Like you said, you just went through this; you get it.”

Heather considered her for a moment. She circled behind the bar, ducked out of sight, and stood once more with three darts in her fist. Heather set them down in front of Valencia. “Just while I’m closing things up, okay? Technically I’m supposed to be ushering you out the door by now.”

Valencia accepted the offer and positioned herself in line with the board. “Thank you.”

Heather made a noncommittal noise at the back of her throat.

Valencia took aim and threw, but the dart left her hand too late on the curve and swerved right, narrowly missing Heather’s shoulder before it embedded into the wall. 

Heather stared at it for a fraction of a second and simply arched her eyebrows. “I can’t tell if this means you were way off or almost right on target.”

Valencia nearly smiled but protruded her lip in a fake pout instead. “Don’t make fun of me.”

“How many times do you get to try to impale me before I’m allowed to say something?”

“At least one more.”

Heather laughed and continued flipping chairs onto empty tables. 

Valencia’s second dart nicked the baseboard but was otherwise harmless. Her third lodged into a single scoring space near the top. She gave a triumphant cry, but the accompanying bounce of joy proved hazardous to her health. Her balance was briefly thrown off and she had to grab onto the edge of the bar to steady herself.

Heather hip-checked the register closed. “Is it starting to catch up to you?”

“I think maybe a little.” 

Heather upended one of the overturned chairs and scooted it directly behind Valencia. “Wait on this. I’ve gotta do a quick sweep -- the checking the bathrooms kind and the broom-across-the-floor kind -- and then we can figure out how to get you to your apartment.”

Valencia sat swaying in place while Heather rushed to wrap up the last duties. “At least I don’t live too far from here. It’s impossible to live far away from anything in a place this small.”

“Yeah, no, you’re not driving.”

“You have a ride service?” Valencia removed the decorative clasp and winced from the faint ache as her heavy hair was allowed to fall naturally beyond her shoulders.

“No, but we should.” Heather tucked her foot behind the dustpan to keep it from sliding. 

“So what am I supposed to do? Sleep this off in my car? That’s not safe either.”

“Leave it here. Have someone bring you by to pick it up in the morning.” Heather dumped the detritus into a waiting trash can. “I’ll swing wide and take you where you need to be.”

Valencia blinked and tilted her head to the side. “Why?”

“So no one gets hurt. Duh.”

“But I’ve been bugging the crap out of you for the past hour.” Valencia rubbed her fingertips along the oval of metal in her palms. “You could just leave me here. Why help if you don’t have to?”

Heather briefly vanished to check the men’s restrooms. She reemerged and caught Valencia’s eye with her brows knitted together. “People don’t have to want something from you to treat you like a person who matters. I mean, there are totally dickheads out there who act that way, but like... Basic human decency shouldn’t be transactional.”

She disappeared through the door to the women’s stalls, leaving Valencia to mull over her statement. Neither spoke for the remainder of Heather’s shift. Valencia observed the blue moonlight dappled across the floor and scratched her heel against the back of her ankle.

“Ready?” 

Valencia looked up to find Heather holding out her forgotten clutch purse. She took the bag, put her hair clasp inside, and tucked it under her arm. “Yeah, I’m ready to call it a night.”

She stood and Heather put her chair on its designated table. “Same here.”

They left the building. Heather fished the keys out of her cargo pants. She locked the door, turned around, and held out an elbow. 

“Are you good to walk, or...?”

Valencia looked at her feet. Admittedly, it would be easier if she removed the heels and went barefoot, but there was no way that was happening. She tested one exhausted, wobbly step. The parking lot seemed so far from where they stood. Valencia sighed and took hold of Heather’s arm. “I’d better play it safe.”

“Yeah, I think that’s a good call.” Heather proceeded with small strides. Her gaze repeatedly darted in Valencia’s direction, monitoring her steadiness. It took them at least thrice the time it would have ordinarily, advancing at such a faltering pace, but they made it to their destination without disaster. Heather pushed the button to unlock the vehicle and helped Valencia get situated. “You can just throw that notebook in the back.”

Valencia cleared the cushion as Heather suggested and settled comfortably. She reached for the seat belt and Heather climbed in beside her. “Why does the inside of your car look like you bought out a yard sale?”

Heather lifted her eyebrows, but her tone was unfazed. “You kinda have a habit of insulting people who are being nice to you.”

“Sorry.” Valencia’s expression became genuinely apologetic. “That was rude.”

Heather twitched her shoulders. “It’s just a thing you might wanna think about. Maybe figure out where that’s coming from.”

She draped an arm across the back of Valencia’s seat while she twisted. Heather reversed out of the parking spot and turned toward the exit. 

Valencia provided a quick set of directions to the apartment, and Heather gave a nod of confirmation that she knew how to reach the address. Valencia removed her hoop earrings, added them to the contents of her clutch, and used the purse as a rather uncomfortable pillow against her window.

Heather adjusted the dials on the radio to fill the silence. She tapped her fingers against the steering wheel and occasionally glanced over to check on Valencia, who fell into a fitful sleep before they’d even reached the end of the road.

A while later, Heather gave Valencia’s shoulder a gentle shake. “You’re home.”

Valencia jolted awake and sat upright. She swiped a hand across her cheek. “Oh. Okay. I’ll, um --”

She started to unbuckle herself from the seat, but her volunteer chauffeur left the car. Heather walked to the passenger side and pulled the handle. “You said second floor, right? You’re gonna need a hand on the stairs.”

A possible refusal appeared to form in Valencia’s mouth, but the instinct to fend for herself faded from behind her eyes. “Yeah, probably.”

They linked arms, just as they had before, and made a clumsy but safe journey to Valencia’s front door. Valencia sifted through her belongings for the keys and shoved them into the lock.

“You should sleep on your side. Tuck some pillows so you don’t roll over,” Heather advised. “I’m not sure if you’ve had enough to get sick, but it’s an important precaution just in case, especially if you’re here alone.”

Valencia nodded and stepped through the doorway. “I will.”

Heather hooked her thumbs in her belt loops. “Good. Well, bye.”

Valencia’s grip tightened on her purse. She leaned one arm against the door frame. “Thank you for doing this for me. Seriously. I’m lucky you were there.”

Heather flashed a polite smile. “No problem.”

"I don’t know if it helps coming from me, but Greg’s an asshole.” Valencia caught hold of the door handle and brought it slowly to a close. “Bye.”

Heather’s breath puffed out in a weak laugh. “It does a little, yeah. I’ll see you... whenever.”

They lifted their hands in parting. Heather reached the stairwell just as Valencia’s door clicked shut. She wound down the passageway and crossed the parking lot to her car. When Heather slid behind the wheel again, she looked at the upper floor of the apartment building. She shook her head with a bemused chuckle and started the engine.

“What a frickin’ weird night.”

[hunterenough]

Life Changes

Chapter 3: Responsible Adults

Summary:  Dean gets a look at the way a responsible adult actually lives, and he really likes it. (Or maybe he just likes the responsible adult attached to the house he's looking at...)

Dean’s morning seemed to drag by, probably because he was looking forward to meeting with Castiel and checking out his potential new living situation. He’d let Benny, his lead technician, know that he might be a bit late coming back. He’d set the map on his phone for Castiel’s address, and Google had informed him that it was a four minute drive. Wouldn’t that be a nice change from his current half hour commute.

He pulled into the driveway at 12:04 exactly. The house was white with a dark grey foundation and trim. The walkway was shoveled, and everything looked well cared for. Dean climbed out of his car with his folder of check stubs and headed for the door. He knocked quietly before noticing the bell. Shit, do I ring the bell? Should I wait? What if he didn’t hear me knock. His thoughts were interrupted by the door opening.

Holy fucking hell. This guy, the guy he might be living with, was everything Dean had wet dreams about. His faded Led Zeppelin t-shirt stretched softly over his tone chest, highlighted his biceps. His hands, huge hands , cradled a steaming white mug with a bright yellow sun grinning from it. His dark jeans barely clung to his narrow hips, but they sure fit his muscled thighs well enough to make Dean drool. The face though, his face...perfect chiseled jaw, straight nose, fucking chapped looking red lips, all haloed by the most amazing sex hair he’d ever seen. But it was the eyes that held his attention. Intensely blue, hundreds of shades of blue , just staring at him.

Dean realized the guy was probably staring at him because he was fucking staring. Like a dumbass. He cleared his throat, and offered his free hand.

“Dean Winchester.” Smooth. At least his voice didn’t crack.

The man quirked his lip and shook the offered hand.

“Hello Dean. Castiel Novak. Nice to meet you. Come in.” He stepped back from the door to let Dean enter. He closed the door behind himself, and Cas gestured behind it. “You can take off your coat if you’d like.”

The entry was as orderly as the yard had seemed to be. A series of hooks hung behind the door, two covered by coats, with a shelf of totes above. Under it, stood a shoe rack, half filled with shoes, on a shallow drip tray which currently homed a pair of wet snow boots. Dean toed out of his shoes, glad that he’d opted for the steel toed shoes instead of his normal work boots this morning, and lined them up on the tray. He offered the folder he’d been holding out to the other man before taking his coat off and hanging it with the others. The folder found a home on the small side table, next to set of keys and a bowl of change. Another door, presumably to the garage, was just past the table.

“So, a tour? The main part of the house is pretty open.” Castiel gestured widely with his free hand.

“Sounds great. I love what I’m seeing so far.” It looked like all of the walls were the same soft blue-grey color with creamy white trim. It was practical, he supposed, for the big open space. It looked...peaceful.

Castiel stepped into the living room, and Dean noticed his bare feet sink into the plush carpet. There was a huge sectional, facing a gas fireplace with a widescreen TV mounted above it and floor to ceiling bookshelves on either side, both nearly full of books, movies, and photos, though again, everything looked well organized. An ottoman occupied the space in front of the couch, and two comfortable looking chairs formed the fourth corner. Overall, it looked like a great place to relax after work. Dean nodded.

“I don’t spend much time here, really, except on the weekends. By the time I get home from work, I’m ready for a shower and bed.”

“Yeah, I know the feeling. You said you have a funky schedule?”

“I work on the oncology ward at the hospital. The afternoon shift is 2- midnight.”

“Long days doing that kind of work.” Dean’s days were generally at least the same ten hours, but he didn’t have to deal with sick people. He’d been in hospitals enough to know that nurses worked hard, and often the work sucked.

Castiel shrugged. “Could be worse. A lot of hospitals run twelve hour shifts now, and I’ve got seniority, so I get the Monday-Thursday schedule. Always a three day weekend. It helps that I love my job.” He walked around the couch as he was talking, and Dean followed. “This is the dining room. I use it even less than the living room actually.”  He bypassed the long dark wood table and chairs to move into the kitchen. “When I do actually sit down to eat, I usually eat at the island.”

The kitchen was gorgeous. Dean imagined it could be featured in one of those home-decorator magazines he kept in the lobby for his customers. There were miles of granite counter top over dark wood cabinets. A bank of upper cabinets was balanced on one end by the wide stainless steel refrigerator, and on the other by the professional looking stove and hood. A half-full coffee pot was set next to the refrigerator, but very little else cluttered the space.

“I cook a little, but cooking for one sucks. I want to get better at it though, it’s one of my resolutions.” Dean moved further into the kitchen.

“My cooking is generally limited to scrambled eggs, toast, cold sandwiches, and spaghetti with jarred sauce, so you’re probably ahead of me already.” He pulled open a narrow drawer on the island. “I’ve got menus for every delivery and takeout place in town though.” He grinned as he waved down at the collection. “I promise not to touch anything on your side of the refrigerator though. You don’t have to worry about me stealing your leftovers.”

“Noted. Definitely an improvement over my current roommate. I’m lucky if he leaves anything for me to eat, even though I do all of the grocery shopping.”

“Ahh, I had an ex like that. Always hungry, but never bothered to actually buy food.” He shook his head.

Dean just grunted in agreement, and they moved into the hallway.

“Unfortunately, there’s only one full bathroom.” He opened the first door on the left. “Fortunately, it is very well equipped.”

“No shit!” Dean had stepped into the huge room. “Sorry, it’s just, I’ve never seen a bathroom like this outside of a fancy hotel.” The shower was walled in pristine white subway tiles, the open side a wall of glass. Towel hooks were mounted to the front. He could count at least four shower heads, plus the rain fall head above. One of the two shelves in the shower was half full of bottles, but the other was empty.

“It’s probably my favorite room. Sometimes, after a particularly bad day, I like to take a soak before bed.” He gestured at the deep soaker tub.

“Oh my God, that sounds awesome.” After a day hunched over his desk doing paperwork, his entire back felt like one giant cramp.

Cas nodded, then gestured at the double sink. “This sink would be yours.” He indicated the one by the toilet. “It has a medicine cabinet behind the mirror.” He popped it open showing several empty shelves before closing it again. “I keep my towels and washcloths in the bottom drawer, and cleaning supplies under my sink, but you’re welcome to the rest of the space.

Dean smiled at the idea that he’d already been accepted. “Given our schedules, I doubt we’ll have much trouble balancing bathroom times. Sounds like I’m out the door before you’re up and you’re gone before I get home.”

“Yes. Should make it easy to keep from fighting over the shower.” He grinned over his shoulder as he stepped back into the hall.

“This is a guest bathroom,” he opened the first door on the opposite side of the hall revealing a toilet and small vanity, “So we really only have to share with overnight guests.” He opened the next door. “And this is the guest room. It’s a little small, but occasionally one of my siblings comes in for the weekend to visit. You’re welcome to use it for guests as well, if you’d like. Either way, it’s probably a good idea to put in on the house calendar so we don’t end up double booking.”

The guest bedroom, though Castiel had called it ‘small’ offered a queen bed, a wide dresser, and a double closet. It was pretty much what he’d imagined renting. Dean shrugged. “My family lives pretty close, so I don’t really have anybody who would need to spend the night. Unless, I become clinically insane and offer to have my nephews overnight, but I really don’t see that happening.”

“They’d be welcome on the weekend. How old are they?” He’d pulled the door closed again and moved further down the hall.

“Three and five. We’re celebrating full potty training and no accidents now. Very exciting.”

“Oh, that is!” His grin was something else, and Dean couldn’t help but smile back as he opened the door to the next room. “This is the den.” He stepped inside. It was clearly a converted bedroom, similar in size to the guest room, with the same closet. A desk sat on each wall, one with papers stacked on top, each with a plush rolling chair tucked under it. In the corner by the closet, there were two wide arm chairs and a coffee table. Castiel had moved to the closet and swung it open. “I actually have several nieces and nephews myself, so there’s a stash of stuff in here just in case.” Dean noted several labeled totes, ‘coloring,’ ‘blocks,’ and ‘vehicles’ caught his eye before the door was closed and Castiel was moving back to the desk. He tapped at a whiteboard mounted above it. “This is the house calendar. Basically, I just use it to organize bills, etc. But if we’re having guests, that’s probably a good thing to note as well. And I keep a running grocery list. I thought maybe we could take turns picking up the standard household things, toilet paper, coffee, etcetera, but if you prefer, we can do it a different way.”

“No, that sounds fine. I usually shop on Saturday, unless something comes up in the meantime, and I don’t mind picking up whatever.”

They wandered back into the hall and to the final two doors, both open. “These are the twin masters.” He walked into the room on the right, indicating for Dean to follow. “This one is mine. Sorry, I haven’t gotten to laundry.”

The room was huge, with an unmade made king sized bed, a pair of dressers, and again, what looked like a very large closet. The mentioned hamper was tucked into the corner by the dressers, and that and the mussed bedding were about the only thing he’d seen in the house that was disorderly. Still, it was the little sitting area that caught Dean’s attention. Again he felt like he’d stepped into a high end hotel. A wide chair with a matching ottoman was tucked into the corner, flanked by bookcases, and a small rolling table was positioned over one arm holding a laptop.

“Judgement free zone.” Dean lifted his hands. “Besides, I was kind of starting to wonder if you kept a maid or something. The whole place is spotless.”

“It’s not too hard, since I rarely have time to mess it, but I do look forward to splitting the chores.”

“Is that the only reason you’re looking for a roommate? I mean I dated a nurse once, and he made as much as me at least.” Dean blushed a little, well, that hadn’t really been how he’d meant to bring up the fact that he was bi, but now that it was out, he supposed it would be good to know how Castiel would react.

“Honestly, that’s definitely part of it. I bought this house a couple of years back, with the intention of starting a family. My partner at the time, didn’t have the same ideas, which I found out when I found him in the hot tub with his assistants. Plural. I love the house, I really do, but it it’s just so big for just me. It gets...lonely.”

Dean huffed out a breath. OK, so he was either gay or bi himself, one thing less to worry about, but that sounded like a really rough breakup. “Man, I’m sorry. That really sucks. My last real breakup was pretty amicable, but I’d gotten pretty close to her kid, so that sucked. Still, at least you got to keep the house, and it really is awesome. I wound up in a shitty third floor walkup.”

“So did Fergus.” Castiel chuckled and led Dean back to the door. “This place was always mine. At any rate, this one would be yours. It’s the same as mine, just opposite. I didn’t ask, do you have furniture?”

The room looked even bigger empty. “I have some, but seeing your room, I think I might get some new stuff. I can call it doing something for myself and tag it as part of my resolutions.” He grinned at the other man. His bedroom set was nice enough, and he loved his memory foam mattress, but the idea of upgrading to a king sized bed, of actually having all of his bedroom furniture match, it was definitely appealing.

Castiel grinned. “I donated everything that was here when Fergus moved out. It was cathartic. New furniture for my fresh start. I wouldn’t mind going with you, it can be a little tedious on your own.”

“I have a feeling I don’t want to get on your bad side. I might come home to find all my crap on the front lawn.”

Castiel laughed out loud. “Don’t fuck your barely legal assistants in the hot tub, and we should be fine.” He turned and started back down the hall.

“I’d have bigger problems than you to deal with if I did that. Benny, my lead technician, has been married for a long time, and his old lady can be downright scary in that Stepford wife kind of way. Charlie, my left-hand girl, is a gold-star lesbian, and I’m pretty sure she’d kill to protect her record.” He was teasing, but both were facts he didn’t want to ever test.

“One less thing to worry about then. Emptying the hot tub is a bitch.” He opened a door in the entryway that Dean hadn’t noticed before, and flipped on a light before heading down a flight of stairs.

The basement, at least the half that he could see from the bottom of the stairs, was finished, and as well maintained as the upstairs, if a lot more industrial looking. At the bottom of the stairs, the laundry area occupied a length of the wall, with a matching high-efficiency washer and dryer set, a deep wash sink between them, a long stainless steel counter for folding, a bar for hanging clothes, and wall mounted drying rack and ironing board.

“I usually do my laundry on Sunday afternoon, but I don’t mind negotiating that. I could probably do it Friday while you’re at work.”

Dean shook his head. “No worries. I like to do mine in the morning, usually Saturday, but sometimes I slack until Sunday. I can have it out of the way by noon, no problem.”

Castiel nodded and gestured to the rest of the room. “The basement is sound proofed, so you don’t have to worry about making noise down here while I’m sleeping.” The rest of the room was clearly used as a home gym. The floor was covered in thick rubber mats, and there was a treadmill, an elliptical, a weight bench with a rack of weights, and an exercise ball. The other half of the room was clear except for a small tote, though there was a TV mounted on the wall surrounded by several full length mirrors. “You’re welcome to use any of the equipment of course. I practice yoga, so there’s blocks and straps and stuff in the tote if you’re interested. Otherwise, there rest of the basement is mostly unfinished. It’s sealed, but that’s about it. You can use it for storage if you want. I have Christmas stuff stuck in there.” Cas shrugged. “I guess that’s about it. Hot tub is on the back deck, the yard is fenced in and completely private. Oh, the garage. You run an automotive shop, I’m sure you’re interested.”

“You say that like you aren’t.”

“Well, I enjoy not having to scrape the ice off of my windows.” It was said with a small smile. He led them back upstairs and to the other door in the entry.

“This is the door I usually use.” He pulled it open and stepped down into the garage. There was a blue SUV parked in the spot closest to the door, with the area in front of the other door empty. The garage was deeper than he’d expected, probably big enough to park two cars lengthwise, though the area in front of the SUV was occupied by a large work bench. “I don’t really use anything in here except the freezer.” He indicated an upright freezer near the door. “You can use the workbench if you want. Unfortunately, the snowblower died in the middle of that last big storm, so we’re stuck shoveling.”

“Or, you tell your mechanic housemate that the snow blower’s broken, and he fixes it.” He was grinning like a clown, he was sure, but the place was perfect, close to work, amazing space, great housemate and a heated garage . Seriously, could it get any better?

“So you like it?”

“Dude, it is perfect. I’m not convinced you’re not a serial killer it’s so nice and the rent is so affordable, but at this point, I think I might be willing to help you bury a body or two for a chance to live here.”

“Awesome. You’re the first person that’s answered the ad that I think I’d actually like to share a house with.” He glanced at his watch “I really need to get ready for work, but I can give you a copy of the lease to read over, and you can text me with questions. I can’t always answer right away, but I usually get a few minutes here or there. When were you looking to move in?”

“Honestly, unless you ask for my firstborn as deposit, I’ll put notice in tomorrow, so within the next two weeks if that’s OK?”

Cas was nodding. “Anytime. We can work out the details this weekend.” They’d moved back to the front door.

“Thanks so much for showing me this place, Castiel. This is exactly what I was hoping for.”

Cas glanced at the contents of the folder Dean had given him earlier, and added a sheaf of papers, and waited until he’d put his shoes and coat back on before handing it to him. “My friends call me Cas, and since I’m looking forward to sharing a house with you, I’m hoping you’ll fall into that category.” He offered Dean a hand to shake.

“Can’t wait Cas. I’ll shoot you a text if anything comes up with the lease, otherwise, I’ll plan on giving you a call Friday after work. Sound good?” He didn’t really want to leave, now that he was here, but he had to get back to work as well. He took the offered hand, and shook if firmly.

“Sounds good. Have a great afternoon Dean.” He moved to hold the door open.

“You too Cas.” He waved as he headed to his car.

He was actually looking forward to canceling the other appointments he’d made. No way could he get a better deal than this.

More Notes:

Three chapters in, and they finally meet. Can you actually imagine a meeting between these two that doesn't involve some kind of awe on Dean's part?

P.S. The description of Cas was very inspired by this magnificent piece of art (https://www.redbubble.com/people/jackiedeeart/works/35675771-sunshine?c=408643-supernatural). That's a redbubble link because I firmly believe everyone needs this in their house.

P.P.S Sorry about the gratuitous amounts of house description. I'm hoping it will help in the coming chapters to know your way around.