#also my new laptop charger came a week early and it works :)

[bobacupcake]

didnt get called for jury duty

[btsslowburnfic]

The Arrangement Chapter 11

Series Summary: Desperately in need of money, you answered the questionable ad. AKA-Arranged marriage AU featuring Y/N and Yoongi.

Chapter Summary: You and Yoongi each share a little of your fucked up pasts

Previous chapter here

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The two of you entered the studio. Yoongi headed for the desk chair. "You can take the couch." 

You gave him a bottle of water and pulled the gimbap out of your purse, handing one to him. 

"Thanks. Now do you see why I don't go to those meetings?" He began to tear the wrapping off the gimbap.

"Yep. That was brutal. They literally just read off of the PowerPoint slides." You took a bite of your food. 

Yoongi scrolled through his phone. "We should go shopping tonight. The stores will be packed tomorrow and Sunday." 

"I don't mind. I can just go tomorrow or something." 

He looked over at you. "I don't do crowds. Let's go tonight."

You sighed, it was clear you weren't winning this argument. "Sounds good. What time will you get done with work today?" You asked, glad some of the negativity was fading from him. 

"I need to do some producing. But I'll try to take a break at 7 and then we can go shopping." 

You almost died a little at how normal and domestic this all sounded. A small part of you wanted your life to be so different from the fucked up life you had experienced as a child. This could be your life. This could be it. It's fake. I don't care. 

"OK sounds good." you finished up your sandwich. "I'm off to continue answering questions that people could easily look up online." 

"Better you than me," he said. 

You stuck your hand out for the sandwich wrapper and sighed.  "Yep. It’s definitely not  work befitting Min Suga genius." You teased as you exited the studio. 

Yoongi smiled and turned around to face his computer. What the fuck was happening? Two days in and he had already bought you towels and was getting ready to go grocery shopping with you. Might as well skip to the wedding at this point, he thought jokingly. At least then someone else would have bought the towels for you. 

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

Yoongi picked at his cuticles, his alarm was set to go off in a few minutes. He had done some mixing, but for the most part he ended up writing. He had been very inspired lately for lyrics. Usually it was the beats that came more easily to him and he had to seek out experiences for his lyrics. But lately he had so many feelings and experiences just itching to come out. 

He was worried after that night at the bar that you would distract him from his job but so far he had found the opposite to be true. He was thinking about you less because he knew you were in the office or the apartment. He wasn’t wondering what you were doing all the time. Not that he cared.  Not that he had thought about you all the time. And it was nice to have someone answer emails and calls, and deliver coffee. 

He turned his alarm off preemptively and stood up. He exited the studio. There was no one left on the 14th floor. That wasn’t unusual. He stopped by your desk. It was totally empty. He frowned. How could a person the same age as him have only 2 bags of belongings he wondered. He took out his phone.

YG: What’s going on with Ms. [YLN] work laptop? I see it hasn’t arrived yet. She needs it immediately to help coordinate my collaborations. Additionally, she needs appropriate stationary.

JW: Of course Mr. Min. I will follow up with the IT department immediately and let you know. As for the office supplies I can provide her with some basic stationary immediately. If you require personalized stationary the lead time on orders is 2 weeks. I can send a link to have you/her look over it.

YG: Thank you Jiwoo. Please do that.

Satisfied with himself, he put his phone back in his pocket and headed over to the elevator. He got in. A girl he recognized as Alice, Jin’s main stylist was already on. She had a make-up train case with her and seemed irritated. He gave her a nod of acknowledgement and noticed the button for the 18th floor was already pushed. 

They both awkwardly stood in silence for the short ride. 

The elevator arrived at the 18th floor. Yoongi gestured to her to exit first. She did and headed down the other way towards Jin’s apartment. He must have some event tonight Yoongi thought as he went the other direction to his apartment. He walked in, just realizing he hadn’t been home since yesterday morning. He sighed. It wasn’t unusual for him to spend days at a time in the studio. The first thing he noticed was that his apartment smelled like coffee and girl. It wasn’t a bad thing. It was just different.

He continued into the living room and looked around. There was a light on in the kitchen and a half-empty pot of coffee.  He could see a light peeking out from under your bedroom door. He took out his phone.

YG: I’m home. I’m going to grab a shower first and then we can go. You don’t have to stay holed up in the bedroom.

He walked upstairs, put his phone on the charger, and showered.

You woke up from your nap right at 6:58. Yoongi hadn’t struck you as the type to ever get home from work early so you hadn’t worried about being ready right at 7. You checked your messages and saw where he had texted you as well as Jimin. You pulled on some jeans and a sweatshirt and headed out to the living room. 

JM: 2 pm. Meet me in the lobby of the 6th floor. Bring a tank top and leggings so you can try on clothes over them. Also I HATE YOU WE WERE THERE UNTIL 5 OMFG 

YN: Sorry sorry XD I’ll see you tomorrow. Thanks again!

Yoongi emerged a few minutes later wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt and looking like a damn snack. “Hey.” He walked over to the kitchen and opened the cabinets to check the ingredients. He looked back over his shoulder, “Seriously, I meant what I texted, Make yourself at home. I'm never here anyways." 

You moved over to the barstool. "Thanks. I'm just so used to sharing small spaces with lots of people I don't really take up a lot of space. The coffee is fresh by the way. I had a cup before napping just now." 

Yoongi didn't really respond, opening up the refrigerator. The two of you were surprised to suddenly hear yelling and screaming in the hallway. 

"What the hell? "Yoongi asked, shutting the fridge and walking over to the front door. “Not again," he muttered under his breath. It sounded like a woman yelling. The blood in your veins ran ice cold, your tongue slowly turned to lead. You heard the front door open and felt dizzy. Suddenly you were in an apartment with Suho and there was screaming. You took a deep breath. No. No. That was years ago. You were in Seoul. You were safe. There were guards here and Yoongi was here. Yoongi? You shook your head, looking around. You started to panic again. 

The woman had stopped screaming. You heard the voices of two men and slowly staggered out towards the hallway. 

"What the fuck Jin?" you heard Yoongi yell. 

"I know. I know. She's just difficult."

"Your girlfriend is a fucking asshole." You heard a girl yell. You recognized her as Alice. She was pulling her make up case down the hallway and crying hard. 

"Alice I'm sorry. You know Lin is a little crazy. She didn't mean any of the stuff she said." Jin pleaded with her.

Alice was sobbing as she pushed the elevator button. "Tell yourself that, jin." 

You didn't want to stare. You felt wrong watching all of this happen but you were also numb at this point, almost experiencing it as though you were outside your body. 

Yoongi breathed in sharply. "Just go home Jin. But this is the second time this week. She needs some  anger management classes or something." Yoongi looked over and saw you standing there, peeking around the corner. 

"Enjoying the show?" He said irritated. 

You snapped back to reality and shook your head. You weren't nosy. You had been scared and didn't want to be in the apartment alone. Yoongi got on the elevator with Alice, leaving you and Jin in the hallway. 

" Goddammit," you heard Jin say as he walked back to his apartment. 

You stood there for a minute replaying everything that had just happened. You took a few deep breaths. Suho wasn't here. You were fine. Yoongi was fine. Apparently Jin had a crazy girlfriend. Alice was Jin's stylist. And Yoongi thought you were a nosey asshole. Great. 

You didn't feel like you could go back to the apartment right now so you decided to head out for a walk. 

-----------

"You don't have to come with me. You don't even know me." Alice sniffed. "I know how to ride an elevator." 

Yoongi shrugged. "Your name is Alice. You've been around for 3 years but became Jin's main stylist a year ago. You are hopelessly in love with him and his new girlfriend suspects. Tell me I'm wrong." 

Alice sniffled, her silence acting as confirmation.  Yoongi observed so much, quietly watching his coworkers over the years. “This is embarrassing.” She sniffled.

" You should file a complaint with the HR department. She can't just scream at staff members." 

"I'm just a stylist."

"Well I'll be filing a complaint. Her loud yelling is fucking annoying." Yoongi put his hands in his pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels. 

Alice laughed a little at that. "Yeah. She's fucking mean. They've actually been dating on and off for years. She yells at Jin too and he always just takes it. That's why she screamed at me tonight. She called him a worthless idiot for like the 500th time and I finally just snapped and told her to shut up."

Yoongi pressed his lips together. He never would have imagined that Jin was being verbally abused. He suddenly felt bad he had been so short with him a few minutes ago. 

The elevator arrived at the 7th floor where several of the girl's dormitories were. "Rest up. She's a bitch." Yoongi said to Alice as she got ready to exit.

"Yeah, thanks. Sorry I've never really talked to you before."

Yoongi shrugged . "It's fine." He pushed the door close button and back to the 18th floor. He had been so surprised to see you standing there. He didn't think you'd be interested in gossip, you had seemed so mature. 

He walked back into the apartment. "Y/N I'm back. Are you ready to go to the store?" 

Silence. 

He sent a message to your phone and heard it ping from the countertop. 

Shit. 

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

Yoongi walked outside. It was a little cold out. He tried to tell himself he wasn't chasing after you or looking for you. He was just out stretching his legs. If he happened to run into you, fine. But if not, fine. He reasoned that without your phone or wallet, you had to be nearby. He had left a note for you in the apartment just in case you got back before he did.

Y/N,

Hey. Sorry for all the loud drama. Jin's gf sucks. Text me. You still owe me jjigae.

 He walked through one of the little parks that stood between the skyscrapers and the river. He figured he would do a short lap and then head back. He hated the cold, he thought again as he rubbed his hands together. 

"Yoongi?" he heard a voice. He looked over at the swingset and saw you sitting there. 

"Hey," he walked over. "You left."

"Sorry, I needed some fresh air."  You responded as you watched your breath form in the air.

Yoongi took a seat on the swing next to you. "Yeah. Sorry about that. Jin's girlfriend is apparently awful." 

"Yeah. Poor Alice. I met her the other day, she seemed so sweet."

“How do you already know so many people?” Yoongi wondered aloud. He had been there for years and barely knew anybody. 

You shrugged, “I guess bartending made me good at talking to people.” 

“How did you get into it?” 

“Bartending? Well I wanted a job where I could work nights so I could also have a day job. And the money was really good.”

“That's always your main job criteria?” Yoongi said flippantly.

Rude. “That's a little mean but yea. I'm the main adult who has to support my two siblings and I've had to since I was 20 years old. I had to drop out of college so there's not many options. I haven’t had the luxury of choosing jobs that I might actually be interested in.”  

Yoongi felt like such a shithead. “Sorry. That was a dick thing of me to say. You’re right,  it would be nice if you could have the ability to do a job because you like it. Not because of the money.” 

“It's OK. I'm just sensitive about it.” You looked off in the distance at the river.

“You should be proud. When I was 20 I wasn’t able to even support myself, let alone take care of anybody else.” 

You shrugged. “I’m sure you could have if you had to.”

“No. I’m telling you. When I was 20 I was on my own. And I was homeless because I couldn’t support myself. So the fact that you actually made it work while taking care of people is pretty amazing.”

“Thanks. And wow. I had no idea. That sucks. I’m glad you’re not homeless anymore.” You looked over at him. You never would have guessed. You just assumed he had always been well off. 

“Right? That would suck.” Yoongi agreed, glad you weren’t turning his trauma into a big deal. “Yeah, I got discovered by a talent scout and BigHit brought me to Seoul and set me up in one of the dorms here.”

“Wow. I got discovered by some rich asshole with dimples in a bar, who I thought was running a sex-trafficking ring.” You joked. Yoongi laughed, while gently swinging. 

"While we’re sharing our tragic backstories, that's actually one of the reasons I came out there." You began. You figured if Yoongi was willing to share some of his fucked-up ness you could do the same. "In the hallway. I didn't want to be alone. People yelling and screaming puts me on edge. I wasn’t trying to be nosy" you thought about how to best phrase what you wanted to say next. "I was raised in an environment where that happened a lot. Yelling. Screaming. And things got very violent, very quickly, in our house." 

Yoongi sat next to you on the swings listening intently to your confession. He never would have guessed that about you. You seemed so well-adjusted." I'm sorry that you grew up in a place like that." He said, carefully studying your face." And I'm sorry that Jin's girlfriend caused you to be uncomfortable. I had no idea or I wouldn't have said anything to you about being in the hallway" 

"it's OK. Well, I mean, it's not ok  what happened to me, but it's over now. Thanks." you looked over at him. He was blowing on his hands. "Are you cold?"

"Yes, it’s freezing out here" 

You scoffed, “It's a little cold. Here," you stood up and put your hands around his before he could object.

"How are you so hot?” He asked, enjoying the furnace of your hands. 

“You know I look in the mirror every day and ask myself the same question.” You replied with a straight face. Yoongi wrinkled his nose causing you to laugh. “Come on. I don’t want to get fired for letting you freeze to death.” You pulled on his hands to get him off the swing. “Do you still want to go shopping?”

“Yep. I have the list in my phone. Since we’re already out let’s walk to the real grocery store. The BigHit store has an ok amount of things, but not as much as an outside store.”

“Ok, I need to go back and grab my wallet.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“But I--”

“You’ve seen my apartment. Don’t argue with me.” He started to walk back towards the city center. 

You sighed. Yes. He was super rich and you weren’t. “Fine. But I am doing this under protest.”

“Your protest is noted, come along, assistant. I’ll let you carry the bags.” NEXT CHAPTER

@lidda @anpanman-sonyeondan​  @firefairy1​  @cuteipat​  @sugaslittlekookies​  @janeelizabeth1216​ @deeepvibes​ @gxldenhunny​

[greenninjagal-blog]

Trouble

Hi yeah its me, and look I’m already back with a new fic for the new year :D cherish this moment I don’t think i will have have this turn around so quick again. For the TSS Fanworks Secret Santa Exchange because I was a pinch hitter :DD @nerdywriterhaven I hope you enjoy!

Summary: Patton has a thing about boardgames and Virgil has a thing about Logan. Together they figure it out. 

Word Count: 7900

Quick Taglist: @alias290​ @chelsvans​ @coyboi300​ @dante-reblogs @dwbh888​ @glitchybina​ @faithfulcat111​ @felicianoromano​ @harrypotternerdprincess @holliberries​ @jemthebookworm​ @killerfangirl3​ @mrbubbajones​  @musical-nerd18​ @nonasficcollection​ @stricken-with-clairvoyancy​ @the-sunshine-dims​ @themagicheartmailman​ @themultishipperchild @thenaiads​ @treasureofpriam​ @vianadraws​ @welovelogansanders​  

Read on Ao3 || My General Writing Masterlist

Patton shows up at Virgil’s dorm room just slightly after six pm on a Tuesday with two thermoses of soup that are still warm to the touch, a halloween tupperware of chocolate chip cookies that had been passed between him and Virgil so many times that Patton really doesn’t remember whose it was originally, his laptop, phone, the chargers for both, and the board game Trouble.

Virgil, predictably, shuts the door in his face the second he sees the game box hidden under all the other things in his arms. Patton also thinks that Virgil tells him to go away, but it’s muddled by the door.

Instead he shuffles all the supplies to his left arm and knee, and knocks again on his door just below the leftover tape from the nametag that his RA keeps putting up and Virgil keeps ripping down because he doesn’t want anyone knowing where he sleeps. His knuckles hum with the rap, datatata dat dat! And he smiles even when there’s the sound of something being thrown at the door from that side.

Patton chooses not to hear it because he’s a good friend and an even more stubborn houseguest.

The door a little bit down the hall opens up with the usual fanfare of someone who is running late to a night class-- which of course is the charm of Roman Prince. He looks nice, as usual, and Patton even thinks that if he hadn’t been wearing two different colored shoes, no one would even know that he had probably just woken up from a nap. The music of his room blares out into the hall with a rap song Patton thinks is Hip With the Kids these days, but Patton himself can’t make out any of the actual words.

All the much better because he’s pretty sure it’s Remus’s music and Remus likes his songs like he likes just about everything else: dirty, scandalous, and offensive. Not that Patton is good friends with either of the Prince siblings, but he’s heard the rumors floating around about both. Roman smiles at him, with glittering white teeth and dimples and soft warm brown eyes that could have been made of melted chocolate.

“Oh! What a spectre!” Roman says, seeming to forget that he’s on the way to a class at the sight of Patton standing at Virgil’s door. “Tell me, angel, what brings a glorious sight such as you to our dorm buildings on this amazing day?”

Virgil’s door swings back open before Patton can answer and Virgil hisses from the darkness, the way he’s usually prone to do whenever Roman or Remus or their blatant disregard for the rules about music volume at two AM is brought up.

He looks not much better from the glimpse Patton got before the door was closed in his face earlier: he’s still pale to the point of looking sickly and dressed in the same clothes as yesterday, with his eye shadow smeared and his hair not brushed at all. There’s a red imprint on the side of his face that Patton thinks matches a crease in his blankets or pillows from where he probably tried to suffocate himself on and off all day between anxiously texting Patton all about “the absolute worst day of my entire life and no I’m not even exaggerating this time Pat”.

“Hi Virgil!” Patton says, as Virgil reaches forward and to take a thermos and the tupperware from his arms and glare unbidenedly at Roman. “I brought dinner!”

“I hate you,” Virgil says, and does not mean because he loves Patton’s Broccoli Cheddar Cheer Up Soup and he’s been in need of cheering up since Patton had seen his messages at noon on his way to his second class of the day.

Roman gasps like he’s offended on behalf of Patton who is not offended as much as endeared to his best friend of several years. “Virgil! How could you act so callus towards a beautiful muse such as this?”

“Get lost, Princey,” Virgil tells him firmly, grumpily, Virgil-ly. “He came here specifically to make a pun about my pain.”

“I do it with love,” Patton adds. “And I brought cookies to make up for it.”

Roman looks like he doesn’t know what to do with that information and Virgil doesn’t give him time to find out because he kinda hates Roman-- although Patton always tells him that “hate” is a strong word and Virgil always says he means it anyway. Patton supposes that if he, too, had hallmates that played music louder than life up to the early hours of the mornings during Finals Week, and then cranked it higher when he knocked on the door to ask them to stop, he might also strongly dislike them.

Virgil ushers Patton into the dark room and then kicks the door closed while Patton is waving goodbye at Roman.

It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the light level: Virgil was certainly making use of those thick blackout curtains! It made the whole room look like it was three AM, rather than six PM! There are blobs of stuff all around the room, piles of clothes and blankets that Virgil prefers to have on the floor rather than put somewhere where he’s not going to trip over it in the middle of the night, but Patton supposes that’s just how Virgil’s always been.

“If someone breaks in, they’re gonna trip over this shit and I will be out of here long before they can get back up,” Virgil had said the first time Patton had suggested maybe, possibly cleaning something until they found the floor.

The desk where Virgil did his school work is empty and the textbooks and computer that normally covered it are all on the ground like a massacre from what Patton can make out. Virgil shuffles through the room and ends up turning on the purple lava lamp that Patton got him three years ago so that they could at least see each other and the faux-floor, and even then he doesn’t look happy at needing that much. The elevated bed had the blankets ripped up from it and turned into a nest with Virgil’s phone light peeking out from the depths like some underwater cave with a sea monster in it waiting for an unsuspecting diver.

“Remind me, how you got into this building?” Virgil says, tiredly as he pries open the cookie container. “It requires a key and last time I checked, you don’t have one of those, Pat.”

“As if a key would stop me from checking on you!” Patton replies. He plops himself on a pile of clothes and clears away another spot for Virgil to collapse next to him, so that Virgil can’t exactly escape. “Now, what is this about Logan again? You were being kinda vague and world-ending-y again. ”

Virgil lets out a moan around the cookie he shoved in his mouth and drops to the floor next to Patton, to munch angrily or just upsetly without actually offering an answer, because he’s Virgil and he’s allergic to talking about things that upset him. Patton sets down his other thermos, his laptop, and his own phone to make room for the game between them.

“Must we?” Virgil asks as Patton sets up the board with a practiced hand. Even in the near darkness of the room he knows exactly what he’s doing, and could probably figure it out with no light at all.

“Of course!” Patton says. “You sounded like you were in Trouble.”

“ Sorry to disappoint.”

“It’s rather Risk -y of you to be self deprecating while within hugging distance.”

Virgil doesn’t say anything for a moment, just swallows the bite of his cookie and stares at the colored pieces in front of him. The board game is well worn and well loved-- one of the first ones Patton had ever gotten and one of the first ones he ever convinced Virgil to play with him. Although “convinced” is a strong word for how Patton had just been staring at the board numbly with red rimmed eyes when his father had asked Virgil to come over and try to coax him into eating something, anything, please .

They’d lost three pieces of the red team and one of the yellow and two of the green, but that’s okay because Patton generally played blue and Virgil had custom ordered four purple pieces for just the two of them a few years ago.

Carefully, placatingly, Virgil reaches a hand forward and pops the dice bubble for his number. He gets a four.

Patton gets a five.

“How many times have we played this one, Pat?” Virgil asks, in a voice much softer than before. In the faded purple light and the shadows, it’s hard to see the number on the die, and harder to see exactly what Virgil is thinking about with his eyes hidden like that. His nails are bitten down to the quick, ruining the black nail polish he spent an hour applying last weekend over their shared Biology notes.

Patton shrugs as he reaches forward to take his turn and pops the bubble. Honestly he didn’t think he could calculate the answer if Virgil pressed: this was their go-to game, this was his go-to pun, this is what they did even when the world was falling apart at the seams. It was easier to focus on moving playing pieces a couple pegs than it was to focus on the sound of a heart monitor or raspy breathing or bony pale fingers that shook when they tried to hold anything.

It was easier to find a way to win when the instructions were so clear, and the rules were so fair, and the consequences of losing were just having to put the game back in the box.

Virgil doesn’t say anything more and Patton doesn’t force him to, although he desperately wants to. He wants to reach out and catch Virgil’s hands in his own, he wants to give him a squeeze, he wants to wipe away the tear tracks in his makeup and he wants to tell Virgil that whatever it is, Patton will be there for him.

He wants Virgil to look at a game for once and have fun.

But the only sound in the room is the popper when they roll the die back and forth.

Patton gets the six first. He moves his second leftmost piece to the start and hits it again for a three.

Virgil stares his blue piece on the board for a long moment, without blinking. His hands lie limply in his lap and the tub of cookies sits at his knee. The purple light makes his eyes glisten sweetly, wetly, sadly, with a resignation that Patton knows and wishes he doesn’t. The lump in his throat swells up.

“Virgil?”

Virgil blinks. And then blinks again.

“Why should I even bother at this point?” he asks. He runs a hand up to his hair and tugs at the locks.

“Virgil, this is the opening of the game,” Patton says. “You can’t give up alrea--”

“But it’s not like I’m going to win,” Virgil says and Patton sucks in a breath sharply.

Oh. It was one of those days.

Patton thinks that he should have been expecting this; it had been a decent amount of time since Virgil last had refused to finish a game, and Patton had almost thought that maybe they had kicked those thoughts for good! That through sheer willpower and perseverance and proof to the contrary, they might have managed to rework how Virgil approached a challenge. That at one point Virgil might laugh and smile even when he wasn’t in the lead--

And yet, Patton’s sitting with one piece three spaces ahead of Virgil and Virgil is ready to call it quits. The game had just started. Patton had only been sitting in the room for a total of five minutes. Virgil hadn’t talked for more than a couple sentences.

It’s one of those days, except that Patton doesn’t think that it’s ever been this bad before, because usually they at least made it to the one piece around the board in Trouble , through to one check in Chess , through to one hotel being built in Monopoly , or one train ticket completed in Ticket to Ride .

“This is a sign, isn’t it?” Virgil continues. “I’m just being stupid even considering it. Of course I am. I always am. Nevermind, I don’t want to do this today Pat. Thanks for the soup and the cookies and I’m sorry that I made you walk all the way--”

Patton reaches out and snags Virgil’s arm before he can get all the way off the ground. The board nudges to the side dislodging several pieces into the surrounding void, but Patton thinks that he can replace a hundred playing pieces.

He cannot replace his best friend.

Virgil’s skin is cold, even though the room was comfortably warm, and he’s soft to the touch-- which is never what Patton expects when he gets those lightning quick hugs, when Virgil rests his head on his shoulder during movie nights, when they go shopping and there are crowds that make Virgil want to run for the hills and only Patton’s hand in his keeps him grounded there. Virgil is soft despite the jagged persona he puts on to drive away other people, and he hasn’t gotten any sort of touch in a while because he shuts up the moment that Patton’s own warmth floods over him.

The room holds the silence for an eternity: Virgil frozen halfway up from the ground, and Patton latching on to him like he can pluck all the reasons Virgil is upset out of his mind through osmosis. The lava lamp makes him look unreal, makes the silence ring louder, makes the lump in Patton’s throat grow larger.

“Virgil,” Patton says, “please.”

Please tell me what I can do. Please allow me to help. Please let me in.

“It’s stupid,” Virgil says.

Patton wants to laugh, because nothing that ever hurts Virgil has ever been stupid. “I don’t think so, kiddo.”

Virgil bites his lip and inhales with all of his chest.

“You didn’t go to any classes today. You’ve been crying. You’re still wearing yesterday’s clothes.” Patton says. “Something happened. And it can’t possibly be stupid because nothing that affects you like this is can be anything less than something huge.”

Patton feels Virgil’s hand curl into a fist like he can hide his shaking when Patton is right there .

“Do you remember Logan Ackroyd,” Virgil says. “The senior a year older than us who I had Sociology with last year?”

The same Logan who took extra notes for when Virgil missed class and emailed them to him. The same Logan who offered Virgil a granola bar when he overheard that Virgil had missed lunch. The same Logan who helped Virgil break into the auditorium after school hours to search for his missing earbuds.

The same Logan who has eyes more knowledgeable than the entire galaxy, who wears a tie to class, who smells like coffee beans and pen ink and looks like he’d give really good, safe hugs.

The same Logan who Patton has never once met, but feels like he knows intimately thanks to Virgil’s starstruck rambles.

Logan must be something great and amazing. Patton has known that for a year now, from watching the months slip away and suddenly the ghost of Logan joins them on every outing, summoned by the blush over Virgil’s ears and the soft smile on his lips and the way that Virgil steadfastly won’t meet Patton’s eyes like it will prevent Patton from noticing the way that the senior is always on Virgil’s mind. Logan is kind. Logan is smart. Logan has a new book every day. Logan has a voice like the ocean waves.

Logan, Patton thinks, should have been more careful if he caused Virgil this much distress. Because there are things that Patton would do for Virgil that not even a cold blooded killer would consider doing.

“Yeah,” Patton says, with a smile soft and dumb and innocent. “You guys have Analytical Science together this year, right?”

Virgil lets go of his lip, and breathes out a breath that sounds like more relief than Patton is supposed to hear. “Yeah. Yeah. He, uh… yeah.” Virgil shifts back down, shifts so that he’s on his knees and Patton is right next to him, and they’re still touching and that warmth is stronger than the shadows made by the blobs in the lava lamp.

“Janus… Janus asked him out yesterday,” Virgil says, using his other hand to pluck at a thread in his jeans.

Oh. Patton doesn’t think cookies and soup were enough.

And golly, Patton doesn’t think Logan is as smart as Virgil is always saying he is either, because if he said yes in front of Virgil, he must have been the stupidest person on the planet.

Virgil is quiet, dismissible, a shadow in his own skin even on his best days. But he is not un-noticeable.

He carries an aura around himself that storms and thunders and promises danger to those that get too close. His laughter is a threat first and a comfort second. His smile is a knife blade that even Patton sometimes wonders if he might find in his back one day. Virgil was someone that you noticed and you stayed the fudge away from.

Unless you were Patton, who hadn’t been afraid of Death from the moment he watched his mother cough up blood over the cards to CandyLand, watched his mother turn into a real-life game of Operation, watched her breathing get ragged and her fingers struggle to hold playing cards between them.

Logan hadn’t been scared away by Virgil’s thunder, and somehow he had weathered the storm that Virgil put up to protect himself and lived securely in the eye of the hurricane. And somehow he hadn’t noticed, hadn’t cared, had taken advantage of Virgil’s softening heart just to shatter it.

“He didn’t…” Virgil says. “Janus… he didn’t really mean it. I don’t think. It might have been a joke because they’re friends but Logan told everyone that he would only consider dating someone who could… could…”

“Could what?”

Virgil’s eyes flick down to the Trouble game board, to the pieces lost in chaos of the floor, to the box they hadn’t needed except for transport. Patton feels his heart thud in his chest before he crawls up his throat and he tastes it in his mouth along with the remains of the raw cookie dough he licked off the spoon while cleaning up.

Virgil’s words come back to him in whispers. But it’s not like I’m going to win. This is a sign, isn’t it? I’m just being stupid even considering it.

“Someone who could….” Patton says, “beat him in a boardgame?”

Virgil yanks the thread on his jeans sharply and nods without meeting Patton’s eyes. “I told you it was stupid.”

“Virgil,” Patton says. “This is great! We’ve been playing games together for years! You can beat--”

“That’s the thing!” Virgil says with his shoulders curling up to his ears and burying him in layers of excess fabric. “Pat, I can’t even beat you in a board game and I know all your strategies!”

“I don’t think that Trouble actually has any strategies. It’s really luck of the roll--”

Virgil peeks out of his hood enough to give Patton a miserable glare. “When was the last time I won against you, Pat? Be honest.”

Patton purses his lips. “I don’t think that’s fair, kiddo. I’ve been playing games since I was able to understand the rules--”

“You don’t even remember, do you.”

“It was Dominos and you won by twenty points.”

“Nice try, but you purposely miscounted and you actually won by two.” Virgil reaches out for another cookie and offers it to Patton without making any move to pull his other hand from Patton’s hold.

“You would have a lot more wins if you didn’t insist on not finishing games sometimes!” Patton says. “You never know the ending of a game until you play it out!”

“I could tell you that Logan was going to beat Janus in Chess the moment the opening moves were made,” Virgil counters. “He won in twelve moves and then the next game in six.”

Patton opens his mouth, but Virgil shoves the cookie in before he can actually say anything.

“And God Rest Remy’s soul because Logan obliterated him in Trivia Pursuit.” Virgil continues, “He turned Roman to mincemeat over Scrabble, and not only beat Remus in Poker, but won one hundred dollars off him too. I also watched him win in Othello against some kid he tutored in Calc, a game of Mancala with an art kid who was doing it for clout, and Stratego which he won before I finished reading the fuuuuuudging rules and made his opponent cry over it.”

Patton swallows down a bite of cookie that he didn’t not chew well enough because he feels it tear up his esophagus as it goes. Virgil politely ignores him dying for a second and offers him his own thermos of soup to help it down, before remembering that he’s supposed to be brooding and staring at Patton for too long makes him soft.

“Not to make a pun here, but no dice; I legitimately cannot beat Logan,” Virgil says. “He’s just… so good. At everything. What is the point in humiliating myself with this? Even if I find a game so obscure that he’s never heard of it and doesn’t have a strategy built for it, just going up to him and putting the board between us is like-- that’s telling him that I’ve had this massive stupid crush on him for ages and what if he doesn’t even like me? What if I win and then he has to date me because he said so but he actually hates me? What if--”

Patton coughs so hard he thinks he might have dislodged his own lung, which is fine!! Because at least it got Virgil to snap back to him and table his panicky spiral for later.

“Weren’t you,” Patton croaks, “Weren’t you already going to confess to him? You bought the chocolate kisses and you sent me pictures of them in your bag right before class last week.”

Patton can’t see Virgil’s ears because of his hood but he knows that they’re glowing red from the way that Virgil can’t meet his eyes again.

“I just….I did but then he….” Virgil nudges a pile of questionably clean band t-shirts with his socked foot. “He said he wasn’t interested because class was starting and I still don’t know if he meant an actual kiss or a Hershey kiss because he had to leave class early to pick up his kid brother from his middle school because he was sick with a fever and then I was too mortified to bring it back up-- See Pat, I can’t even come up with a creative way to tell Logan that I wanna listen to him ramble about jellyfish immortality and play with his hair or tell him that I wanna know what the flavor of his chapstick is-- which, by the way, I did say to him and he told me was cake batter and that I could find it at the corner drugstore because he thought I was looking for recommendations-- There is no way to subtly tell him that I want to date him.”

“Then maybe… don’t be subtle?” Patton suggests, and then points at the game between them. “Boardgame?”

Virgil scowls at the game like it had personally offended him. “But I can’t beat him. And if I lose and by some miracle he still wants to be seen with me, then he’d be breaking the very rules he set up and everyone else who lost is going to be pissed at both of us and I can’t do that to Logan.”

Patton bites back the then don’t lose that he wants to say. It seems so obvious to him. He doesn’t really see why Virgil doesn’t think he can win one single game. There isn’t even a rule that says Virgil can’t come back and play again-- which isn’t that the point of games? That you can play them for a little while, pack them up, and then come back to them later? That you sit down with friends-maybe-more and you play and have fun ?

Not for the first time, and not for the last time, Patton wonders why Virgil ever played games with him at all. He knows the first time was pity because he found Patton sitting on the floor of his bedroom with Trouble on the ground in front of him and staring at it numbly because he had cried all the tears out of himself already at the hospital, at the funeral, at the everything that had come after that he couldn’t remember. The first time it had been to get Patton to react because he had been so lost, but every time after that Virgil had made the conscious decision to pick up the pieces.

Even if sometimes he had put them back down halfway through and Patton hadn’t figured out how to convince him that the point isn’t to win as much as it is to have fun.

Virgil twists his wrist loosely in Patton’s grip so that he’s holding Patton back, his cold fingers somehow feeling comforting rather than startling. Patton has always loved that about him, although he’s never sure how that works. The coolness of his touch is familiar, but the vulnerability of Virgil reaching out is something newer, something special, something fragile and Virgil holds onto him like he’s expecting Patton to let go at any moment and Patton steadfastly refuses to let him drift off. Patton squeezes his wrist gently, lightly, softly.

I’m here. I’m not leaving. We’re in this together.

“I think that Logan can make decisions for himself,” Patton says with words so featherlight they barely move the air. “Remember the dominos? Any player can choose to lose, whether it be miscounting or it be refusing to finish the game in the end. But if you never even offer to play with him… Logan can’t make that choice, Virgil.”

Virgil holds his gaze for a moment, two, three, and there’s something in his eyes that shies away from the glow of the light, something slippery and weak and scared. Something that Patton is afraid to put a name to, lest it disappear from him forever.

Something that causes Virgil to squeeze his wrist back.

Together. Us. We’ve got this.

“So what game do you want to play with Logan?” Patton asks. “We can go look at my collection if you want? I loaned out Backgammon to a girl in my Shakespearean class, but other than that I have the usuals with me.”

Virgil takes a deep breath. “Can we…” He says. “Do it tomorrow? I don’t want…” He squeezes Patton’s wrist again and Patton can fill in the rest of the blanks with his own interpretations. He is, after all, fluent in Virgilese, as much as Virgil is fluent in Pattonish.

“Yeah, yeah,” Patton says and shifts through the piles of clothes that act as cushions so he’s right next to Virgil, pressing their shoulders together, leaning his head on Virgil’s collarbone, and reaching around him for another cookie. Virgil moves the tub between them and then pulls the Trouble game board in front of that.

He hesitates for another moment-- they’re missing two of Patton’s blue pieces to the floor, and one of Virgil’s purples to a pile of sweatshirts-- but the fact that Virgil drops forward and presses the bubble to roll the die makes Patton’s chest warm.

He gets a six, and then a four and that thing in his eyes seems to grow just a bit stronger.

That is, of course, when the rap music from next door starts up loud enough to shake the entire room and Patton wonders if Logan would still be up for playing a game with Virgil when he’s incarcerated for second degree murder.

Patton, at least, gets a hug out of it, when he tackles Virgil to the ground before he can get to the door, and he manages to coax Virgil back to their area, back to the floor, back to the game, and then later into the blanket-fort-and-movie-night that they watch with one earbud each and their foreheads pressed together late into the night.

***

Patton’s mother developed lung cancer when he was seven. He remembers it in vague flashes: the blood, the shakiness, her fall to the floor because they had never had any sign of it happening until it was too late to do much about it. He was told it was because his maternal grandparents both smoked a lot when she was growing up and she spent the weekends helping them around the house still.

The doctors said she had a year. She got eighteen months.

He barely remembers her face from his own memories anymore, all of them blurred and twisted by the passage of time that he almost got swept away in entirely. Her picture still hangs around the house, though, and he guesses he’s lucky in that regard. He liked how he could see her every time he passed by the stairs, even after his dad remarried and he had grown up and the telemarketers stopped calling the house to tell her that there was an interesting charge on the credit card she didn’t have anymore.

He still wakes up sometimes with his heart beating in his ears and his eyes blinded with tears and his lungs refusing to cooperate because of nightmares about forgetting her entirely, of seeing her stand up to call out to his dad, of seeing her cough out blood and then fall to the floor right in front of him as his dad is running down the stairs. He still wakes up and feels his heart aching where she might have once been if everything had gone just a little bit different. He still wakes up and wishes that he could go back to sleep because at least in his dreams she’s still there waiting with a deck of cards and a smile that says, “Alright, Buster, don’t think I’m going to go easy on you this time!”  

Usually those types of days he labels as “Bad Ones”, and he finds it harder to crawl from under his blankets to do pretty much anything.

Virgil knows immediately when he sees Patton staring at his black laptop screen that it’s a Bad One.

Patton loves that he knows not to ask, hates that Virgil can read him so easily, wants to cry because it’s been so long and shouldn’t the edges of that pain have gone away by now? He wants to pull Virgil’s purple comforter back over them and drift back off into the blissful warmth while pretending that the idea of a game right now didn’t make his hands shake.

She hadn’t left Patton specifically a lot of things, but the things that she had left him had been boardgames. Things that she had collected over the years and kept on a shelf in the study for them to play after work and school: Candyland, Trouble, Snakes and Ladders. She had a whole shelf for him when he got to an age where he could understand more complex concepts: Ticket to Ride, Pandemic, Mysterium, Star Realms, Settlers of Catan.

After she was gone… Patton had stared at that shelf and wondered if she had ever thought that maybe she wouldn’t get a chance to play some of them with him.

He wonders how many of them he could have beat her at, how many of them she might let him win in, how many of them they would love to play together and how many of them they would both play through once and then wrinkle their noses at because it wasn’t what they thought it was going to be.

He wonders and maybe it’s a bit too much because he’s stomach is rolling nauseously and he thinks that if he has to look at a game he’ll actually throw up this time.

Virgil doesn’t say anything, even as he gets up and Patton remains buried under too many blankets and the alarm on his phone goes off again for his morning class. The darkness is safe and warm and Patton thinks he understands why Virgil likes it so much as he closes his eyes and tries not to think of a woman who is long gone and in the ground.

“Breakfast?” Virgil whispers at some point.

“Cookies,” Patton mumbles back.

Virgil had carted a hand through his curls and then the door to the room had opened closed and locked behind him. Patton thinks that was nice of him-- to lock the door like he was protecting anyone from coming in and stealing his valuables even though Patton was there. Or maybe since Patton was there? Patton presses his head into a pillow that smells vaguely like chocolate cherries and black licorice and other things that screamed Virgil, and thinks that Virgil might consider Patton a valuable that needs to be protected and kept safe.

Sometime later Patton wakes up with Virgil lying beside him, headphones on and typing on his computer with one hand while dragging fingers through Patton’s curls with the other. It’s impressive of him by itself, but not nearly as impressive as the fact that Virgil’s hood is down and the blackout curtains are parted enough to bring in a decent amount of light.

Virgil blinks at him and removes one earmuff. “I read that flowers need sunlight to grow,” he says in lieu of explaining the rays of light cascading into the room over the two of them.

Patton wants to laugh, and thinks he might if it were any other day and not this one. He settles for a somewhat bent smile and Virgil reaches to somewhere he can’t see and brings back a muffin from the Campus Cafe.

“Chocolate Chip,” he says. “Which is like a cookie, but better because it’s a muffin and I said so.”

Patton can’t really tell if the tears that prick in his eyes are from the lingering sadness or the softness of just a simple gesture from his best friend. Maybe it’s both. Maybe it’s neither.

It’s a muffin, not something he should be crying over, and he repeats it even as he takes a bite from the top and Virgil pretends like he doesn’t see Patton scrubbing his cheeks as he chews. It’s a muffin, but Virgil got it just for him and Virgil came right back here and sat with him so he wouldn’t wake up alone and sad and and and--

And if Patton liked anyone romantically like that(™) he thinks he would have fallen straight into love with Virgil.

“Did you miss class?” Patton whispers.

Virgil shrugs. “Nothing important. I sent an email to my teachers saying that I wasn’t feeling too good and didn’t want to risk accidentally spreading anything to anyone, which already helps because I didn’t go to class yesterday and I’ve already turned in all my work for the week for most of my classes. Besides, you were here and I didn’t want to just leave you all alone-- what if Roman started playing his Disney compilations at 160 decibels again?”

“You like Disney, though.”

“I also like my hearing and my best friend,” Virgil says like it’s nothing, like it’s obvious, like it shouldn’t be making Patton tear up again because Virgil is just so nice.

“I’m sorry,” Patton whispers.

Virgil moves his computer and jostles around on the bed until they’re lying side-by-side even though the bed was definitely not made for two persons. He presses his head to Patton’s, and he’s cool and soft and safe.

Together. We got this.

“Your mom?” He asks.

Patton nods, with a lump in his throat that makes all the words he wants to say crumble to ashes on his tongue. “Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize, Pat,” Virgil says.

“But… Logan…”

“He’s not going anywhere,” Virgil says. “And, full offense, but no boy is going to be more important to me than you regardless of how fuuuuuuunkily hot he is. Funkily, yeah, sure, that’s a word that I definitely was going to say right there.”

Patton feels the laugh build up in his chest, against all the odds in the world, and it tastes like chocolate when it rolls out of his mouth.

Virgil bumps his shoulder, and grins. “Look, I’m trying here. Cursing is in my nature!”

“Thank you,” Patton says. For everything.

“No prob, Bob,” Virgil says. I would do it all all over again and never change a thing.

“I’m not Bob! I’m Pat!”

Virgil’s laugh is like the sun breaking through the clouds after a rainstorm, like a rainbow cascading through the sky, like being caught after a fall. Patton gets the energy to smile back when he hears it and that alone nearly makes him want to cry again.

Patton twists the blanket under him between his fingers and takes a deep breath. “Did you…” He says before pausing to swallow back the taste of his own stomach acids he’s not sure is entirely imaginary. “Did you pick a game? For Logan?”

Virgil’s nose twitches, which means the answer is a sound no. “It’s not that important right now. You’re not feeling up to--”

“ Vir -gil,” Patton says and Virgil’s nose twitches again.

They share a look for another minute, two, three, before Virgil exhales and looks away.

“Fine, fine,” he says. “I didn’t pick out a game yet. I actually saw him in the Cafe earlier with Janus and he waved, though, which was awesome until I waved back and forgot to look where I was going and walked straight into a glass door. At this point it’s going to be a miracle if Logan doesn’t laugh in my face when I ask him to play anything with me.”

“He won’t laugh at you,” Patton says and Virgil slides his arms up and crosses them so he can bury his chin in them like he doesn’t believe Patton at all. “From what you’ve told me, Logan is really nice isn’t he? And the other day didn’t you say that he went on a rant about Pluto being a planet? I think that’s just as silly as you walking into a door.”

Virgil hums to show he’s listening, even if he isn’t taking the words to heart as much as letting them filter through his ears. Patton licks the last of the chocolate muffin from his fingertips and blinks away the urge to hide away from the rest of the world when he spies the box for Trouble on the ground next to Virgil’s desk trash can.

Virgil follows his gaze to the box and he purses his lips, although Patton isn’t sure if its from the fact that he’s remembering that neither of them won last night, or if he’s thinking about odds of beating Logan again or if he, too, is thinking about ghostly fingers trying so hard to move playing pieces that they can no longer touch.

Patton rolls over and stares at Virgil’s ceiling instead, counting his breaths until he feels like the static between his ears isn’t going to overwhelm him.

“What game do you want to play?” Patton asks.

“I won’t win.”

“I didn’t ask what game you wanted to win,” Patton points out. “What game do you want to play against Logan?”

Virgil is quiet, but he sighs so heavily that Patton can see his bangs flutter out of the corner of his eyes.

“This is going to sound stupid,” Virgil says, and again Patton remembers that nothing Virgil ever says has ever once been stupid. “But I don’t want to play against him at all.”

Patton frowns, rolling his head to the side to take in Virgil’s gaze that is already looking at him. His dark eyes are there and the something in them that Patton doesn’t want to put a name to is there again, shining just like the rays of light between Virgil’s blinds.

“I mean I want to play a game with Logan, just not against Logan. It’s stupid, okay? I was just thinking about the cooperative games back at your house that we used to play with your dad and step mom-- you know like the Unlock , Escape-room-in-a-box games? Or maybe Flashpoint? Or Forbidden Island? I was just thinking how shit I am at making my own decisions in Pandemic and Logan is really good at strategy so I bet that working together we’d be able to beat any game.”

Patton breathes deeply, sharply, and tries to ignore the piercing pain in his chest at the mention of the games. Virgil winces like he wants to take the words right back out of the air and hide them somewhere where neither of them have to face them at all.

“I don’t…” Virgil says, “I don’t want to play against him and lose. I’d rather play with him and win. Again: it’s stupid.”

Patton closes his eyes, and sees the shelf his mom left him full of boardgames she picked out long before he was past chewing on building blocks, of him at eleven years old finally getting the courage to drag a kitchen chair to the case and pick out a game while Virgil stood by to make sure he didn’t fall and to remind him that it was okay if he didn’t didn’t feel strong enough to try, of the two of them sitting at the kitchen table with the game directions between them that don’t really make any sense because it there’s no directions on how to attack each other when his dad comes home early and freezes at the sight

He might not remember his mother’s face outside of photographs he doesn’t remember being taken, but he remembers clearly the softness of his father’s expression when he dropped into the seat next to them and asked if they knew how to play this one yet.

“It’s a cooperative game,” his dad said, with a voice shaking and eyes wet. “That means we all work together to get to the goal at the end. Each player is going to have a different superpower-ability-thing that they can do that will make it easier for us to win as a team.”

So no, Patton doesn’t think that it’s stupid at all. It’s hard to do things by themselves, it’s scary, it’s difficult, it’s frustrating. That’s why when Virgil is texting him that the world is ending because of a boy, Patton will always show up at his dorm with soup and cookies and a game for them to play together instead of telling him that he’s being dramatic and silly. That’s why when Patton is missing a woman who hasn’t been in his life for twelve years now, Virgil will always stay with him to remind him that he’s going to get through it, instead of telling him to suck it up.

It’s much easier to win when they’re on the same side.

And Virgil has only ever had fun when playing games that he wins, hasn’t he?

“Why don’t you?” Patton asks suddenly.

Virgil must have nodded off because he jerks suddenly when Patton speaks up, “huh?”

“Why don’t you play a cooperative game?” Patton asks. “What did Logan say specifically about the whole dating thing?”

Virgil rubs an eye and squints at him tiredly. “I told you, he said he would only date someone who beats him at a game. I don’t--”

“Did he say beats him, or beats the game with him?”

“Neither?” Virgil says. “He literally said to Janus very loudly, “I will only consider someone a viable romantic partner if they can win in a game with me.””

“In a game with me,” Patton repeats. “ In a game with me. Not in a game against me!”

It takes Virgil a long, breathless moment to comprehend it, but it’s clear the moment it hits him. Virgil jerks so hard that he tumbles off the bed entirely and to the ground in a fumbling of long limbs, blankets, dubiously cleaned clothes, and his computer-headphones combo. Patton yelps and leans over to check on him but Virgil doesn’t even look like he noticed.

“Holy Shit,” He says, “holy shit, Pat.”

“Language.”

“ HOLY SHIT!” Virgil yells, and then he laughs and covers his mouth like he’s trying to bottle up the sound. “Patton! Patton! He didn’t say against!”

Virgil’s eyes sparkle, the light through the window makes his dark hair shine and just looking at him Patton thinks he’s never once seen him so happy before, so delighted, so excited.

So full of hope.

The next thing he knows is that he’s sitting up and Virgil is wrapped around him in a hug so tight, so soft, so cool and wonderful that those pesky tears come right back to his eyes. Virgil hugs like he’s unafraid of anything for just this endless moment, like he’s never been unsure of physical touch before, like he’s done it a million times before and Patton shouldn’t feel his breath catch in his lungs lest he shatter this dream with an exhale.

He’s standing at the eye of the storm that is Virgil, and he’s never felt so safe before in his life.

“Thank you,” Virgil whispers, “I, uh, I’m sorry for the sudden hug--”

And then, of course, Remus’s music comes back with a vengeance that rattles the ceiling tiles overhead and makes Virgil hiss and break the hug. Patton thinks that he could forgive it, if it weren’t for the unmistakable sound Disney’s Mulan soundtrack also ringing in the air, like it was trying to be heard over the rap music. Dust sprinkles from the tiles overhead.

“I’m going to kill them both,” Virgil vows, but Patton is quicker. He lunges forward before he even knows what he’s doing and coils around Virgil as tightly as he can, and just hugs him, his best friend, the guy who’s always been there for him, and who deserved all the happiness that he could get.

“Pat?” Virgil says.

“If Logan doesn’t treat you right I’m going to make sure no one finds his body,” Patton says.

And Virgil’s laughter makes it sound like he doesn’t quite believe Patton, but that’s okay. Virgil is still looking for reasons to play a game if not to win, and Patton is still trying to find a game that makes him smile, and together they’re going to figure out how to get Virgil to win with Logan.

But for now the hug is good, and the company is nice, and they have the game Trouble packed away ready for the next time they want to play.

[hermannsthumb]

From horny twitter: Hermann writes a very very detailed review of a vibrator online

not sfw below cut!!!!!!!!!!! 

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

Now, usually, Newt doesn’t mess around when he’s on the clock, because that’d be very unprofessional of him and that’s totally not who he is, but he’s in a little bit of a rut with his current project and could use the distraction. Online shopping is his favorite go-to distraction these days: he can lose himself in size charts and color options and hunts for coupon codes and forget, even for a few minutes, that the end of the world is accelerating towards them at an intimidating rate. Plus, he can write off half his shit as work-related expenses. Win-win. Though maybe not this particular search.

Newt has a pretty reliable arsenal of sex toys he’s used on rotation since he packed up and shipped across the world for the PPDC, but the ten-year warranty vibe he’s used since PhD #3 (and his favorite of the bunch) finally crapped out on him last week after a historically intense fight with Hermann got him historically wound up. Eleven years ain’t bad. After testing out a different charger, poking around in the wiring, and even going so far as to zap it a few times with some sorta-stolen drift tech to see if it stirred any life back into it, he finally decided it was time to just mourn, move on, and buy a new one. (Even if, unfortunately, his particular favorite model was discontinued when the company’s factory was destroyed in a kaiju attack and they never quite managed to recover. More casualties of the war.)

The sex toy market is truthfully booming during the apocalypse. It makes sense, Newt guesses—anything for a distraction. Personally, for Newt, orgasms tend to dampen his own existential dread, even if it’s just for a few minutes. He scrolls idly through a few Top Ten For 2023 listicles on various sex magazine websites to see if anything jumps out at him (some of the recommended toys are dildos he already has, and vibes that are a little beyond his k-sci paycheck), just hoping for something to jump out at him. Apparently he missed out on a limited-edition run of jaeger and kaiju-themed vibes and dildos that came out in early January, which he’s honestly a little pissed about—he’s the top expert on kaiju biology, god damn it! Didn’t anyone want to consult with him about their hypothetical junk? Accuracy matters.

“It’s all off,” Newt mutters grumpily as he examines a 360 view of one of the kaiju dildos. Trespasser. “It’s not even the right color. Fucking amateurs. Did they even try?”

“What are you doing?” Hermann says.

Newt slams his laptop shut. Hermann decided to cut his lunch break short today, apparently. “Shopping,” he says.

“You sounded awfully angry about something, is all,” Hermann says. He clacks over to his half of the lab and shrugs off his big parka, then pauses. “Do you need to...talk about it?”

“No,” Newt says.

Hermann breathes out in obvious relief. “Good,” he says.

He takes his usual spot at his chalkboard and resumes his calculating. Newt re-opens his laptop and scrolls away from Trespasser before he can make himself angry over anatomical inaccuracies again. The jaeger vibes from the collection are pretty cool, actually; the designs are a lot cleaner, and their artistic license is a lot more forgivable. The highest-rated of the set is one obviously (but not enough to invoke copyright infringement, if that can even exist for a jaeger) modeled off of Coyote Tango, with like, a million different settings, and an astronomical cost to match. Newt eyes it enviously. He could be shoving that up his ass right now if he’d just signed up for a stupid email list last year.

He follows the link to Amazon to read through some of the reviews enviously, too. Life-changing; best money ever spent; warranty lasts a lifetime. Ten stars across the board. Sold out, obviously. No idea when it’ll be back in stock. He could get the Striker Eureka model for twice the original cost as when it came out, if he wanted, but the idea of constantly having to associate the twenty-something punk Hansen kid with his intimate affairs makes him shudder.

A nine-star review for the Coyote Tango model from someone named MathLover69 is the only one to make Newt really pause, on account of how absolutely insane it is.

I saved quite a few paychecks to purchase this vibrator, and though the cost is steep, I must say it is absolutely worth it. As opposed to my normal vibrator (here another vibe is linked, and Newt’s eyebrows jump at that price, too), which has only five settings, an admittedly bulky body, and average battery life, the CT2023 has a generous ten, a sleeker design, and charges fully in a matter of minutes. The orgasms I have experienced while using it are higher in quality (and more numerous) than any resulting previously from masturbation, though I have not tried beyond setting six yet. It also works wonders for stress relief. (I have an incredibly irritating colleague, and nothing calms me down so much as a quick round with the CT2023 after a spat with him.)

The body is versatile enough to be either inserted into one’s—

Newt feels heat rise to his cheeks in spite of himself, and he skims the second paragraph of MathLover69’s review to get the gist of it—that there are, uh, plenty of ways to utilize the vibe, that it’s discreet and small enough to wear to work (if you were inclined to do so, as MathLover69 implies he might’ve been) and that when combined with the Yamarashi dildo, the pleasurable experience increased tenfold. Talk about oversharing. Jeez.

My only complaint would be that the design is a poor approximation of the real Coyote Tango, and for that I’ve docked a star. I would recommend this product.

“This guy is a total nut,” Newt says to himself.

“Hm?” Hermann says.

Newt considers the implications of showing Hermann the vibrator listing: Hermann will know he was shopping for sex toys, Hermann will know he was shopping for kaiju and jaeger-themed sex toys, Hermann will know he was shopping for kaiju and jaeger-themed sex toys during working hours a mere ten feet away from him. Embarrassing, but on the other hand, MathLover69’s review is too funny to not share with someone else. “Hey, Hermann,” Newt says, angling his laptop towards Hermann. “Look. Who comments shit like this?”

Hermann descends his ladder carefully and inches up behind Newt’s shoulder, squinting at his laptop screen. He immediately turns bright red. Newt must’ve offended his Victorian sensibilities with the mere suggestion of self-abuse. “Oh,” he says. “Er.”

“Way TMI,” Newt says. “Listen to this line. ‘With the Yamarashi toy inserted into one’s mouth, and the CT2023 inserted up one’s—'”

“Well, how else is one meant to review a masturbatory aid?” Hermann snaps, surprising Newt. He looks oddly flustered. “Details can be—er—helpful. Can’t they?”

“Sure, dude,” Newt snorts. “Except they’re obviously just screwing with people. They literally have a 69 in their username.” He taps at the MathLover69, and doesn’t mention—on behalf of Hermann’s delicate mathematician feelings—that the MathLover part is obviously meant as a joke too.

“Well,” Hermann says. “Perhaps it’s just his—er, their birthdate.”

Newt turns around to stare at Hermann, taking in his red cheeks, his red ears, and the gaze he’s fixed steadily on his shoes. It’s all Newt can do to not to gape at him. “Hermann, you’re kidding,” he says. “Right?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Hermann says.

“You didn’t,” Newt says.

“I,” Hermann stammers. “Well—”

“I didn’t even know you—”

“That I what?” Hermann says.

Newt gives a half-shrug. Hermann doesn’t seem the type to engage in any sort of vice, let alone this kind. And especially not with the type of sex toys he apparently gravitates towards. (If Newt was a little bolder, and had a little less shame and care for hygiene, he might ask to check out the Yamarashi, because anatomical inaccuracies aside, wow that sounds awesome.) “I mean, you know,” Newt says. “You’re kinda you. No offense.”

Hermann takes offense. “I am human,” he says. “I am allowed to masturbate, Newton, and I was merely attempting to educate other customers about the—product—with my thoroughness.” He adds, awkwardly, “My review was voted very helpful, as you can see.”

“Okay,” Newt says with a grin. “I get it. Sorry.”

Hermann marches back over to his side of the lab with a scowl. Newt waits until he’s sure Hermann’s not watching him, and is too distracted by muttering angrily under his breath, to bookmark MathLover69’s page of reviews.

It turns out (as Newt revisits the page later that night, in the privacy of his bunk) Hermann buys and reviews a truly staggering amount of dildos and sex toys, and on top of that, has absolutely zero filter behind the wall of anonymity. It’s to the extent that some of his reviews read like goddamn sexts.

It took me three occasions to successfully work myself up to taking in the entire length…

My orgasm was so pleasurable I alarmed my colleague with the noise I made, who believed me to have injured myself…

The highest vibration setting is a bit of a disappointment…

These are excellent for double penetration…

It also turns out Hermann is a veritable sex fiend. Or at least a masturbation fiend. Judging by his reviews alone, Hermann’s purchased more than a dozen different toys in the past three years alone. That’s four a year. One every three months. That’s not even including buttplugs, which (according to other reviews) he sometimes just wears into the lab (“work”) for the hell of it, which Newt isn’t even going to think about right now. How the hell has Hermann kept this much of his life under wraps? When the hell does he have time to jerk off as much as he apparently does? No wonder they never seem to have any fucking funding; all of Hermann’s paychecks are funneled directly into his—well.

Newt recalls the faux-injury incident Hermann mentioned in a comment with mild embarrassment. No wonder Hermann had been so weird and flushed when he opened his door, and made excuses to say bye to him so quickly—Newt just caught him (oh, boy) immediately following the best orgasm of his life. Well, mild embarrassment, and a little more than mild arousal. What Newt would’ve given to have been there five minutes earlier, to watch Hermann in the act of the best orgasm of his life, to maybe even be the one to cause it…

What Newt would give to use Hermann’s fancy-shmancy vibrator on him, or literally anything from his giant masturbatory arsenal. Or even just watch him use it on himself. Hermann’s just so damned buttoned-up and uptight—it’s all about the contradictions. Juxtapositions. Newt unzips his jeans and sticks his hand down his boxers. “Stupid Hermann,” he moans, as he begins to bring himself off to the image of Hermann with that stupid kaiju dildo down his throat and that stupid jaeger vibe up his ass. Negotiator of peace between the two? Stupid joke, stupid Hermann. Or maybe he’s picturing Hermann showing up to the lab, all plugged up and loose from using a different vibe on himself that morning. Or maybe Hermann pushing two dildos into himself at once. How the hell can he even manage that? Ass his size— “Oh, goddamn it,” Newt moans again, and comes all over his hand.

Whatever. It’s not like Hermann’s ever going to find out about this.

[girlwithshipsshitshow]

Part 26

Wednesday, March 18th, 2020 3 days before graduation.

(Misaki stood in the kitchen making coffee, it was early the next morning, Usagi was still sleeping, as for him, he'd been up since five cooking, he was tired he needed Usagi god he needed him, they were both tired of waiting, in just three short days they could have sex again, but it couldn't come fast enough. Misaki, was cooking everything and Usagi had binged every greys season on Netflix, today he was stating Gossip Girl. Usagi walked down the stairs grinning at the younger boy, there was food everywhere, Misaki smiled at him handing the older man a cup of coffee).

Usagi: (Kisses Misaki on the cheek), Thank you, baby, still on your cooking binge huh? (He smirked sitting on the couch, turning the TV on).

Misaki: (He gave Usagi a harsh look while wrapping the food up), If I don't all I will think about is sex.

Usagi: What's wrong with that?

Misaki: Shut up, I know you've been thinking about it too.

Usagi: I know, but still.

Misaki: (He groans putting the rest of the food away except for what he was planning on having to eat today, then walked over to Usagi, leaning down behind him, he whispered into his ear), Hey, you know what would be really sexy?

Usagi: mmmhmmm, What's that? (He took Misaki's hand, kissing it).

Misaki: If you did the dishes.

Usagi: okay.

Misaki: Wait, really?

Usagi: Yeah, but only if you let me rub your chest.

Misaki: How does that help you?

Usagi: I love the feel of your chest.

Misaki: But doing the dis-

Usagi: It helps both of us, and rubbing your chest helps both of us.

Misaki: If I get hard, there's nothing you can do about it.

Usagi: (Smirks, leans back looking at the younger boy), I know, but I don't like the tension between us. We gotta do something. I'll do the dishes. (Stands, kiss Misaki's head)

Misaki: Okay, well thanks.

Usagi: You're welcome, (walks into Kitchen), Um question? how do you get the soap off?

Misaki: Shut up! (He giggles throwing a rag at him).

Usagi: (Catches it, sticking his tongue out), I know what I'm doing.

NSFW

Usagi: Okay, I'm done,

Misaki: (Smirks from the couch, motioning to at the older man to come towards him).

Usagi: (He smiled walking towards the younger boy, leaning down he wrapped his arms Misaki kissing him hard, he reached under Misaki's shirt feeling his bare chest, working his way up to his nipples, they were hard. Misaki was moaning his mouth).

Misaki: (He pulled away breathing hard), Usagi, I- Ah, (The older man continued playing with his nipples, he knew he was going to explode). Usagi!, he leaned back against the couch, pulling Usagi against him. Stop, It's too much, it's been too long.

Usagi: (He pulled back falling against Misaki), I'm sorry, I got carried away.

Misaki: It's okay. (He smirked, he could tell Usagi had gotten hard), You're hard.

Usagi: (Chuckles), So are you.

Misaki: Um, if we just rub against each other, with clothes on I guess that would be okay.

Usagi: Right, yeah that makes sense.

Misaki: But, I want to sit on your lap, so move. (He pushed Usagi off him who smirked, sitting up, the younger boy sat on his lap facing him, he trusted against him causing friction, he felt his body warming up, then let go all at once, moaning loudly he fell against Usagi satisfied).

Usagi: Well, I'm glad you came so fast, but I can't.

Misaki: What?

Usagi: I'm having trouble.

Misaki: Really?

Usagi: I was close, and you stopped.

Misaki: What do you want me to do?

Usagi: Keep going.

Misaki: Okay.

(Misaki sat up, he wrapped his arms around the older man, trusting against him as hard as he could, both of them moaning loudly, Usagi ground, he wrapped his arms around Misaki's waist holding him tightly, throwing his head back he finally let go).

Usagi: Fuck Misaki, (He smiled Kissing the boy). I love you.

Misaki: I love you too, (He looked down into the violet eyes of his fiance, god he loved everything about this man), I miss you. (He whispered softly, pressing his nose against Usagi's).

Usagi: (Running his hands through Misaki's hair), What do you mean, I'm right here.

Misaki: No, I mean I miss you.

Usagi: (his eyes widened, understanding what he's talking about). Oh, I miss you too, but that was fun.

Misaki: I want you inside me Usagi.

Usagi: It's only a few more days baby, for now, we can kiss,

Misaki: I love kissing you too.

(He smiled pushing Usagi's head against the couch, exploring his mouth like it was new territory, both moaning hard. all they wanted was to be with each other again, but this was something they loved doing, kissing for hours on end was something they could do forever).

FRIDAY MARCH 20TH, 2020, ONE DAY UNTIL GRADUATION.

(Misaki leaned against the brick wall on the balcony early Friday morning, he'd already made coffee and eggs for Usagi when he was up and ready for it. The younger boy smiled to himself, tomorrow he would graduate and he would go on vacation for three weeks with the love of his life to celebrate, they wouldn't have to think about anything except being with each other, it was a good feeling).

Usagi: (Smiling at the younger boy, he snuck out on the balcony, wrapping his arms around him, Misaki jumped slightly, sighing in relief once Usagi's arms wrapped tighter around his body). You okay? you seem kinda jumpy this morning?

Misaki: That's cute, maybe you'll learn a lesson about sneaking up on people.

Usagi: (Shrugging, he kissed Misaki's neck). Did you sleep well?

Misaki: I always do when I'm wrapped in your arms.

Usagi: That's sweet. So, do you want to know where I'm taking you for your graduation trip?

Misaki: Yeah! (His eyes lit up).

Usagi: Okay, come here. (he pulled Misaki into the living room where his computer was sitting, pulling him on the couch beside him he pulled up a website for a hotel called Good Morning Zaimokuza). what do you think?

Misaki: Looks amazing. You got the loft room right?

Usagi: Yeah, we had to have the ocean view, the only downside is we have to share showers, but when I called they said no one was booked while we were there.

Misaki: For the whole three weeks? What did you do, rent out the whole place?

Usagi: They also have a really nice bar, let me see if I can find it...

Misaki: You rented out the whole place.

Usagi: I don't want to share showers with other people.

Misaki: Usagi!

Usagi: I invited Eri, She can have the other room, at least we'll know who we're sharing a shower with.

Misaki: She won't want to be away from Rose that long.

Usagi: They can only come the last week anyway.

Misaki: You're nuts.

Usagi: Nuts for you baby.

Misaki: (Rolls his eyes), What else are we going to do? got any other plans?

Usagi: I do, I have a lot of ideas written down...

Misaki: There's a but coming.

Usagi: One that I wrote down might be kind of lame, so don't make fun of me.

Misaki: What is it?

Usagi: The Musume of lit.

Misaki: That's so cute.

Usagi: You think?

Misaki: I want to do whatever you want, this trip isn't just about me graduating, this is about us. (He looked at Usagi grinning, placing a hand on his thigh), I'm fine doing whatever, as long as it's with you, you know that.

Usagi: (Smiling, he kisses Misaki on the cheek), I know, I love you.

Misaki: I love you.

Usagi: Okay, I have more ideas...

Misaki: Are you sure we have enough packed? (He huffed sitting the last of his bags by the front door).

Usagi: (Laughs), You alone have three bags.

Misaki: This is all of our stuff, (he pointed to the bags), We have a bag for comfy clothes, nice clothes, and then extras.

Usagi: (Walking over to the younger boy, he leans against the door leading to the mudroom), and extras are?

Misaki: You know, just whatever we need, laptop, chargers, notebooks...

Usagi: (Raising an eyebrow), Notebooks?

Misaki: Insterpation could strike. (He took Usagi's hands), I know it's a fun trip, but what if you get ideas for books? You never know. (He pulled a camera out of the side pocket of the third bag), I'm also bringing my camera, you know in case...

Usagi: Interpretation strikes, got it. (He lifted the younger boys chin, looking in his emerald eyes), I appreciate you thinking of me, (Gentrly places a kiss on his soft pink lips), Thank you Misaki.

Misaki: You're welcome. Wanna go grab cheap burgers for dinner?

Usagi: (Laughs), That sounds perfect.

Saturday, March 21, 2020, Midnight, fourteen hours until graduation

(Misaki and Usagi laid together naked, their bodies laced together, Usaki caressing Misaki's face, they talked in a whisper, something about it being this late at night made them want to talk softly).

Usagi: Are you nervous?

Misaki: About what?

Usagi: Heh, you graduated in less than fourteen hours.

Misaki: Why should I be nervous they call my name, I walk up there, and get my diploma. I just have to sit through a bunch of lame speeches... (Misaki laughed looking at Usagi's face then reached up pushing his hair back), Oh, but I'm sure yours will be great Babe.

Usagi: Thanks, (his tone was sarcastic), anyway, my speech is last so if you fall asleep on everyone else's I won't care.

Misaki: Oh, is your speech going to be like in Fifty shades? You're up there handing out the diplomas?

Usagi: I can't believe you watched the movies.

Misaki: Excuse me! we went to see all three together! And, you have all the books.

Usagi: Hey, it's a romantic story!

Misaki: That's what people say about your BLs.

Usagi: Those are about us! (He glanced away), Okay, most of them, over half. I said in the books with you Akihiko found a new lover.

Misaki: I know, don't explain it, I don't want to think about fake you and my fake brother, (he shivers), It's weird.

Usagi: (Wrapping his arms around Misaki's neck, pulling him closer), You're my one and only, you know that right?

Misaki: I know. Anyway, you know what else we have to do tomorrow?

Usagi: We don't have to.

Misaki: I think we should before we go on the trip, but I think Isaka and Eri should be there when we do.

Usagi: Well, (He cleared his throat), Okay, I know we're having lunch after the ceremony, that should take an hour, then we can come back here, and tell the world that you're the person I've been in love with for four years.

Misaki: In April, it's going to be five.

Usagi: I can't believe it, we've been through a lot huh?

Misaki: Yeah, you know, I've gotten so use to my ring, sometimes I forget I'm wearing it. I-I don't forget I'm en-

Usagi: You don't have to explain, I know what you mean. Sometimes when the light hits it right, I get giddy knowing I'm getting to marry you.

Misaki: I take it off when I do the dishes, I'm scared I'm going to lose it down the drain.

Usagi: (Worried look), Is it to lose?

Misaki: No, I just don't want to take any chances.

Usagi: Don't take it off.

Misaki: Usagi.

Usagi: Please, don't take it off, ever... I know you're scared you might lose it, but please always keep it one.

Misaki: Okay Usagi. I'll keep it on.

Usagi: Thank you.

Misaki:( Wraps his body tighter around the older man), Usagi?

Usagi: Yeah?

Misaki: Can you write a new series about us?

Usagi: What do you mean?

Misaki: One that's not BL, starting from the beginning, I don't mean the very beginning, but maybe when I moved in with you, or I don't know write a series about a kid who needs a tutor and ends up finding the man he's going to spend the rest of his life with.

Usagi: You don't want the fake us in the BL to get engaged?

Misaki: I do, but people won't know it's us.

Usagi: I let it slip.

Misaki: I don't know how many people realized, if they did, it would be a bigger deal.

Usagi: I'm going to tell people it's me.

Misaki: I don't want my brother to know you know you felt that way about him.

Usagi: He won't.

Misaki: He will, what are you going to say to him if he reads those?

Usagi: That Eri thought it would be funny, and I couldn't think of any other name, and the first name to pop into my head was his because he and I were close at the time, but then when you and I met I changed the name because I wanted to use the person I was dating and in love with, and how I didn't think it would be fair to use someone else's name even if it's a fake series.

Misaki: You got it all planned out then huh?

Usagi: I do, but chances are he won't read books like that.

Misaki: How do you know.

Usagi: (Scuffs), Don't you think he already knows my Penn name?

Misaki: What?! Then why did you get so worked up the other day in Isaka's office?

Usagi: Because, if I wanted people to know my Penn name it would be on my terms, not his.

Misaki: I freaked out on him, I thought I was protecting you.

Usagi: (Presses forehead to Misaki's), You were just not in the way you thought. Thank you. You're the best assistant ever.

Misaki: Yeah, yeah. I only do it because I love you. I bet Isaka has a list of stuff all ready to go for when we come back.

Usagi: Let him, we can handle it.

Misaki: He wants to do a book tour, four two months, I don't think that counts as a tour.

Usagi: Depends where it is.

Misaki: Oh, this is where I would come in, think of where you want to go, this could be fun!

Usagi: (Chuckles), one thing at a time, first, let's get you graduated.

Misaki: Fine.

(Misaki tucked his under Usaki's neck, the older man reached for the cover, pulling it tight around them, they fell into an easy sleep, with the blanket, their body heat, and scents it was always easy for them to fall asleep like this).

[oureuphoria]

Worst of You - JJK 10

You meet him under horrible circumstances but everything feels perfect when you’re with him. Too bad you have a bitch of a best friend, anxiety and an inability to learn from your mistakes which cripples your chances to be with the man of your literal dreams. He, however, is a police officer with years worth of built-up turmoil and an inability to make attachments. Or “I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s wrong.” “Cool, I’ll let everyone know you’re moving in then.”

Genre: fluff, angst, comedy

Pairing: officer!jungkook X  collegestudent!reader

Word count: 3,477

Warnings: None I think. 

Note: P.S. thing’s start to go downhill from here. 

| 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 |

When you woke up, you expected to see Jungkook’s side of the bed completely empty but instead, he was right there sleeping peacefully, at 9am. “Jungkook! Wake up, you’re late to work!” You shook him lightly, your voice was still pretty quiet. He tiredly turned to face you before letting out a hoarse, “what?” You pointed at the clock, he took one look at it and went back to sleep. “Jungkook, what about your job? Are you sick?” He turned to face you once again, more awake now. “On Tuesday I got promoted to Corporal, I have Saturdays off now.” “Oh.” You were about to go back to sleep, but then you jumped up quickly and Jungkook winced at the storm that was yet to come. “Wait! Why didn’t you tell me, that’s so amazing! I knew you could do it!” Jungkook pulled the blanket over his head to block out your loud excitement and you got the hint. “Whoops, I’m sorry. I’ll let you sleep now.” You smiled to yourself as you quietly left the bed.

All the sleepiness was knocked out of you so you decided to take a shower, but you were genuinely uncomfortable with the idea of going to the communal bathrooms on a Saturday morning. They were generally filled with puke and hungover college students. You recalled Jungkook telling you a while back that you could use his guest bathroom whenever you wanted and thought you would have to use children’s shampoo because he always kept it there in case his niece and nephew had to stay for a while.

You were still in the bathroom when Jungkook woke up. You were in the middle of harshly judging your skin when you heard Jungkook’s voice just outside your door. “Mom, I told you I don’t want to. No, I don’t have a girlfriend, I’m just not interested.” That sentence alone got rid of all your rationality and soon you had your ear pressed up against the door to hear better. “You know what, fine, I’ll meet her tonight. Are you happy now?” You couldn’t hear what was said on the other line so you had no real way of telling what was really going on or who he was meeting which just made you extremely anxious.

“Hey, Y/N. I’m going out tonight to meet an old friend.” You heard him yell from his room before he came out in slacks and a dress shirt, looking very handsome. You were on the couch, reading a book you bought the other day with Jimin. “Help me with my tie, your small hands make better knots.” You rolled your eyes at the underlying insult but you helped him anyway. You couldn’t help but feel a little angry about having to hear him lie to his mother about you. “Ow! Y/N, too tight.” You didn’t mean to smile but you did and he looked at you suspiciously. “My bad.” He took one look at his reflection in the mirror he has in the living room and angrily took the tie off. “It’s too much.” Then he unbuttoned the first few buttons, his toned chest peaking out. “You seem to be trying awfully hard to impress this ‘old friend’” Jungkook leaned down to face you, pinching your cheeks tightly. “She’s just a friend.” He gave you a quick kiss before he grabbed his things and was out the door.

You went back to reading the book you had just started to read but it was growing harder to concentrate the later it got, and once he was finally back, it was 11pm. You were already asleep on the couch, the book on your lap as your neck hung to the side. Jungkook winced at the uncomfortable position and hoped you weren’t asleep that way for long. “Y/N, wake up. Come on, let’s get you to bed.” You sleepily got up, rubbing your eyes to help you see better. You unlocked your phone to check the time and saw it was 11:17. You couldn’t help but wonder what took him so long considering he left at 7 but before you could address it, the warm confines of the bed pulled you into a gentle sleep.

The next day things were extremely tense. If you didn’t initiate conversations it would often go quiet for a really long time. Jungkook was either on his laptop, on his phone or playing a video game. The cycle got a little tedious around 1pm. “Jungkook, I’m bored.” He didn’t look up from his phone, smiling as he messaged someone. “Hello? Earth to Jungkook?” He once again kept his eyes trained on his screen though this time he found the energy to formulate a reply. “I heard you the first time. I don’t know, go out or something.” You frowned, his days off were the only days you could genuinely spend time with him and yet it felt as if he didn’t want to. You weren’t going to beg for his attention, you knew it would just make him mad.

You decided to go shopping, you wanted new clothes and you were in desperate need of a new laptop charger, you were sick of getting electrocuted every time you tried to charge the damn thing. It was a warm day, significantly warmer than any other this crisp winter, you were nearing the end of February so it was natural for the weather to get warmer. “Isn’t it too cold to wear a skirt?” You heard him ask behind you as you put on your shoes. “I literally just complained to you about the weather and how it was going to be 97 degrees today. Maybe if you listened to me you’d know this.” You stuck your tongue out at him towards the end of your sentence, it was childish yet you couldn’t help but hope he would take you seriously with your complaints. “Do you want me to drop you off?” You shook your head, giving him a peck on the cheek on your way out. “Y/N take a jacket- and she’s already out the door,” Jungkook mumbled the last part to himself, shaking his head slightly at your forgetfulness, he knew it was going to get colder later and he knew he was in for an earful about how cold you were when you’d get home.

“And then the lady told me that they didn’t have any more in my size and I was so sad. Jungkook are you even listening?” On his phone, once again, even when the man wasn’t at work he always found a way to make you feel like a nuisance. You gave up, it was like talking to a brick wall accept maybe the brick wall would be a better listener than Jungkook. You were already in bed when Jungkook joined you, though you were facing the closet door and sleeping near the edge. “Jungkook I think I’m going to go back to sleeping at my dorm.” He wasn’t expecting you to be awake, the statement catching him off-guard. “Really, why?” Despite him sounding fairly uninterested, you were glad he even responded. “If I don’t sleep there then I’m basically paying rent for a horribly overpriced storage unit.” Jungkook chuckled at your joke, but he didn’t reply, you took it as a sign that he wanted you out too.

“Ew, what’re you doing here?” Ellen was exhaling a cloud of smoke when you walked in. “I live here, stupid. Stop smoking indoors!” You spoke through coughs, blowing the smoke away and opening the windows. You looked up to see the fire alarm was off, you glared at her respectively. She didn’t care about your concerns, in fact, to show you exactly how little she cared, she flipped you off as you went to your room. Ellen was a lot of things, but you didn’t think she was a genuinely bad person, she was probably just lonely and sometimes you felt bad for her, but then she would start pissing you off again and you’d go back to hating her.

Your room was still the same, untouched. You often came here to study but you began slacking off as spring break was nearing. Ellen was blasting loud music again but weirdly turned it down when you asked her to. Maybe she liked having you back, maybe your theory about her being lonely was true after all. Whatever it was, you were grateful for it.

The next day was a Tuesday, also known as the worst day of the week. Not only did you have two consecutive tutor lessons but your classes ran nonstop from 8am-3pm. After your last class ended you walked to the library, exhausted and hungry. Unfortunately, you couldn’t eat or rest because your first tutoring lesson started at 4 and you had a lot of content to organize. A couple of students showed up 20 minutes early but you refused to say a word to them and they joked about how you should become a lawyer since you refuse to give out free advice but you were not in the mood.

3 dreadful hours later you were finally done with both sessions and you laid your head on the desk sleepily. You were tired enough to convince yourself to forget food and go home. Sure, you hadn’t eaten anything all day but sleep seemed more appetizing than food ever could. Naturally, since the universe seemed to hate you before you could even get up Jimin sat right in front of you. “There you are! You will not believe who I just saw at the cafe.” You looked at him distastefully. “Who?” You played along for the sake of getting it over and done with. “Jungkook, with a very pretty girl.” You laughed, assuming it to be Mel. “That’s just his coworker.” He looked at you with worried eyes as he shook his head. “No, I saw his coworkers when we went to the club, she’s different. She’s Asian, tall, long black hair, you don’t know her?” You shook your head, feeling the exhaustion disappear. “How long ago did you see them there?” “20 minutes ago, I would’ve told you earlier but you weren’t picking up your phone.” You recalled putting it on night mode before starting the lessons. You took said phone out to message Jungkook, asking where he was. He finished at 6pm which should’ve been an hour ago.

You

Where are you, Jungkook?

Delivered

You waited for a reply but you can’t say you were patient, you were growing more anxious by the second and thankfully, almost 4 minutes later, Jungkook replied.

Jungkook

Work, I’m going to be late tonight.

Read 7:28

“What a fucking liar!” Jimin exclaimed from beside you once he read the message. He grabbed your hand and pulled you up. “Jimin, where are we going?” He speed-walked out of the building, making his way to the student carpark and very literally pushing you into his car. “Jimin, where are we going?” Once he put his seatbelt on, he turned to you smiling. “Station, we’re busting his ass.” You whined out loudly. “No, I don’t want to cause drama, he was probably with someone important for work.” Jimin didn’t reply, driving you there anyways. He went in with you and you saw Mel, he pushed you towards her and she smiled your way. “Hey Mel, I was just wondering if Jungkook was here?” You asked her politely, a little bashfully to be frank. “No, actually, he left a while ago.” You nodded, smiling though it really didn’t feel genuine, you thanked her and walked back to Jimin, telling him about what she said.

“Do you think he’s cheating on me?” You were on the verge of crying when you left the building, Jimin quickly engulfed you in a bone-crushing hug. “I’m sorry Y/N but after what you told me yesterday and what I saw, I think he is.” You started crying then, you had been cheated on before but you were 15 and you dated the boy for like 3 days. When you were finally in bed, you couldn’t sleep. You felt sick and exhausted but all you could do was dwell over Jungkook. After the phone call you overheard, the night out he had with her on Saturday and lying to you to see her it appeared that he probably was cheating.

When Jungkook left the bathroom, you had just walked out of the doors of the station lobby. By the time he got to Mel, you were gone. “Hey, did I miss anything?” He asked Mel while looking around the station. He was getting ready to leave after finally wrapping up the last of his reports. He had originally finished at 6 but the Chief called him back in because he needed some reports earlier than expected. He didn’t mind though, after finally clearing up with his old friend (the girl his mother tried to set him up with) that he wasn’t interested in a relationship, he felt a huge weight lift off his shoulders. Mel paused for a moment before smiling. “No, you didn’t miss a thing.

_____

You were having dinner with Jungkook, it was a Friday night and you had barely spoken to him all week. When he asked what was wrong you were quick to brush him off, saying you were sick. You weren’t lying, at least not entirely. For the most part, you were ignoring him because of the cheating suspicions which you were still yet to address. “Y/N, we need to talk.” Your heart stopped then and there, you genuinely believed he was breaking up with you at that very moment for someone else. “…Yes?” Your voice was small and you had barely squeaked the word out before you chugged an entire cup of water out of nervousness. “You already know I’m not a fan of this facade you put on when something’s wrong so, how about you drop it and tell me what’s wrong?” He spoke softly, in a tone that was more friendly than menacing, but you couldn’t ask him, it would hurt too much if you were right.

“Um…I think we need a break.” “We don’t need shit.” Jungkook spoke so quickly and surely after with such a casual tone, causing your mouth to let out a default, “oh, ok.” There was a silence that followed before you realized what you had said. “Wait, no, it’s not okay. I think we need a break.” You spoke more sternly this time, trying to get your point across. You believed that if you took a break, you’d be able to soften the blow on yourself when it would inevitably come. Time heals everything or so they say. “And why’s that?” Jungkook was still eating his steak, though with more vigor than he had before. “Well, I just think that we should take some time to figure out what we really want.” “The only reason we’d be taking a break is if you’re not sure you want me because I’m already sure I want you, Y/N,” Jungkook spoke monotonously, showing little signs of anger but you knew they were there. “Well, it doesn’t seem like it.” There it was, a simple mumble, a quick thought that accidentally slipped out of your mouth, the trigger to your first ever real fight. “Why do you feel that way?” Jungkook was staying scarily calm. In the past few months, you’ve only had a small number of petty fights that meant nothing but he’d always get super angry and it was generally really funny. Now, however, it seemed as if this fight was far more serious than the rest and it scared you with how calm he was.

“Well, you just never have time to do anything and it feels like you prioritise everything before me.” Jungkook dropped his knife and fork, took a long sip of wine before replying. “Going into this relationship, did I not warn you about how busy I was?” “That’s not what I-” “Just answer the question Y/N.” You nodded in reply, trying to calm yourself down in case you got mad and said something stupid. “Did I not warn you that I took my job very seriously and often put it before anything else?” You nodded, though his work was far from what you were trying to criticise. “Then tell me why the fuck you’re complaining about it now?” He was still calm, yet very stern and you felt as if you’d start crying before you let any proper reply out. You forced yourself to keep it together though, you could have a reasonable argument, you’re an ‘adult’ after all.

“I wasn’t talking about your job, I mean your days off. It seems you would much rather spend time with your phone or friends than with me and it doesn’t feel very nice.” He nodded, picking up his knife and fork again before stabbing his steak with controlled aggression. “I’ve spent nearly every one of my day’s off with you. Your comment only applies to a couple of weekends and I know you’re not this upset over that so spit it out. What’s really bothering you?” Your mind told you to keep your mouth shut but your heart desperately wanted closure and before you could realize it you had already blurted it out.

“I think you’re cheating on me.” For the first time since the argument had started, Jungkook had dropped all of his eating utensils and was looking at you. “What?” You felt judged under his stare so you diverted your eyes to your plate of food while you poked at the chicken. “It started when I overheard you talking to your mother, you told her you didn’t have a girlfriend and that you were going to meet someone for her, then the night that you do, you’re dressed all fancy and stressing over the way you look, what was I supposed to think?” Jungkook’s face hardened, his hand coming up to massage his now aching head. “You thought I was cheating because of that?” You didn’t like how it felt so trivial under his words, it seemed pretty damn important. “No, there’s more. Jimin came up to me on Tuesday saying you were out with some girl, at first I didn’t think much of it but when I messaged you, you said you were working even though Jimin swore he saw you at the cafe with a girl. Jimin and I went to the station to see if you were there and you weren’t, you lied to me.”

“No, you’re lying right now because I was at the station, I would’ve seen you.” “No! I was there, you can even ask Mel, I asked her where you were and she said you had left a while ago.” Jungkook’s face fell at the mention of Mel, she knew he was there the whole night, you had to be lying. “What time did you go to the station?” You looked at him, confused. You didn’t know why that was relevant but you answered nonetheless. “Right after you replied to me about you being at work.” Jungkook remembers he was in the bathroom at the time, but it didn’t make sense, Mel wouldn’t lie, she had no reason to, she was his best friend for as long as he could remember, there was no way she’d lie to him.

“Y/N, if all you’re going to do is lie then this conversation is over. You clearly don’t want to be with me but you’re insistent on being the good guy so you try to accuse me of cheating? Seriously? That’s it Y/N, I’m done. Are you happy now?” It was at that moment that you noticed a couple of tears had fallen down your face, you shook your head quickly, not trusting your voice but he already left before you could tell him how wrong he was, his steak half-eaten. You wanted to be with him more than anything in the world, but you were both stuck in distorted versions of the same reality, not one knowing the real truth.

Every time you saw him from then, it was always at that stupid cafe. You avoided going there as much as you could but it became hard when it was the only place Jimin and Alex wanted to go. Alex, yes. She came to you 3 days ago with. A heartfelt apology and a lot of buried confessions, you forgave her but you let her know you weren’t sure you could trust her the same way yet. Nonetheless, you and Jungkook were both still not talking to each other and every time you saw him, your heart broke a little more.

[blahblahblaw18]

Painted these four canvases last week, I was feeling a little down last Friday because of my infamous “rut” that seems to have made a comeback, so my mother decided to take me out for a jaunt and we went to Sapna where she bought me these four canvases which cost just 100 bucks, I also got 5 new shades of Acrylics, and as soon as I came back home, I began working on them. I knew even before I got the canvases that I wanted to paint Pablo, Juan, Jorge and Gringo on them ‘cause ever since I began listening to them, I wanted to own some kind of Beatles merch. A few weeks ago, I ordered this tee on Amazon but, again that was something that professed my love for John specifically, not the fab four. I thought of asking my mother to get me a poster or something like that but all of them were too expensive, and that’s why I decided I’d paint them myself, inexpensive, personal and a kind of paean to the ones who’ve got me through some really rough patches last year (which is when I discovered them).

I began with Paul and by the time I was done with his painting, it was already midnight but I didn’t want to pack up and call it a day yet, partly because I’ve always found painting cathartic and that particular night it sure was helping me keep my spirits floating and partly because I had poured a lot of paint onto my palette and I didn’t want to let it go waste by allowing it to sit there on my desk, drying up to the cold, late winter winds (Alliteration!). And thus, I decided to go ahead with John (who is my favorite Beatle btw) but before I could even start sketching his caricature my dad, who is a very light sleeper, was woken up by the sound of me tripping and falling while trying to find my laptop’s charger (I was listening to this podcast by Newslaundry while painting) and he stormed into the room and started bashing me left and right!! He began with his usual refrain of “I’ve told you a thousand times to go to sleep early, it’s not good for your eyes that you go to sleep so late blah blah blah”, which is a legit reason, I know, but what harm will ONE day do?! Anyway, although his scolding might seem reasonable and make him seem so caring and all, that was not his real intention, ‘cause he did not stop there, he went on and on and on about how I had wrecked his life with my, what he thinks is, “rebellious” attitude and even, at one point, began to curse me! Initially I tried to reason out with my own retorts to his “arguments”, then I realized that a fight with my dad might not be the best thing to do in the middle of the night and so I just acted deaf and went on painting until he finally left, frustrated and flustered with my adamancy. So, by 4 in the morning, I was finally done painting McLennon (wink wink nudge nudge) and I decided to (finally) hit the hay after a Hard Day’s Night (pun intended).

The next day I finished up with Ringo and Mr. Handsome Harrison, for these two paintings, I drew the sketches on normal A4 sized sheets and later traced them onto their respective canvases using carbon paper because I had had a real struggle trying to erase those pencil lines from the canvases for the two earlier paintings and even though it was technically a twice bitten third and fourth time shy kinda situation, I had learnt my lesson. 

Once I was done with all four of them, I had big trouble deciding where to put them up. Kitchen cabinet? Conspicuous but doesn’t suit the place; on one of the walls in my room? Maybe, but I was cynical about it not ruining the wall’s plaster, at last I came up with the idea of sticking them onto the rather banal looking bookshelf doors in my room, and so it was! Do tell me if you liked my paintings, if they are even worthy of being called that (’cause I don’t really pride myself as any kind of artist whatsoever, I paint only because I like doing it not because I’m good at it or anything), which one of the four you liked the most (mine was John, because, I feel it actually resembles John a lot) and also, who your favorite Beatle is. Until next time, See ya, ta-ta!

IndiraLakshmi

 18.01.21

:I

[thiswasinevitableid]

70 for sternclay, nsfw please :)

70: you’re planning my best friend’s wedding which we find out the day after you drunkenly hit on me at a bar and I reject you.

“God I hope this guy isn’t a jerk.” Dani plays with her hair as Aubrey fidgets with her phone.

“Hey, if he is, you’ve got me as back-up.” Barclay pats her shoulder reassuringly, “plus, like, you two are the brides. You’re the bosses of the wedding.”

“If we really were the bosses, we wouldn’t be working with a wedding planner in the first place.” Aubrey grumbles. 

There’s a knock on the door and Barclay stands, “I’ll get it, you two finish mentally bracing yourselves.”

He opens the door to find a tall, dark haired man with bright blues and a well-cut suit staring at him. Their expressions morph to shock and recognition at the same instant.

“Hi, hic, big guy, what’s your name?” The man’s blue eyes are noticeable even in the dim light of the bar. 

“Barclay.” He turns on his stool, giving the man a once over that he can’t help but notice. 

“You, hic, here, hic, with anyone?”

“Nope.”

“Want to, hic, be?” 

The man is clearly built under his v-neck t-shirt, and Barclay would dearly love to get a closer look at his ass. Trouble is, his ass is having a hard time staying balanced in that chair. 

“Sorry, blue eyes, not tonight.”

The man slinks away before Barclay can even ask if he wants him to call him a ride. 

“I’m looking for Aubrey Little’s residence?”

“You found it. She and Dani are in here.” He ushers blue-eyes inside, doesn’t envy him the look of suspicion he gets from both women. 

“Good afternoon, Ms. Little and Ms. Coulice, I’m Joseph Stern, and I’m here to help your wedding go off without a hitch.”

“Great. Let’s get this over with. Honey, can you go get the notes AH Dr. Harris Bonkers put that down!” Aubrey dives off the chair, grabbing a phone charger from the jaws of the ten pound white rabbit. 

As one bride opens up her laptop and the other re-cages a disgruntled small mammal, Stern turns to him.

“And, um, how do you know the brides to be?”

“Dani’s been my best friend since middle school, so I’m her man of honor and helping with the wedding planning.”

“I see. Oh, thank you Ms. Coulice.”

“Dani is fine.” Dani returns to her spot in the loveseat while Stern sits down in a nearby chair with her laptop. He reads for several moments without comment, Aubrey trading worried looks wh Barclay and Dani as he does. 

“Are these the specific venues you have in mind, or just examples of the type of location you’d like?”

“Mostly examples.” 

“Got it. Would you mind sending me these files? That way I can have them as reference when I’m looking into possible venues.”

“You’re not gonna, like, try to talk us into the Yacht Club or something?”

Stern looks at Aubrey with a warm, polite smile, “Ms. Little--Aubrey--, your father may have retained me, but my job is to make the wedding as close to what you want as possible. I’m not here to undermine you.”

“O-kay” Aubrey still sounds wary, but she and Dani relax as Stern goes over his planning approach with them and works out a tentative schedule of meetings. When he’s done, Barclay offers to walk him to the door. 

Just as he steps outside, he turns, “I, um, I would appreciate it if you didn’t mention our exchange last night to either of them. Or to Mr. Little. It’s not a habit of mine, I just had a bit too much, um, liquid courage.”

“You got it. Kinda feeling like I dodged a bullet myself.”

“Oh?” A dark eyebrow arches playfully. 

“Rather not sleep with the enemy.”

“Wh-did you miss the part where I said I was here to help them?” 

“Nope, but you and I both know it’s a lie. You’re here because Aubrey’s dad has a bug up his butt about this wedding causing a scandal or not being fancy enough or some bullshit, so he called you in to make sure it stays bland.” He sighs, “Look, Mr. Stern, I’m sure you’re a nice guy, but Dani is like a sister and Aubrey is one of my best friends; I’m here to make sure the wedding is actually what they want.”

Stern pinches the bridge of his nose, “is there anything I can to convince you I’m not trying to make them miserable?”

“Yeah. Quit.”

“Not a chance.” Is the immediate reply. 

“Well, there’s your answer then.” With that, he shuts the door. There’s a frustrated huff on the other side, and then footsteps fading away.

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

Stern sighs, checks his appearance in the front window as he waits for Dani or Aubrey to open the door. He’s been working with them two weeks now, and while both women (and Dr Harris Bonkers) have warmed up to him some, Barclay remains polite but distant the times they’ve crossed paths. Lord almighty Stern can’t believe he almost slept with him. 

Yes, the man looks like his wet dreams made flesh and yes, Stern would like to ride him like a show-horse, but what a nightmare it would have made this whole assignment. Even if Barclay’s reasons insult him, he’s glad they’ve settled on keeping their distance.

Maybe this more casual look will help the other man see he’s not some stuffed suit out to ruin his friend’s wedding.

“Oh, you’re early.” Barclay opens the door with his usual pleasant but cool expression.

“No, I’m not. It’s three.” 

“Wait, shit really?” Barclay pulls out his phone as they walk inside, “damn, I must’ve lost track of time when I was cooking. Oh. Uh.” He looks at Stern, apologetic, “and I have a text from Aubrey saying she and Dani had a change of plans and won’t be here until seven.”

“That’s not great, but it’s workable. I can leave and come back.”

“Don’t you live kinda far--uh, huh, she says for us to just test out the menu together and leave her and Dani some for dinner.”

“I guess we can manage tha--why are there ingredients and pots everywhere?”

“Because...I’m…Cooking?” Barclay glances sideways at him. 

“What happened to the entire conversation about caterers? When did they change? What’s-”

“Hold on.” Barclay raises one hand, voice calm and deep, soothing over Stern’s rising worries like waves over hot skin, “think you’re mixed up; we’re trying out the food for the rehearsal dinner today. The one I’m cooking. Not the reception.”

“Oh thank the lord.” Stern slumps forward on the counter, “I thought I was about to have a whole day of calling disgruntled employees to tell them to nevermind about a quote.”

“Nope. Now have a seat, look like you’re gonna pass out on Dani’s floor. You want something to drink? We got water, beer, iced tea…”

“Water’s fine, thank you.” He tracks Barclay through the kitchen as he retrieves a glass from an upper cabinet, shirt riding up to show a patch of a dark, fuzzy belly that Stern instantly wants to feel pressed against him as it’s owner pins him to the nearest flat surface. 

Cooking seems to relax the other man enough that he actually chats with Stern, rather than keeping their conversation focused on the wedding. Stern learns he’s a personal chef and cookbook editor, though his original background was in baking. 

“Okay man, I gotta know” Barclay stirs something cardamom scented over the stove, “what’s with the shirt?”

“It’s from the radio station that first broadcast the story of the Michigan Dogman.”

“The what?”

“The Michigan Dogman, it’s a cryptid, um, nevermind” he curses himself for choosing casual clothes, “it’s niche and nerdy, you don’t want to hear about it.”

“Wrong, now you gotta tell me everything.” Barclay grins at him over his shoulder.

So he does, gradually at first in case Barclay regrets pushing this geekery button and needs to change the conversation, but the other man simply listens, really listens, as he cooks while Stern talks about his journey to the radio station and his talk with the DJ who accidentally started a legend. 

They keep talking as they eat, swapping travel stories and book recommendations, Barclay laughing when Stern shares some of the more ridiculous requests he’s gotten while working as a wedding planner. 

When Aubrey and Dani arrive home, they take one look at him and Barclay, stopped mid-anecdote and smiling at each other, and trade a surprised glance. 

All Stern can think is you and me both.

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

The planning goes more smoothly after that night, Barclay beginning to trust Stern more and more. Stern also learns that he trusts Barclay’s judgement , and the other man is invaluable in helping him narrow down options to present to the brides, both of whom are overall pleased with his work.

He’s particularly proud of his find for the wedding venue. The Madonna Inn is perfect, brightly colored and fancy but still just a bit kitschy, like the locations Dani originally showed him. Both brides were overjoyed, which is why all four of them came down for the weekend to make preparations and start scoping out vendors for the food and flowers.  Dani and Aubrey went back up to the city Sunday night, but he and Barclay are staying at the inn the rest of the week, Stern in hopes of having everything scheduled and coordinated and Barclay there in case he needs a second set of eyes (he’s working on a new cookbook and his clients are traveling, so taking the week down the coast is no trouble). 

Today has been a work day, but Stern is taking tomorrow off basically because no one has time to meet with him. So after a late afternoon spent lounging on the beach, the two of them go out for a leisurely dinner. On a whim, Stern lets Barclay select and order his meal for him. He doesn’t mean for it to be flirtatious at first, he just trusts Barclay’s culinary instincts and is tired of making decisions. But one look at Barclay’s face, his widening pupils and sudden blush, tell Stern all he needs to know. 

“You gonna be good and eat whatever I give you?” Barclay murmurs, so low he’s almost inaudible under the clank of silverware and hum of conversation. 

“Of course.” Stern puts on his sweetest smile, shores up his defenses against the self-doubt curling up his spine. He’s not fast enough, and so orders another cocktail. 

Halfway through the meal, he notices Barclay watching him, and another piece clicks into place; the cook keeps eyeing his lips and throat as he eats, often shifts in his chair if Stern makes a delighted noise after a bite. When dessert comes, the accidental sounds are replaced by deliberate ones and he luxuriates as he eats his tiramisu, licking the fork to be sure not a drop of cream is wasted. 

Barclay asks for the check, and two more slices of cake to-go, without ever taking his eyes off of Stern. He’s feeling confident, and a bit wobbly, as Barclay drives them back to the Inn, taking the larger man’s hand and pulling him towards one of the beds before he can even get the lights on.

A large, gentle hand on his shoulder, “no can do, blue eyes.”

“But I, hic, we, hic-” the world goes sideways as Baclay unlinks their hands. 

“Go get some sleep, Joe.”

He changes while Barclay’s in the bathroom, huddles under the covers and faces the window so the other man can’t see him burning top to bottom with shame. 

Things get worse in the morning; he’s awoken by a phone call saying the florist has an open slot to meet with him in an hour and so he throws on the nearest nice clothes and dashes out the door. That meeting is followed by a phone call from Mr. Little who is none to pleased with the location choice and Stern spends forty-five minutes convincing him that the Inn is perfectly tasteful and also it’s what the brides want and that counts for a great deal wouldn’t you agree?

His nerves are firing full-strength when he gets back to the room. Barclay, freshly showered and clothed, looks up at him from the bed where he’s thumbing through Cooks Illustrated, reading glasses perched on his nose. 

“Rough morning?”

“ Yes.”

He shuts the magazine “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“No.”

“Do you wanna talk about last night?”

“Also no.”

“Well, I do.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. You simply aren’t interested in me that way and I’ve made an ass of myself twice by misreading the situation.”

“You’re wrong. You’re my type, blue eyes-”

“Clearly not, since-”

“-When you’re sober.” Barclay sits all the way up, “which is why I wanna know why you only flirt with me when you’re so drunk neither of us can try anything.”

“Because...because approaching people like that makes me nervous. I’m already under enough stress as it, running block for Aubrey and Dani against Mr. Little without getting myself fired, and the thought of trying to flirt, it’s, everything starts going wrong, it will all go wrong and-” the panic is back, his composure leaving him and taking whatever respect Barclay had for him with it. 

“Joe, breathe.”

“Breathing is not the issue here!” 

Barclay stands, face calm, and walks over to him. Instead of stepping in front of him, he circles behind, and a hand rests at the base of Stern’s neck.

“Let’s try that again. Inhale, blue eyes, a nice long one.” 

Stern complies, Barclay’s voice carrying no threats but leaving no room for protest. 

“Breathe out, count to four while you do.”

Stern exhales, nerves diverting energy from panic to desire, Barclays fingers on his skin and dominant baritone in his ear. 

“Good boy. Do it again.”

Stern takes another deep breath, then another, over and over as Barclay leads him to the bed and slips off his jacket, followed by his shoes and socks. 

“That’s it Joe, you’re doing so good.” He sits beside him on the bed, stroking his hair and Stern follows his touch, “what do you need? What helps when this happens?”

“Something to, to focus on, until I calm down. Just not work related or too complicated.”

“Hmmm” a thumb brushes over his lips, then down his chin, “I got a few things in mind, but they’re pretty damn dirty. Should we try something else?”

“No, please, I, I want that, want, want to be good for you like that.”

“Okay blue eyes, we can do that. You gotta promise me you’ll say ‘stop’ if something doesn’t feel good, okay?”

He nods, heart shaking his ribs, and Barclay leans and kisses him once, tenderly, before laying back on the bed, hands resting beneath his head.

“Get my dick out, yeah, there we go, good boy, I want you to use your mouth, can you, OH, ohhhhyeah.” His cock bumps Stern’s cheek as his hips tilt, a response to Stern lapping teasingly at the base. He drags his tongue all the way up the shaft, takes the head into his mouth, doing his damndest to lock eyes with Barclay the whole time. 

“Babe, fuck, that’s it, oh fuck you look good like that, knew you’d look good with my dick in your mouth, been thinking about it since that first night.”

Stern whimpers, hungry for more and pushes his head down. Having Barclay’s cock in his mouth forces him to keep his breathing measured, and so he savors it, senses filling with salt and skin and lingering hints of soap. 

“That’s it babe, nice and slow, we got all day. Long as I get to cum sometime before noon I’m happy.”

Stern rolls his tongue over the tip as he pulls off, switches to kisses and licks as he slowly jerks him off. Occasionally he skates up, nudging Barclay’s shirt with his nose--his hands uninterested in leaving his cock--so he can leave deep, longing kisses across his stomach and hips. Every movement elicits a groan or a sigh, every kiss and suck earns him praise. It’s only when his hands are slick with pre-cum and his own saliva that Barclay bucks his hips more intently, growling when Stern takes him back into his mouth. 

“Shit you’re good at this, not, fuck, not surprised, look like you would be, like all you need is for me to take care of you and you’ll open that fucking perfect mouth whenever I ask FUCK, oh you like that, don’t you babe? Fuck, shit, like the idea of taking what I give you?”

He whines, rubbing his thighs together as Barclay’s cock bumps the back of his mouth.

“You got three seconds to decide how you wanna take this.”

Stern locks eyes with him again, and dips down the barest bit more. Barclay’s hands tangle in his hair as he groans “good boy” and cums, bitter and warm, down Stern’s throat.

His hands flop onto the bed, allowing Stern to sit up. 

“Did...was I good?”

“So fucking good.” Barclay thwacks a hand dramatically onto his forehead to wipe it, “do you want to keep going? Or do you want to stop?”

“I want” Stern presses his hand against his cock, as if this will help rather than make him wetter, “please, can we keep going?”

“Yeah” Barclay sits up, kisses each cheek, “pants and underwear off, leave the shirt and tie.”

By the time Stern is appropriately undressed, Barclay is back on the bed with the to-go box and  a plastic fork. He reclines on the pillows, box on his upper chest, “come straddle me, knees about here” he pats the bed near his waist. Stern scoots up into position, Barclay licking his lips as he does. 

“Good boy. Now, you’re gonna show me how you get off, so I can know just what to do tonight to make you cry into the mattress.”

“Fuck.” Stern gasps, fingers already rapidly stroking his dick.

“Mmmm, look at how slick you are. Think that deserves a reward.” He spears a piece of cake, “open.”

Stern opens his mouth, leaning forward so Barclay can more easily feed him.

“You do like being spoiled. I can work with that.” Barclay rumbles, pleased, when Sterns fingers work frantically after a second bite. 

“Please, Barclay, I want to kiss you, please say I can kiss you.”

“Not until you finish.” 

“The, the cake or myself.”

“Yourself, blue eyes.”

He’s panting now, sweat soaking through his shirt, and slowing his hand and hips to take the bites Barclay offers. When he cums it doubles him over, and as he’s bracing his hands on the headboard, trying not to collapse on his partner, Barclay moves everything aside and cups his face, gently guiding him down to kiss him. They stay like that as Stern slowly explores his mouth, tastes leftover cake and laughs when a coppery beard scratches his neck. And when he begins to drop, breath shallow and fingers shaking, Barclay rolls them onto their sides, holds him close. Tells him over and over that he’s proud of him, that he did so well, that he’s right here and he’ll take care of him, give him whatever he wants. 

“Honestly, breakfast sounds better than anything else right now.” Stern mumbles against his chest. 

“I’ll order us some. You still need me to dom you, or are you ready to start calling the shots again?”

“I don’t call all the shots.” 

“Just most of ‘em. Don’t tell anyone, but I kinda like that about you. You’re good at what you do.” Barclay kisses his forehead. 

“I...I think I’d like to rinse off while you order breakfast.”

Barclay offers one more kiss before they roll out of bed, has Stern’s robe waiting for him when he gets out of the shower and brings him the room service tray as soon as it’s delivered. They lounge together on Stern’s bed, watching the Inn come to life as the afternoon draws near. From here, they can even see the spot where their friends will get married.

“The ceremony is gonna be perfect.”

“As perfect as I can manage, yes.”

“You got a date for it yet?”

“No.” 

“You want one?” Barclay smiles at him, the sunlight making him look as if he stepped out of a daydream and into Stern’s bed. 

“Depends; would that date be you?”

“Yep.” Barclay kisses his shoulder.

“Well then,” Stern grins, tips his chin up for a coffee-flavored kiss, “there’s your answer.’

[thevelvetseries]

Life’s Complicated (Part 1)

Overall Summary : When Bella Mikaelson was 17 she had a little baby girl. She went off to college and studied drama and music, while her parents looked after her daughter Camila Mikaelson. When she graduated she started auditioning for different movies and TV shows and ended up getting a role in the CW show Supernatural where she meets her new family.

Pairing : Alexander Calvert x Reader / Jared Padalecki x Reader (Platonic) / Jensen Ackles x Reader (Platonic) / Misha Collins x Reader (Platonic) / Genevieve Padalecki / Danneel Ackles

Warnings : Fluff, Angst, Smut, Semi Smut, Drinking

I decided to give the reader a name in this fic.

Series Masterlist / Main Masterlist

My name is Bella Mikaelson. I’m 25 years old living in New York, Lower Manhattan with my 8 year old daughter. I’ve lived here my entire life. I graduated from New York University Tisch School of the Arts where I spent my time studying drama and music, and also in my free time did some photography. Ever since I was a little kid all I wanted to do was perform, tell stories whether it was through acting, writing or singing a song. I did musicals all throughout high school, but during my senior year I became pregnant with my boyfriend at the time Caleb, we had been dating since sophomore year. Everything was perfect, my parents came around and supported me the same with Caleb and his parents. Sadly during my second year of Uni, he passed away in a car accident leaving me and leaving Camila fatherless, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have some good father figures. That’s when I started working harder on my studies and starting adding more hours to my job so I could make more money to make sure my daughter would have a good life growing up. During my last year of University I got a modelling job, it wasn’t anything big but it paid well. Around that time I also joined an acting agency started getting little jobs doing adverts, then getting small role in TV shows nothing big, just one liners. I had saved up a lot of money at this point and hired an manger to help me get auditions. Around 2 months later of going on auditions I get to audition for Eric Kripke for his show Supernatural. During season 14 they were looking for a new hunter who Sam and Dean come across on a hunt. Near the end of the season. So we sent in a video tape since I was nowhere near where auditions were being held. Then a few weeks later I get a call saying they wanted me to come to Vancouver and audition in person. Let’s just say I ended up getting the role and I have been living in Vancouver now for the past 4 months with my daughter Camila. My mum also came with us until I got enough money to be able to pay for a nanny to help me look after Camila while I was at work. I also spent a few weeks before filming bingeing the whole seasons from 1-13 since I hadn’t ever watched the show before.

We are currently working on the season 14 finale episode before wrapping up before head out for hiatus. My contract had already been signed as I was wanted back for season 15 as well. However, I was only staying for half the season, as they were killing my character off in the upcoming season. I was currently on set, just finished filming a scene with Jared and Jensen in baby. It was now lunch. We all headed over to catering to grab something, I ended getting a chicken salad and grabbed myself 2 bottles of water and headed to the little seating area outside where we all sat during lunch. We only had one more scene to film before we were finished for the day and would be wrapped for the season. During hiatus we had different cons we would attend to but we also had time to relax and I couldn’t wait for that, to spend loads of time with my girl and take her on a mini holiday, as we never really been on a real holiday before.

I was currently eating my salad when Jared and Jensen came over after getting their food and sat down opposite to me on the bench. We were talking about what we were doing on our time off before convention season starts which I was being invited to as the viewers really welcomed my character Toni with open arms. It was like over night my life changed. I was now financially stable for one thing, so I could make sure Camila was well looked after which was the most important thing to me.

“So Bella, What are you going to be doing during hiatus?” Jared asked while eating a chicken sandwich.

“Thinking about going home fore a little while, back to New York. Cami hasn’t seen my parents in a little while, I could tell she is missing them a lot like me. So going home for a bit to relax doesn’t seem like a bad idea. Then maybe take her on a little mini holiday, just the two of us. What about you guys” I say.

He nods “Yeah. We’re going to do pretty much the same. I like having my family around. I miss them too much” Jensen agreed with his statement.

Throughout the rest of our lunch break we continue talking about little small things and what was going to happen during con season. Once we had finished lunch we headed over got some retouches as we had just eaten and then we headed into the library set to finished our last scene for the season.

It was currently around 8pm, sine we started filming early this morning we gad enough time to get all the shots we needed and got to head home a little later than normal as while shooting the final scene Jared and Jensen kept trying to make everyone laugh but we got through it and got all the shots we needed. I was getting my belongings from my trailer and FaceTime Camila as it was getting close to her bedtime and I never liked not saying goodnight to her, even though I was leaving I just like to make sure. I could get in traffic and I would be annoyed with myself for not doing when I had the chance.

“So how was you day sweetie?” I ask.

“It was good. I finished all my math homework even though I found hard, but I figured it out” she said proudly.

I smile. She always made me smile. “Well that’s good. I’m proud of you, keep that up. Don’t give up and you can do anything sweetie. So what did you end up having for dinner tonight?”

“SPAGHETTI AND MEATBALLS” she screamed. I start laughing as I know that’s her favourite meal in the world.

“Ohhh. I’m jealous. Hehe. Well I’m gonna just about to leave work right now to come home ok. I’m going to try and get home in time baby, but if I don’t I’m gonna say goodnight now ok.”

“Ok mummy. Goodnight. I love you.”

“I love you too my sweet baby”

“Goodnight”

“Sweet dreams petal.” Then we end the call and I finished putting my things away in my bags when a knock comes from my trailer door. I call for the person to come in, when Jensen pops in with Jared following him.

“Hey Bella” Jensen said while leaning on the counter and Jared sat down on the sofa.

“Hey, What do you guys need?” I ask while putting my laptop into its case with its charger.

“We forgot to ask you this at lunch today, we are having a BQQ in a couple weeks. It’ll be our to families as well at the Collins. Alex is coming we just spoke with him, now we are asking you? You think you’ll be free Sunday before the Cons start?” Jensen said.

“Errmmm… let me check my calendar.” I say and get out my phone and opening up my calendar app. I had nothing planned. “Nope, looks like I free that weekend.”

“Great! You’re coming then. I’ll text you the address, it’ll be at my house. Bring Camila too. It’ll be nice to have all little ones around together.” Jared said.

“Yeah” I said with a smile. We said our goodbyes and they headed off while I collected my packed bags and headed to my car and leaving and heading back to my Vancouver home. If I rushed I would make it just in time before Camila had to be in bed.

Life’s Complicated Tag-List 

@myopiamystical @ms-reader @musiclovinchic93 @tvshowlover123 @scatchia @sixx-sic-sixx @imaginationisgrowth @hettolini @leftjensenackleshollywoodshoe @dolans-lover @alittlebittyuniverse @smoothdogsgirl @xostephanie @idksupernatural @imsuperawkward @notsoftstcn @hazelle-uvu @amywinchesterxx @easygoingtheatre @jack-kline-world @simonadii @uglycryinginthekitchen @c-ly-g @hellosweetdeath @clawsandshotguns @sarsmilesah @catieiscute2001 @midnight-archer03 @lidibug @101stshippersquad @maesflower @shadowhunter82 @alliedimlerr

[ayankun]

coffee shop au bitches (working title)

here, have this rough draft of the first half of part 1.  consider it proof of concept.  (the concept is Destiel Coffee Shop AU, but actually good) (”good;” YMMV)

9.3k words; Cas is human like everyone else so to compensate I made him socially anxious af; there’s a brief unpleasantness wherein someone in customer service gets harassed so watch out for that I guess; Cas is also carrying a lot of baggage (literally and metaphorically) and it’s vague for now but a little wearisome so GLHF I promise when it’s done-done they all get the kind of happy endings they deserved from the show

The town of Lebanon, Kansas sprang up without warning, its tree-lined streets shockingly claustrophobic after the three hours of patchwork browns and greens streaming by the smudgy window, the rolling plains uninterrupted to the very ends of the earth until the blank blue September sky finally picked up where the horizon left off.

Castiel felt his eyes strain, forced to reel in his thousand-yard stare, as he squinted at the blur of tidy little houses perched along Lebanon's brief outskirts.  He blinked away from the window and pushed himself to his feet, sidling carefully into the aisle to pull his duffle down from the overhead rack.  In short order, the bus turned onto the tidy little Americana main street and rolled up to a tidy little bus stop, and, reaching back into his seat to retrieve his briefcase, he squinted out at this, too.  

The screech of well-worn brakes, the brace against the final lurch of inertia, the hiss and clack of the doors at the front and back folding open; with no more pomp and circumstance than that, Castiel's journey reached its end.  Clutching the handle of his briefcase and slinging the straps of his duffle over one shoulder, he edged down the aisle and nodded his thanks to the driver on his way down the steps.  Finally, Castiel planted his sensible shoes on the cracked sidewalk, looked carefully up and down the stretch of unremarkable, middle-of-nowhere civilization, and wondered what the hell he thought he was doing here.

The bus shrieked and rumbled back into the non-existent late afternoon traffic, a thick gout of black exhaust signaling its farewell, leaving Castiel behind before he had a chance to change his mind.  He watched its departure absently for half a moment, road-weary and numb.  Then he hiked his duffle a little more snug against his back, turned around, and began an unhurried stroll the shady two and a half blocks back to the motel on the south side of town.

---

"Been expecting you," the woman behind the counter said the second Castiel pulled open the glass door to the motel office.

He paused, looked over his shoulder, saw no one among the growing shadows of the motel's empty parking lot, no one except a trucker hopping out of his cab parked at the gas 'n sip on the opposite corner.  Castiel watched him jog across the street towards the Biggerson's, the lights of its enormous, highway-facing sign flickering on in welcome, and turned back to shoulder his way inside.  "I did reserve a room over the phone," Castiel said, approaching the counter, "And I was told that a few . . . personal items would be held for me at the front desk?"

The woman, Billie, according to her name tag, responded with a nod, less in answer to his question and more in the way one does when one is not surprised by what they've just heard.  She pulled the keyboard to the old desktop computer closer to herself with one hand, and held the other out, palm up, to Castiel.  "ID and credit card."

Setting his briefcase down on the floor, Castiel dug inside his overcoat's interior pocket for his wallet.  By rote he thumbed out the military ID to give her, but at the last second his heart gave a sharp little twist and he drew it back.  Her lips twitched, nonplussed, but she waited patiently until he handed her his driver's licence instead.  She studied the picture on it for a second, mouthed the name, and carefully considered the face on the photo compared to the face on the man in front of her.  He shifted his feet nervously, thinking he should have just given her the first one, if only to avoid looking any more disreputable than he already did.  

Evidently their hangdog looks matched to her satisfaction, though, and she snapped the plastic down onto the counter, shifted her attention to the computer to check him in.

"Room's yours for the week," she read off the screen as he retrieved his licence and put the credit card down in its place.  She slid it over to herself without looking, only glancing down to read the numbers, obsidian black fingernails clacking proficiently over the ten-key peripheral plugged into the side of the keyboard.  "Checkout's at eleven on the 25th."

When she slid the card back over to him, Castiel palmed it off the counter, put it back into the wallet behind his IDs (driver's license on top), tucked the wallet back into his overcoat.  "Um.  I'm not exactly sure yet -- I may need to extend my stay."  Absently, he wondered why he sounded like he was apologizing for it.

Billie looked up from the computer screen at him, neutral.  "Whatever you need.  We can do you by the week, month, whatever.  Got your card on file, so you just let me know when I should stop charging it."

Castiel tried a smile he didn't feel, thinking as he did so that he probably shouldn't have bothered with one, what with how it seemed to crumple his face in unnatural ways.  "I will let you know, thank you."

She pulled a blank key card from a drawer and ran it through the machine to code it for his room.  "Here you go," she said, slapping it onto the counter with another plasticky snap, "Room 401."

"Thank you," he said again, taking the key card and putting it into his coat's front pocket. She held up a hand to keep him from running straight off to the room, a slightly unnecessary gesture, since he had no intention to do so.  Not without the banker's box that she was now pulling out from under the counter.

It was sealed with tamper-evident tape, noticeably intact as she spun it 180 degrees so he could also see his name and a brief description of the contents inked with a tidy hand in the space provided on the lid.  Billie pushed the box toward him and then tapped a nail over one of the items on the contents list.  "She's parked out front."

Castiel peered down at the item she had indicated.  "Keys," it said, rather cryptically, in that unfamiliar, efficient script.  He nodded.  "Thank you."

He bent to pick up the handle of his briefcase, letting the duffle fall farther across his back as he did so in order to free up space under his arm for the banker's box.  It worked, albeit inelegantly, and he felt a little foolish as he fumbled the box off the counter and turned to go.  He felt even worse when Billie said to his back:  "I'm sorry for your loss."

No part of him wanted to say "thank you" again, so he just paused long enough to indicate that he had heard her, and then went out through the glass door and back into the shadowed parking lot without saying a damn thing.

---

Room 401 opened into a concise sort of entryway that pointed him toward a small kitchenette lit primarily by the glare of the Biggerson's sign falling in through the window.  The space featured a round table with peeling laminate, two plastic-and-stainless-steel chairs, a sink and a microwave and a loudly humming fridge.  It was downright lavish compared to the accommodations Castiel had shifted between for the better part of his life.

The banker's box went onto the table, to be ignored until the time came Castiel felt ready to pry inside.

He shrugged his duffle off onto the end of the bed, the briefcase going onto the floor at its foot.  Successfully offloaded, Castiel turned and sat beside the duffle with his hands in his lap, looking at the boxy little TV set sitting on top of a banged up little dresser; at the dusty looking armchair shoved back in the corner to his right, under a dusty looking lamp; at the dim alcove immediately to the right of the TV, keeping discreet the bathroom sink and mirror and the door to the toilet and shower.

He didn't know what to do now.

Twisting to look at the digital clock on the bedside table, he marked the time with no real interest.  Just after 6:30.  Not enough daylight left to try and find his way around town, too early to sleep.  Not that he really felt compelled to do either of those things.  Not that he felt compelled to do anything.

But he had to do something, though, didn't he?  He had to keep moving forward, in whatever small way he could manage.  He had to.

With a long sigh that seemed almost to empty him completely, Castiel got to his feet.  He pulled his overcoat off, went to the alcove closet to hang it up, stopped at the sink to splash some water on his face.  He took a moment to appreciate his appearance -- mournful and aggressively unkempt after two solid days on the road -- before stepping out of the alcove to retrieve the briefcase.  He opened it on the bed and slipped the laptop out, digging around for the charger, and brought both to the dresser, setting the laptop to one side and plugging it into the outlet he found by tracing the TV's power cord.

He stood there, hunched a little over the open laptop, waiting for it to wake from its hibernating state.  He could check his email, at least, or scroll through the news he'd missed while in the air and in taxis and in the air again and in buses that sailed too quickly through isolated islands of 4G signal that lit up only a single bar before going dark again.

His desktop loaded, the wallpaper a heavily-filtered photo he'd pulled from who-knew-where:  just an expanse of faded teal, adorned only by a single, old-fashioned kite, bold and bright with primary colors, pinned there on the sky by an unseen breeze for all eternity.  He had set it a long time ago and never changed it; the image was a small comfort, though for what reason, he couldn't tell.  It wasn't his memory.

The fleeting sense of well-being provided by the tranquil wallpaper faded as quickly as it had come.  The only Wi-Fi network in range was named "Big D's iPhone" and it was locked.  Castiel refreshed the network scan a few times, hoping to see something that looked like it was related to the motel, but nothing else appeared.  He fished his phone out of his pocket for a second opinion, but it, too, displayed just the one fishy looking hotspot and very little 4G, even though he swung it around like an idiot, dowsing the room for a signal, watching the littlest bar wink at him no matter which out-of-the-way corner he took it to.

He even found himself squeezing between the table and the window, pushing the curtain aside as if the radio waves were having trouble making it through the few millimeters of dusty fabric.  He knew better, but it couldn't hurt.  In the Biggerson's lot, catty corner to the motel, a sleek black muscle car came to life with an animal growl, and he watched it prowl out onto the street and streak out towards the highway, taking Big D's iPhone with it.

---

It wasn't Billie manning the motel office when Castiel made his way back inside.  He didn't know why this should surprise him, but the fact that his expectations had been subverted in such a minor way somehow made him stutter his step as he entered.

The woman lounging in the office chair with her boots on the counter didn't wear a nametag.  She did look up from her magazine -- Knives Illustrated -- but only for a second, just a cool, cursory glance to let him know that she knew he was there and also that she wasn't too bothered by it.

"Howdy there, Clarence," she drawled.

Castiel didn't look over his shoulder, this time, but he did falter to a premature stop halfway to the counter, searching the vast middle distance as he tried to quickly figure out if he had enough information to parse the greeting.  He didn't.

"My name is Castiel," he informed her cautiously, eyes lifting to meet hers over the cover of her magazine.

She turned a page.  "Knew it was something hokey like that."

"Yes, well . . . hello," he said, brow furrowing.  She turned another page and he pulled his hand down over his rough five o'clock shadow, a token from his time on the road.  He probably should have cleaned up before leaving the room, but here he was.  He stepped forward, "Excuse me--"

"You're excused," she sing-songed at him.  The magazine dropped just enough to reveal her razor-sharp grin; it was not too dissimilar to the image on the front cover.

"--I was wondering if you knew where I might find a decent Wi-Fi signal in town."  He arrived at the counter as he was speaking, and placed both his hands palms down on its surface.  When she didn't stop looking at him, he picked his hands back up and dropped them to his sides.

She went back to the magazine.  "Depends.  Business or pleasure?"

"Alright," Castiel said, defeated, hands clenching irritably at nothing, "I apologize for having bothered you.  Enjoy your evening."

He turned his back on her, and wasn't going to stop even when he heard the magazine slap closed and her boots clump to the floor, but still that's exactly what he ended up doing as she called, "Hold up, C."

It was the impromptu nickname more than anything, since hearing it inspired him to send a pinched look of consternation back in her direction, where she was now leaning towards him with her forearms planted on the counter, her straight dark hair falling over one shoulder.  "I was only having a little fun," she told him once she was sure she had secured his attention, "We don't get fresh meat like you too often around these parts, and a girl's got needs.  How could I resist?"

"That is a very forward way to speak to a customer," Castiel intoned, the dip of his head turning judgemental.  He'd seen looks like that before; his skin crawled when they were for him.  His hands balled up and flapped open again, trying to shake it off.  "Good night."

"Best bet's the Roadhouse," she told him just as he reached out to push open the door.  Again, he paused, against his better judgement, and she took that as her cue to continue, "Just head on up Main Street, you can't miss it.  If you hit the prairie, you've gone too far."

Castiel ducked his head, hiding the twitch of a small, rueful smile at the joke that slipped its way in at the last second.  "Thanks," he said, more to the half-opened door than to anyone else.

"You watch yourself out there, fresh meat," she hollered a parting warning as the door swung shut behind him, "The freaks come out at night."

---

Castiel walked back to his room to get his overcoat, taking in the rosy hues of twilight that striated the western sky dead ahead of him, chewing over the likelihood that the insouciant woman meant what she'd said.  He couldn't imagine that a small town like this would be terribly dangerous after dark, but, then again --

Stopping at the door to 401, he carefully prodded his better judgement into at least considering taking the car -- he looked at it from the corner of his eye, trying not to dwell too long on the idea that its previous owner would have left indelible personal traces behind -- and, sure enough, he wasn't ready to go digging.  Not in the box, and certainly not in the car.

Castiel gently shook out the fist he had made, swept his eyes over the brilliance of the western sky, and decided he was in the right kind of mood for a walk.

He unlocked his door, entered the room to grab his overcoat, stuffed the laptop back into the briefcase, exited again, pointed himself towards Main Street without giving the car another thought.

---

Turned out she was right about one thing, the Roadhouse was impossible to miss.

From the way the neon sign lit up the rustic wood siding of the cowboy-chic exterior, he half worried the establishment was a bar of some sort.  The windows were dark, the shades drawn down against the setting sun, so he only could only make a guess based on what the exterior looked like.  Hesitating on the sidewalk under a street lamp, Castiel squinted up at it and waged a minor civil war with himself as to whether it would be worth it to go in and find out.

He slowly turned around on the spot, in his little pool of light, casting up and down the nearly deserted street for some kind of sign that would help him choose one way or the other.  Small town Kansas didn't seem to have much going for it, in the way of nightlife; from what he could tell, the storefronts looked exclusively like the little mom-and-pops one would expect from the heartland -- the highway-adjacent Biggerson's the evident exception -- and all of these were either closed or closing.

He completed his inspection, coming face to face once again with the Roadhouse.  On the one hand, it purportedly had Wi-Fi, his current mission being to locate the same.  On the other hand, it looked like a bar, and he didn't want to walk in there with his out-of-towner face, with his uncool overcoat and his briefcase, and specifically avoid ordering alcohol.

He was just coming around to the idea that he could very well survive off the grid for a night when a pair of headlights attached to a shadow came roaring down from the north end of the street at him, the car banking into a smooth, undoubtedly illegal U-turn in the middle of the block, slinking confidently into the open space directly under Castiel's street lamp.  The engine cut off, then the lights, and then a man was ducking out of the driver's side, slamming the door shut behind him.

Castiel was stuck.  He hadn't counted on this particular type of social awkwardness, caught loitering on the street without anything to say for himself.  He averted his eyes, expecting the man to pass him by and go on with his business, but to his increasing embarrassment and frustration, the guy stepped up onto the sidewalk and shoved his keys into a pocket of his green canvas jacket and definitely didn't continue on his way.

"Coming or going?" he asked.  The voice was something of a deep growl, but the tone was friendly enough.  

Castiel looked up to be polite, or, at least, to be less weird.  "I don't know," he found himself saying.  Any chance to possibly come across as a reasonable human being was thoroughly smashed, he thought.  He couldn't talk his way out of this one, even if he tried.  Especially if he tried.  "I've only just arrived," he added.

The guy looked him up and down, not in a lecherous way, or even in a macho, sizing up the competition way; just an unguarded appraisal of his bus-rumpled appearance, the suspicious looking briefcase, the disconcerting way he was caught standing in the dark looking at the door of a place without going in.  The inspection was over in a second, and concluded with a good-natured nod and an open-handed wave that clearly said, "yeah, I figured out that much on my own."

"Well, we don't bite," the guy said aloud, slapping Castiel hard on the shoulder, making him rock from the impact and almost exactly undermining the sentiment.  He immediately turned and stepped up to the Roadhouse's door, hauling it open and beckoning back at Castiel to get his ass inside.  "C'mon, at this rate they'll be closed before you make up your mind."

If Castiel had been looking for some kind of sign, this was clearly providence's way of sending him one.

Even so, he realized he had started moving forward to accept the invitation without consciously meaning to, and, well, he had a lifetime of conditioning to thank for that.  Castiel, ever the good little soldier, taking orders at face value, instead of thinking for himself.  He frowned a little on the inside -- remembering to briefly tug a smile of thanks on the outside -- until the wave of warm, coffee-scented air hit him in the face along with the unavoidable understanding that the Roadhouse was not, in fact, a bar.

The relief of this revelation was powerful enough to enable him to put his weird little hangups back inside the box where they belonged, his outside smile going soft and honest around the edges, and he ducked his head sheepishly at the guy, who had followed him in.  Automatically angling himself towards the register, as one did one when one entered a coffee shop, he said, "I was informed there was Wi-Fi here.  Just not what 'here' was.  'The Roadhouse' sounds -- I thought perhaps it was a bar."

His honesty caught himself off-guard, uncertain as to where the need to explain himself to this stranger came from, exactly.  It was probably because he had already demonstrated the kind of small town friendliness that made Castiel feel like it would be read as rude if he didn't attempt a bit of smalltalk in return.  The guy looked like a nice enough sort of person to meet halfway; about Castiel's age, a little younger, perhaps; kind of a non-threatening good-ol'-boy with his ripped jeans, plaid flannel, and his not-quite-scruffy-not-quite-clean-cut style.  Castiel thought that maybe he could survive being social for a minute or two, with someone like this.

Instantly, this thought hit a bump in the road, as his new friend twisted a funny look at him.  "Got something against bars?"

Castiel dropped his eyes and tried to ignore his obvious misstep while he drifted into the back of the line, behind a towering mountain of a man in a black leather jacket.  Castiel wasn't short, by any stretch of the imagination, but the two men hemming him in were both taller still.  He thought about his answer to the question, flicking rapidly through the options, but wasn't able to pick one that was both simple and truthful before the guy abruptly leaned in.  This startled Castiel, who instinctively shifted away a half step, shoulder bumping up against the glass that separated him from a shiny brass espresso machine.

The guy didn't notice his discomfort, having breached Castiel's personal space to say in a stage whisper:  "If it's rough company you're worried about, nothin' to be afraid of, around here.  The real seedy joints are across town.  Ain't that right, Tiny?"

At this last, he straightened up and raised his voice some, directing the question straight past Castiel.

Castiel turned his head to see the huge leather jacket man fixing the tall canvas jacket man with a full-bodied glare.  He also, at this time, took in the man's shaved head and appreciated the twisting serpent logo coiled on the back of the jacket.  He shifted even closer to the espresso machine, clearing the space between the two men as best he could.

But "Tiny" didn't otherwise react, just turned back and stepped up to the register, boots heavy on the wooden floor.

"Wi-Fi's pretty decent here, yeah," Castiel's companion went on.  Castiel looked back to him, surprised to see him relaxed and indifferent, like he hadn't just specifically tried to antagonize a 400-pound member of a biker gang after dark.  "And the lattes are alright.  Fair warning:  your choices are pretty much either that or black coffee, those're the only things the kid can't mess up too bad."

Off the guy's nod over Castiel's shoulder, he obediently turned and saw the referenced kid -- in actuality, a young, sandy-haired man of about seventeen or eighteen -- working the espresso machine on the other side of the glass.  The milk frother hissed demonstratively for a moment, the kid's face pinched in comically serious concentration on the task, but when he shoved the arm back into the off position, he looked up to see who was watching him and broke out into one of the purest smiles Castiel had ever seen.

"Hello!" the kid said, sunnily, like Castiel was his closest friend and not a literal stranger gawking at him like a zoo animal.  The hand that had been operating the machine was summarily raised in greeting, palm forward, fingers wide.  He radiated a positively angelic energy that instantly made Castiel feel at ease, despite the anxiety of the last several minutes, somehow even despite the soul-crushing weight he'd brought with him to town.

"Hello . . . Jack," Castiel replied, after realizing he could make out the kid's name tag pinned to his apron.  Pinned to their apron, rather, as he belatedly noted the "they/them" pronoun declaration stuck on underneath the name with white label tape.  He smiled, the desire to return just a small portion of the hospitality he'd received so far rising ferociously inside him, one of the strongest emotions he'd had the pleasure of feeling in recent memory.  "I've been informed I should try one of your lattes."

He nodded at the stainless steel carafe of foamed milk in the kid's hand, and they looked down at it as if they'd forgotten it was there.  "Oh!  Yes, I suppose you should."  They poured the milk into a waiting paper cup of espresso, face contorting back into that look of supreme concentration for only as long as it took to pour, smiling back up at Castiel the second the task was done.  "I'm still learning how to make everything, but I'm getting better at the basics."

"Yeah, you are," the guy behind Castiel said, in that manner of speaking that was as aggressive as it was supportive.  Jack grinned shyly, ducking their head at the praise, and shuffled the drink off to the pick-up counter on the other side of the register.

Castiel looked back over to see the guy grinning after the kid, and a thought hit him.  "Are you their . . . parent?" he asked, tripping and catching himself on Jack's pronoun only slightly, a very jarring rush of panic hitting him in time to swerve around using the word "father," just in case gender-nonconformity ran in the family.

The . . . person met Castiel's eye and then looked away, shrugging a little.  "Oh me?  Nah.  I mean.  Sorta.  We're kind of just, looking after them, I guess you could say."

The use of the first-person plural pronoun seemed like something Castiel would pry into next, were he the prying sort.  Instead, he very, very briefly wondered what the average household looked like in Lebanon, Kansas, these days, or if he'd just stumbled into the exception on accident.

A hand was extended his way, along with a name.  "Dean," Castiel was told as he accepted the handshake, "He/him, in case you were wondering."

Castiel let out an inward sigh of relief, and the guy winked before adding:  "Aquarius.  Stones, not Beatles.  Star Wars and Star Trek, but not the garbage that came out after the nineties."  Dean let Castiel's hand go with a chewed-on smile and something of a self-deprecating eyebrow wag.  "That's basically all the important stuff you have to know about me up front."

"Castiel," he returned, "And . . . I am also a man."

Dean snorted a short little breath at that, eyes bright.  He rubbed his chin, scratching through the close-trimmed stubble.  "Castiel, huh?"

Castiel pressed his lips together and took a moment to take stock of the state of his shoes, squaring himself for the inevitable question about his uncommon name, but for once it didn't come.  Dean didn't have the chance to ask it.  When Castiel glanced up, Dean was looking over Castiel's shoulder in the direction of the register, all traces of his friendly disposition replaced by a cold scowl.

As one did, Castiel, too, turned to follow Dean's gaze, searching out the source of his sudden displeasure.  For a second he assumed it had something to do with Jack, maybe getting into some difficult situation with a customer, but at a glance he saw that he only had it half right.  Instead of Jack, it was the young woman behind the register, who pulled her wrist out of Tiny's pawlike grasp as Castiel watched.

Castiel's throat closed up, his second-hand anxiety over the situation momentarily flooring him.  Embarrassed, he looked away, out over the sparsely populated cafe, everyone he saw slowly doing the same:  turning back to their screens and their friends, pretending nothing had happened.

Everyone but Dean, Castiel saw as he finally looked back up at him.  Dean was still watching Tiny closely, his brow drawn down and his mouth set in a firm line.  He flicked his eyes down to Castiel when he caught him looking, and did a stuttered double take when he realized he had accidentally leveled that glare at him.

Dean relaxed his expression into something more neutral, obviously seeing the stress on Castiel's face; while Dean was clearly angered by Tiny's overreach, Castiel couldn't help but project a grim ache that he didn't want to name.  Dean's head tilted, as if he was slowly cottoning on to the depth of Castiel's discomfort the longer he looked at him, and Castiel saw his jaw clench the moment before they both looked sharply back over at the register, hearing the woman's voice rise, frustrated and disgusted, over the country twang of the canned music pumping through the coffee shop's speakers.

"You kiss your mama with that mouth?"  The young woman had taken a full step back into the space behind the counter, dodging out of the way of Tiny's reach.  Castiel could see fire in her eyes, and barely registered Jack standing nervously on her other side.

Tiny laughed, a rolling chuckle that filled Castiel's gut with acid.  The huge man leaned up against the counter, shoving a shoulder as far as it would go into the open space next to the register, and curled his hand around the far edge of the counter.  "Why, you jealous?  How 'bout you pucker up, sweetcheeks, let me show you what you're missing."

In an instant, the nerves and disgust flushed out of Castiel's system, and in its place a white-hot righteous anger swirled up.  His hands twitched, settling for fists, and he took a lurching step forward, his briefcase swinging roughly into his leg, the emotion spilling out of him in a growl of "Hey, asshole--"

"Yeah, alright--" Dean growled at the same time, taking the same step forward, bringing him even with Castiel, the two men suddenly a solid wall staring daggers into Tiny's back.

"Stay out of this, Dean," the young woman said, fierce.  The tone in her voice caused Jack to flinch, snatching back the reassuring hand they'd been tentatively reaching her way.

Tiny heaved himself off the counter, turning to face them slowly, deliberately, letting them appreciate his size and giving them ample time to reconsider the hill they might be about to die on.  Castiel's chin went up, eyes narrowed.  At his side, Dean sniffed and thumbed his nose, aggressively nonchalant.

A devil-may-care smile on his face, Dean put one arm wide.  "No can do, Jo.  There's a quick way to handle huge, steaming piles of human garbage like our friend Tiny here," he said, making stabbing motions with his hand at the man in question, "and I'd hate to see you lose your job over a broken jaw."

Castiel glanced sharply up at Dean, trying to gauge the realistic chances of an all-out brawl going down right here between the novelty mugs and the last of the day's homemade baked goods.  Lebanon, Kansas was quickly proving to be something other than the sleepy, middle of nowhere hamlet he had assumed it would be.  

In fairness, though, he had been warned that the freaks came out at night.

Dean didn't exactly look ready for a fight, though, loose-limbed and calm, fixing Tiny with a cocky grin that was daring the biker to make the first move.  Castiel forced his own shoulders down, his fist to relax around the handle of the briefcase he was gripping like a weapon.  He cut his eyes over to Tiny, who was equally not rising to the bait, just sneering at them for what he was reading as biteless bark.

"Like to see you try, pretty boy," Tiny said, digging in his heels.

Castiel frowned, seeing that the situation had ground into a stalemate before it had even started, two immovable objects sizing each other up, both content with the fact that the one who either struck first or walked away first would make himself the de facto loser of the conflict, one way or another.  Even so, Castiel strongly felt that neither of these two would be the type to walk away.  He raised a hand, palm out, and tried to press some sense into the moment before one of them exhausted their patience and decided to throw a match onto this powderkeg.

"No one has to try anything," he warned, making sure Dean knew he was included in the list of people encouraged to stand down, "Let's all conduct ourselves as civilized people.  Please, just leave the young woman alone, let her do her job in peace."

Tiny peered down at him and made it clear it wasn't about to back off just because a stranger in a rumpled trenchcoat asked him to play nice.

Dean, meanwhile, licked his bottom lip and looked like he might actually be considering his options.  He nodded, ducking his head as though coming to an overdue realization.

"See, I know Tiny's mom," Dean said, raising his eyebrows at Castiel.  

Castiel dropped his own right back at him, a suspicious squint pinching his face as he felt in his gut that the situation was about to spin off the axle in some unforeseen way, despite his best efforts to prevent that exact outcome.

Dean went on, unperturbed, sliding one hand into his pocket as he half turned away from Tiny, like he was just carrying on their friendly chat from before, like they didn't have a behemoth of an audience listening in.  "And I know she would be appalled -- shocked, even -- if she found out what her son was up to when she ain't looking.  Sweet old Martha, she's been in hospice for what, six weeks?  Seven?"  

He swiveled suddenly and jabbed his free hand at Tiny--  "Please, correct me if I'm wrong--"  Back to Castiel, he tapped his own chest twice to demonstrate-- "The ol' ticker's just not what it used to be, or so I hear.  Can't imagine what a bit of bad news might do to her delicate constitution."

As he said this last part, Dean's arm fell, and with it his cheery facade.  He rolled his head Tiny's direction, offering him one of the coldest, meanest looks Castiel had ever seen on a person.

All seven feet of Tiny was now quivering with a quiet kind of rage, his boiled egg of a head going pink as he struggled to hold it in, to not lose the game of chicken he and Dean were playing.  "You're not gonna tell my Ma nothing, you hear me?"

Dean exploded forward a half step, a finger viciously stabbing the air in the vicinity of Tiny's face.  "You stop being a dick, and I'll have nothing to tell," he roared.

"Dean!" Jo shouted over the top of him, slamming her hands down on the counter.

Everyone in the coffee shop flinched.  Castiel felt himself hang his head, feeling the sting as if he himself had been scolded.  But he'd made himself a part of it, stepped in and got involved, hadn't been able to prevent escalation.  He looked out of the corner of his eye at Jo, thinking that maybe he should apologize, but she was just glaring at Dean with hard eyes and a furious shake of her head.

"Out," she ordered.

Dean ignored the way she obviously meant him, and swung an open grin Tiny's way, canines and tongue showing.  "You heard the little lady."

Jo grit her teeth.  "Both of you, out.  We don't need your kind of trouble here."

Something about what she'd said or how she said it got Dean's attention.  He dropped his arms to his sides with a slap of canvas on canvas, twisting her way with a schoolboy pout pulling down his face.  "C'mon, Jo.  You know I didn't mean it.  You know me.  I would never--"

"Save it," she cut him off.  "Jack's shift ends in twenty-five minutes.  Go wait in the car."

There was a second where Dean gaped, fish out of water, at the order, but the cool, commanding look that came with it forcibly shut his mouth with an audible click and he reared back, bumping into Castiel slightly.  "Alrighty, then," he huffed, stomping the wrong way through the line and on towards the door without looking back.  

Castiel watched his boots retreat over the polished wood of the floor, heard the bang of the door being slammed open with more force than absolutely necessary, then tilted his head to catch Jo giving Tiny the same icy treatment.

"What are you waiting for, then, an invitation?  Go on, get.  And if you try something like that again, trust me, I won't bother with your Ma.  I'll go get mine."  She smiled, sweet and sharp, leaned forward over the counter, right into Tiny's personal space, to make sure her point wasn't missed.  "And we can see how many bones she can break before the Sheriff hauls her off your dead body."

An ominous kind of tension straightened Castiel's shoulders, surprised at Jo's candid threat, doubtful that hers would work where Dean's had failed.  After a moment, though, Tiny heaved his bulk away from the counter, gave Castiel a dirty look, and similarly made his inglorious retreat into the night.

Castiel wondered what was going to happen now between the two men, whether they were going to carry on in the street or just back off to lick their wounds until their next meeting.  He hoped Dean had sense enough to actually get in the car, at least.

"Next!"

Distracted from the errant thought of the well-being of a near stranger, Castiel turned to see Jo smiling at him from behind the register, the picture of award-winning customer service, and nothing like the stone-cold demon who had seconds ago threatened to have her mother bludgeon a customer to death.  He stepped up to place his order, thoroughly cowed.

"I apologize for the scene, for my part in it," he told her quietly as he leaned to one side to set the briefcase on the floor at his feet, reaching for his wallet.  "You clearly didn't need us to butt in, but still, I hope you're alright."

She waved his apology away, shaking her head.  "Nothing to be sorry for, it's fine.  Small town like this, hard for some folk to avoid bumping into the folk they shouldn't be bumping into.  It happens, you handle it, you move on.  What can I get started for you tonight?"

Castiel offered her a small smile, feeling it press a little tight around his eyes, his misplaced guilt swirling harder at her need to project such a tough exterior.  It was unfortunate and unfair that the world demanded the thickest skins from some people more than others, and his heart ached in a vague, nameless way, wishing there was something he could do to alleviate the need for someone so young to have constructed such a defensive worldview.

Off her expectant look, he willed himself to remember what he ought to be doing in the here and now.  He gave the menu board on the back wall a cursory review, not really consuming its contents in any meaningful way, until he looked down and caught Jack's eye from where the eager barista floated at a respectful distance between Jo and the espresso machine.

Castiel smiled, this time with notable ease as he remembered Dean's earlier suggestion.  "A small latte, please.  It came highly recommended."

"You got it," Jo nodded, punching the order into the register and pulling a cup from the stack.  "Your name?"  She looked up at him, reaching into a mug with a missing handle to fish out a Sharpie.

"Uh, Castiel," he supplied, and spelled it for her benefit, just in case.

"Castiel," she repeated, as most did when confronted with his name for the first time, trying it out for themselves, "That's got kind of a Biblical ring to it, doesn't it?  Don't tell me you're some kind of guardian angel?"  

"Hardly," Castiel murmured, dropping his gaze to focus on pulling the correct currency out of his wallet.

Jo passed the cup with his name on it to Jack, who immediately took it to the espresso machine and got to work, that same serious look of concentration commandeering their entire face for the duration.

"Anything else for you today?" she asked.  

It was one of those scripted niceties that Castiel truly appreciated about by-the-book social interactions.  A perfect sequitur that spared him the effort of trying to come up with one on his own.  "Do you have a password for the Wi-Fi?"

She nodded, slipping a business card sized piece of paper from a loose stack next to the register, and handed it over in trade for the cash he gave her in return.  As she punched open the till and dug around for his change, he glanced down at the code.  It read "N@turomDem0nto," which, as far as Wi-Fi passwords went, was certainly one.

The till banged shut with a ring, Jo handing him back his change.  Seeing his bemused look as he inspected the hotspot info, she explained, "Sorry, I know it's a little out there.  Our IT guy, Ash, he's a bit of a supernatural freak."

"I see," Castiel said agreeably, though he felt fairly certain that there was some additional piece of trivia he was missing to be able to recognize the significance of the unintelligible string of letters and numbers.  He put the paper into his pocket, dumped the loose change from his palm into the tip jar, and retrieved his briefcase.  "Thank you."

Jo's eyebrows came down, not unkindly, as her lips pursed in baffled amusement.  "No problem," she laughed, shaking her head at him.  "Jack'll have your drink out in a minute."  She waved him in the direction of the pickup counter, and Castiel went gratefully on his way, looking forward to the upcoming stretch of time where he didn't have to make small talk, or try to avoid physical altercations, or accidentally say "thank you" after tipping.

The remaining patrons of the Roadhouse appeared to have cleared out since he had last looked, but whether this was due to the late hour or the recent potential for violence, he couldn't be sure.  Castiel thought about Dean waiting for Jack out in that beast of a car; thought about Tiny (or men like him) lurking out on the streets.  

He pulled out his phone, noting the time as he thumbed to the Wi-Fi settings.  Again, the hotspot listing was sparse, just the one named after the Roadhouse -- finally, full bars -- and, to his muted surprise, "Big D's iPhone."

He was still looking curiously at the cafe's curtained windows, in the direction where he knew that sleek black muscle car with the animal growl was parked under a street lamp, when a bright voice chimed behind him:  "Here you go!"

Sliding his phone back into his pocket, Castiel turned to face Jack, finding a bloom of warmth filling the hollow of his chest to see them sliding his latte over with an exceedingly proud look on their face, certain of a job well done.  Right on the drink's tail, Castiel was surprised to see a small plate with a piece of apple pie being pushed his way as well.

He held up his hand to stop or question the freebie, thinking he hadn't done anything today to have earned getting rewarded with pie, but Jo popped up at Jack's side and gave him one of those looks he already recognized as meaning he wouldn't be allowed to decline.  His bottom lip pursed, he reached out and obediently pulled the plate the rest of the way over with one finger.

"At closing time, we either have trash all the leftover perishables or give 'em away," Jo explained.  She nodded down at the plate with something of a wicked grin, "Normally I'd be packing this up for Jack to take home for Dean, but here's hoping I can teach him something by revoking his pie privileges for one night."

Castiel's eyes went wide, and his hand flew off the rim of the plate as though it had burned him.  Before he could figure out a way to articulate how uncomfortable it made him to know he was stealing someone's pie, Jack laughed and shook their head.

"No, it's okay, really.  Sam's always saying Dean needs to watch what he eats.  So, you're helping!"  They chirped this last bit with a scrunch of the eyes and a jerky shrug of their shoulders.  Jo backed the assertion, a tilt of her head and a jag of her brow to say Castiel really didn't have the room to argue with either of them on this.

"Ah," Castiel said, eyeing the pie like it was a plate full of gold, feeling completely unworthy, "If that's the case. . ."

He looked up, met Jo's and then Jack's eyes, and told them solemnly, "I appreciate it."

Jack's endearing smile crinkled onto their face again, and Jo patted them on the arm.

"Hey, we're all set here," she said to Jack, "Why don't you clock out a little early, okay?  I won't tell my mom."

Castiel kept his small smile to himself, busied himself shifting his briefcase to his other hand as Jack eagerly tripped off to head out for the night.  Still, he lingered a little at the pickup counter, not missing the guarded way Jo eyed the front door, which gave nothing away as to what kind of trouble might still be skulking in the night on the other side.

She caught him noticing, which was fine, because his thoughts were running along similar tracks.  It gave him the cue to share his own.  "Um," he started, glancing away, "Would it be a problem if I stayed until closing?  There's, uh, no Wi-Fi at the motel."

When he looked back over at her, shy, she was giving him a soft eye roll with her mouth screwed up to one side to hide some kind of smile.  She chewed on the inside of her cheek a moment, then looked heavenward with a good-natured sigh.

"You know, for a guy who swears he's not a guardian angel--"

Behind her, Jack, who had traded their apron for a colorful windbreaker, swung through the half-door at the far end of the counter, on the other side of the espresso machine, and called out a chipper, "Good night, Jo!  Good night, sir, hope you enjoy your drink!"

Oh.  Castiel hastily lifted the paper cup, Jo waving her own goodbye as Jack trotted across the shop floor towards the exit.  He took a sip of the latte, cringing a little to discover that it was still far too hot to drink without caution; even so, he smiled at Jack and gestured with the cup.  "It's very good, thank you."

He was treated to another of those full-face, joyous smiles, and then Jack was out the door and Castiel was left alone with Jo, his scalding latte, and his unearned pie.  He thumbed the lip of the plastic to-go lid, only half-certain she had approved of him sticking around now that she was on her own behind the counter.  For all she knew, he could be just as rotten as any of them, just biding his time until--

"Please help yourself to our Wi-Fi for as long as you'd like," Jo told him, fixing him with a kind, if ever-so-slightly bemused, look.  

He nodded his thanks, and, using the bottom of his drink, shifted the pie plate over to the edge of the counter where he caught it in the fingers of the hand already tucked under the handle of the briefcase, maxing out his awkwardness in doing so.  Jo was biting her lip, watching the juggling act unfold before her, but she didn't otherwise comment.  With a short smile of parting, Castiel fled -- cautiously -- to a small table at one of the shaded windows, far from Jo and close to the door.

As he went, the sound of a car engine, startling in both how loud and how familiar it seemed to him, rumbled up through the coffee shop's backdrop of picked guitars and singing fiddles.  By the time Castiel took a seat, it had already roared off into the distance.  He was glad its driver seemed not to have run into any further trouble, after all.

Drink settled, pie settled, Castiel himself settled, he set the briefcase on the floor beside him and clicked it open just enough to drag the laptop out from the pocket. He slid it onto the table between his other items, determined to connect to the Wi-Fi and check his email, to do the one thing he had ventured out to do, even if only to say he had.

As suspected, he now saw no trace of "Big D's iPhone" nearby, and carefully punched in the access code to the Roadhouse's network.  The computer connected without fanfare.  Dutifully, he clicked on his email app and watched the logo splash pop up over the muted periwinkle of his desktop wallpaper.

While the program loaded up, he reached out and pulled the pie over and dug a chunk out of it with the fork that had been so kindly provided.  The first bite reminded him that he hadn't eaten since Kansas City, and his focus narrowed to the singular task of slicing and chewing until there was nothing left but crumbs stuck to the cinnamon-sugary tracks his fork made as it scraped over the plate's inexplicable cowboy boot pattern.

Returning the plate and fork to the table with a sigh, Castiel took up his latte, now sufficiently cooled, and sipped this while flicking his fingers over the laptop's trackpad, disinterestedly scrolling through his inbox.  The loss of a few of his taste buds notwithstanding, he found he was able to appreciate the quality of Jack's handiwork, and he felt retroactively absolved for the preemptive high marks he'd given.

He stopped scrolling.  Not that he'd been paying attention to the task anyway, but thinking about the young person's ineffable good cheer and the mercurial temper of their guardian had him staring at the curtain as if he could see straight through it, into the street and the night, imagining the shine of the street lamp off the hood of that dangerous-looking car.

He drank the rest of his latte while absorbed in the expanse of his mind's eye, the limitless vistas of the day's bus ride peppered with half-remembered moments of the evening so far,  impressions of the short stretch of Main Street Lebanon he'd traversed, the faces of strangers blending one into the next into the next.  There was one face in particular that he kept circling back to, though, and one moment that was sharper than the rest.

Standing under that street lamp, waiting.  Waiting for--

"Sorry to interrupt," Jo said, tentative, seeming to materialize at Castiel's table.

He whipped his head away from the window -- had he really just been staring blankly at the curtain this whole time?  What must she think -- and pushed back his chair to try to get with the program.  "Sorry -- you've probably been waiting--"

She laughed and held up her hands, and he slowed his frantic sweeping of his belongings from the table.  "Whoa, there.  I was just gonna give you a five-minute heads up, is all.  Didn't mean to spook you."

Castiel perched the briefcase he had snagged from the floor onto his vacated chair, and gently slid the laptop back inside.  "I'm fine," he said, snapping the clasp closed, "please don't let me hold you up."

"No worries," she told him, and when he darted his eyes over to her, she was giving him that slightly amused, slightly puzzled look she'd been giving him since he walked in.  She cleared his plate and cup from the table and made off with them.  He picked up his briefcase and pushed in the chair, standing purposelessly there at its side.

She looked back over her shoulder at him, seeing him not leaving.  "Five minutes," she said again, "and then I'm going to let you walk me to my car, okay?  You seem sweet, and I just can't help feeling like you'll have an aneurysm or something if I walk out there alone."

"Sorry," Castiel repeated.  He frowned, suddenly very invested in the stitching on his briefcase handle.  "I've overstepped again."

Jo pushed open the swinging half-door of the counter and regarded him from across the coffee shop floor.  "I'll let it slide, this once.  Just don't make a habit of it," she told him with mock-gravitas, fighting back a telling smile before disappearing into the back.

It was a joke, he could tell, something to dispel the awkward energy Castiel had fomented up around himself.  It worked, just a little, and he took a deep breath and let it out in a quiet sigh at himself.  Anyway, he could promise her that, and easily.  He didn't know exactly how long he'd end up spending in Lebanon, Kansas, but it wasn't like he was planning on sticking around forever.

He shuffled his feet, waiting on Jo's return, and willed himself to imagine opening that sealed box.  Digging out the keys to the wide, boxy, gold-colored Lincoln Continental.  Climbing into the driver's seat and watching this speck of a town vanish in the rearview mirror.

He wondered what tape would be playing in the deck, or maybe what radio station it was still set to.  What the scent of the air freshener hung over the mirror was, and whether the built-in ashtrays needed to be emptied.  What he might find forgotten under the seats.

All at once, a full-body shudder rolled over him, overwhelmed by all these questions with answers he couldn't yet face.  

"Ready?"

He looked up as Jo crossed to the door and flicked the bank of switches to shut off the overhead lights, leaving them both shadows lit faintly by the glow of the displays on the equipment behind the counter.

Ready?  Not in the slightest.

"After you," he murmured, reaching out to push the door open.

---

Castiel showered with military efficiency, the rushing water just about drowning out his empty thoughts.

He changed into his sleepwear mechanically, put himself into the bed, and flicked on the television because there was nothing else left to do.  The day was finally catching up to him, and his body ached as it reluctantly gave itself over to the support of the mattress.  His bones felt heavy, his eyes raw.  He flipped channels without comprehending anything he saw on the tiny screen.

Maybe it was the jangle of espresso in his veins, or maybe it was his internal clock's confusion regarding what time zone he'd ended up in, or maybe it was his white-knuckled refusal to find out what his subconscious had in store for him, but it was several long, dull, droning hours of late-night soaps and infomercials before Castiel finally let go and allowed himself to sleep.

[revisionaryhistory]

Three Days ~ 41

~*~Emma~*~

 After our extended makeout break I grabbed my laptop to finish my lesson plans and newsletter. I sat on the chaise part of the couch. Sebastian stretched out with his head at the other end and his feet tucked under my thigh. He was reading, but I would catch him looking at me.

 "Done!" I closed my laptop and sat it on the floor. I grabbed my tablet from the end table.

 Sebastian said, "Good," before swinging around to lay his head in my lap. Well, I think reading will have to wait a few minutes. I ran my hand over his scruffy beard on both sides of his face before pulling at the gray hairs on his chin. "When is the photoshoot for the watch?" I continued to stroke his beard while we talked.

 Sebastian cut his eyes to me. "Wednesday. Thursday if needed."

"Can you send me what you look like?"

"I can. I’ll send you before and after."

 I pulled my eyebrows down in question.

 "When I show up before makeup and stylists get a hold of me and after."

 "Ooo, fun. It will almost be like being there."

"I like photoshoots. I like getting to wear different clothes and try different looks. It can get tedious, but usually the photographer is trying to keep me relaxed and in a good mood."

 "I love trying on new clothes. Dressing up."

He turned his head a little, "Dinner next week. Any place or type of food you want?"

 We talked about different cuisines and decided on a few options. Tables could be hard to come by. We also talked about me going to the gym with him on Saturday. His gym. The idea of watching him work out for real was infinitely appealing. That would far outweigh any nervousness about my comparative fitness level.

 "When's the last time you saw Angie and Eli?"

Easy question. "First weekend in May." Always the first weekend in May. "They came up here. Angie and I went shoe shopping then Eli did a short acoustic set at a bar."

 "What do you think about having drinks or something?"

Unexpected. I'd thought about it, but it was the first time I'd been to his place and I didn't feel right making plans. I moved my hand to his chest, "Are you sure?"

 He picked up my hand, kissed it, and put it back on his chest. "Friday is mine. After dealing with my gym friends if you may want some sanity."

I smiled, "Ok. What do you want to do?"

"Don't care. Talk it over with them. They're your best friends. I want to meet them."

 This was the first time I'd gone out with basically a total stranger. We weren't really long distance, but we weren't in the same town either. Usually, whoever I dated already knew my friends. With Sebastian, we'd been here and met my friends. I’d met his family, which was all kinds of backwards, but it was important to me to meet his friends, to know him with them. I realized all of that was because I wanted to be in his life, not just an hour north of it.

 "I want to meet your best friends too."

"I'll be checking who's in town. I want to show you off. You already know Kirk. I'll be quizzing him to find out which of my traitorous friends know you and didn’t introduce us."

 It made me laugh, how he'd been thinking. "What happens if you find out we already met or someone tried and you said no?"

 Sebastian cringed, "I'll be figuring out a way to kick my own ass."

 I went back to stroking his beard. Almost like I was trying to get each little hair to go in the same direction.

 "You seem fascinated with my beard."

"It's soft. Softer when it's grown in more, but it's still soft. Do you want me to stop?"

 "Nope."

 We read in silence for a long time. I continued to play with his beard and he continued to smile. One of us got bored and we switched to TV. Sebastian's pick was an early 2000's British comedy, "Coupling." It was a relationship sitcom with three men and three women who hang out in a local pub a lot. It was funny, dirty, and I loved it. We laughed through the evening until it was time to go to bed.

 I took to the bathroom first. While I was gone Sebastian stripped down to his boxer briefs. He kissed me before ducking into the bathroom. I flopped over the bed to retrieve his t-shirt and put it on. It was long enough to cover me and I left the covers at the bottom of the bed. My text notification went off. Amy. We'd traded a couple of texts before Sebastian came out. I heard him make a low guttural noise when he saw me. I looked over with a smile and turned my phone toward him, "Amy. She's had a rough day. Katie has an ear infection."

"Ouch. Tell her I hope Katie feels better.”

 I nodded, but that was something I couldn’t do. He crawled into bed beside me, shoving a couple of pillows behind him and unlocking his phone. Amy and I finished and I put my phone on the charger before scooting closer to the man in my bed. He stopped his typing to lift his arm. Once I was settled, he went back to typing. "What are you doing?"

"Gratitude journal."

 "I tried that, but I couldn't come up with anything. I was writing things like red nail polish, deep conditioner, and toast."

The last one made him laugh, "Doesn't have to be anything big. If I’m having a bad day I can look back to see the good stuff and maybe do or find something to feel better. Toast is a lot more useful than walk on the beach." He kissed my head, "Look, here's today."

 I read the words dessert, building security, and family. I said one out loud. "Building security."

"In case Ed comes after me." He scrolled back, "Here's the weekend we met."

 Friday said chocolate chips, first dates, Emma. Saturday was line dancing, holding hands, goldfish. Decent recovery time, condoms, linen closets were under Sunday. Those were the days on the screen. Every one was us. My name is in there. He's grateful for me. And he shared this part of him with me. I pointed to my name, "Me."

"Very grateful for you. Everything I wrote those days was really you. Just different words."

I thought my heart was going to jump out of my chest. I pointed again, "Decent recovery time?"

 He smiled and raised an eyebrow, "I’m not as young as I once was."

 "I have no complaints."

"That's good to hear."

I had something serious to say, "Thank you, Bastian, for sharing your journal with me…"

 He said, “You're welcome” before I had finished.

"and saying you’re grateful for us. All of those are grateful for us. On day one you were grateful for us." He nodded but clearly didn’t understand. "I feel very special that we, that I take up those days. Thank you."

 “Your acting like you didn’t know you were special to me."  He was craning his neck to see my face.

 That was the last thing I wanted him to believe. I ran my fingers over a spot in the middle of his chest, petting him, and shook my head, "No, I knew, I know. But seeing a list of simple little things . . . of us. I feel very lucky.” I looked down where I was touching him, fighting tears. I felt very lucky and thankful for him and it was pulling hard on my emotions.

 If Sebastian noticed he didn’t say anything. I felt his fingers under my chin, turning my face up to his, “I’m the lucky one.”  His lips touched mine in an incredibly soft kiss that grew more intense but stayed soft. He rolled over on top of me and his hand gripped my waist under his t-shirt. “You’re wearing my shirt.”

 “I am.”

 “I want you out of my shirt.”

 I woke up in the morning about a minute before my alarm went off. Sebastian was on his stomach with his arm over my stomach. Where he touched me was warm. I rolled to my side and kissed his perfect lips, "Time to wake up."

 "Five minutes." He pulled the pillow out from under his head and put it over his head.

 I ran my hand along his back," Five minutes."

 It was closer to ten when I got out of the shower. Sebastian had made the bed and was star fished across the duvet." How do you manage to be cute and sexy at the same time?" I kissed him upside down.

"Practice."

 I dressed in a pink and white polka dot A-line sleeveless dress with a round collar that hit above my knee. My white sandals completed the sweet look. Sebastian was sitting at the breakfast bar with a cup of coffee when I came down the stairs.

A smile lit up his face, "First grade teacher day two. You look so cute."

 I pulled out the sides of my skirt and curtsied, "Thank you." I looked at the time, "We're early." I opened the refrigerator, "Do you want something to eat?"

 I felt his warmth press behind me and his arms wrap around my stomach, "I do. You."

In a flash, he'd spun me around and his mouth was on my neck. He walked me backward, lifted me onto the breakfast bar, and started pulling up my skirt. "Lay back."

 Sebastian's voice dripped with desire. I kept eye contact and lay back on the counter. He stayed locked on my eyes while he stripped off my panties and pulled me closer to the edge. I lifted my feet to the counter and spread my legs for him. His eyes left mine and focused on what I was showing him. He put his hands on my knees, ran them down my inner thighs, and spread me.

 "Oh god." I arched my neck with the feel of his mouth on me. He neither teased nor rushed me. His tongue circled and lapped at my clit while his fingers moved inside me. Two weekends and he knew how to play my body. Knew how to lick and touch me to get me off or prolong the pleasure. He slid one of his hands up my body and I twined my fingers with his, holding on. "I'm coming." I moaned out his name, squeezing his hand as I came. He squeezed back.

 I dropped my feet off the counter and stretched my arms out, holding onto the edges. Sebastian slipped my panties over my feet and up my legs. I reached out and he pulled me up before lifting me off the counter to set me back on my feet. He knelt to pull my panties the rest of the way up and straightening my skirt. I wrapped my arms around his neck as he stood and kissed him. "The things your tongue can do."

 "If we talk about this, I'm going to start thinking about how responsive you are to me and thinking about your body. Then I'm going to get hard." He looked down, "Well, harder and we don't have time for that and it’s a long train ride where I can't take care of it myself."

 I half growled half laughed. Thinking of him touching himself was going to haunt me all day. I stepped back, taking his hand, "Let's get out of here."

 Sebastian drove to the train station. I hit shuffle on the "SING" playlist and we camped it up, even taking a lap around the parking lot before he pulled into the drop off lane. "Meet you around front."

 We walked right into each other’s arms. I could feel his lips pressed to my head, "Another amazing weekend."

"Yeah, it was." I leaned back and we kissed. "Next weekend will be too."

He smiled with the slightest nod, "I'll talk to you later." He kissed me again before letting go. A few steps onto the sidewalk he turned, "Congrats on the win, again."

I blew him a kiss and watched him smile as he walked inside.

 I smiled all the way to work. I fought the urge to go home, curl up around his pillow, and soak everything in. Soak him in. But I did not. I had a busy day and lying in bed daydreaming of sex with the man who said yes when asked if he was my boyfriend is not the way to be productive. He probably just went with it to get Drew to back off. Sebastian didn't mention it again. Neither did I. I am not the "let's define this” girl and we've known each other for a whole eleven days, but I did like when he said “yes”.

Doesn't matter what we call it. Doesn't change the feelings.

 I made it through the first half of my day with a buck ass wild group of children. There were eight days left of school and they were excited. I wanted to tear my hair out. I took my lunch to Mallory’s room and decompressed with friends. They were having the same day I was. Mal brought up the tournament, "I wish I could have come."

I waved her off, "There will be more. Oh, remember that guy Drew I went out with a couple of times?" She and the ther teachers nodded. "He tried to pick a fight with my date. Everybody was drunk, but we're not in high school anymore. It was ridiculous."

"Go back to the date part."

I grinned, "His name is Sebastian. We met last weekend. He lives in the city and came back this weekend. I'm going to him next weekend."

"Is he hot?"

Cindy added, "Is the sex hot?"

"Both." I popped a grape in my mouth and wiggled my eyebrows. I picked up my tray, "Hot. Very, very hot."

 My kids had gym today so I was hoping they would calm them down. Someone knew when I had planning and texted me.

 Sebastian ~ If you woke up one morning with me going down on you... would that be a good thing?

I closed my eyes and winced. This is going to hurt.

Emma ~ Yes, a very good thing.

Emma ~ How do you feel about waking up with me sucking your cook?

 If he's asking for permission I should too.

Sebastian ~ Hard. I feel hard. Thx

 Emma ~ FYI. If I were to wake up with you inside me... also good.

Sebastian ~ I did this to myself.

  Even though I had volleyball practice tonight I headed straight to the gym. The kids’ behavior hadn't improved over the rest of the day and working out would release some of the tension in my muscles. Tension that most certainly was not present when I got to work.

 When I got home from the gym, I set up my iPad on the breakfast bar. I smiled remembering what had gone on here this morning. I pulled out the salad I’d picked up on the way home and hit the button to call Ed. Harper answered, "Hey Sissy. I got awards for most improved reader and most friendly."

Her smiling face wiped away any leftover tension from the day. "That's fantastic, Harper. I'm proud of you."

"Thanks, Sissy, I'm going to go play." Poof. She was gone.

 Ed's face showed up and he took a dramatic drink from a beer bottle. "Ok, I'm ready. Tell me about him."

I gave him the version between the one my teacher friends and Angie and Eli heard. More detail, but less sex. Besides the last two, Ed was the person I trusted most in the world. Even though he tipped the dial into overprotective I could tell him anything and trust him for an objective opinion. I called my parents if I wanted unconditional love (even if I was wrong) and Ed if I wanted the unvarnished truth. He'd been the first one to tell me Jimmy was cheating on me. Naturally, I didn't believe him. When I showed up in Hawaii after we broke up, he never said I told you so. He filled me with tequila, my favorite Kalua pig sandwich, and let me cry. The next day we sat on our surfboards far out in the water figuring out my next steps. I applied, interviewed, and accepted the long-term sub from a chaise by our pool.

 After we'd gone back and forth for a while, he said, "I like how he treats you."

"Yeah, I do too." I took a breath, "He's different, Ed."

"That's because you like him. You've dated guys, but you haven't really liked someone since the fucking asshole."

I laughed. Ed never said Jimmy's name. He was The Fucking Asshole. More of a title than a name. “True, but still Sebastian is different."

"How?"

"He's kind."

"People think you're kind. You are kind."

"I know." I thought a second. "He's real. Flawed. He owns it. We've talked about what's hard for him, what he struggles with. Like how he overthinks. When he told me what he was doing, where he was stuck, I knew how to make it better."

Ed took another drink of his beer, for thirst this time, not bracing himself. "I always prefer real people with real issues, no matter how messy. People who say they got nothing are liars or so unaware they're not worth the trouble."

 Very true. Those people just have issues that fuck you up when you’re least expecting. "When he’s working on a character, he does a lot of research. For Last Full Measure he read about Army vets, PTSD, battle fatigue. Bucky taught him about brainwashing, torture, and escape. He says his research affects him, he takes it in and it changes him, how he treats people."

Ed was smiling, "I’m back to you really like him. You introduced him to me, after all."

"I did. I thought it would fun and it was." We both laughed. “I like how I feel with him. It’s not all about what he says or what he does. Part of it is I know that I make him feel good too.”

 "Does Amy know?"

I clenched my teeth and hissed in a breath. "I'll be in Georgia in two weeks. I'll deal with it then. She’s been doing well, I guess we'll see."

'You know to call anytime."

"I do."

"Want to know what I've been doing all afternoon?" He didn’t wait for my answer. “Getting texts from your boyfriend with pictures and videos from the games. I told him you were snaking him with those shorts. They didn’t have to be that short, Emiliana."

"They worked." For the game and Sebastian. I ignored the boyfriend comment because Ed would just argue with me and I wasn’t sure he was wrong.

[allmidaddies]

party favors for you.

I.

There was a soft wooshing sound and then a small piece of crumpled up notebook paper bounced off of your glasses, falling onto the table in front of you. Before you could ask any questions there was another woosh of air and a second piece of paper hit your nose.

 Mat’s snicker gave him away as you lifted your head, glaring at him and lamely attempting to throw the paper back at him.

 “Stop it.”

 “But I’m bored,” Mat pouted in protest, leaning back in his chair. He had his feet stretched out so that they could rest against the chair that was beside you, wilted autumn leaves stuck to the bottom and now all over the floor. You had tried to get him to move his feet so you could put your backpack there but he was a stubborn pest. And it was really hard to argue with him when he looked as cute as he did. His hood was tugged up around his neck and the joggers he was wearing had fit maybe a size smaller than he should have purchased but you were not complaining.

 The straw in his hand was undoubtedly the tool he was using just a few seconds previous. In fact, he was loading it up again as you watched him.

 “You should really study, our midterm is on Friday,” you said, reaching out and snatching the straw from his unsuspecting fingers.

 “Hey!” Mat began to protest, reaching over the table to grab it but the stern look he received from the girl sitting just a table over from the two of you in the library made him sit back in defeat. You smiled proudly, throwing it in the trash can that was just within your reach.

 “You,” Mat said, a grin on his face, “Are no fun.”

 His fingers came to run through his soft hair as it fell over his forehead.

 “I don’t think that’s true,” you hummed, turning your attention back to your laptop, reaching blindly for your coffee. It was a bit late in the day to be having an iced latte but you needed it. You were copying the notes you had taken in class into an organized study guide, attempting to give yourself a chance at passing the upcoming exam. Which, by the way, Mat was also supposed to be studying for but instead he had been making tiny spitballs for the last thirty minutes.

 You and Mat had met only a few weeks ago. The first day of fall term he sat himself down in the empty seat beside you in your 8 am business law lecture, later on nominating himself to be your partner for the term long project.

 “Is this seat taken?” A low, rough voice to your left asked. It belonged to a tall, tired boy who had a coffee cup dwarfed by his large hand, tufts of dark brown hair sticking out from the hood he had tugged over his head. He startled you, your mind still foggy as your own coffee hadn’t quite kicked in yet.

“What? Yeah, no-” you stumbled over your words, “Sorry, I meant, no, no one is sitting there. It’s all yours.”

The boy standing over you grinned, chuckling to himself as he dropped his backpack onto the ground. You didn’t miss the logo that was printed on it: UVIC Hockey 13. Interesting. You didn’t know any hockey players. To be quite honest you didn’t know any student athletes at all. Sure you recognized them but personally you couldn’t call any of them friends.

“Coffee hasn’t kicked in yet, eh?” He asked, nodding towards your drink. You smiled, laughing softly,

“No. And I’m not entirely convinced that this is going to be enough.”

“Mat, by the way,” he stuck his hand out to you by means of introduction.

“Y/N.”

His hand was warm and calloused, engulfing your own as he shook it firmly. His eyes lingered on your face for a moment before he pulled his attention away to retrieve his laptop. You couldn’t help but peer over at his screen to see that his background was a picture of him and a few of his teammates, dressed and ready for a game.

“So hockey?” You asked softly. You were well aware that there were not many students in the classroom yet and you didn’t need anyone eavesdropping your conversation.

“Yeah,” Mat said and for a moment you didn’t think he was going to say anything else but then he looked over at you again, a bright smile on his face.

“You a fan?”

“I try to keep up but if you asked me to name five players on my favorite team I couldn’t tell you,” you admitted. That was the thing you hated about men who liked sports. They always wanted you to pass some sort of unspoken test before you were deemed a legitimate fan.

“I won’t make you do that,” Mat laughed, “But I will ask who your favorite team is.”

“I know I should say the Canucks since they’re the closest team but it’s actually the Islanders,” you confessed, mindlessly opening your laptop and creating a new folder for your class.

Mat started laughing, it was muffled as he pulled his hoodie over his mouth to silence himself but it earned your attention.

“What? Are you going to tease me for my team choice? I know they haven’t made it to the finals in like two decades but I am loyal to my team,” you defended.

“No,” Mat spoke through laughter, “You just-you must really not keep up much.”

You furrowed your brows, feeling slightly offended.

“I was drafted by them,” Mat said. There was no cockiness or ego behind his words, only humor from the situation. You were an Islanders fan and yet you had no idea that you were sitting in your 8 am lecture with their first round draft pick.

“Oh my god you were!” You exclaimed, your voice carrying and receiving looks from the other students in the room.

“Sorry,” you mumbled against your palm as you covered your mouth, “Sorry I guess I didn’t recognize you. Your hair was shorter...and you had less facial hair.”

You gestured towards the faint stubble he had going on, his hand subconsciously coming up to scratch it.

“Well it’s been a few years,” he shrugged.

“I’ll be able to tell my dad I sat next to the Mat Barzal in my lecture and I let him borrow my laptop charger,” you said. It was Mat’s turn to look confused,

“Laptop charger?”

“Your laptop is going to die,” you said, nodding towards the icon that showed he only had about a 9% charge.

“How do you know I don’t have a charger?” Mat asked, eyeing you closely.

“Do you?” You challenged. Mat frowned, his voice dropping,

“No.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head, and digging for your own,

“You men are so predictable.”

II.

The past few weeks had been nothing but cold and wet so when the sun decided to come out for the weekend you had suggested to Mat that the two of you go grab coffee and breakfast. It was already three weeks into the term and you were anxious to get started on the project you had been assigned in your shared class.

 On the second day of lectures your professor had asked everyone to pair up so that you could get started on the case study project he was assigning. Mat had leaned over and asked which case you wanted to do before you even had the opportunity to glance around the room. Not that you were opposed to working with him, you just hadn’t expected him to choose you to work on the project with. Given the fact you had only known him for a few days.

 It worried you a bit that he had such a busy schedule with hockey games and practice, not allowing the most flexibility for working on a big project. So, he had told you this weekend he didn’t have any games and just a few afternoon practices. Your suggestion for a breakfast study session had been met with much resistance on his part but you were not taking no for an answer.

 Despite his unwillingness to be up before ten am on a weekend, he was early to pick you up. And now the two of you were sitting on the sidewalk downtown, each with coffee and breakfast sitting before you.

 Your nose was buried in your laptop, unaware that Mat was staring at you. He had his laptop open, a pen between his fingers that he was mindlessly twirling around as he admired the way the sun was hitting your face. The bun you’d thrown your hair into tilted to the side, baby hairs blowing across your forehead in the breeze.

 It amazed him how motivated and studious you were. He was motivated when it came to hockey but he struggled to remain focused on his school work for more than an hour at a time. And he always saved everything for the last minute. When he had chosen you to be his partner for this assignment he hadn’t done so with the intention that you would shoulder most of the work but with his busy schedule he couldn’t help but fall short more often than not.

 It made him feel bad because you were so nice and so sweet, assuring him that it was not a big deal and you didn’t mind.

 “So,” you spoke up, snapping Mat from his trance. He blinked twice, running his fingers through his hair.

 “Yeah?”

 “What do you think of that?” You asked, speaking slowly and looking at him inquisitively. Mat blushed,

 “I wasn’t listening.”

 “Mathew,” you frowned. He gave a sheepish smile,

 “I’m sorry. I’m tired.”

 “Excuses, excuses, Barzal,” you teased, sitting up and reaching over to flip open his textbook.

 “I was just saying that we should do something like this case study,” you repeated. Mat nodded, watching your fingers dance across the page as you spoke. He was listening this time. Everything you said sounded so intelligent and he didn’t understand how you could absorb and interpret some of the information so easily. He could read the same passage a hundred times over, only to feel more confused as he went while his eyes begged to fall shut. But you, he could listen to you talk about piercing the corporate veil all day long.

 “Honestly,” Mat chuckled, “You know better than I do. I don’t know how you understand any of this stuff.”

 You laughed, taking a sip of your coffee,

 “The same way you can look at the plays your coach tells you to run and understand what the hell he’s talking about. And then execute it. It just takes patience and practice.”

 Mat rubbed his hands over his face, sitting up straighter,

 “Okay. Explain it to me again. Like I’m twelve.”

 “Like you’re twelve...or like you’re four?” You grinned, earning an eye roll and a laugh from Mat as he threw his napkin at you.

 “I’m not that stupid,” he pouted. You smiled, looking at him for a moment. His hair was falling over his forehead, the sun making it look shinier than usual. Even though it was a little chilly, he was still in just a grey t-shirt but it complimented his skin tone and fit across his shoulders like a dream.

 “I didn’t say you were stupid, Barzy,” you said, “Because you’re not. You’re just wired differently. Maybe business law isn’t your calling, but hockey is. And that’s why you got drafted, and that’s why you’re going to play in the NHL once you’re done with your time here. And until you go, I’m going to help you pass this class.”

 After only knowing him for a few weeks you still felt a punch in your gut every time you thought about him leaving for New York. He said he didn’t know when he might call his college career quits and you dreaded the day it came. Even if he was a pain to study with, and you were doing most of the heavy lifting on this project, you enjoyed spending time with him.

 And when you watched the smile spread across his face you couldn’t help but think he enjoyed spending time with you too.

 III.

You were planning on pulling a late night at the library. There was no upcoming deadline for anything but you wanted to get ahead on some classwork. With Halloween the next weekend you didn’t want to have any homework preventing you from having a fun weekend of dressing up with your friends and going out to the bars.

 And just as you were settling into your market analysis coursework your phone started ringing. Obnoxiously loud for the quiet floor of the library.

 “Sorry,” you whispered to the students who glared in your direction. You scrambled to silence the ringing before looking at the name that was flashing across your screen.

 Mat Barzal

Confusion crossed your features. Didn’t he have a game tonight?

 “Hello?” You answered quietly, getting up and moving away from the tables so as to not distract the other students.

 “Hey can- why are you whispering?” Mat asked, a quiet laugh falling from his lips.

 “I’m in the library,” you said. Mat almost rolled his eyes. He should have known. You were always at the library. He told you every day that you studied too hard, to which you always retorted that he just didn’t study enough. And while Mat couldn’t exactly argue with that he did believe you spent too much time with your nose buried in your studies.

 “Oh…” Mat trailed off.

 “Why? Aren’t you supposed to be getting ready for a game?” You asked.

 “Yeah but I left my airpods in class today and I need them so I can go do my thing. You didn’t happen to grab them, did you?” He asked, his tone hopeful.

 “Oh! Yeah! I figured I’d give them back to you tomorrow,” you said, “But I have a feeling you need them now?”

 “Uh…” Mat hesitated, “Yeah… but if you’re studying I don’t want to interrupt, it’s okay.”

 “Mat,” you laughed, “I can bring them to you. I’m not going to let this superstition be the thing that makes you guys lose tonight.”

 Mat laughed, thinking back to a few days before when he had explained, in great detail, all of his superstitions. One of them being his ritual of sitting on the bench and visualizing for at least twenty minutes before every game prior to getting ready.

 “You’re an angel,” Mat sighed. Your heart fluttered at his words but you pushed the feeling away,

 “Just tell me where to go. I can come now.”

 The cold October wind pierced right through the UVIC hoodie you were wearing as you walked to the arena. In all honesty you weren’t sure you had ever been to a hockey game apart from the one you had come to with your dad during Family Weekend your freshman year. Long before you knew Mat.

 As you reached the bottom of the stairs that led into the basement, towards the locker rooms, you found Mat. He was leaning against the wall, waiting for you. There was a hat covering his hair and he already had KT tape running up his thighs, which were largely exposed by the compression shorts he was wearing.

 “You are a lifesaver,” Mat said, wrapping you in a hug as you handed him the small, white charging holder. Your arms found their way around his waist, feeling his hard muscles beneath your fingers.

 “I tried catching you after class but your legs are much longer than mine,” you teased, looking up at him. He still hadn’t released you from his hold but you didn’t mind. He smelled good, and his hoodie was soft against your cheek.

 “I really appreciate this,” Mat said. He paused like he might say something else. You leaned back to get a better look at his face, eyebrows raised.

 “What?”

 “Well,” Mat said slowly, “I was just thinking since I already interrupted your studying you should just stay for the game.”

 You bit the inside of your cheek. It was a long walk back to the library. And there was less than an hour until the game started. If you texted your roommates you were sure at least one of them would come and sit with you. They had listened to you gush about Mat for nearly two months now and you were sure they were dying to see him in person.

 “You don’t have to,” Mat said quickly, noting your hesitancy. It made his heart drop just a bit but he tried not to let it get to him.

 “No, it’ll be fun,” you assured him, catching the hint of sadness that flashed through his eyes.

 “And if you hang around after the game we can get food or something,” Mat said. You couldn’t fight the smile on your face as you nodded.

 “Okay.”

 “Is that all it takes?” Mat laughed, “A promise for food?”

 “Maybe,” you grinned, leaning into him once again. Mat hugged you tighter for a second before releasing you.

 “Okay, well I need to go...do my thing...but I’ll see you after?”

 You nodded, backing away slowly until you hit the door,

 “Good luck superstar.”

 Mat laughed, shaking his head,

 “Thank you.”

 ~

 It had been a long time since you had watched a hockey game in person. When you were growing up your family would go watch the Canucks whenever the Islanders came to town. College was certainly a different experience but you were so focused on Mat you hardly noticed anything else.

 “Will you stop drooling?” Maria laughed, bumping her knee against yours. Two of your roommates had come to your rescue, accompanying you for the game so you didn’t have to sit alone.

 “I’m not,” you hissed, glancing over your shoulder. You didn’t doubt that there were other girls around who couldn’t keep their eyes off of Mat either. Someone as attractive as him surely had no problem getting laid so it wouldn’t surprise you if you weren’t the only girl there to see him.

 Even though most of Mat’s free time was spent with you, you didn’t know what he was really doing when he claimed he was busy. And you tried not to let it bother you. Especially since you were just friends, project partners really.

 “He definitely left his airpods on purpose,” Kate said, leaning over you so that Maria could hear her too.

 “He did not,” you scoffed. The thought had definitely crossed your mind. How did he even forget them? They had been sitting right there on the table when he said bye to you after class. And how did he not notice they were missing all day? Your lecture was at 8 in the morning. These were all questions you had been running through since you sat down on the hard bleachers.

 Kate and Maria shared a glance but they didn’t say anything more. They didn’t get the chance because you were practically jumping out of your seat when Mat scored a goal, allowing UVIC to take the lead.

 And you swore you saw him look up at the stands, his eyes searching for you, a smile spreading across his face when he spotted you, just as his teammates attacked him with hugs.

 “Definitely on purpose,” Kate mumbled.

 After the game Kate and Maria slipped off, telling you they’d see you at home. “Or not!” Maria had shouted as you started to make your way back down to the hallway Mat had told you to meet him in.

 You tried to tell yourself that him asking you to stay for the game meant nothing, but there were butterflies in your stomach at the prospect of getting food with him afterwards.

 “Hey,” Mat’s voice startled you, just as it had that first day of class. He had just emerged from the locker room, back in his suit he had been wearing before the game.

 “Nice goal,” you smiled, accepting the hug he pulled you into. The entire thing felt so domestic and you wished you got to do this all the time.

 “I had extra luck in the stands tonight,” Mat grinned, his eyes scanning your face. For a moment it looked like he wanted to kiss you but his teammates burst through the doors.

 A chorus of  “Good game Barzy!” ruined whatever soft moment the two of you were having. Mentally you cursed each of the shaggy haired boys that came through the hall but you didn’t miss the looks they were all giving Mat as they passed. He kept a protective arm around your shoulders, as if he was afraid one of them might try and steal you away. Gently you curled your fingers around the material of his suit jacket, earning his attention once again.

 “So what’s that for?” You asked, nodding towards the object he was holding in his free hand. Mat’s cheeks flushed, and it wasn’t the post game glow.

 “It’s a puck,” he said, “I saved it for you. You know, for your first hockey game.”

 He handed it to you tentatively and you let your fingers brush over his as you took it from him,

 “Thank you,” you smiled up at him before a teasing grin took over your features, “But this isn’t my first hockey game. I thought you knew that.”

 Mat rolled his eyes playfully,

 “I know. But, it’s your first game coming to watch me play.”

 You had no argument for that and your body felt warm as you brushed your thumb over the face of the puck.

 “Is this the one you scored a goal with?” You asked quietly. Mat opened his mouth to speak but no words came out, though the blush in his cheeks and the way he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly told you that it was. Before he could muster up the words his coach came out into the hallway.

 “Good game tonight Barzal,” he said, his eyes falling to you for a moment. There was a question in his expression but he didn’t say anything, simply giving a nod and a goodnight to you both before he disappeared and the two of you were alone again.

 You decided to save the awkward conversation for another time, glancing up at him again,

 “Let’s go get food, yeah?”

 IV.

After your unofficial post game “not a date” date with Mat you didn’t see him for a while. He was on a week-long road trip to some schools out of the conference on the east coast. It didn’t mean, though, that you weren’t still in touch with him every day.

 Mostly it was you sending him snapchats, complaining about how boring the lecture was without him making side comments the entire time. Even though your notes were much more thorough without his distractions.

 But, it was also him begging to FaceTime late in the evening after games because he couldn’t figure out how to do the homework. Oftentimes it wasn’t even for the class you were taking together. His accounting class was giving him a major headache and he turned to you for help rather than taking advantage of the athletic tutors he had access to.

 “Mat you know there are people who are paid to help you right?” You teased, propping your phone up as you sat at your desk. Mat rolled his eyes,

“You could be one of those people, and then you could get paid to hang out with me.”

“But I would also have to put up with other people who are not you and I don’t want to do that,” you said. It was a silent confession but you weren’t sure if Mat picked up on it.

“So I’m special?” Mat grinned. It was your turn to roll your eyes,

“Don’t get a big head on me now, Barzal.”

You half expected him to text you to hang out or study when they got back into town on Saturday but when he didn’t you let your roommates convince you to go out to the bars with them. As bad as your crush on Mat had become, you needed to see what other options there were in your college town.

 Which is why you were now donning a lace bodysuit and jeans, leaning against the bar as the ice melted in your now drained glass. The pickings were...slim. All you’d had a frat guy come occupy the barstool beside you for nearly twenty minutes, explaining to you the importance of brotherhood, and it wasn’t until his girlfriend came and dragged him away that you could get him to leave you alone.

 She had apologized profusely, saying he tended to talk too much to strangers when he was drinking. You told her not to worry about it.

 All you really wanted was for Mat to be the person you came out with on the weekends. You had a strong feeling he was a good time when he was drinking.

 As if you had manifested his presence into your life, a figure moved into your peripheral that looked all too familiar.

 “So you have a life outside the library,” Mat’s voice was low and teasing in your ear, sending chills down your spine. His hand was pressed against your lower back and you leaned into him, turning your head so you could look at his face. His skin was glowing from the heat of the bar and the drinks he had undoubtedly consumed before running into you.

 “I’m surprised it took you this long to find me,” you smirked, finally turning and pressing your palms against his chest. The t-shirt he had on did little to separate your hands from his hard chest. The thought of what he was hiding beneath his clothes had you squeezing your thighs together. Especially when his hands dared to travel lower as he brought you into him further.

 “Let me get you a drink,” he said, nodding towards the bar. You nodded, glancing back towards your friends to see them giving you thumbs up. You flipped them off before turning all of your attention back to Mat, falling into conversation with him.

 “So, your coach finally gave you guys the night off?”

 “About time,” Mat groaned, running his fingers through his hair.

 “Well I’m glad you’re out, I’m starting to think you spend more time inside that rink than I do inside the library,” you teased.

 “Which is saying a lot,” Mat pinched your side playfully. The bartender set down your drinks but before you could even swallow the sip you took of whatever he had ordered you a hand gripped Mat’s shoulder, yanking him to turn around.

 “Hey Barzal!”

 Some drunk guy stumbled in front of him and Mat faced him as you watched over his shoulder.

 “What the hell?” Mat asked, stepping back to avoid being crashed into as the guy’s body swayed heavily.

 “You’re a stupid son of a bitch!” The guy said, pointing a finger at him. Your brows furrowed and you made a move to say something, never one to hold your tongue when you were drinking, but Mat caught your waist and pulled you back behind him protectively.

 “You fucked my girlfriend!” The guy said, “I know you did and you think you’re gonna get away with it but you’re just some stupid hockey player and I could kick your ass.”

 You tried to ignore the feeling of jealousy that crept into your chest at the thought of Mat hooking up with someone who wasn’t you. But you highly doubted Mat would ever be a home-wrecker. He wasn’t that kind of guy. Maybe you were naive to think it but you had a pretty good idea of who he was, and it wasn’t that.

 “I didn’t fuck your girlfriend,” Mat scoffed. He wanted to say he hadn’t been fucking anyone since he met you but he wasn’t about to announce that to the entire bar.

 “I don’t know if you’re been smashed into the boards too many times but you did you toolbag,” the guy said, giving Mat a sturdy shove to the chest. Mat was very obviously taller, stronger, and broader than the guy in front of him but the alcohol in the man’s veins was not allowing him to realize that.

 “I don’t even know who you are or who your girlfriend is,” Mat laughed, “But I promise I didn’t screw her. I’m not that desperate.”

 “Excuse me?” The guy chuckled darkly, “What did you just say?”

 “I’m not so desperate to get laid that I need to fuck girls with boyfriends you idiot,” Mat said, rolling his eyes. It was clear this guy wasn’t going to let it go even though Mat knew he hadn’t done anything wrong.

 Your eyes went wide as you watched the drunk guy shove Mat again. This time Mat retaliated, nearly knocking him on his ass with a single push. Mat turned to take your arm and guide you outside but just as his fingers grazed your wrist your eyes went wide.

 “Mat!”

 A beer glass connected with the side of his head, the contents spilling all over your shirt and jeans before shattering on the ground at your feet. Mat reached up to touch his cheekbone, his fingers coming away bloody. His eyes went dark and he turned back towards the asshole who had thrown it. With no warning Mat swung, knocking the guy to the ground.

 “You better consider yourself lucky that this is all I’m handing you tonight,” Mat said as he leaned over him, “Don’t try to start shit with me again unless you have your facts crystal clear.”

 “Mat,” you tugged his arm, pulling him back and ushering him towards the door. There was blood running down the side of his face where the beer glass had broken the skin. It was already beginning to bruise as he took the bottom of his t-shirt and dabbed it gently.

 “Don’t touch it,” you tugged his hand away from his face. There was irritation in your tone and Mat came to a stop.

 “I’m sorry,” he said. You halted, turning to look at him. You’d made it to a street corner, the noise of the bar now in the distance. All that illuminated the area around you was a single street light but you could make out the guilt in his eyes.

 “Mat it’s not your fault,” you said, softening your tone.

 “But I shouldn’t have done that,” Mat nodded back towards the bar.

 “Maybe not,” you shrugged, “But he was the one who threw a fucking beer glass at your head. What were you supposed to do? Give him a hug?”

 Mat laughed softly, stepping towards you again and draping his arm around your shoulder.

 “C’mon, let’s go back to my place and I can clean that up for you. And we can come up with a cover story to tell your coaches.”

 Once you got back home you pulled Mat into the bathroom across from your room. Your roommates were still out so the house was quiet as Mat leaned back against the counter. He stripped himself of his t-shirt, complaining about how the beer had made it sticky.

 “Sorry about your shirt,” he said quietly. You barely glanced at him, afraid seeing him shirtless would be too much to handle.

 “It wasn’t your fault,” you said again. Mat sighed, running his fingers through his hair.

 “Seriously, Mat,” you said again, setting the hydrogen peroxide on the counter, “You don’t need to apologize for something you didn’t do.”

 Mat was quiet as you stood between his legs. His hands ghosted over your waist, chills spreading across your arms as you tried not to think about how close you were standing to him. You dabbed at the cut gently but Mat still hissed in pain all the same. Out of reflex, his grip on your waist tightened. The pads of his thumbs brushed over the exposed skin of your midriff causing your breath to catch in your throat.

 Mat glanced down at you, an overwhelming urge to kiss you beginning to take over.

 “Thank you,” Mat said quietly.

 “For what?” You asked, dropping the cotton ball in the trash and putting neosporin on a bandaid.

 “For everything,” Mat sighed, “I feel like you’re always helping me when you don’t have to.”

 You stared down at your hands, the admission on the tip of your tongue. You wanted so badly to tell him how you felt but the fear of scaring him away and losing the friendship that you had held you back.

 “I don’t mind,” you said, finally looking up at him. Gently you placed the bandaid over the cut, your eyes meeting his for a second. He wanted to say something, you could tell. But he didn’t. Instead, he simply placed his hand on the back of your neck and brought your forehead to his lips, leaving a soft kiss there. Your eyelids fluttered closed for a second before you pulled yourself away from him,

 “I’m going to go change. You can stay here tonight if you want.”

 + one

You were pacing nervously, fingers tapping against your chin as Mat watched you closely.

 “You’re going to wear down the carpet,” he teased gently. You stopped, turning to face him. It was clear in your expression that you were not in a laughing mood.

 “What’s wrong?” he asked. The two of you had been in his room for the past hour, writing up what you were going to say in the final presentation. You had put together the powerpoint slides with some help from Mat a few days earlier and now it was the night before the presentation and you were an anxious mess.

 “I can’t do this presentation, Mat,” you said, fidgeting with your hands.

 “Why not?” He asked.

 “Because,” you said, your voice cracking, “I’m so bad at presenting. I get nervous and I forget my words and I just go blank. I feel hot and nauseous and like I’m going to pass out.”

 Mat nodded, sitting on the edge of his bed with his elbows on his knees,

 “So it makes you anxious?”

 You nodded. It felt stupid. You were in college and you still couldn’t stand in front of a group of people and talk about something you had spent the entire term becoming an expert on. There wasn’t a thing you didn’t know about this case but as soon as you stepped in front of the room you knew you would forget everything. And not just everything about the project, everything you had ever learned in your life.

 “Just look at me,” Mat said, “Don’t look at the class. So we lose a few points on eye contact. I don’t care. The rest of the project is so good it won’t matter.”

 You laughed dryly,

 “See that’s the problem, Barzal.”

 Mat furrowed his brows. You rolled your eyes,

 “You make me nervous.”

 “Oh.”

 Mat looked at you again. There was panic in your eyes, both from the presentation and from the confession.

 “How about I just do the presentation? I don’t care. You basically did the entire project and I don’t mind standing in front of the class and presenting,” Mat shrugged. There was a small sinking feeling in your stomach when he didn’t address your comment but you decided to deal with that later.

 “Really?” You asked, “Are you sure because-”

 “You just write up what you want me to say and I can do it,” Mat assured you. A huge weight lifted from your shoulders as you sat down beside him again, pulling his laptop into your lap and opening a new word document.

 Mat watched you closely, vaguely listening to the words you were speaking. Had you just confessed that you like him? As in...you reciprocated the feelings he had been hiding for nearly ten weeks now? He wanted to ask you about it but the last thing he wanted to do was give you more anxiety right before this presentation.

 Later, he promised himself, later.

 A heavy arm draped across your shoulders as you stepped out into the brisk December air. Frost covered the ground, causing you to pull your coat around your body closer.

 “Good job,” Mat said, smiling down at you.

 “Thank you so much for doing that,” you said, mirroring his expression.

 You had just wrapped up your business law class, presentation now complete. Mat had taken the lead, giving you just one easy slide so you could get credit for being there. It may have been cheating the system a little bit, since all you did was introduce yourself and the case, but you didn’t care. You spent the rest of the presentation watching Mat, feeling proud at how well he did considering just a few months ago he was afraid he wouldn’t even be able to pass the class.

 Granted, you had written the majority of the presentation, but he still managed to answer all the questions your professor had asked with ease and the same amount of detail you would have given.

 “You’re more than just a pretty boy, Barzy, I’m impressed,” you teased, wrapping your arm around his waist and giving him a gentle squeeze.

 “I don’t know what excuses I’m going to use next term to get you to hang out with me,” Mat sighed dramatically. You laughed, rolling your eyes.

 “I’m always open for study dates, even if they aren’t for the same class,” you said. Immediately after the word date left your mouth you wanted to take it back. After Mat had said nothing of your small confession the night before you didn’t want to scare him away.

 “Oh!” Mat said, breezing past it, “That reminds me.”

 “Hmm?”

 “I owe you, you know for practically carrying this project all term and sitting through more hockey games than you probably wanted to,” Mat said, referencing the fact that after that first game you had found yourself going to home games more often than before. If just to see Mat for a few minutes afterwards when he walked you to your car.

 “Mat I told you I don’t mind,” you said.

 “Then you won’t mind me buying you a coffee before your next class,” Mat said easily, “You have time.”

 This was true. You had a final at 11 but it was only 9:16, presentations having wrapped up quickly.

 “Don’t you have practice?” You countered. Mat shook his head,

 “Not until tonight. Schedule is different during finals.”

 “Okay,” you conceded, letting Mat lead you to the shop just off of campus.

 You ended up sitting in the shop for longer than you intended. Time seemed to disappear whenever you were with Mat. He had been telling you some dramatic, ridiculous story about their last away game, laughing until your sides were aching. It made you want him even more. But you were starting to think that maybe friends would have to be enough.

 You glanced down at your phone, realizing you only had thirty minutes until your final.

 “I have to go,” you said, interrupting Mat. His face dropped.

 “Does this mean I’m not going to see you until after the Christmas break?”

 Fuck. You hadn’t even thought of that.

 “I don’t know, I leave on Friday,” you said. You gathered your things, feeling your heart sink as Mat set both your empty cups on the dish tray.

 “I don’t leave until next week,” Mat said, “We should do something.”

 You tried to resist the smile that toyed at your lips. It was a good sign that he wanted to see you even though your project was over.

 “You can teach me how to ice skate.”

 “You don’t know how to ice skate?” Mat laughed as he pushed the door open, holding it for you.

 “In my defense my parents never took me,” you said, holding your hands up in surrender.

 “Lucky for you I have the keys to the rink so I might be able to arrange a lesson,” Mat said.

 The rest of your walk back to campus was quiet, both of you deep in your thoughts.

 Mat didn’t want to leave for Christmas break without telling you how he felt. And if you didn’t feel the same way it wasn’t like you still had to finish your project together. But, if your lingering gazes and the hockey hoodie of his that was in your closet were any indications, he had a pretty good feeling that you felt the same way.

 Just as you reached the business building again, snow started falling from the sky. It was catching in Mat’s hair and on your eyelashes so he pulled you underneath the covered walkway. You still had a few minutes to spare and the last session of classes wasn’t out yet, leaving the two of you alone.

 A palpable tension formed between the two of you as you rested back against the brick wall, watching him shake snow from his hair.

 “C’mere,” you laughed, tugging his wrist so you could run your fingers through his hair and dust the snow off. Not that it mattered much since he would have to step out into it in a few minutes. Your eyes lingered on the faint scar he had just below his eye. It was almost completely healed and the bruise was mostly gone. Mat watched you closely, his chest nearly brushing yours as he stood with his feet on either side of your legs.

 He felt that overwhelming urge to kiss you that had come over him the night after the bar. Jis eyes were trained on your face, admiring every detail. He reached up gently, brushing the snow that had caught on your brow. His thumb grazed over your cheek bone and he felt you lean into his touch ever so slightly.

 As soon as your hands dropped from his hair, Mat caught your chin between his forefinger and thumb and leaned in to kiss you. Though you were already practically chest to chest you melted into him further, palms coming to rest against his chest. Your fingers curled around the lapel of his coat, wanting something to hold onto. Something to ground you in the reality that this was actually happening.

 Mat pulled away first but he rested his forehead against yours, not wanting to go far,

 “Tell me if I’ve got this all wrong, but I really, really like you. And it’s not just because you help me all the time. I just like being around you. And I can’t help but think that maybe you like me too.”

 You couldn’t help but giggle at his words,

 “Why do you think I’m so eager to help you, Mat? I’m a nice person, but I wouldn’t do these things for just anybody.”

 “Oh.”

 “Yeah, ‘oh.’ There’s not a lot of people I would walk all the way across campus from the library to the arena for, just to give them their headphones,” you laughed.

 “Are there a lot of people you would say yes to a date with?” Mat asked cautiously.

 “Depends who’s asking,” you teased.

 “I’m asking,” Mat said. You tugged him down to you by his coat, lips ghosting over his,

 “For you...anything.”

 Mat grinned, closing the gap. This time his tongue swiped across your bottom lip, tangling with yours as he pulled you into him even more. Your arms draped around his neck, tangling in the hair at the back of his neck.

 When you pulled away you were both breathless, wide smiles on your lips.

 “You should go take your final,” Mat said.

 “It shouldn’t take me long,” you said, “Will you wait for me?”

 Mat didn’t have any finals left to take and his practice wasn’t until 7 that night. If you were willing to spend the rest of the day with him he would gladly take you up on that offer.

 “Okay,” he smiled, “I still owe you a few favors.”

 You breathed a laugh, shaking your head,

 “You don’t have-”

 “But I’m going to,” Mat interrupted, “I plan on making them all up to you. And then some.”

 ~

[wildmichaelflower]

Too Young, Too Dumb - College!SOS PT. 1

Word Count - 1.6k

Warnings - Slight swearing

Luke groaned as his alarm went off, interrupting the peaceful sleep he had been having. Sitting up, he turned it off before going to his select his outfit for the day. Once dressed, he went to go make a coffee to go, biting his lip when he was greeted by the sight of his roommate Michael slumped over the table, a cup of coffee gone cold in front of his laptop. Luke gave his shoulders a couple shakes and whisper-shouted his name, watching the other man grumble to life.

“Mike, it’s 7 am. How long have you been sitting here?”

“Well,” he yawned, “I got off work at ten, stopped at McDonald’s, got home by ten-thirty-ish.” He took a pause to rub his face, “I took a shower, then came out here, so eight hours?” He took a sip from his mug, immediately spitting the contents back out, “That tastes like shit..”

“Well, that’s eight hour old coffee for you,” Luke sighed as he prepared his roommate a fresh cup.

“Nah, more like five hours. I remember making some around two and everything after that is a blur. I passed out around four, I think?” He yawns again.

“How do you expect to pass classes if you can’t stay awake in them?” Luke sighed as he set the mug down.

“I think the bigger issue here is that you’re still expecting me to go to my classes.” Michael mumbled as he eagerly picked up the mug.

“Dude, come on,” Luke gave a hard look, “You’re on a full ride, do you want to throw that away?”

Michael groaned, not in the mood to have this conversation, especially this early in the morning, but he also had to acknowledge that Luke was right.

“Ok,” He sighed, “My first class isn’t until eleven so I’m going to sleep until ten.”

“And your homework is all done?”

“Yep,” Michael grinned sleepily and finished his coffee before placing the mug in the sink. He picked up his laptop and its charger before heading towards his bedroom.

Luke shook his head before continuing to make his breakfast, humming softly as he made his plate. He poured himself a mug of coffee, then sat down to eat his fried eggs and turkey bacon with a side of mixed fruit. He unlocked his phone and began to scroll through Twitter, keeping an eye on any important headlines to bring up during his night class. He got extra credit if the class discussed something he brought up, not that he wanted or needed it, he just thought the conversations were important. After screenshotting a few articles, he finished the remnants of his breakfast before going to load the dishes into the dishwasher. He decided against running it, not wanting to break the silence in case Michael wasn’t asleep yet. 

He quietly went to pack up his bag, making sure he had the appropriate books and chargers for his laptop and phone. Sure, he was coming back after his second class, but it never hurt to be prepared.

He headed back to the living room, grabbing his keys from the coffee table before slipping on his shoes. He left a note on the counter for Michael, reminding him to take his meds, before heading out. As he was locking up, he smiled as he watched his neighbor also lock her door. 

"Morning," he said, biting his lip as she jumped, "Sorry if I scared you." 

"Yeah, you did," she smiled sheepishly as she ran a hand through her hair, "Didn't think anyone else was crazy enough to be awake and moving at 8 am." 

He laughs and nods, "Yeah, it's not for the weak, but someone has to make sure the world turns. I'm Luke by the way," he sticks his hand out, smiling as she takes it.

 "Carina," she smiled as she introduced herself, shaking his hand, before pulling away and heading to the steps, "So what's your plan for keeping the world turning?" 

He grinned, "I work the front desk of the student union. Gotta make sure people have their popcorn." 

She laughed and nods in agreement, the student union desk sold other things, but popcorn was easily it's most popular product. 

"And what about you?" He smiled. 

"I work at the bookstore, where, once the semester settles, people buy anything but books."

Luke laughed at that and nodded understandingly, "Guilty." 

"Aren't we all?" She smiled and opened the front door to the building. 

They walked out together, and Luke grabbed his keys from his pocket when he noticed her leaving the parking lot. 

"Want a ride?" He asked as he unlocked his car.

Carina stopped and turned around, biting her lip.

"You seem nice, but how can I trust you? We just met." 

Luke bit his lip, he honestly didn't think she should walk to campus, but he should've known what it would've looked like. 

"I'll let you drive?" He offered awkwardly, smiling as she laughed. 

"And I was thinking I trusted too easily," she smiled, debating with herself on whether or not to accept the offer. 

Granted, she just met this guy, but he was cute, in an awkward but doing his best kind of way, and didn't seem to pick up any bad vibes from him. She would play a test on him, and if he passed, then she would get in with him. 

"Before I get in, could I take a picture of the license plate and send it to my friend?" She pulled her phone out. 

Luke nodded, "Of course, anything that helps you feel comfortable." He smiled before getting into his car.

Carina smiled to herself, thanking the internet for giving her the clever idea then took a couple pictures of the back of the car before updating her best friend. 

Getting a ride from school from my neighbor, never met him before today but he seems nice! Just in case, here's some info.

She sent the pictures before getting into the car, surprised by how clean it was.

"Offer still stands if you want to drive," he smiles. 

She laughs but shakes her head, "I don't think you're pretty face can handle the speeds I drive at."

He chuckled and pulled out of the parking lot, heading towards the campus. It wasn't a long drive, just a few blocks, but with the temperature dropping, Luke felt better giving rides to people.

"So, what's your major?" Carina asked. 

"Business economics," he smiled, "and yours?" 

"Social studies education, with a minor in political science. I'm guessing your minor is something like mathematics or international relations. That's a common one for you business majors, that or Spanish." 

He laughed, much to her surprise, but he was used to people assuming those kind of things out of him.

"Actually, my minor is gender and women's studies."

"Wow.. what made you choose that?" 

"Well I took one class freshman year about history and social structures from the perspective of women to fill the diversity requirement, and I was hooked." 

Carina nodded, smiling at this new insight of her neighbor.

"Your partner is very lucky."

Luke blushed and bit his lip, "I, um, I don't have a girlfriend." 

"Really?" Luke wasn't her type but she was surprised, he had a good heart, a good looking future. How could there not be anyone for him?

He shrugged, "College has kept me busy, but who knows, this could be my year." He smiled hopefully. 

Carina couldn't help but returning his smile, while also running through a list of her friends that might be a good match for her neighbor.

Luke made another turn towards the bookstore, stopping at the dead end next to the building. 

Carina got her bag and smiled, "Thanks for the ride, I really appreciate it." 

"Of course! With the weather dropping I don't mind giving people rides, I rather them be safe. If you want to make this a regular thing, you know where I live?" He winked jokingly. 

She laughed and nodded, "I'll let you know." She pulled her phone out and opened it to Snapchat, "You should add me." 

He nodded, pulling his phone out and snapping a picture of her code, smiling as the request went through. 

She slid her phone back in her pocket, "Cool, now we'll be best friends," she joked before getting out, "Thanks again for the ride!" 

She closed the door then started to walk to the entrance, smiling as Luke didn't leave until he was sure she was inside. 

Luke smiled as he made his way out of the dead end, heading to the parking ramp where he kept his car during the day.

Once he parked, he grabs his bag and travel mug then heads to work.

He greets his coworkers next to him in the printing shop as he set his things down before sitting at the desk. He then logged onto the computer and got the desk ready for the day. He knew it would be hours until the building would be busy, now it was just professors and a student or two waiting to grab coffee. 

Luke pulled his laptop out, his boss didnt mind when he or his coworkers did homework on the job, as long as they paid attention to customers. An email popped up in his notifications, reminding him that his night class would begin the final presentations that week. It's not that Luke was unprepared, his presentation had been ready since that weekend, but he had some nerves about speaking in front of the class. 

He made a mental note to go over his presentation one more time, then opened a word document to the paper he had been working on.

[marshmallow-phd]

Charming Instruction

Part of The Untamed - EXO Wolf Universe

Genre: Supernatural, Wolf Au

Pairing: Junmyeon x Reader

Summary: You were just an average, everyday college student desperately trying to graduate. Only one more year stood between you and that celebratory walk. However, due to an oversight by your adviser, it seemed that the one class you never wanted to take was required to take that walk. It wasn’t the subject matter that made you uncomfortable. It was the teacher. Your heart sped up every time you saw him and you didn’t want that distraction in your life, attractive or not. With meeting him now an inevitability, you swore that you would keep your hormones in check. But after your first day of class, a series of hi jinks and weird situations lead you to discovering the secret of your professor and why he seemed to bombard your every thought.

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I 11 I 12 I 13 I Final

**

No, no, no, no, this could not be happening to you.

For the last month, you’d carefully planned this day. It was the first day of your last year of college. You’d picked out the outfit - fully aware that within two weeks you’d throw all cares of your looks and clothes out the window - and meticulously scheduled your day to be able to start off your year right. And you needed this year to go as smoothly as possible. As a senior, these last two semesters were the most important of your life. Three previous years of hard work could go down the drain if you didn’t keep your focus.

Okay, you could still probably graduate, but you wanted all the honors that came with graduating with top grades. And you wanted to make your parents proud. And you needed the good GPA in order to get a good internship or entry job after graduation.

When you’d sat down with your advised a few months previous to go over your schedule for the upcoming school year, you’d been itching with excitement. The classes that awaited you weren’t too difficult, but they would definitely be challenging and require your absolute attention. Which – given your past history – shouldn’t have been a problem.

Until the ultimate bombshell was dropped by your adviser.

You wanted to be an archaeologist. Someday. For now, you were settling for field assistant because you didn’t want to spend any more years sitting in a classroom reading about great finds when you could be a part of them. You didn’t care if your name was just a footnote about the people who were present in the digs, you just wanted to experience the thrill of finding evidence of an ancient civilization.

But to even get that far, you needed to graduate college. To graduate college in your specific field, you needed to check off all required classes. And you thought you had.

One little folklore class, one little elective that you had once been told was only an option and one you didn’t have to take, had snuck by you. When your adviser explained to you that there must have been some misunderstanding and that this class was in fact a required credit in order for you to complete your degree, your stomach had dropped. It was like your worst nightmare coming true. Not quite that dramatic, but close enough.

It wasn’t the subject matter that made you want to avoid the class. Actually, you found it somewhat intriguing considering how myths and old lore helped shaped the old world and influence their everyday lives. As someone who wanted to keep their focus on ancient civilizations, it probably would be a good class to have under your belt.

If only it was taught by someone else.

There was nothing wrong with Professor Kim. Maybe that was the issue. He was too… perfect. From the way he styled his hair to the glasses perched on his nose to the button-downs and slacks he wore for lectures.

It was your sophomore year of college that you first laid eyes on him. He was a brand new professor and the talk of the campus. Every other teacher on campus looked like the average college professor who was typically much older than the student population and usually had the fashion sense of two decades ago. Not to mention, most of them weren’t as fit or well put together. But when you walked out of the library with your two best friends, you realized that all of the gossip about the latest addition to the university staff was more than just talk and he was nothing like the average professor.

He was standing profile from you at over fifty feet away talking to other teachers, but your glasses helped you focus enough to be able to see his face. And your heart nearly leapt out of your chest and ran in his direction at full speed.

You were so enamored by his too-classic looks that you tripped over your own feet and nearly took Gemma down to the ground with you. In your embarrassment, you took off with Gemma and Cam, your two best friends, on your heels, calling out for an explanation. When you finally came to a stop, you huffed out what they wanted to know. Of course, they just laughed at you and your innocence when it came to attraction of the opposite sex.

After your disastrous freshman year relationship of seven months, you’d sworn off relationships and had never even given the thought of dating a chance since, too focused on your career goals to entertain the idea. Besides, you didn’t exactly know how to interact with them anyway. Sure, you’d had guy friends in the past, but that was different. You weren’t attracted to them. Maybe you just weren’t built for it. You were too awkward and didn’t exactly have the “street smarts” to navigate that world.

It was probably for the best. You never really found anyone that gave you butterflies or made you blush, anyway. There had never been a chemical reaction in your body like that ever not even with your fluke of an ex-boyfriend. Until you saw Professor Kim.

And that was exactly why you’d abstained from ever taking his class or stepping anywhere near him. If you saw even one single hair of his head, you’d take off in the opposite direction. The feeling you got in your chest whenever you caught a glimpse of him scared you. Keeping your head in your books and studies until graduation and then going on a dig far away from this place sounded like the perfect plan. And for the past two years, you’d done a bang up job of it.

It seemed fate just really liked to kick you down when you were skipping along happily.

In the end, there was no way around taking the class and you were forced to have your name added onto the list, probably bumping off some poor, unfortunate student who had thrown away the money just to be able to spend time in the presence of Professor Kim on a weekly basis.

You were a planner, though. And every plan had its deviations, right? Now that you were stuck in that lecture hall, you’d simply make sure that you sat all the way in the back where Professor Kim would be nothing but an ant in your vision. Most of the time, you might even be able hide him from your line of sight with your laptop.

In order for this mastery to work, you needed to wake up early enough to get from your apartment right across the street from the university to the classroom to secure your seat in the back. But you also had to make sure that you didn’t arrive too early so that it would only be you and maybe a few other students scattered across the room while Professor Kim wandered around the front getting ready for the first day of class.

You were initially set up for success. The alarm was programmed and on the highest volume your phone would allow. It was plugged in for the night to charge and you’d already picked out your outfit so there would be no time wasted in the morning.

Instead of waking up to your obnoxious alarm, however, you were woken up by a pillow to the face.

You snarled as you sat up in bed, sleep still crusty around your eyelids that refused to open all the way. Gemma was standing in your doorway, leaning against the frame with her arms crossed and one wrist elevated as she stared at the watch.

“Don’t you have class in like twenty minutes?” she snickered.

Still half asleep, you scratched the back of your head. “No. My alarm hasn’t gone off yet.”

“Try again.” Gemma stepped up closer to you and showed you the time.

Shit!

You grabbed your phone and pressed the home button to check what had happened. Then you found the issue. At some point, probably very early in the night, the charger had come out of the plug in the wall and your phone had died. You wanted to cry.

Jumping up out of bed, you were at least thankful for the clothes already laid out. You’d have to skip any other form of grooming and pampering this morning beyond a quick fix of your hair. After grabbing a granola bar and chugging a glass of juice, you ran out the door and prayed that you didn’t forget anything behind and that you still had a good spot to sit in.

When you arrived in the lecture hall, your stomach plummeted to the floor.

All the chairs in the back were taken, mostly by the male students, or those who just really didn’t care about the face of the teacher up front.

Slowly, you took one step down at a time, searching for any empty seat that you could take. Every semester, the World Folklore class was filled to capacity. There was even rumor of a waiting list to take the class. How could one professor be so popular, magazine-level handsome or not?

Finally finding the one empty seat in the entire room, you nearly cried. It was in the third row, right near the middle. What were the odds of that being the one chair that was free?

You scooted past the other students, apologizing on the way. One tiny piece of luck you got, at least, was that you didn’t hit any of the students with your bag. Settling down in the chair, you tried not to look too forlorn as you pulled out your laptop and readied yourself for the period.

Professor Kim wasn’t in the classroom yet, for which you were a little thankful. As you kept your head down on the keyboard in front of you, your glasses kept sliding down your nose and you kept pushing them back up a bit aggressively.

The consistent hum around the hall died out. Looking up, you shrank back in your seat. Now was the time. Just breathe, don’t settle on his face. You could do this. You could keep your mind focused on the material and not the teacher.

Walking up to the middle of the room and leaning up against the desk, Professor Kim smiled brightly.

“Welcome, everyone, to World Folklore. This class is about delving into ancient societies and learning about their stories that shaped their cultures.” As he went on with his lecture, his eyes searched around the room aimlessly, never settling even as the occasional student sat up straighter. “I want you to really get inside your heads and really tear these stories apart. Don’t be intimidated by the course work or the speed at which we go through the different types of stories. Unlike other credits, I want you to have fun and-”

He stopped suddenly, his hand that was keeping him balanced against the desk slipping and making him jerk a bit before stabilizing himself.

And he was looking right at you.

The smile was gone from his face, replaced with shock and awe. You shifted in your seat. Why wouldn't he just look away?

With a shake of his head, he did just that, after several seconds too long.

“I want you to have fun and really explore the possibility of ‘why’.” His earlier enthusiasm was gone, replaced by a slight nervousness. “Why did they create these stories? Why were they so scared of these tales? As we break down the different mythological creatures and their spread over the world, we just might end up answering those questions.”

While that might have been the same speech he gave every semester, you had a feeling that no classroom had ever heard it spoken quite like that.

Professor Kim spent the rest of the hour going over the syllabus and his expectations of the semester. Explaining in few details the different papers that would be written over the next few months, you had a sneaking suspicion that he was avoiding your section of the room. He’d always turning quickly, giving a majority of his attention to the left and right sides of the stadium seating. Somehow, rather than putting you at ease, it made you even more uncomfortable.

Your personal reasoning for wanting to avoid Professor Kim and keep your bubbling hormones in check was logical. Why Professor Kim was acting in a similar manner towards you was the real question. You’d never actually met the guy so there was no way he knew who you were. Right?

The time for the end of class came. From your experience, the professor always stayed behind in case of questions or simply took their time gathering up their things to avoid the sea of exiting students. Professor Kim did no such thing. Leaving behind his papers, he practically ran out the back door.

Murmurs echoed around you and you even felt a few questioning stares thrown your way. It was hard, but you suppressed the whimpers that were tempting your vocal cords and tried to stay invisible as you hurried up the stairs and to your next class for the day.

**

This was not happening. This was not happening.

Waking up this morning, Junmyeon had been in a good mood. He’d gotten up in time to get ready, picking out a nice tie to match his light blue shirt hanging from his door. The break between semesters had been a bit boring, just keeping an eye on his brothers and making due with what the town had to offer while he waited for the new school year to start.

But now the new semester was here and Junmyeon was going to be back in the classroom where he loved being.

Everything had gone smoothly as he drank his coffee without spilling any on him, made it to the college without terrible traffic and in plenty of time for his first class. The only mishap was running into Yoo Shin, a fellow history professor at the university. Catching up with him had nice, but it made him a few minutes late and Junmyeon couldn’t stand tardiness.

The students hushed as soon as he came in. It happened every year, but it still boosted Junmyeon’s ego a bit with how easily he could quiet the room. Going into the usual speech to loosen his new students up, he sized up the audience, letting his eyes roam around the room.

And then he found you.

Right there in the third row was the person he’d been searching for so long a time. The shock of you appearing in front of him made him lose his train of thought. He couldn’t even remember the rest of his speech.

But you were his student.

Of course he’d be in this situation. Nothing in his life could be easy for him, could it?

Anyone else in the world, he’d be happy to pursue, to finally get to know his mate. He couldn’t exactly start a relationship with his student. It went against his personal standards... and school statues.

Unable to remember to rest of his usual spiel, Junmyeon had to make up the remaining part of his speech on the fly, cringing on the inside. Was he even making any sense? It was the hardest thing to keep his focus on anything but you and that was making it difficult to know what was even leaving his mouth.

So close. You were so close to him, but he had to act like you were just another student, like you weren’t the most precious thing to him on this earth now as the wolf in his chest whined with glee. After waiting so long for his mate to show up, it seemed like a miracle - and like a slap to the face.

A professor and his student. It sounded like a bad drama. He didn’t even know your name. He’d learn it soon, but he wanted to learn it by introducing himself like a normal person, not by the papers and quizzes you’d hand in.

Groaning, Junmyeon tossed his glasses down on the desk and hid his face in his hands.

As soon as class had ended, he’d booked it out of there and headed straight for the sanctuary of his office. It would have been too tempting to stay behind, to try and catch you and talk to you. He wanted to hear your voice. Was it as delicate as you looked? Or was it stronger, sassier, taking anyone who might underestimate you by surprise?

He’d already caught bad attention from the other students given his very obvious reaction to you. Keeping you after class right after that would have started rumors. That was not something Junmyeon needed right now.

Knock, knock, knock.

Junmyeon jumped at the noise, his heart racing in his chest. It didn’t calm down until Sehun poked his head in.

“Hey,” Junmyeon nodded, leaning back in his chair.

Sehun smirked. “It’s day one. You can’t be this stressed out already?”

Junmyeon shook his head. “I’m just needing a second cup of coffee, that’s all.”

The look on Sehun’s face clearly said that he wasn’t buying it, but right now wasn’t the time to talk about it. Junmyeon knew that divulging the latest upset in his life would come with a hail of questions. Ones that he didn’t have answers to yet. So, instead, he’d keep that information to himself. At least until he knew who you were and how to get to know you without crossing any lines.

“Well, I’m not getting you any,” Sehun teased as he shut the office door behind him.

“I wasn’t even going to bother asking,” Junmyeon laughed. Resting his elbows on the desk, he asked, “What are you doing here? Don’t you have class?”

“Not for another hour,” Sehun shrugged, sitting down in the chair across from him. “I was bored, so I figured I’d come bother you since you aren’t busy with grading yet.”

“That’ll start soon, though,” Junmyeon reminded him.

Putting his feet up on the desk, Sehun leaned back in the chair and folded his hands behind his head. “Until then, you’ll have to continue beating the girls off with a stick.”

Junmyeon shoved the feet off. “That joke is old.”

“Still better than yours.”

It was hard, but Junmyeon let that slide. The guys were always making fun of his jokes, calling them weak and overused. But he liked keeping the mood up and that was one of the few ways he knew how.

“So, why aren’t you hanging out with the others instead?” he asked.

Sehun scrunched his face up in an annoyed fashion. “Everyone is hanging out with their mate in between classes. I prefer not to be around that too much.”

“It’s not an infectious disease,” Junmyeon laughed.

“Might as well be,” Sehun grumbled. “With how quickly everyone’s finding their mates, it feels like the pack has been passing around a cold. Not that I care too much, but I’d still prefer not to catch it next.”

Junmyeon sighed and smiled at his youngest brother. “It’s simply the natural order of things for our species. One day, yours will find you and you’ll start singing a different tune.”

Sehun cringed. “Can I be last?”

With a scoff, Junmyeon waved him out of his office. “Just go get ready for class. Or go find Tao, he’s with you on not wanting a mate.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll get out of your hair.” Standing up, he headed for the door. With one hand on the doorknob, he looked over his shoulder and asked, “Hey, hyung?”

“Yeah?”

“If something was going on, you’d tell me, right?” The look on his face was suddenly so innocent and trusting. Junmyeon almost gave in and told him to sit back down.  

Junmyeon let one corner of his lip to turn up into a sorrowful smile. “Yeah, of course. If something comes up, I’ll tell you.”

Once Sehun was gone, Junmyeon picked up his glasses and placed them back on to his face. He didn’t necessarily think it was a lie. Eventually, he’d tell Sehun and the rest of the pack about finding his mate. He just needed some time to wrap his head around the situation. After that, he’d say something.

They were so going to give him crap for this.

[shawnstoriesx]

Old Times Pt 1

heylo! sorry for being so inactive i was a busy girl and i rlly just couldn’t figure out how to continue the fics i started so i just made a whole new one XD anywayz i will get back to those until then ! feedback would be greatly appreciated! thanks for sticking around i love youuuuuuuu 

YN climbed out her bedroom window and onto the roof of her house, letting out a small groan when she heard loud yelling downstairs. So much for a peaceful evening. 

With a pizza box clutched in one hand and a light blanket in the other, she rushed her way to the front of her house. At first glance, the trek from YN’s bedroom window would seem tricky but she’d grown used to it. Every Thursday night for the past 4 years, YN’s roof had been the designated hang out spot for her and her neighbor. YN could probably do this blindfolded. She quickly set down the blanket and pizza box before lying down on the blanket too, staring up at the setting sky. It was the day before her high school graduation and YN’s body was pounding with emotions. Her nerves were on edge. She couldn’t wait to graduate and was excited for the next chapter of her life but was also anxious about starting college and leaving all her friends behind. Or rather her friends were all leaving her. They’d all chosen out of state schools that were hundreds of miles away while YN had opted for a school that was just a 30 minute drive. At least she still had Shawn. Shawn was her neighbor and she’d been his first new friend when he moved here the summer before their freshmen year. They’d been good friends ever since and although they didn’t hang out at school, being part of different crowds, Shawn and YN talked almost every day, whether it be in person, through text, or by writing on paper and pressing it up to their bedroom windows which were directly across from each other. Shawn had opted to dorm to get the “whole college experience” so YN was comforted by the fact that he’d always be on campus. Perhaps they could even hang out together once school started. Speaking of which, YN checked her phone to see the time. 7:15 PM. Shawn was only 15 minutes late to their standing hangout so YN didn’t think much of it. This was their last hangout as high schoolers and probably their last in a while since they’d be away all summer. YN and her family were going on vacation the first half of summer and Shawn was going on a road trip with his friends for the last half so this was kind of an important one to YN and probably to Shawn too. He was probably just caught up at work and running a little late. YN went back to looking up at the sky and perusing her thoughts. Another 15 minutes passed and it was starting to get chilly. YN walked back to her bedroom window to quickly grab a jacket. Texting Shawn probably would be a good idea too. Walking back to her spot on the front of the roof, YN unlocked her phone and started to type a message when she heard noise coming from her neighbor’s front yard. Shawn’s front yard specifically. He’s here! YN steadily made her way to the front of her house but stopped midway upon hearing multiple voices from Shawn’s yard. “Thanks for the ride man. I’ve been meaning to get my bike fixed.” Shawn yelled out and then YN heard a car door shut. “No problem!” another voice called out while another one yelled “Hurry up and change! We’re already late to the bonfire.” Bonfire? YN quickly ducked down behind the peak of her roof and peered up into Shawn’s yard. There was a truck packed with 3 boys and after a few minutes, Shawn jogged out of his house in swim trunks and a backpack slung over his back. “Your parents cool with you going out with us?” “Yeah.” Shawn shrugged. “It’s not like I had anything else to do today.” YN stayed hidden behind her roof until she was sure that Shawn and his friends had left. She quietly walked back to where she had placed the pizza box and blanket earlier in the evening, picked everything up, and returned to her bedroom. It was just another hangout, YN thought. There really wasn’t anything special about it. They’d been doing this every week for the past 4 years so it should’ve lost its charm but YN couldn’t help but feel hurt.  She pulled her blankets over her frame and shut her eyes. She’ll just call it an early night.

“YN! Honey! Do you have class today?”

YN groggily woke up to the sound of her mother calling from the kitchen downstairs. She let out a tired groan. She’d stayed up late last night to finish an essay but at least she got it done with. Sure she was feeling a bit sleep deprived but as soon as she submitted this essay in class, YN would finally be done with all of the finals from her first year of college.

She blindly reached around her bed to find her phone, letting out another frustrated groan when she heard it fall off her bed and onto the floor. YN tried to unlock her phone...but it wasn’t turning on.

YN cursed under her breath. She must’ve forgotten to charge it last night. YN plugged it into its charger and made her way to her restroom to get ready for school.

“YN! Aren’t you going to be late?”

Late? “What time is it Mom?”

“8:45.”

“FUCK! Why didn’t you wake me up earlier?” YN yelled. Her class started at 9 AM.

Her mother muttered something unintelligible as she scrambled to the sink and hastily brushed her teeth before running back to her room and haphazardly throwing on clothes she found lying around her room before flying down the stairs and running to her car.

YN started the engine and was backing out of her driveway when she noticed her mom running out of the doorway...with YN’s backpack in her arms.

“Thanks Mom.” YN said sheepishly as she rolled down her windows so that her mom could push the backpack in.

Her mom simply laughed, threw out a quick “Love you,” and walked back into the house.

***

45 minutes later, because of course the one time YN had woken up late all year was also the day there was an insane amount of traffic and congestion, YN pulled into the school parking lot and sprinted out and to her class.

YN arrived, out of breath, just as students were beginning to file out of the lecture hall. She’d made it just in time. She could sneak in right now and slip her essay into the pile and everything would be alright.

“YN!” a voice called and she looked up to see her friend Belinda walking over. “Where were you? I’ve been texting you nonstop!”

“Sorry!” YN gasped in between breaths. “My phone died so my alarm didn’t go off. But it’s all good.” YN let out a weak smile and raised the hand that was grasping onto her paper. “Got here just in time to.” But that smile quickly washed off her face when she noticed Belinda’s concerned look.

“YN. He collected the essays at the beginning of class.”

***

YN made her way to the front of the hall where she saw another student deep in conversation with the professor. She took in a deep breathe to calm herself down and prepared what she was going to say. If he just checked her grades on all the other assignments for this class, he’d see that she was a stellar student. Today was just a slight slip up.

“Can I help you?”

She snapped out of her thoughts and saw that the professor and the other student were looking at her. “Uhh...I came late.” YN stuttered, holding up her essay. Very eloquent YN.

“You too?” her professor sighed.

YN’s eyes glanced to the other student and she looked rather frustrated. That didn’t bode well.

“Look, I can’t accept your essays. They were due at the beginning of class and I have a strict no tolerance late work policy.” YN’s face must’ve visibly fallen because her professor quickly laughed. “But...I am in a good mood so you two ladies can collaborate on a presentation responding to the essay prompt. Record the presentation and send it to me by midnight Sunday. How does that sound?”

The two girls nodded their heads in agreement and relief before walking out together.

“How do you want to do this? I’m Zara by the way.”

YN muttered a small sigh of relief. Yes! A partner who would take charge and wouldn’t leave YN to do all the work. She flashed Zara a small smile. “I’m YN! And we should start today. Plan today, film Saturday, and edit Sunday.”

Zara frowned. “I can’t do tonight...I’m having an end of the year party at my place.” she responded simply.

“Oh.” YN deadpanned. So Zara was probably the type to push all the work on YN. “When does it start?”

“7 ish”

“Was this your last class?”

“No. I have class until 12.”

“Same here. Can we meet after 12 and we can finish when you need to get ready for your party?” YN mentally patted herself on the back. There was no way Zara could get out of this.

“Yeah fine.” sighed. “Give me your number. We can meet at my house.”

***

YN pulled into Zara’s driveway where she was quickly rushed into a small room cramped in the very back of the house by the host herself.

“Look I have people coming over later to help me set up so I’ll be in and out a lot to check on them.” Zara said matter of factly as she sat beside YN and pulled out her laptop.

An hour in, a loud commotion came from the front of the house and Zara sprung to her feet to open the door for her friends. YN continued working on the presentation and didn’t notice how long Zara had been away until she was halfway through making the slideshow presentation.

She could hear laughter coming from outside of the room so she figured that she’d slip out quickly to remind Zara they had a presentation to work on. YN creaked the door open and peaked through the crack. She could see people gathered in the kitchen and as soon as she opened the door, YN was met with the aroma of pizza. YN took a few quick breaths to muster up some courage and confidently walked out to confront Zara.

“Uh hey, Zara. I got about halfway done with the presentation but I kinda need your help on it so whenever you’re free.” YN said as she walked into the other girl’s kitchen.

The conversation halted and everyone in the room turned to stare at YN. Suddenly quite self-conscious, YN’s eyes darted away from the others’ gaze and onto the pizza box on the counter.

“Do you want some pizza YN?” a gentle voice asked. A voice that definitely wasn’t Zara’s. A voice that was definitely male.

YN looked up and her face dropped. Standing on the other side of the counter was Shawn Mendes. Her ex-neighbor and ex-friend. The one who bailed on their last hangout. The one she hadn’t spoken a single word to since before their graduation.

“I’m good. Thanks.” YN responded coldly before shifting her body to face Zara. She didn’t have to shift far though since Zara was standing beside Shawn. In fact, his arm was slung around her shoulders. Interesting.

“Just join me when you’re done and I’ll be out of your way.” And with that YN walked back to the room she was in earlier and worked on the presentation with newfound rigor and focus. She just wanted to get out of this place as soon as possible and if that meant finishing without Zara, then so be it.

***

She stayed focused on her laptop screen when YN heard the door creak open. “I’m about done with the presentation so we can wrap this up probably within the hour and-“

“Hi YN.”

YN stopped typing to look up at Shawn who had just closed the door behind him. Now that they were both crammed into this room, YN could see that he’d changed quite a bit since they last saw each other. His hair was longer and curlier. He’d bulked up quite a bit. And...was that a piercing in his ear?

“Zara said you came over as soon as both of you got out of class so I’m assuming you haven’t eaten lunch yet...so I brought you pizza.” Shawn brought a plate out from behind his back and offered it to YN. “It was pepperoni but I know you don’t like that so I picked off all the pepperoni for you.” he added with a smile.

YN stared blankly at the plate and boy in front of her. Once upon a time she probably would’ve appreciated the offer and the fact that Shawn remembered how she liked her pizza but that was the old YN. She’s since changed. “Thanks but I’m not very hungry.” She started typing away and that was the only noise that filled the room for several moments until YN noticed that Shawn was still standing there.

She mustered up a weak smile. “I’m fine. Honest. I don’t really like pizza anyways.”

Shawn’s brows furrowed. “But cheese pizza is your favorite.”

“It WAS my favorite. Things changed.” YN went back to typing, hoping that Shawn got the hint to leave her alone.

Instead, he took a seat beside her. “So…” Shawn started. “Haven’t talked to you in a while.”

YN secretly rolled her eyes and gave a curt nod.

“Probably since the summer. Move in day maybe?”

“Graduation.” she corrected him.

He let out what YN would’ve described as a nervous laugh. “Yeah right. We probably saw each other-“

“No. It was graduation.” she cut in firmly. Or rather it was a couple days before graduation. They hadn’t even spoken to each other during their ceremony. But who was keeping track...Certainly not YN.

“Damn.” he whispered softly.

Another beat of quiet passed.

“How’s life been?”

“Good.”

“Oh...that’s good to hear. Where do you live now?”

“Other side of town.” YN paused before adding “I’m planning on staying with my dad this summer though.”

YN instantly regretted saying that. Saying that she’d be back in her old house this summer. The house that was right next to Shawn’s. It was like she was hoping to get to see Shawn and hang out with him again and that was far from the truth. She wanted to stay as far away from him as possible.

She quickly shut her laptop and rushed to put her belongings back in her backpack. “Look I think I’m gonna head back now. Can you tell Zara that I’ll finish the last few slides at home and we’ll text to meet tomorrow to film.”

“Wait-you’re not staying for the party?”

YN let out a quick laugh and shook her head. “Not really my thing. And I don’t really know Zara so I’d feel weird.”

“You know me though.”

She flashed Shawn a weird look, trying to get a read on if Shawn was being serious or not. They haven’t exchanged a single word in the past year and he was acting as if nothing had changed between them. As if they were still friends and neighbors.

“I’m good.” she smiled. YN walked out, muttered her goodbyes to Zara and her other friends who were all laughing at some joke, and got into her car.

***

It was now Saturday morning and Zara was expected to come over any moment now. YN finished up the slides last night and they both agreed to film at YN’s house since Zara’s place was probably a mess from the party last night.

She’d just finished setting up the mic when she heard a car pull up in her driveway.  YN peeked her head into the kitchen where her mother was cooking to announce that her partner was here and ask if she could open the door while YN ran to the restroom really quickly. When YN returned, she was shocked to see her mom and Zara sitting in the living room...with Shawn.

“YN! Oh great! You won’t believe who dropped Zara off. It’s been a while since I last saw you huh Shawn.”

She snapped out of her daze and sat beside her mom on the couch across from Zara and Shawn. “Yeah uh hi guys.”

“So do you guys see each other a lot at school?” her mother innocently asked.

“No. Not really.” YN answered in monotone.

“Yeah I guess we’ve just been busy. And it’s a big campus.” Shawn answered with a bit more inflection.

YN couldn’t help but let out a bitter laugh, which pulled a frown from both her mom and Shawn.

“Anyways...I should get going. I just came to drop Zara off” he said before turning to Zara. “Text me when you’re about done.”

“Oh why don’t you stay and we can catch up Shawn! YN said the recording shouldn’t take more than an hour. It’ll save you the trip.”

Zara’s expression perked up at the suggestion and YN practically twisted her neck to shoot her mom a look that expressed “No. Why?”

“Uh if that’s fine with you that’d be great.” Shawn smiled.

“Great! I’ll get some snacks for you kids!” YN’s mom bustled out of the living room to grab whatever she could find in the kitchen, leaving YN, Shawn, and Zara alone.

After a couple seconds of the 3 of them just sitting there and staring at each other, Zara broke the silence. “So let’s hurry this up.”

YN and Zara worked quickly in another room while Shawn and her mom caught up in the living room. The loud laughter and conversation from the room did very little to distract the girls from recording. YN figured they were both eager to wrap up quickly and go on with their Saturday plans. After all, it was supposed to be summer break. Shawn and Zara were dressed to go to the beach or a pool party and YN had a date with her bed and Netflix.

“Okie I think that’s good. We just have to edit and then we’re done.” Zara declared confidently.

“Editing shouldn’t take too long either. Great job! How do you want editing to go? We can meet up or you edit one half and I edit the other half?”

“I don’t think we should split up the editing. It’ll just look and sound weird.”

YN nodded. “Good point. What time are you free tomorrow?”

Zara frowned. “The thing is...I’m not free tomorrow. I’m flying back home at 11 AM. And it’s a 6 hour flight.”

“Oh.” YN’s mind raced with ideas to work this out because there is no way in hell that she’d be editing this all by herself again. “Why don’t you just stay behind a bit. And we can edit together.”

“Shawn and I actually have plans.”

YN let out a frustrated sigh. She was really done with this and just wanted Shawn and Zara out of her house. “Fine. How about I finish editing today and then I’ll send it to you and you look over it before your flight?”

Her partner’s face instantly lit up at the suggestion. “Great! Look at us! Teamwork makes the dream work.” Zara picked up her laptop and made her way back to the living room with YN following in defeat.

“Done?” Shawn asked when he saw the two girls enter the room.

“Yep! YN just has to edit!” Zara answered excitedly as she slid into the seat beside Shawn.

Shawn flashed YN a smile to acknowledge her presence and noted her sullen expression. “Err Zara...are you editing too?”

“No. I have my flight tomorrow remember? YN is going to do it and then I’ll look over it before we turn it in. You wanna go now?”

He looked back at YN with concern. “Zara why don’t you stay and help edit for a while. We still got time and I’m still talking with Mrs…” Shawn’s eyes widened when he caught his mistake. “Sorry I mean Miss…”

YN’s mother simply laughed. “It’s alright Shawn! Just call me by my first name. We can skip all the formalities love.”

Shawn nodded and reverted his attention back to his girlfriend. “How does that sound?”

Zara shot Shawn a cold glare and begrudgingly got back up to help YN edit.

One hour later, the girls finished editing and decided to submit the assignment early just to get it over with. Zara returned to the living room with a smile, knowing that this time she and Shawn were definitely leaving.

“What are your plans for today?” YN’s mom inquired as she walked their guests to the door.

“We’re going to the beach today with some friends!” Zara responded with a smile.

“Oh that sounds nice! Have fun dears.” YN’s mom closed the door behind her and and then turned to YN.

“You going to ever tell me what happened between you and Shawn?” she asked with a raised brow.

“It’s nothing. We just stopped talking.”

“Mhm...well I hope you’re not busy today. I’m going to need you to run by the the farmer’s market to buy some food.”

[fakefanofmarvel]

Uncle Sam-Chapter 1

(First Day)

A/N: I’m so happy i’m finally getting this out. Even if it’s kinda late i’m happy. I hope you guys in join it ❤️

I'm Alec, I'm 17 and I just moved to New York. I had to move in with my Uncle Sam at the Avengers Tower. After my mom had passed away he was the only family I had left so the court sent me to go with him. I used to live in Florida before moving in with Uncle Sam. It was a big change for me but ill get used to it. I have been here for about 2 weeks and today is my first day of school in New York. I am so nervous but Uncle Sam he knew someone that could show me around. I got dressed in a pair of blue ripped jeans, an off the shoulder black button-up shirt that tied into a bow at the bottom and a pair of platform black heel boots. I detangled my hair and prepared myself to style it into two giant puffballs. I added a final touch off lipgloss and just on cue Uncle Sam, Steve, and Bucky knocked on the door before popping their heads in.

"Ready sweetheart?" Uncle Sam asked.

I nodded before grabbing my black Jansport book back, phone and charger.

"Are you all driving me to school?" I asked the 3 men standing outside in the hall.

I heard three different voices say "yes". I rolled my eyes and giggled to myself before walking into the hallway closing my bedroom door behind me.

"People are gonna think I have 3 dads" You joked walking down the hall with them not far behind.

"Well, technically 2. Buck and I are your dads and Sam is your uncle" Steve joked causing you all to laugh.

Since I've been here I've grown extremely close to Steve and Bucky. They were like older brothers to me. Having them around made it way more bearable to stay here without any of my friends from Florida.

  I got in the passenger seat as everyone else filed into the car. Uncle Sam got in the driver's seat, Bucky got behind me and Steve sat behind Uncle Sam.

"Hey, Alec, can you scoot your seat up some?" Bucky asked me.

I said a blunt no causing the car to laugh except Bucky.

"You are just like your uncle," Bucky pouted

I scooted up to my seat with a giggle. I grabbed the AUX and blast Jon Bellion Songs the whole ride to school which everyone was tired of hearing because its all I've been playing since I've been here.

As we got closer to the school my nerves were getting worse. Everyone can tell because I unplugged I music and was looking out the window. I saw so many students walking to school as we parked to the car. It was my first day so Uncle Sam had to check me in and make sure all my paperwork was correct but of course, Steve and Buck had to come in too because of it's me.

When we got out of the car everyone stopped to look at us. I mean I had the Falcon, Captain American, and the Winter Soldier walking me into school. Plus I was new so that was already a lot of attention.

I heard a few people calling out their superhero names followed by them waving at them. We kept walking until we got to the front of the school where a skinny white guy was standing on the steps. They all stopped at him so I guess I have to, too.

"Mr. Steve, Mr. Sam, Mr. Bucky, Alec," The boy named all of us.

He was the same height as me with heels on so he had to be a lot taller than me if I didn't have heels on. He had short brown hair and pretty brown eyes. He had on a blue zip-up hoodie with a white t-shirt underneath paired with blue jeans and a pair of white converses.

"Hi, I'm Peter. Your Uncle has told me a lot about you and asked me to show you around school today," He extended his hand to me. I shook it before returning my hand back to my side.

"Thanks, Peter. I'm Alec but you already knew that and it's nice to meet you," We followed Peter to the guidance cancelers office where Uncle Sam signed me in and made sure everything was ok.

"We will make sure, Alec has a great time at our school. I ensure you we have kids she can connect with about have 3 dads-" Ms. Fits, the guidance canceler said before I cut her off.

"I told you guys," I said to the three men that were in the office." I'm sorry Ms. Fits but they aren’t my dads. Sam is my uncle and Steve and Bucky are just like brothers to me that like to call themselves my dads."

She said sorry if she offended anyone and we all laughed it off. She gave me my schedule before we all headed back into the hallway to meet Peter.

"All set?" Peter asked me.

I nodded before hugging Bucky, Steve and then Uncle Sam.

"Thank you, guys. I'll see you this afternoon I love you guys," You said before giving them one last hug.

They all wished you good luck before handing you over to Peter. You showed him your schedule then he started guiding you down the hall.

"So Mr. Sam is your uncle?" Peter asked

"Yeah, he's my mom's brother. He used to be around a lot when I was younger then he joined the army and moved to New York," You explained to the boy that seemed kinda nervous. "Are you ok? You seem nervous"

"Yeah I'm it's just around this time Flash comes to mess with me," He explained looking over his shoulder.

Just on cue, a tall guy walked up to you and Peter.

"Penis Parker. Looks like you got a new friend" the guy I guess is Flash looked over at me. "Sorry, ma'am but you are way too pretty to be hanging out with a lame guy like him. How about you get a taste of the flash."

He pushed Peter to the side before trying to put his arm around you but you grabbed his arm and twisted it.

"Excuse me but I don't think I want to taste anything called "flash' and I would appreciate if you left me alone and PETER for that matter," You released his arm pushing him to the ground everyone was now looking at what was going on. You crouched down in front of Flash.

"Falcon is my uncle don't fuck with me," You said before standing up leaving a very scared Flash on the ground.

You started walking again Peter caught up with you.

"Woah that was crazy how did you learn to do that," Peter asked running his hands threw his hair.

I shrugged my shoulders and kept walking.

"How do you know my Uncle again?" I stopped walking and looked at Peter

"I intern for Mr. Stark," He clarified

I nodded and Peter showed me to my first class of the day. He walked in and handed the teacher my schedule before going to his seat.

"I'm Ms. Payne. You can sit anywhere you want," She handed me back my schedule before going back to what he was working on.

I sat at the lab station in front of Peter because when I turned around it was a guy sitting beside him. I couldn't make out his race but I could tell he was mixed with Asian and something else. He was chubby and had short brown hair that poked from under his hair. I sat there scrolling through my phone before I was sure we were very early to class.

"Did you here. There is a new girl at school and she took Flash out. I also heard she's super-" The guy beside Peter said before Peter cut him off saying.

"Super tuff? Yea I heard, Ned" Peter said loud enough obviously for me to hear. "She's also right in front of us."

Peter is terrible at whispering. I turned around and Ned's jaw dropped.

"Hi, I'm Alec. I guess you are Ned," I stuck my hand out for him to shake.

"She knows my name," Ned said as he shook my hand.

"So your friends with Peter?” I pulled up a stool so I could have a conversation with the two boys before class started.

As the day went on I always had a class with either Ned or Peter and it was great because I really enjoyed talking to them this morning and I could tell that we would become good friends. At lunch, I got to sit with both of them and I met this girl MJ. She kinda seemed like she was friends with Peter and Ned but I couldn’t really tell but she said she liked my hair so I like her. After what happened in the hall this morning everyone was talking about me. Rather they were saying I gave Flash what he deserved or how I was the new kid that was walked in by 3 superheroes. I was the talk of the school but I was completely fine with Peter, Ned, and MJ. After school, Bucky came to pick me up on his motorcycle which only drew more attention to me. He handed me a helmet and I hopped on the back.

“Wanna go out for dinner?” Bucky asked me as he pulled off from the curb.

I agreed and we pulled into the parking lot of a diner down the road from the high school.

We finally arrived back to the tower later that night where I thanked Bucky and wished him goodnight as we parted ways on different floors. I went to find Uncle Sam to tell him I was back. I knocked on the door to his room before hearing a come in. I peeped my head in before walking in.

“I'm home,” I said

He stopped typing on his laptop before turning his attention towards me. “So how was your first day of school?”

“It was crazy actually,” I hopped onto his bed. “Everyone was already talking about how I had 3 superheroes walk me into the building and then while I was walking to class, so this guy started messing with Peter and tried to hit on me but I handled it so then everyone was talking about that.”

“How did you handle it, Alec?” Uncle Sam asked while squeezing the bridge of his nose.

My whole life has I've been more of a physical child. Meaning I can handle myself in any situation.

“I only twisted his arm. After he tried to touch me,” I defended myself. He laughed and got up from his seat and hugged me.

“That's my niece. Now go get some sleep you have to do the same thing tomorrow. Hopefully besides beating up boys part. Good Night sweetheart,”

“Goodnight Uncle Sam,’

I left the room making my way back to my room to get ready for bed. I sat my bookbag beside the door and walked over to my closet and put my shoe inside of it. I went over to my dresser and picked out a pair of Silk pajamas, Steve had bought me after I had begged for 2 hours while we were at the mall. I made my way into the bathroom. I took my hair out of the two puffs that I didn’t know where hurting my head until I took them out. I ran my fingers threw my hair before spraying water on it and twisting as I detangled it. I put on a shower cap before hoping in the warm shower.

After my shower, I put on my nightclothes. I plugged my phone into the charger and set it on the nightstand before crawling into bed and soon drifting off to sleep.