#it used to be pretty easy to get full tables for thirty-ish

[toasterlock]

"This convention is fully volunteer-run, which means none of us get receive any money for the work we put in all year to host this; we do this out of passion and all the earnings go directly back into the next event" is maybe not the cool flex you think it is, maybe don't broadcast that over the event speakers twice

[corrupt-fvcker]

Sleeping Positions...

Sleeping Positions HCs ( AoT x GN!reader )

Characters: Levi Ackerman, Reiner Braun, Erwin Smith, Zeke Yeager

Warnings: domestic fluff, cuddling, gender neutral reader, sfw, barely there mention of spicy themes

Author’s Note: just some long-ish headcanons about cuddling with my favorite aot boys. request are open but NO S4 SPOILERS PLEASE <3 also feel free to request this HC for a character i didn’t include.

Levi Ackerman:

In the beginning of your relationship, Levi preferred to sleep with some distance between the two of you. He struggled with falling asleep with another lying beside him, waking up at your every slight movement and finding it difficult to let his guard down.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust you, because if that was the case, you simply wouldn’t even be allowed in his bedroom.

No, it was just because it was a foreign experience to Levi. The thought of sleeping beside you was pleasant, but the reality of it made him quite anxious.

Over time, he grows more comfortable with you. He doesn’t feel the constant need to look his best around you and impress you, meaning you get to see the captain in some more casual clothes and domestic settings.

It starts off with brief naps, whether it be just him sleeping or both of you. He eases into the practice of falling asleep beside you. At first, you’d nap in the same room but in different spaces. Usually with Levi sitting in a plush chair while you sprawled out on the couch.

Then it slowly progressed from there, taking longer and longer naps as your bodies got closer and closer together.

When you finally reach the point in your relationship where both you and Levi are comfortable sleeping beside one another throughout the night, Levi adopts some favorite positions to sleep with you.

Levi loves being the little spoon. He gets cold easily throughout the night, but with you curled around him? He’s able to sleep through the night without having to tug the blankets up once. You feel like a furnace compared to him. But he feels his entire body warm up to a comfortable temperate whenever he feels your stomach and chest pressed against his back.

He consistently wears socks to bed. But don’t you dare tease him about it because he only wears them for you. This man’s feet are freezing. Once he forgot to wear socks to bed and you woke up several times during the night because of his ice-cold feet.

When he’s the only one tired, he likes to nap with his head in your lap. Please, for the love of god, run your fingers through his hair as he drifts off. He will love you forever. He doesn’t mind if you read or, in a modern setting, watch television as he sleeps. As long as he can rest his head in your lap with one of your hands playing with his hair, Levi will be content.

When you’re the one who’s especially tired, Levi doesn’t mind if you use him as a pillow. He struggles with doing nothing for too long, this man likes to be productive. So if he needs to fill out some forms or read over some reports, he’ll happily let you use his body as a pillow as long as he can keep busy. Feel free to rest your head on his lap or shoulder if he needs to fill out some paper work. If all he needs to do is read over some documents, he has no problem lying down with you on his chest as long as he can have his hands free to hold up the book.

Now usually, Levi doesn’t like to feel too crowded. He moves around a little bit in his sleep and he will wake up if he feels trapped or if his movements are restricted. But after some intimate time in the bedroom? Please smother this man while you have the chance. Post-sex Levi is the only version of this man that craves to feel your full body weight on top of him. Yes, lay directly on top of him. He’ll run his hands along your spine and play with your hair, just please don’t leave him alone. He gets a little clingy after sex. He wants to feel taken care of as well as feel that he’s taking care of your needs.

Reiner Braun:

Now this one clings to you when he sleeps.

No matter how much space you want, no matter how far you try to distance yourself, no matter how thick of a pillow barrier you build— Reiner will find you. It doesn’t matter if he’s barely began to drift off or if he’s dead asleep, he’s body will find a way to get to yours.

I strongly stand by the belief that Reiner’s love language is physical affection. This man glows when he’s in your embrace.

If you run your nails along his scalp? He melts. Pepper kisses along his neck and jaw? He turns a dark shade of pink. Wrap your arms around him? He will not let you go for the rest of the evening.

Reiner needs physical touch. He’ll go crazy without it.

Sleeping beside you at night is one of Reiner’s favorite parts of your relationship. Being able to hold you as well as being held has become so special to him.

At night, he will either want you nestled into his side or holding you from behind. He likes to have at least one arm around you, if not both. When you sleep by his side with one of your arms tossed over his torso while your head rests on his chest, he finds it so easy to drift off. Your presence is just so comforting to him. Bonus points if you also have one of your legs thrown over his.

If your not curled up at his side, he likes to fall asleep holding you. He doesn’t mind being the little spoon, he actually loves it, but when he’s able to cradle your entire body with his, he feels all warm and fuzzy inside. He wants to protect you, he needs to protect you. When his body is shielding yours, he can sleep peacefully knowing you’re safely beside him.

Now, if you are particularly exhausted, Reiner has no issue with dropping everything to serve as your personal mattress. He will sprawl out on the couch and heave your body on top of his completely. He’ll either force himself to take a nap with you or find some quite activity to entertain himself while you sleep on top of him. Feel free to nuzzle into his neck or use his limbs as something to hold while you sleep, he wants you to use his body for your needs.

But don’t even think that Reiner is doing this out of the kindness and generosity of his heart. No, he’s just fulfilling his own selfish needs. He’s not sure what it is but there’s just something about having your entire weight on top of him that’s just so comforting. It’s addicting.

Which means that if the tables are turned and it’s Reiner who needs a nap, fully expect him to drag you away from whatever you’re doing to use you as his personal weighted blanket. Like I said, he’s just trying to fulfill his own selfish needs. It has nothing to do with the fact that Reiner’s definitely head over heels in love with you.

Also, regardless of your body type, he will grope and squeeze at any plush area of your body— thighs, ass, tummy, chest — literally any part of your body that Reiner can grab a handful of flesh. He can’t help himself. If you ask him to stop, he’ll try his best to respect your wishes but when he’s drifting off sometimes he forgets and does it anyways. But it doesn’t bother you too much because you know it comes from a place of adoration and love, and you know Reiner would never mock or tease you about your body.

Speaking of which, please retaliate and squeeze his pecs. Refer to them strictly as his “tits”, he doesn’t care what you call them as long as you don’t stop touching him. Reiner is touch starved and will put up with your shit if it means he gains physical affections.

Erwin Smith:

Before you even consider stepping in this man’s bedroom, please take into account that Erwin kicks in his sleep. Hard.

He can’t help himself. He’s not even truly aware that he does it until you let him know about it. And god, does he feel awful.

His long legs become weapons of mass destruction after 9pm. His elbows? Expect to be jabbed with them in the rib cage at least twice.

Again, it’s not intentional... he really can’t help it.

But with that having been said, this man loves to cuddle you. He’ll beg you to fall asleep in his arms if you go on a cuddles strike after getting bruised up the previous night.

It isn’t until Erwin accidentally jabs his elbow into your eye during the night that you tell him that you’re gonna start sleeping on the couch if he doesn’t clean up his act. From then on, all he’s allowed to hold is your hand at night. You enforce two sides of the mattress, your hands meeting at the middle.

And it does kill him a little on the inside.

So his solution? Soak up as much cuddles during the daytime as possible.

He enforces a mandatory cuddle time after work and just before dinner. He prefers holding you but he really doesn’t care what position you lay in as long as you’re close to him.

Erwin can usually sit pretty still during naps, he doesn’t full transform into a professional boxer until he’s at least 2 hours of sleep in.

Which means he pushes bedtime a little later than usual so that you both have time for a thirty minute nap during the day.

Erwin lives for these naps. Those thirty minutes? Yeah, that’s what gets him through the day.

He doesn’t even care if he’s not tired, he’ll force himself to lay down so that he has an excuse to hold you for a little while.

And don’t think he’s above tricking you into giving him more cuddles. In modern times, he’ll turn off your alarm clock on the weekends so that he has more time to give you some lazy morning love. And no, he doesn’t want to watch your cheesy rom-com movie for the millionth time, but he will sit beside you because that means that he has a ninety minute excuse to hold you.

He will also pull you into his lap anytime you two are alone. If you don’t want to give him physical affection at night, he’ll just demand more during the day.

Now, if he’s ever feeling under the weather or emotionally exhausted, Erwin doesn’t give two shits about your pillow barrier or imaginary mattress boundary, he’s falling asleep with you pulled as close as possible. And you’ve got a soft spot of the commander, so you allow it. When he’s not feeling 100 percent, it’s your turn to do all the holding. Rub his back, play with his hair— god, just touch him.

All he wants is for you to spend some time with him. And if you throw in some cuddles, he’ll love you forever.

Zeke Yeager:

Definitely the type pretend that he’s above all the gushy, tooth-rotting sweetness of nighttime cuddles. But he’s also the type to send a death glare in your direction when you pull away from him at night.

“Uh... do you want me to stop?”

“Did I say I wanted you to stop??”

He’s stubborn to admit that his favorite part of his day is when you get all clingy at nighttime.

Please, please, please scratch along his jaw and rake your fingers through his beard. This motherfucker will have to bite his tongue from stopping the whimper from escaping his throat.

At nighttime, if you remove his glasses for him so that you can pepper kisses along his face? He’ll melt on the inside.

When the two of you sleep beside each other, Zeke likes to either spoon or have an arm wrapped around you.

Zeke runs a little hotter than most, so if he’s feeling a little too hot at night, he’ll settle with wrapping an arm around your shoulders. Not super close, but close enough to know that you’re there.

Otherwise, Zeke enjoys being the big spoon. He loves to curl his body around yours, his arms wrapped securely around your waist as he nuzzles his nose to the nape of your neck. And yes, he will sleep with his nose buried in your hair for the rest of the night if it means he gets to smell your shampoo.

If he’s particularly stressed, sometimes he awakes during the night to smoke a cigarette. And while he does a pretty good job at crawling out of bed without waking you, you always seem to notice his absence and find him.

If he’s not ready to come back to bed yet, feel free to curl up in his lap and fall asleep with him as your pillow. He’ll finish off his cigarette and hold you for awhile before hauling you both back to bed.

If he’s ready to go back to sleep by the time you find him, he’ll wordlessly stomp out his cigarette and guide you back to bed with his hand resting on the small of your back.

Now regardless of the time of day or night, be careful when cuddling Zeke... he will definitely try to turn it into something more if he’s feeling frisky. He’s always feeling frisky.

Now if you’re tired during the day and in need of a nap, have fun trying to wrangle him onto a couch or bed. This man does not like wasting time, no matter how much he enjoys holding you. But if you’re lucky — and I mean really lucky — Zeke may have the afternoon off and will let you use him as your pillow.

He’ll turn on a nice and mellow record, maybe even smoke a cigarette as you sleep on his chest. Though don’t expect him to stay in one spot for too long, he gets antsy. Like Levi, he likes to feel productive even if the occasional relaxed evening is something he enjoys.

Now, on the rare occasion that Zeke needs a nap, fully expect him to be grumpy. Almost like a child who has gone too long without a nap. Actually, exactly like that.

He will try to steal you away from your activities to help lure him to sleep. Yes, that means petting his hair and scratching his beard until he falls asleep.

But if you decide to give him a taste of his own medicine and tell him that you’re too busy to act as his own personal pillow, expect him to pout for the rest of the day and then get ten times clingier at bedtime. Like I said, Zeke’s stubborn. He will take a nap on the couch in living room instead of your bedroom just to prove to you that he doesn’t need your cuddles in order to fall asleep. But as soon as you both climb into bed for the night, Zeke will be on your like a parasite. Don’t expect to have any say in the cuddling position if you refused him cuddles earlier that day, this is Zeke’s time to get his fill and he gets to choose the sleeping position.

Oh, and just a heads up: Zeke tends to snore in his sleep.

Luckily, it’s not too loud. Just a slightly audible rumble that comes from the back of his throat when he’s totally exhausted. But on occasions, it has woken you up.

But don’t worry, if you use this as leverage it’s more likely that Zeke will cuddle you during your daytime nap... or he’ll just tease you. Maybe both.

And don’t think I won’t go without mentioning that your desire for Zeke’s physical affection doesn’t boost his ego to the max. Oh, he lives for the days that you beg for him to hold you or play with your hair. It awakens something primal and possessive within him, knowing that you need his touch in order to fall asleep soundly. And before you ask, yes, he does tease you and mock you about it at every given chance. My best advice? Give him a taste of his own medicine.

thank you for reading!! if you enjoyed please reblog, it means the world to me and also helps support my blog <33

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[seijorhi]

Reminiscent

i’m (semi) back, y’all, and i come bearing a fic!! fhdjhfjdk it’s for oikawa i won’t apologise

Oikawa Tooru x female reader

TW non-con, drunk/drugged reader, forced infidelity, emotional manipulation, angst, past trauma, coercion, mild(ish?) smut, nsfw

“F-fuck, cutie! Just like – hah– just like that!”

You weren’t the clubbing type.

Not usually, at least – but exams were over and one of your friends was fresh off a bad breakup, one night letting loose wouldn’t hurt.

Walking is… difficult, your steps are sloppy – there’s an arm wrapped around your waist, your own slung over a stranger’s shoulders. Why are you outside? Where are your friends – they… they promised they wouldn’t leave you. 

“She good, dude?”

A soft, pretty laugh rumbles at your side, “Yeah, she’s gonna be just fine.”

And you remember the bar, the overpriced cocktails and the saccharine sweetness of strawberry liquor on your tongue. The dizzying lights and the bass that thumped so loudly you felt it reverberate in your chest. You knew the rules; they’d been drilled into you since you were sixteen years old.

Stick together, don’t accept drinks from strangers, and watch the one in your hand like a hawk - it doesn’t leave your sight.

A tongue between the valley of your breasts, long fingers curling up inside of you. 

“You like that, huh pretty girl? You gonna cum for me?”

They wouldn’t have just abandoned you, right? Maybe you told them to go. Maybe they thought you wanted it; to go home with the handsome stranger.

You never had the guts to ask them, never spoke about that night again. Not to anyone.

Pain. Something thrusting inside of you, splitting you open while he moans and pants atop you. It hurts so much and you want it to stop. 

Please stop. Please. Please. Please.

You’re begging, at least you think you are, but the words come out jumbled and wrong, and he just laughs, hiking up your thigh so he can fuck you deeper.

Why won’t he stop?

When you wake up, bruised and sore and all alone in your bed, it feels like a bad dream. You know it’s not – not with cum still seeping from between your thighs, the scent of the stranger’s cologne clinging to your sheets.

And you scrub your skin raw in the shower, but it isn’t enough to rid you of his touch.

—

It’s nothing like what they show on tv.

There’s no sympathetic detective to pat you on your shoulder while you break down, swearing that they’ll find the man who did this and you’ll get your justice.

You don’t go to the cops because you’ll know what they’ll say. You were drunk, drugged, and even if you could remember what he looked like (his eyes were brown, you think, and there’s a flash of a smirk in your head but the moment you try to focus on it it slips away like smoke) any evidence of rape washed down the drain the moment you stepped into the steaming shower.

At least… that’s what you tell yourself. It’s easier than admitting you’re terrified of judgemental eyes. 

Or worse; pitying ones.

So you pretend that nothing happened. You show up to your classes and throw yourself into studying, make the time to get coffee with your friends, you even pick up a part time job – it’s good to keep busy. 

The nightmares are just that; nightmares.

And things are fine, until they’re not.

—

“Baby, you’re here!!”

There’s barely time to drop your bags before she’s pulling you into a warm hug. “Hi mom,” you reply, squeezing her back.

When she draws back to take you in, one hand cupping your cheek, she frowns, “You look tired sweetheart. Have you been sleeping enough?”

“Yeah, just tired from exams and stuff.”

She looks unconvinced, but mercifully doesn’t push the issue. Of course, you don’t tell her that you missed your last two exams because you’d walked past some guy wearing that same cologne and just choked – that instead of finishing off your semester strong, you’d spent the day alternating between throwing up and crying in bed.

She doesn’t need to know that, because of that, you’ll probably fail both classes and have to retake them again next semester on top of an already full course load. It’s fine; you’ll figure it out.

For now, you work on matching her enthusiasm at having you home, grabbing your bags to bring them inside and into your old room.

“Oh, wait–”

Abruptly, you pause, gazing in confusion from the doorway of your bedroom. There’s a duffle bag lying open and empty atop your bed, a tangled jump rope, some weights, an empty bottle, a sweat towel – even what looks like a spare workout tee scattered haphazardly across the sheets.

“… I didn’t take you for a gym junkie, mom.”

She stops behind you, sighing. “It’s not mine it’s– Tooru said he was going to tidy it up, sorry sweetheart.” She sweeps past you to start tidying it up, but not before you catch sight of her wide eyed, deer in headlights expression.

And you can’t help the lone eyebrow that rises, falling back against the doorframe, arms folding across your chest. “Tooru, huh?” you grin, “And who might Tooru be?”

The flustered, almost guilty look she sends you makes you want to laugh – this is easy, comfortable, this you can do – but you restrain yourself. Just. “Tooru is… he’s– well, he’s the man I’m… seeing.”

She admits it like she’s confessing to a crime, eyes all wide and nervous; anticipating your reaction. And you suppose it’s not unwarranted. As far as you’re aware, she’s been alone ever since the day your dad walked out on you both – raising you was always the priority, or maybe the excuse. But you’re not fourteen anymore, you don’t need another father figure or every spare bit of her time and attention, and she doesn’t need your approval for this.

So you smile at her, “Is he nice?”

She lights up, her features – almost a mirror image of your own – softening as she beams, “He’s amazing, honey. I honestly don’t know how this whole thing really happened, or why he’s even interested in someone like me but… I lucked out with him.”

And so it goes, you prying little bits of information about the mysterious Tooru as the afternoon passes.

She tells you that they met a few months back, at the bakery she likes in town – and how she kept running into him; at the grocery store, and then at the park, and then on her way back from yoga that one night.

She tells you that he’s a terrible flirt, all smooth and charming with warm, pretty brown eyes, but he’s a good man beneath it all and she’s never met anyone like him. 

It strikes you, as you watch your mom animatedly talk about him, that you’ve never seen her look like this before. 

Happy. 

She can’t stop smiling, and when you look at her, really look, she’s almost a different person – younger somehow, a bit more care-free. It suits her, and you wonder with a slight pang in your heart how you never noticed how lonely she was before.

And she’s adamant that they’re taking things slowly, that he still has an apartment of his own in town – which to be honest, you really aren’t gonna judge her on either way – but it is kind of funny simply because whether your mom realises it or not, it’s clearly a lie.

The subtle reclaiming of your bedroom aside, there’s traces of Tooru scattered all around the house; the extra toothbrush and aftershave you’d spotted in the bathroom, the men’s  shoes and the jacket by the door, red wine in the cupboard when your mom’s only ever indulged in white.

You haven’t been into her bedroom, but at this point you’d hazard a guess that there’s at least one drawer full of Tooru’s clothes, probably half her closet cleared out for him as well.

“He’s coming for dinner, but I just wanted today to be just us,” she says, reaching across the couch to squeeze your hand. And you’re grateful for it, because you’re happy for her – you are – but you’re not so sure how you would’ve handled meeting the stranger holding your mother’s heart first thing. At least, not after the last few days.

Not when you still feel all… brittle. 

—

Tooru arrives a little after seven, and to say that he’s not entirely what you were expecting is kind of an understatement. 

She’d gushed about how tall and handsome he is – though personally, you think pretty’s the more accurate word, what with his soft, delicate features, perfect cupid’s bow lips and all. What she’d neglected to tell you was that the man in question, stepping through the front door with a faint smile on his face, has to be at least ten years younger than her, mid-thirties at most.

Suddenly, your mom’s initial reluctance to bring him up starts to make sense.

“Hey, sorry I’m late,” he murmurs, stopping by your mom to drop a fleeting kiss to her cheek before warm brown eyes turn to you. 

Your heart stutters.

“Sweetheart,” your mom begins, slipping an arm around his waist and relaxing into his side, “this is Tooru– Oikawa,” she corrects herself.

He smiles at you, friendly and charming, “It’s great to finally meet you, your mom’s told me so much – all good things, of course!”

You force yourself to smile in return, “Yeah, you too.” 

There’s nothing overtly wrong with Oikawa, age difference aside – your mom’s clearly head over heels in love with the guy and on a surface level he seems nice enough, but you find yourself glad for the fact that he doesn’t make a move to step closer, try to shake your hand or god forbid hug you or something like that.

He’s nothing but a gentleman as your mom steps back into the kitchen to finish off dinner, setting the table without being prompted, pouring a glass of wine for your mom and one for himself before he offers a glass to you. 

“Oh, no I’m alright, thanks.”

You don’t drink so much anymore. He shrugs, like it’s no big deal but your mom pouts at you from the kitchen. “C’mon, sweetie. We’re celebrating tonight! One drink won’t hurt.”

“We’re celebrating?” you ask.

She throws you a wink, gaze softening as she turns to glance at Oikawa, already diligently pouring you a glass, “Of course we are. It’s not every day my girl comes home, and it’s nice having you both here with me.”

Oikawa’s fingers brush against yours for a fleeting second as he passes you the glass, and you have to fight to keep yourself from ripping your hand away. It’s nothing, you just– you’re not good with strangers touching you, and as nice as he is and as much as your mom might be infatuated with him, he is still a stranger.

“Absolutely,” he agrees, a playful twinkle in his eye as he clinks his wine glass against yours. “So you’re at uni, right? What are you studying?”

Uni’s the last thing you want to be thinking about right now, but whether or not Oikawa genuinely cares, he’s obviously trying to make an effort to get to know you. For your mother’s sake, grinning innocuously in the kitchen as she adds the last little touches to dinner, you suck it up, plaster a smile across your face and ignore the twinge of discomfort in your gut.

You can handle one night of small talk.

—

You wake the following morning to the sound of voices carrying down the hall.  

Not your mother’s – both are too deep, and your mom left a few hours ago for work. Figuring that one of them at least is likely Oikawa, you pull on a thin, satin robe over your pajamas, tying the sash in a loose knot before you slip from the room.

Those suspicions are proven correct; you round the corner to find Oikawa sitting up at the kitchen counter, a warm cup of coffee in his hand. There’s another man, a touch shorter, but imposing with dark, spiky hair and olive green eyes standing on the other side, hands braced on the marble top, glaring at Oikawa.

They both look up at the sound of your hesitant approach, the stranger abruptly straightening up, while Oikawa merely grins.

“Ah, you’re up,” he observes cheerfully, taking a sip of his coffee.

Your eyes flicker between him and the stranger – clearly comfortable enough in your home and with Oikawa, despite the faint, lingering irritation still visible on his face – and as your cheeks warm, you find yourself wishing you’d put actual clothes on before coming out to investigate.

“I- I heard voices…” you trail off, awkwardly folding your arms over your chest. “Is mom–”

“At work,” he supplies. “Do you want some breakfast? Coffee, maybe?”

You risk another glance at the other man, watching you now with an unreadable expression, dark eyebrows furrowed. You swallow uncomfortably, shifting slightly as you shake your head. “No, I-I’m okay.”

And in an instant, a flash, something like recognition passes through those olive eyes. 

 Oikawa chuckles smoothly, finally tearing his eyes away from you to address his friend, “Iwa, stop being so rude. You’re scaring the poor thing.”

The stranger, Iwa, just scoffs. “You’re a real piece of shit, y’know?”

If he’s bothered by the scathing insult, Oikawa doesn’t show it, merely shrugging before turning his attention back to you with a smirk. “Ignore him, he’s just pissy this morning.”

You’d have to be a complete idiot not to sense the uncomfortable tension between the two of them – and now you. This is your home, but it feels like you’re intruding, like you’ve stumbled into a conversation you have no business hearing, but even if you wanted to leave your feet are rooted to the ground. 

“Besides,” Oikawa continues, “he was just leaving anyway, weren’t you, Iwa?” It’s almost a purr, the way he speaks, but even the silken words can’t entirely mask the razor sharpness that lies beneath. 

Goosebumps prickle along your arms.

Staring at you, Iwa opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but seemingly thinks better of it, snapping it shut with an audible click. He huffs, shaking his head. “Yeah, fine, whatever.”

He spares you another glance on his way out, standing frozen by the hall. For a split second he slows, his scowl softening just a fraction–

“Iwa.”

It sounds like a warning, but he only rolls his eyes and huffs again. You think he’s going to walk out without another word to either of you, but he pauses once more, lingering by the entryway.

“You look a lot like your mother, anyone ever tell you that?”

He’s out the door before you can even think to reply, letting it slam shut in his wake. And you flinch at the harsh sound, something uneasy settling into the pit of your stomach–

“Hey,” Oikawa’s there by your side, his fingers entwining with yours. You hadn’t even heard him move. “Come sit, don’t worry about Iwa. He’ll get over it.”

His voice is soothing, you don’t pay attention to the words themselves, the implications there. You forget for a moment that you’re still in your pj’s, that you really don’t know him that well either, and mindlessly follow when he leads you to the couch and sits you down, taking the seat next to you.

And while your head’s still spinning, an uncomfortable feeling gnawing in the pit of your gut, Oikawa seems entirely unbothered by the turn of events, sighing contentedly as he stretches his long legs out, one arm sliding along the back of the couch behind you.

“Do your… friends usually just drop by like that?”

You don’t know where the words come from, or why that’s the first question on your mind, but when you glance over at him, Oikawa’s just watching you, an odd little half smirk playing on his lips. “Sometimes.”

His answer does little to soothe your unease. It’s really not a big deal, you know it’s not. Officially or not, this is his home too – you’re the one out of place. And if he wants to have people over when your mom’s not around, that’s fine, he can do whatever the hell he wants, but… 

You came home for peace. To hide away for a few days and pretend that everything’s just fine and you’re not one breakdown away from shattering entirely. You wanted your mom and the comfort of your old bedroom and safety and it’s fine – great, even – that she’s found somebody who makes her happy, but this– him and the weirdness with his friend and everything is just too much, and–

You don’t realise that your leg’s bouncing until Oikawa’s hand comes to rest on your bare thigh. It’s enough to make your stomach flip, an icy chill trickling down your spine as his thumb slowly strokes across the soft, plush skin. “Relax, cutie,” he coos, chuckling softly when you visibly flinch and squeeze your eyes shut.

“P-please don’t call me that,” you choke out, fighting against the wave of nausea rising up your throat. And it’s just like last time, his cologne, notes of vanilla and cedar and spice, swirling thick and heady around you. That phantom touch, the warmth of hands gripping too tight, unwanted kisses hot and eager against your skin. 

“No?” he asks, cruel amusement dripping from his tone. “Why not? I think it suits you, cutie.”

You want him to stop, to push him away, slap him – do anything really, but you’re frozen in place, shaking as the memories you’ve fought so hard to shove down come bubbling back to the surface. You can’t think straight, not with his hand sliding between your thighs, the warmth of his body pressing too closely against yours.

“Iwa was right, you know,” Oikawa murmurs, smoldering brown eyes drinking you in as you childishly shake your head, willing him away. His other hand catches your cheek, drawing your face back to him as tears well in your eyes, stubbornly clinging to your lashes. “She does look so much like you, the same eyes even.” 

He whispers it like a secret, nuzzling his nose against yours like a lover would as he sighs sweetly, “It’s the only reason I could stand it.”

And then he’s kissing you, the tenderness of his lips belied by iron fingers digging into your jaw when you whimper and try to wrench yourself free. 

It’s not like the nightmares that startle you awake in the middle of the night, gasping for air; hazy, broken recollections that fade the moment you try to reach for them. No, every touch, every moment of his assault passes in stark clarity.

The feel of Oikawa’s mouth as it trails greedily down your neck, his hand sliding under the cotton of your sleep shorts, even his pleased little hum when he realises you’re not wearing panties. “Such a good girl for me. Fuck, I’ve missed this.”

This time there’s no drugs in your system keeping you pliant and helpless, but that doesn’t make a difference. Not when his words echo in your head, playing again and again until every awful, sickening piece falls into place.

Long, nimble fingers stroke at your folds, and you can’t help the shivery gasp that leaves you when the tip of his middle finger sweeps over your clit. 

“Please– please don’t do this,” you sniffle.

Oikawa presses another fleeting kiss to your shoulder, “Shh, none of that. Let me help you, baby.”

“N-no, I don’t, I don’t– Stop!”

Knocking away the hands that try to push him back, he hooks his fingers over the hem of your shorts and slides them down your legs, your pitifully weak struggles only making things easier for him. It’s only when Oikawa reaches for his own zipper that panic truly strikes home.

You can’t just lie here and let this happen again. You won’t.

And like a switch flipped, you start to trash like a wild thing beneath him, the scream you’ve kept buried inside of you for months ripping itself free from your throat–

Only for the fingers that had been toying with your pussy to be shoved down your throat, cutting you off with a choked gurgle. As you gag, fruitlessly try to tug yourself free, Oikawa leans in nice and close – except this time there’s no gentleness to his expression, nothing but viciousness as he grins and bares his teeth. 

“You wanna yell, pretty girl? Want the neighbours to come running, let them see me fuck you?” He grinds his hips against you, his breath shivery as he pants at the friction of his half hard cock against your side. Nausea twists at your gut, acrid and bitter – you want to be sick, to cry and beg with him to stop but with his fingers still stuffed in your mouth, his thumb digging into the soft underside of your jaw all you can manage is an unintelligible whine. He hums, kissing away the single hot tear that spills down your cheek, “You think if you cry loudly enough, mommy’ll come home and save you?”

And it’s like time stands still as he laughs, cruel eyes glinting when he presses down on your tongue, warm saliva pooling around his digits. “Such a little whore, trying to seduce her poor, innocent boyfriend the very moment her back’s turned. Tell me, cutie,” he coos, “who do you think she’d believe?”

Your breath hitches, another sob catching in your throat – even if you wanted to answer, you can’t and he knows it. “She’s in love with me, you know. It’s almost a little pathetic how easy it was to manipulate her into bed – so lonely… desperate for love, for somebody – anybody – to pay attention to her, take care of her,” he sneers, distaste curling at his lips. “Wouldn’t it just break her fragile little heart to know she’s fallen for the man who raped her baby girl?”

Another garbled cry slips past his fingers and you can only watch in frozen horror as his other hand drifts back to his zipper. “You want to protect her, don’t you?”

His grip relents just enough for you to jerk a shaky nod.

“Pretty girl, so good for me.” Another kiss pressed to your cheek as the quiet hiss of his zipper fills the air around you. “It’ll be our little secret, hmm? She doesn’t need to know just yet, let her be happy a little while longer…”

Sliding down his briefs just far enough for his cock to spring free, he strokes it for a moment with slow, leisurely movements, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he watches your eyes widen. 

And when he pulls you forward, guides your mouth towards it, pre-cum beading at the tip, withdrawing his fingers so you can quickly gasp for air, you just… let him.

The fight’s gone, as quickly as it had come. 

You let his fingers curl through your hair, use it as an anchor when your lips part to force his cock between them. And he moans, low and shivery as your tongue slides along the underside of his shaft and you try not to gag around the sudden intrusion. 

You think that there’s no room left inside of you for shame, but as his other hand creeps back between your legs, teasing at your cunt, you burn with it, clinging to the pyre of your own humiliation and disgust.

And still, you kneel on the couch, letting him fuck your mouth, letting those long, pretty fingers curl up inside of you – moaning around his cock when they stroke that perfect little spot.

“I wanted to – shit – take this slow,” he tells you as his hips jerk upwards, shuddering in breathless delight when his cock hits the back of your throat and it convulses around him. “I wanted to make you want me.”

Wet, messy, gags sound with every unwitting thrust – you’ve no choice but to swallow him down, let him fuck your throat like you’re nothing more than a toy for his pleasure. There’s saliva coating your chin, dripping down the length of his dick, pooling around his balls. You can barely breathe, a task made even harder when Oikawa decides to add his thumb into the mix, teasing your clit while he fucks you apart on his fingers.

It feels so fucking good, and you’ve never hated yourself more.

Your throat burns, hot tears stinging in the corners of your eyes, and yet he’s intent on driving you to the brink of your sanity with every calculated flick of his wrist. Something tightens in your belly, a spring coiled too tight, ready to snap, and you can’t help it when your hips chase his fingers, the needy, shameful little whimpers that leave your lips (still wrapped around his thick, twitching cock) as you search for the pleasure to temper the discomfort.

“You don’t have a clue what you do to me, do you? I could barely sleep last night–” 

You choke back a moan, your pussy clenching around his digits, sucking them deeper as white spots pepper your vision and you shudder out a moan.

“So pretty when you cum for me,” he pants, but you don’t care – can’t, not when you’re riding his fingers, tongue lolling out as he gives you a moment’s reprieve to bask in the rippling afterglow of your orgasm before everything comes crashing back down around you. 

Oikawa lets you fall back against the cushions, breathless, trembling and dazed. You’re not stupid enough to believe that’s the end of it, not when his cock’s still hard, throbbing against his toned stomach when he gives it a slow, cursory pump.

“Lie back, cutie,” he whispers, keeping his eyes fixed on you as he pushes himself up off the couch to shed the rest of his clothes.

And as you shuffle obediently downwards, heart hammering in your chest, you find you can’t tear your eyes away from him either.

Tall and handsome, she’d said, but the words truly don’t do him justice. A body corded with lean, powerful muscle, golden, sun-kissed skin, a light smattering of dark hair trailing from his navel down past the well defined V of his hips… 

“See something you like?” he teases, smirking when you squeak and childishly jerk your face away, cheeks burning. “It’s okay to look, you know. I don’t mind the attention.”

It feels too soft, too intimate for what this is. 

This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. He’s not supposed to be attractive, or to make you enjoy your own assault, and you– you’re supposed to fight it, fight him instead of just lying there and taking it… 

But when he climbs back onto the couch, easing your still trembling thighs apart to settle himself between them, his touch is nothing short of reverent, dark eyes wide and adoring as you squirm uneasily beneath him. 

With one hand braced on the cushion beside you, his cock resting just above your aching sex, he leans forward, easing your top up past your tits. “Perfect,” he murmurs.

And it’s enough to make a fresh bout of humiliated tears spring to your eyes. Your hands curl into useless fists at your side as he settles back onto his knees and takes his cock in hand, hissing in pleasure when he glides the flushed, leaking head along your slick folds.

“Fuck, cutie. I don’t think I’m gonna last,” he laughs, biting down on his bottom lip as he watches hot, fat tears slip down your cheeks. With an agonisingly slow pace, Oikawa lines himself up with your cunt and presses in – even with how wet you are, one orgasm already wrung from you, the stretch burns and you can’t stop the choked gasp that leaves you.

His eyes flutter shut, head thrown back back as inch by inch his cock sinks into your pussy until finally he bottoms out with a satisfied groan. “Perfect for me, so fucking good,” he pants, and you barely have time to drag in a breath before his hips are drawing back, another desperate, strangled mewl escaping you.

Bruising fingers dig into your waist, Oikawa cursing as your plush little cunt flutters maddeningly around him– before he eagerly slams his cock forward, stuffing you full once more.

And as you sob and whimper between every wet, obscene squelch of his dick fucking into your soaked pussy, that all too familiar, shameful heat begins to pool in your core.

“Gonna cum for me again, cutie?”

[boyfriend-cal]

Mutual Part 2 – Calum Hood

PART 1 Description: You’re still dealing with your feelings for Calum

Word Count: 2k ish

requests here masterlist here join my taglist here

+

You let yourself wallow in your apartment for two days. After that, you forgot that night ever happened, and you pushed it away.

 The internal argument going on with yourself was exhausting. Half of you wanted to swallow your pride, walk up to his door, and tell him you lied. The other half of you says there's no way in hell that’s ever going to happen.  

 You’d met Calum in college, but it wasn’t until after you both graduated that you’d started the relationship you had, if you could call it that. He’d been lonely for a while, and you were just dumped by a boy you’d planned a future with, so why not? It was supposed to be a one-time thing, but then you kept showing up and he kept opening the door.

 Then once you felt yourself falling, you tried to not show up at his apartment as much. You’d settle in for the night around midnight, but within the next two hours you’d convinced yourself if you went, it’d be the last time. Over and over again.

 You didn’t have time to think about him, not during the day at least. It’s been six months since you graduated which meant the non-profit you built was projected to launch this week. That means today you needed to go around town and pick up the donations or door prizes that local businesses promised you for the banquet being held at the end of the week.

 So, you pushed open the door to the small craft brewery, smoothing out your blouse and pulling your jeans up higher on your hips. Some businesses had refused to help you because you were just out of college and still young, but many of them believed in you and the organization you’d worked so hard to build.

 “Hello, I’m Y/N. I called last week about a donation for a banquet this weekend?”

 The older guy, probably in his thirties, looks at you for a moment. He studies your face before he nods. “I think I remember you calling. Let me see if the boss man left the jugs on his desk. Be right back.”

 You nod and hook your hands together behind your back, fiddling with your fingers while you wait. He returns almost five minutes later with two oddly shaped jugs in his hand.

 “Here you go. Whoever brings them back in will get them filled for a dollar each the first time, after that it’s half price each jug. I’m William, by the way.” William flashes a smile at you.

 “Thank you. I told your boss I’d leave some tickets to the banquet for him, so here they are. Have a good afternoon.”

 After that, you headed towards the bakery just down the street. The owner, Sara, told you that she’d give you some gift certificates as well as a generous donation to be one of the main sponsors of the event. Before you pushed open the door, you tuck one of the jugs under your arm just so you have a free hand. You wish you brought a bag or something because carrying them and the extra tickets with thank you notes is proving to be a challenge.

 The small place was busy with people because lunch hour had just started. You’d always heard about how amazing their sandwiches were, but never had time to try it out. Just before you could scan the room, someone taps your shoulder.

 “Are you Y/N? I’m Sara, it’s nice to officially meet you! Come on to the back, and I’ll get you set up.” Sara is blonde with a bright smile and pretty blue eyes, and she motions for you to follow her behind the counter where multiple employees are busy helping serve customers.

 You pass through a doorway that opens up to the kitchen, then she unlocks another door that reveals a small office. You sit down and then set the jugs on the floor while she rustles through her desk to find various pieces of paper.

 “So we’ve got the catering all figured out. I’ve already checked with the venue, and we’ll be able to start bringing food in as early as 9am, which is perfect for us. The kitchen there will have everything we need so we don’t have to worry about transporting anything besides ingredients, and we’ve got that handled. All I need you to do is send over authorization passes that I can give to my employees who will be coming in and out that day.” She looks up at you after reading from a notepad that she’s been scribbling notes on and you smile.

 “That’s great news. I can definitely do that.” You breathe out a sigh of relief, half of you thought she’d have a list of requirements that needed to be met in the next few days, and your schedule was already busy enough. You start sifting through your thank you notes in your hand to find the one with her name on it, but she clears her throat, so you look up at her.

 “How are you feeling? It’s your first big event.” Sara smiles, and somehow, it relieves some of your stress.

 “I feel like I have so little time to get everything done, but I know I can do it. You’ve been so helpful, and I couldn’t thank you enough.”

 “Everything is fine. You’re far more organized than most people who come in and ask for donations. I’m happy to help. Let me just sign these certificates and this check, and you’ll be on your way, okay?”

 A few minutes later you’re trying to fit everything in your hands so you can walk back three blocks to your car. As you emerge from the kitchen, you see Calum’s friend Luke sitting at a table alone. His back is to you, but you’d know the curly hair and leather jacket anywhere.

 Panic rises in you. You can’t see Calum today, not now, when it’s been going so well. You frantically look to the parking lot, and it’s your luck that he’s just pulled in. Maybe you could exit before he gets out of his car, that would be easy. Quickly, you exit behind the counter and try to maneuver through people to get to the door, but someone calls your name.

 You turn around to see Sara. “I forgot to give you these on the house. Consider it a taste tester for this weekend.”

 Sara balances the bright pink bakery box on top of the full load you already have in your arms. You feel your hands getting clammy and your stomach-churning. You didn’t want to be standing here when he walked through the door.

 “Oh, thank you. I appreciate it.” You turn away to beeline for the door, but she stops you by grabbing your arm.

 “And really, if you need anything, let me know. I’m here as a friend, also.”

 Any other time you would’ve really appreciated her words, but right now you were teetering on the edge of full-on panic. “Yeah, great. See you soon.”

 You quickly spin around, pulling at the handle and rushing over the threshold of the door. The world around you is a little bit blurry until you run smack dab in the middle of someone's chest. The jugs, box of cookies, and thank you cards fall from your hands, you hear the glass shattering against the ground. It sounds a lot like your life falling apart.

 Anticipating hitting the ground, you squeeze your eyes shut, but it never comes.

“Y/N?”

 Now you don’t want to open your eyes, because you know exactly who it is. Your heart may burst out of your chest. You open one eye, and then the other. Calum is in front of you in a tight black shirt and navy plaid pants. Then, your eyes fall to the ground.

 The jugs are long gone, only a couple of big pieces remain. The thank-you notes and tickets for sponsors happened to fall into a puddle, but the ink has already started to run. You feel tears begin to well up in your eyes. Everything you’d worked for felt like it was gone. It would take days to order new tickets and have them shipped, and how would you explain that your most significant donations were just gone now?

 “Y/N? Are you alright?” Calums voice shocks you out of your unaware state. You look up at him, and that’s all it takes for the tears to roll down your cheeks.

 “No.” It feels like all your strength had been taken away. He looks at you with worry in his eyes, but you shake it off.

 “Do you need help?”

 Honestly, you didn’t know why he was still standing here. You were embarrassed that you had ruined all of your hard work, and now that he’s standing here when you’d been trying so hard not to think about him.

 “No Calum, I don’t think you could help me figure out why I couldn’t just tell you that I love you. I-“ You stop yourself from saying anything else. Your face already felt hot but even more so now. Without saying anything, you push past him and start jogging.

 You only vaguely hear him calling your name as you turn the corner and speed up.

 ++

 Every single light is off in your apartment, the TV is off, your phone is off, it’s dark, and you like it that way. You were meant to stop by four other places today to pick up donations, but all of that was thrown out of the window the moment you spoke to Calum.

 You felt stupid. Calum had asked to know your feelings, but that didn’t mean he loved you. You’d revealed too much, so now you’re just going to think about it for the rest of your life and hope no one tries to bother you.

 On your way home, you had called your best friend, someone who had been rooting for you and Calum since you met in the biology lab. She’d heard you rant and rave about how quick and witty he was all those years ago. She’d been telling you that you needed to do something about your feelings, but she certainly didn’t mean this.

 All of your tears are gone. You’d sobbed so hard during the drive here that you had to pull over at one point. Now you’re just left to wallow in embarrassment. You didn’t know what time it was thanks to the blackout curtains that hung in front of the windows.

 You’d hoped that maybe by now it was dark outside, meaning there was less of a chance Calum would stop by. Your hopes were let down when you heard a knock on the door.

 “I’m not home.” You groaned, rolling over, so your head was buried into the back of the couch.

 “I still have a key.” His voice rang through the silence, and then you heard the lock jiggle before the door opened.

 “Jesus Christ, are you a vampire or something? I can’t see a thing.” Calum chuckles, and you wonder what the hell he thinks is so funny. The door clicks shut, and then the lights flick on, causing you to squint your eyes.

 “You could’ve given me a warning,” You say, knuckling your eyes and then sitting up to look at him, “What are you doing here? What is all of that stuff?”

 You point to the bags he has wrapped around each wrist. They were the reusable grocery bags because Calum believed in that kind of thing.

 “Donations. I tried to pick up everything you dropped, but a lot of it was too far gone. I did go back to the places written on them, and I told them what happened. All of them replaced what you’d already picked up, and then I guess a few of the places you had cards for you hadn’t been to, yet so I have things from them too. You’ve worked really hard, Y/N, you can’t give up now.” Calum quickly moved over to the table to set the bags down and start unpacking them.

 “Why’d you do all of this?” You’re shocked. Calum is a good person, but you two weren’t exactly on speaking terms.

 “Cause you’re supposed to do things for the person you love.”

++ @aulxna @mikeyglifford @calumsnatchedmyheart 

[elisa-gabrielle-brianne]

Fictober #4 entry for “I know you didn’t ask for this”

Original Fiction

Want the whole story?

After being photographed attending the matinee, which Ellis complained about, and going to a dinner that Ellis didn't eat, Felipe had thankfully found peace and quiet for a few precious minutes hiding in a hotel lobby bathroom. Lillian Frost had, thankfully, found out that Ellis was in New York and called to have a meeting with her about her upcoming role opposite Xavier.

This left Felipe alone for the rest of the night and hopefully longer. He splashed water on his face and plotted his next move. He wanted badly to go visit the store where Xavier had met Erika but didn't know how to approach it.

If the photographers, whom he was almost positive Ellis had tipped off, were still around and attempted to follow him, he'd hardly be able to get much insight into the woman his secretly single friend was smitten with. He took a long breath and walked into the lobby slowly. It seemed the vultures had left, and he took it as his cue to follow.

As he crossed the street, he passed by a redheaded woman who'd clearly been crying and what he assumed was her boyfriend who had caused it. The woman was wearing sunglasses even though the lights of the city had replaced the sun an hour or two earlier and he could hear the man saying something about her being too good for “most men.”

Felipe shook his head, remembering himself using lines like that after doing something to make a woman cry. He wanted to tell the woman it was probably true, this jerk in a hoodie didn't deserve her tears, and offer to buy her a drink. Then again, that drink would probably lead to another and maybe even another, ultimately ending the night in a bed together which was the kind of thing he was trying not to do anymore and one of the reasons he was stuck in this arrangement with Ellis to begin with.

Besides, he thought looking up at the giant children's store in front of him, I have far more important things to do tonight, so he kept on walking. Inside he examined every worker on the first floor before heading up the elevator and starting his search up there.

Finding her in a room full of people wasn't going to be easy. He'd heard about Erika many times, but he'd only ever seen one picture. It was a blurry group shot with Xavier and at least one other person. It was somewhere in Brooklyn and they'd taken a picture with a cow on a leash. It came as part of a text that Felipe had of course deleted that raved about an urbanite who turned a pet cow into a creamery business.

Felipe had thought how New Yorkers were weird, but he remembered loving the message because blurry Xavier had looked so happy. So, she was probably weird, or rather eccentric, but everyone was wearing a uniform, so her clothing wasn't going to help give her away.

She drank coffee a lot, he remembered coffee in some of Xavier' stories which meant she might be hyper. Oh, but they'd meet after work so maybe she'd look tired.

She wore glasses sometimes—she'd forgotten them the day Xavier and she went to see a cartoon festival where there was a short in which Felipe voiced a lawn mower that fell in love with a Rake. He remembered the story of how close to the screen they had to sit and how Xavier gushed over how her "squinty eyes and wrinkled nose looked like a cute bunny watching a movie."

The elevator opened and Felipe attempted to find a white girl with light-ish hair (assuming she hadn't dyed it), around thirty who was either wearing glasses or not with a nose of some sort that looked either hyper or sleepy.

"Piece of cake" he mumbled, as he walked towards a table of T-shirts being knocked over and refolded by one of the three workers who fit the description.

"Hi. Excuse me," Felipe started. The glasses-less blond looked up.

"Are you?" she said, almost scowling. "You're Felipe O’Shane. Son of a bitch."

She threw a shirt down.

“That’s not the first time I’ve been greeted that way,” Felipe shined his ample teeth, “but I’m pretty sure we’ve never met.”

"Listen Dreamboat,” She calmed down a bit. “I'm sure you're really nice but I hate you as collateral damage."

People had very strong feelings about Ellis, and it sometimes led people to attack him. Plus, his characters had done some rather horrible things, so it wasn't unheard of that fans lashed out at him for their doings. After a second look at her less angry face, the T-shirt girl looked familiar. Perhaps she was in the picture.

"Are you Erika?"

"That's a no," she tossed her hair. "Why are you asking about Erika? She’s not working today."

"We have a common friend," Felipe smiled and looked at her name tag. "Rachel, that's a nice name."

With that, Rachel started twisting another shirt, as if her name being spoken by his voice had released a venom she needed to wring out of her hands.

"Your friend is an asshole." She snapped her head up so they were eye to eye, her teeth gritted in a smile. "Now please, if you could be so kind as to get the hell out of here before I get my ass fired."

Felipe backed away and jogged down the escalator. It appeared Erika's coworkers weren't nearly as nice as Xavier claimed she was. When he reached the bottom, he saw the tear stained face of the crying girl from earlier talking to one of the men downstairs.

"Well it's inconvenient, Erika, but you need to heal. Thanks for stopping by with a progress report," Felipe heard the man say as he put his arm around the girl. She started to walk toward the door.

"Holy shit," Felipe whispered. "That’s her." Having realized he needed to get her attention, he started calling her name and waving his arms over his head.

He was a semi-well-known actor with his face on buses drawing attention to himself, but he panicked, and it worked. Erika stopped and turned around. When she saw him, he could see her eyes get visibly larger.

"Don't worry, I was going to wait for you right outside, Dave." She hollered back before existing.

When Felipe got outside, she was true to her word, standing just left of the door.

“Hi,” he extended his hand. “I’m Fel-”

"Two months ago my life was sane," she said, tears coming to her eyes again. "I was normal and boring. Strange men weren't coming to my job!”

"I'm so sorry," Felipe handed her a tissue as she pressed on.

“I wasn't eating large meals at four am. I'd watch TV, work, maybe read, but you know what? I liked it. I didn't care that I was coasting through life. I don’t want chaos and I hate, I fucking hate drama. The only reasons I went to acting school at all is because most actors fail, so nobody would be surprised or disappointed in me. And because it’s all fake, even if you succeed nothing is real and nobody knows you, they just think they do but it’s not really you.”

Her eyes were saucers and her face had become a deep scarlett as she reached a hysterical pitch. “But now this isn’t fake, it’s real. This is my life and it’s too much. I want boring.”

“Breathe,” he steadied her shaking frame. “Please?”

Erika nodded between sobs.

“My name is Felipe, Who's Dave?"

Erika started to laugh. "Funny."

Felipe joined in. "But really, who's Dave? I saw you crying with your boyfriend before. Is that Dave?"

This time Erika laughed so hard she started to cough. "It was a code name. I couldn't exactly say Felipe O’Shane, famous actor, currently in theaters everywhere playing the guy who created cell phones."

"Right, I'm an idiot," he said, rubbing his stubble. "But hey you stopped crying." He smiled a toothy grin.

"True," she sighed. "And Blake is not my boyfriend."

"Oh, well I just assume when a girl is crying with a guy, he's the reason."

"Blake's not the reason I was crying, but that's a story for another day."

"Or today, we could get coffee. Xavier tells me you like coffee."

Erika took in a deep breath. That was possibly the worst thing she could hear today.

"Rain check, I'm not feeling up to it today." She put her hand on his arm. "It was nice to meet you and maybe we can talk again some other time."

She turned to walk away before looking back over her shoulder.

"Oh when you talk to Xavier tell him I send my sincere congratulations on the baby."

According to Xavier, he and Erika had only kissed—barely. Felipe stared at her leaving, dumbstruck until he Goggled Xavier's name. Three outlets were reporting a pregnancy rumor.

"Fuck my life," he hit the phone against his head. "I'm gonna kill Ellis."

[cherry3point14]

Mine: Ch1 - YOU

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Dean x Reader Warnings: Stalking, beginnings of jealous!Dean Word Count: 4,000 ish. Chapter Summary: Dean meets you. He wants to know more. A/N: At this point my feelings are UGH. I have looked at this too long!

Ao3 if you prefer

This should be my happy place. I’ve been thinking about this for like, a week. But Sam’s bitch face was never part of my plan. He’s overreacting. The line isn’t even that long, there are two tables in front of us when we park up and the line has doubled behind us. That’s not good enough for my brother though. I’m not even sure why he came, before we left he kept saying how we had food in the kitchen. Not that I’m mad about his company. It was a good two-hour drive and I got to spend it with him. It’s been a lifetime since we drove anywhere without finding someone dead at the other end. Vegas week got skipped a few years back and remains a memory. Our lives, in general, get more and more caked in blood and shit. I’m not counting or anything but we deserved a couple of normal hours on the road. Except we’re at a diner so it’s me that deserves this. Sam deserves a trip to a farmers market or something. That’s a problem for tomorrow. Although this place isn’t just a diner; that makes it sound like any other pancake house on any other highway. This is the diner. It’s a gutted gas station turned restaurant that’s the best everything in the state. A well-kept secret. Or at least it had been until the food blogs, that I definitely don’t read, got a hold of it. Now it’s full of beanie wearing douchebags taking pictures of their food, and wannabe cowboys who want to do the same. “Hey, guys. You’re looking at about a thirty-minute wait for a table. Unless you want to sit at the counter?” Her eyes dart about as she talks, between the line behind them to the people already sitting, and back again. There are two seats at the counter and the sight of them sends a shudder rolling over my shoulders. They’re in the middle of everything, of other people already sitting there and I don’t know if I want to eat that badly. Not in the next thirty minutes anyway. For how long I’ve been dreaming about this burger I don’t want to spend the entire time trying not to nudge the guy next to me. Besides those college kids with the corner table are no way going to last half an hour now that their food’s gone. Before I can say any of this Sam opens his giant mouth, “counter’s fine, thanks.” The counter is fine? The counter is anything but fine. The space is too small and I didn’t drive all this way to sit at the goddamn counter during the lunchtime rush. But he’s already taking big moon size steps over there before I get a chance to hiss my opinion at him. Son of a bitch. “You’re a traitor, you know that?” The space I’m supposed to sit in is even smaller now I’m in it. He actually looks shocked by my accusation, “what? You wanted to eat, this is the quickest way to eat.” “I wanted to enjoy my food. This isn’t just lunch, it’s a, um-” I slap my hand on the counter when the word hits me, “it’s an experience Sammy. The sort of experience I’d have liked my feet touching the floor for.” His lips curl up like I’m some sort of amusement for him, “an experience?” Crap. He’s on to me. He’s seen my browsing history. He knows that SouthernFoodGal recommended the place. “Just don’t order rabbit food, ok? Respect the process.” My hand waves in the space between us in the hopes that I can wave away his focus. It actually works. The waitress at the counter is, and this is not an exaggeration, about ninety-eight years old. She’s every road weathered, curly-haired truck stop waitress from the movies. I’m wondering if it’s a legal thing that every diner has to have one. It’s gotta be, right? It can’t be a coincidence. She smiles though, not a plastered on fake one, and she doesn’t comment on my life expectancy as I order their star burger; the heart attack. Sam doesn’t need to comment because I can see his judgment out the corner of my eye, and that’s before I order fries. At the very least he orders a chicken burger instead of salad. Hopefully, he’ll cheer up with some bread in his stomach. The place is buzzing so I’m not sure if we have total privacy or if every word we say will be broadcast. The conversation stays light then. Free of monsters and angels and demons. I get a chance to hear about a book Sam read that wasn’t lore. It’s good to let him talk like this. It reminds me that he’s ok, he’s doing ok. He’s still got this slither of a normal guy left in him as he gushes over the story; that’s enough for me to smile at. The food arrives fast, hot and before Sam has finished talking. It takes two hands to lift my burger since it’s more a stack of food rather than a meal. And yet the beast in my hands isn’t leaking grease all over me. The smell of meat and cheese hits my nose before the food reaches my tongue. All my senses band together for that first bite. “Are you kidding me?” With food swirling around my mouth I still manage a moan. Sam frowns at my plate, then me, “what?” “Look at this!” it’s all about the cross-section so waving it in his direction will surely be enough to explain. Yet Sam’s face stays blank unless you count the sneer he tries to hide, so I swallow all slow and regretfully. The food had to leave my mouth at some point I guess. “This is a work of art. Bacon’s crispy, three different type of cheese, onion rings Sammy. Don’t even get me started on the sauce. This is- shit the pickles have gotta be homemade. This was worth the drive.” That’s probably not as big a compliment as it could be considering how far we drive everywhere for everything. I know what I mean to say though. It’s been a while since I ate food that was more than just fast. This is damn good. “This is pretty good too,” Sam chimes in with much less enthusiasm. Offensively less. I’d be annoyed on behalf of the place except I take another bite and the anger in my gut fades to nothing. Eating the rest of the meal becomes a blur. I'm caught between wanting to swallow it whole and not wanting to finish it at all. Doesn't even matter that I elbowed the guy next to me twice. Too soon our elderly waitress Carol is taking my plate away before she checks her watch. “Y/N,” she shouts through the pass into the kitchen. “Can you watch the counter while I take my ten?” Apparently, it didn’t matter about the lunch rush or the line out the door, Carol was taking her ten. She’s a seasoned waitress who got our order right first time. I appreciate her enough that panic bubbles in my gut for a second. What if this Y/N person brings the wrong pie? The worry is fleeting because then the door swings open with a crash of wood on wood. The sound of your entrance is what catches my attention, you are what keeps it. You step out in your chef whites, rolled at the sleeves and an apron pinning it all at your waist. The apron giving you a figure even in your uniform. I can tell you still want to be proud of your body underneath your pulled back hair and shiny face from the heat of the kitchen. You're sporting an oversized pout, aimed in the direction of the waitress whose name I’ve forgotten by now. “Only if you tell me I’m pretty.” You are pretty. I’d tell you that. You have the kind of soft features that are pretty even if you’re not dolled up and I’m not half drunk. You’re pretty, and then you laugh at your own joke, and like that you’re beautiful. Anybody would have a hard time convincing me I’m not staring straight into the sun. Carol’s voice is scolding if not playful as she shakes her head, “yeah, pretty annoying.” You shoo her away with a waved hand before your face turns hard and serious. Even if you’re only covering for ten minutes you hold yourself like this is most important job you’ve ever had. You survey your kingdom with concern etched on that sweet little face of yours until you lock eyes with me. Quickly softening into an easy smile. Acknowledging my stare as a call for attention. You wanted to come over anyway. I only gave you an excuse. “How was the food guys?” You don’t even glance in Sam’s direction. I like this move. Sam hasn’t looked up from his phone but you don’t want to make a big deal out of coming over here for me. I get it, you don’t want to seem too eager. Which would be easier to pull off if you’d looked away from me yet. “Best burger I’ve had in months.” The smile I flash you is the charming one I reserve for women in bars. You’re not sucking down vodka though so you raise both eyebrows at my review instead. Your hands move to your hips, again bringing my focus to your waist, begging me to steal a glance at your curves. “Only the last few months?” You scoff, “not good enough. I’m taking the gold for best burger of your life or I’m taking nothing.” I would think you’re joking except you have this hard set to your face that’s deadly serious. I’m half sure you’re going to storm off and make me something else right now. It’s only when you don’t move from the spot and your lip finally twitches that a chuckle escapes me, along with a wink. “You’ll have to keep trying then, sweetheart.” Is that a blush on your cheeks, or were they that pink since you left the kitchen? “I didn’t know I had someone with such discerning taste in today or I’d have made you something special.” You have this pucker in your top lip and a flash of something in your eyes, like a fucking promise. I can see you like a challenge and maybe you also want my approval? Maybe you crave it. So, you keep trying, keep working for it, “do you trust me enough to get you something sweet?” Is it sweeter than you, I wonder? “Depends on if you have pie.” You jump back as if a jolt of electricity surged through you. You press a hand to your chest with this grand gesture of mock offense. There’s a sickly over the top southern accent too, “sir I’m offended that you think I didn’t make pie fresh this morning.” Another laugh at your own joke although I’ll be honest, I kind of like that about you already. “Apple and blueberry or cherry bourbon?” Shit. Is this the moment that I’ll remember for the rest of my life? It’s a stupid question. If I could only take one mental picture it would be you coming back from the kitchen. A sway to your hips, two plates, and one fork.

We’d talked while I ate. You'd pretended you were waiting for my critique and I wait until both slices are gone before I give you an inch. The whole time some dick at the other end of the counter is staring at you. Desperately trying to will you into noticing him because what? The asshole wants a refill or something? Being rude to wait staff is shitty enough on a normal day but he shouldn't be staring at you like that. Not that you need to worry about him. He gets a hefty and totally accidental shove on my way out that almost puts him on his ass. I’m not even sure you noticed when Carol came back because you’d stuck around. The din of the diner quietens enough that I catch the nervous hitch in your voice when you’d told me your name. “I’m Y/N by the way,” tumbles out too fast and too quiet, then you’d asked for mine in the same breath. I’d given it to you, my first name anyway. Why are you so relieved? Did you really think I wouldn’t tell you my name? It’s like you haven’t seen you. But see, here’s the thing. I’ve looked out for people before, tried to look out for people, and it’s not been enough. I’ve not been enough. Now I know what I need to do and the lengths I need to go to if I’m going to do protect people. So, checking you out is common sense. It’s a necessary evil to look after myself. You’re beautiful but I need to know if there’s more to you. There’s beautiful in every town. I need to make sure you’re worth all the effort I’m willing to go to. It’s a two-way street too. I get that. You didn’t have to trust me. It’s probably not uncommon for guys to hit on you at work and for you to give out a fake name. That makes it all the sweeter when I type your name into google and boom, there you are. Smiling so wide in your profile pictures that it makes my cheeks ache. You trusted me which begs the question, are you a little bit naive or was that really a blush? I’m nursing a glass, my third, while I moon over my laptop. I’m not normally like this. My interest in looking people up online usually limited to finding a connection between victims. I’m not a big social media guy. For you? Well, it’s a means to an end. This is how I get to see more of your story is all. Lawrence. I almost choke when I see that under ‘hometown’. You were born and raised in Lawrence. In another life, I could have already met you. We’d already be together and today was kismet fixing things on the messed up timeline we’re on. Not that I believe in that shit. Except you make me believe. The deeper I go down the Y/N rabbit hole the more it seems like you’re kind of, sort of, perfect for me. It’s such a mindless action to pour myself another drink while I scroll that it doesn’t even count as glass number four. You were living in New York until about a year ago. Then you moved to Manhattan, Kansas. There’s this picture of you in a car packed tight with boxes, sunglasses, and a big grin. The caption reads, if you can’t live in NYC, try Manhattan! You giggled to yourself while writing that no doubt, I’d stake money on it. There’s no explanation for your move but all your friends liked the post and a bunch of them chime in to say they’ll miss you. I’m interested in what brought you closer, thankful for it. I’ll have to ask you about that one day. Although it’s better that you’re out of the city anyway. “Found anything?” Sam leaves the kitchen with a glass of water in his hand. Upping his water intake is his new thing and he’s so desperately trying to get me on board. Unfortunately, I hold a deeply rooted belief that pissing that much just ain’t natural.

“What?” I snap, still distracted with images of you.

Sam must read it as suspicious because he reels his neck in as quickly as he stuck it out to start the conversation. “Dude, didn’t we talk about keeping the porn to your room?”

My shoulders relax instantly because that’s the simple answer. He thinks it’s hardcore cartoon sex scenes on my screen rather than your Facebook and Instagram. Not that I’m ashamed of you, it’s just better if I keep things under wraps for now. You’ll have to meet Sam eventually. Well, meet him more than the cursory few words you’d offered each other at the diner today. Out of his sight, one hand clicks to open a new tab in case he decides to peer over my shoulder. The fingers of my other hand drag down my face, all the better to appear dazed and confused. “No, I was looking for a case. Nothing out there.” There is something out there. You’re out there. Sam must recognize the tired eyes of someone who’s read too many news articles, though it’s actually too many comments, because he buys what I’m selling. “Guess we’ve got another snow day tomorrow. Any plans?” “Maybe.” The answer is muttered more to myself than him. He must think I’ve gone back to looking for cases. You know, instead of looking for your address.

The first time I drive out and park across the street it’s an accident. I’d been going for a drive to nowhere in particular, only looking to chase the horizon for a while. Long roads and smooth tarmac. Good music and definitely not driving to you. Not even in your direction. I hadn’t been paying attention anyway which is why the drive is so lazy and takes nearly two hours. With a little effort, I’ll get that down to an hour and a half. But again, this wasn’t planned when I first started my engine. If I had planned it I’d have definitely brought more beer. Your quiet little suburb is cute but not nice enough that it’ll break your heart to leave it behind. You live in this one story townhouse and it’s fine. It’s ok. It’s big enough for one person but it’s not a family home or anything. I can practically see your loneliness behind the blue paint on your front door. Your car is, well, I’ll take care of that at some point. It’s a Prius for one thing, and it’s too old to be a good car and too modern to be a classic. Thinking about it you might not even need a car. I can drive you wherever. These are all things I didn’t plan to see or notice, the first time anyway. Because the first time I’m looking at your house I can’t stop asking myself why the bay window doesn’t have blinds. What are you thinking Y/N? This area might seem nice and safe but really, anybody could pull up and watch you. You don’t need to worry about it while I’m outside but I’m not always here; I haven’t always been here. Don’t think I’ll forget about this either, the question is filed away for when I can ask it properly. A conversation for another day. It’s careless is what it is. How can I look after you if you won’t look after yourself? The clear glass does mean I can see you, luckily. You make a mug of something warm to drink while you watch a video on your laptop. Whatever it is makes you throw your head back with laughter until your back hits the sofa behind you. It's a carefree moment that I get to share with you. It's the sort of thing I need to see. These little private moments that show me who you are in a way your Instagram won’t. But it’s the second time I’m outside your house, that’s far more eventful. You haven’t been home from work for long. All you’ve managed is to turn on some music and start singing along while you run a vacuum around the place. My grin is about to damn near break my face watching you. Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end. Everything stops suddenly and then you pick up your phone. That should be explanation enough, a phone call. Except you don’t answer it immediately. You frown at the thing in your hand and my fingers clench the steering wheel a little tighter. Whoever is on the phone burst the bubble we were both living in and I don't appreciate it. You’re all stiff movements and tight lips as you answer. The caller has turned you into a bitter version of yourself. Sweeping anger replaces any happiness you held onto as you storm out of the house. You’re so distracted that you get halfway to your car before you have to backtrack and lock your door. Really, Y/N? No, I don’t blame you. I blame whoever was on the end of that call, they did this to you. They made you careless. The only answers I’ll get are by following you, which at this point is easy enough. It’s early evening and there are enough other cars on the road to hide behind once we make it out of suburbia. It’s a bar you finally pull into. A dive by the looks of it. I can tell that much before I’ve caught up with you. Call it a special skill of mine to recognize bars like this. I’m caught across the street, waiting to cross traffic on a surprisingly busy road. Even from this distance, I see you screech to a halt at the front of the shitty parking lot. Apparently, you haven’t calmed down yet and looking over at the entrance to the bar it’s easy to see why. The sun has barely gone down. It’s not even 6pm. And there’s this guy wandering towards your car with the gait of someone who’s drunk as sin. Each step he takes is another rev of my foot on the gas where I’m trying to get to you. The guy isn’t huge or anything but he’s still bigger than you. He’s bigger and drunk and why isn’t there a fucking gap in this traffic? Finally, I swerve through a gap that isn’t really a gap to the outrage of some dick honking his horn. Not that the noise distracts you or the deadbeat. You stomp towards him with a slam of your drivers' side door and he calls out at the sight of you, “baby, I knew you’d come get me!” He falls in your direction and lands with his mouth on yours, his hands pawing at you. And you might push at his chest but it’s not urgent or defenseless. It’s exasperated. It’s so that you can swipe at his chest and berate him, “get in the car before I change my mind.” What the fuck Y/N? Who is this asshole?

Continue to Chapter 2

5eva tags: @divadinag @darthdeziewok @fluentinfiction @witch-of-letters @supernatural-teamfreewillpage Dean babes: @thewinchesterchronicles @akshi8278

[lalainajanes]

klaroliiinnnee + i kissed you goodbye by accident - old habits die hard okay?!?!

@goldcaught sent me this one too! Great minds, lol.

Keep It Around

Caroline’sgot her fists clenched around the steering wheel, tense and worried, becausetraffic has chosen to totally work against her. Not by being an impossiblegridlock, however. No, the drive from her apartment to Klaus’ house (formerly their house) has been a freaking dream.She doesn’t think she’d hit even a single red light.

She barelyhears Mojo Jojo and Professor Utonium yowling from their travel kennels, tunesout the sound of their little claws trying to rip through the plastic mesh.When she’s not staring at the road she’s glaring at the clock on the dash,willing it to jump forward twenty minutes.

She’searly, something that would usually be a point of pride. In this case? Early isbad. Early means spending more time with Klaus than she’s prepared to, fillingminutes with more than rehearsed instructions and plans. This is the fifth timeshe’s had to go out of town for work since they’d broken up and Caroline hadtimed each previous drop off to perfection. The last four times she’d allottedherself less than fifteen minutes between the time she’d arrive at Klaus’ andthe time the cab she’d ordered would pick her up. Just enough time to park inKlaus’ garage, wrestle the cats into the collars that would allow them throughthe pet door and into the backyard, and spend a few minutes giving Mars a bellyrub.

They’dworked out a decent joint pet custody agreement but the twice weekly runs whereshe gets to hang out with Mars were far too short. She misses the dog, a huskymutt who’s never quite accepted the fact that he’s too big for her lap. Hemight have been Klaus’ but he’d been barely out of puppyhood when she’d movedin, had spent more of his life with her in the house than without. He’d beenthe one to suggest she leave the cats, a pair of tuxedos she’d adopted yearsbefore she’d met Klaus, with him when she had to travel for work so Carolineassumes he’s in the same boat.

When sherolls into Klaus’ driveway she sees Mars in the window, perched on the back ofthe couch, his tail wagging furiously. She can’t help but smile, heranxiousness easing a little. Maybe, if she focused on the dog, not on the dog’s owner, she’d be fine.

Optimism istotally Caroline’s thing and she tells herself she can do this. Klaus had beenher roomie and friend long before he’d been her boyfriend. They’d had abajillion conversations before she’d realized she was in love with him. What’sone more now? She’s pretty sure she’s stillin love with him but she’s working on it. It’ll fade.

Eventually.

She thinks.

The cats,probably sensing their location, have gotten more restless, their cries growingin pitch and frequency. Mojo is smaller than his brother, is turning circlesand bumps his head against the kennel’s side when Caroline reaches for him.She’d bought them after the first time she’d had to transport the cats toKlaus’ had learned that juggling two hard kennels full of wriggling cats was adisaster. Professor Utonium had managed to spring himself, busting through themetal door, and streaking up a tree.

She’d hadto leave, had fretted her whole flight, until she’d landed and a text fromKlaus had come through saying he’d got the cat down and that Prof was safe andsound and gorging himself on dinner. He’d even sent pictures to prove it, ashot of his dog and her cats curled up on the living room rug.

Caroline’sgot dozens of similar pics stored in her phone. When she’d first moved in withKlaus her cats hadn’t been too sure what to make of the bouncy ball of fluffthat was forever pouncing on their tails. Within a month they’d all been fastfriends, their occasional scraps quickly forgotten whenever there was a sunnyspot open and a group nap beckoned.

The newcarrying cases resemble sports bags and she loops one over each shoulder,swaying for a moment until the cats settle down and she can find her balance,before pulling up the handle of her suitcase to roll it behind her. She’s notthe least bit surprised to find Klaus slipping out of the house when she looksup, or hear him ordering Mars to stay. The dog whines but obeys and Carolinepresses her lips together to fight a smile. Mars had been a puppy schoolsuperstar and she can’t help but be proud.

She leavesher suitcase at the base of the steps, hands over her keys so he can move hercar if he needs to. She hadn’t seen his on the street, assumes it’s parked inthe garage. For all she knows he’s got a hot date tonight and she’s blockinghim in. She might have wanted labelsbut plenty of women didn’t. “Thanks again for taking them this weekend,” shesays, letting him take Professor Utonium’s kennel from her. “And I’m reallysorry it’s so last minute this time. I hope it won’t happen again but I’m stillfeeling out my new boss. It’s possible he’s evil but I’m hoping he’s justdisorganized. That I can work with.”

Klaus laughssoftly though the look he shoots her is speculative. Likely because Caroline’sbeen careful not to let their conversations stray into personal topics. She’dthought it best to keep things between them surface level but, considering howmuch time she has to fill before her cab arrives, it would be pretty awkward ifshe didn’t at least start a conversation.

“Yes, I’msure you could whip him into shape in no time and he wouldn’t even notice.”

“Damnright,” Caroline chirps.

“Congratulationson your promotion,” Klaus says. “You’ll be brilliant.”

She pauses,turning to look at him. “How did you…”

He turnshis attention to mounting the steps, very carefully not looking at her.“Instagram.”

Huh. Klausbarely uses Instagram, hadn’t posted anything in at least a month (yes, she checks and she’s not proud of it) andher promotion is barely two weeks old. Maybe she’s not the only one who’s gotsome feelings lingering.

Carolineknows she shouldn’t be happy about that realization but hey, the heart wantswhat it wants. It’s nice to know hers isn’t alone in its stubbornness.

He pushesthe door open, “Sit,” he says firmly, and she can hear Mars’ nails scrabblingon the tiles, glances up to see him quivering with excitement, mouth open andtongue lolling.

Carolinehurries into the house, bending to rub his ears, “Who’s a good boy?” she coos.“And so handsome.”

“He toredown the drapes the day before yesterday,” Klaus says dryly. “So definitely nota good boy.”

She doesn’tlet up, stands so she can run her hands over his fur. His tail is a blur,swishing rapidly back and forth. “Aw, I’m sure it was an accident. Mars-y, didyour little squirrel friends come back? They shouldn’t taunt you.”

Klaus sighsand she knows he’s holding in a comment about how she babies the dog – somethingthey’d bickered over often. Mars is an excellent guard dog, very intimidatingwhen he needs to be. So what if he’s privately a big ol’ cuddly softy?

They saiddogs resembled their owners, didn’t they? Klaus is definitely in the pricklyouter shell with hidden inner depths club.

Carolinerises, setting her kennel on the hall table. Klaus has left the cat collarsthere and she picks one up. She fiddles with it for a moment, loosening it.Apartment living has caused Mojo to gain a little weight (he’ll hog the food ifshe lets him) and she’s started him on a laser pointer regimen but hasn’t seenmuch of a difference. She hands the carrier off to Klaus, “I’ll hold, youcollar?”

He agreeswith a soft hum and Caroline unzips the flap, shooting her hand in before Mojocan poke his head out. She scoops him out, safely immobilized under her arm,and Klaus neatly clicks the collar shut around his neck.

Caroline’scareful to ignore how close he is, keeps her gaze focused on the cat. She setshim down and he immediately throws his body against Klaus’ legs, rubbingaffectionately. Caroline feels a small pang of guilt but shakes it off and Mojois quickly distracted by the Mars, who greets Mo with a very inappropriatelyplaced sniff.

“Hey,rude,” Caroline chides, nudging the dog when she bends to grab the otherkennel. He thinks it’s a game, crouching down into pounce position and yipping.Caroline just can’t say no to that face, reaches out to pat his headaffectionately. “No one likes a butt sniffer, Mars.”

Klaus openshis mouth but Caroline points at him warningly, “Do not even thing about channeling Kol right now.” His lips presstogether and a bright light of amusement remains and it’s so easy to smileback. “I’m sure we could google and find out I’m wrong but do we really want to?”

“Likelynot.”

“I love itwhen you agree with me,” Caroline jokes.

“You likeit more when I don’t,” Klaus shoots back.

She thinksabout arguing, decides it’s too dangerous. Today’s the most comfortable she’sfelt in Klaus’ presence since before things had gotten bad between them. Shefinds she doesn’t want to put the wall back up between them. If Klaus were toreference any of the many (many)times one of their arguments had ended up with the two of them naked or nearlyso against the most convenient flat-ish surface she’d have to.

No way canshe endure the next twenty to thirty minutes of his company if she’s thinkingabout how she can still only seem tocome if she thinks about him.

She liftsthe other kennel and they repeat the process and get Professor Utonium’s collarsituated. When he’s on the floor the animals are quick to pelt out of thehallway. Caroline holds her breath, half expecting a crash, but soon she hearsMars barking and she knows they’ve made their way outside. “It’s supposed to besunny this weekend. The boys will probably spend most of it rolling around onthe grass and out of your hair.”

Klausdoesn’t seem particularly concerned. “They’re no bother, love.”

Carolineknows he genuinely means it. She’d met Klaus while looking for a place to rent,had been having trouble finding something pet friendly that was availableimmediately. When she’d met her friend Enzo’s new boyfriend Kol he’d been quickto offer up a solution in the form of his brother (‘kind of a wanker but a softtouch for any fluffy beast who crosses his path’) who’d been between housematesat the time.

Carolinehad met Klaus the next day, had quickly fallen in love with the house and Marseven as she’d sternly told herself that she would not, under any circumstances,consider sleeping with Klaus even if he happened to be distractingly hot.

Her vow hadlasted almost seven months and, if she were being honest, Caroline’s superimpressed with her will power that she’d held out that long. Klaus hadn’t beenshy about expressing his interest and had quickly developed some kind ofallergy to shirts.

They’dfallen into a kind of roommates with benefits situation. They’d worked well asroommates and the benefits had been goodand a year passed before Caroline even realized it. She’d been out withfriends, a long overdue girl’s night, and some creep had gotten belligerentwhen she’d turned down his offer to buy her a drink.

He’dinsisted she tell him if she had a boyfriend and, while she’d had no problemleaving him in her dust, his words had lingered as she’d made her way back toher friends.

Because, asfar as Caroline had known she didn’thave a boyfriend. She hadn’t been seeing anyone else and she’d known Klaushadn’t been either. Still, they’d never discussed commitment, hadn’t reallymade big future plans beyond the everyday ‘Mars needs shot in a month, the yardwill need to be graded in the spring’ type that came with living in the samehouse. They’d fallen into such an easy thing that the big discussions –marriage, kids, joint bank accounts – hadn’t come up.

Carolinehad figured that was a sign that Klaus wasn’t interested in any of thosethings. And it sucked realizing that shewanted them more than anything.

She’d drunkway too much vodka. Had started looking a new apartment the next day.

“When does your cab get here?” Klaus asks.

She fishesher phone out of her jacket, fights to keep from visibly cringing. “Uh, liketwenty minutes? Sorry, my timing is off today. I can wait outside it you want…”she rocks back a step, fully prepared to wait out on the porch with hersuitcase.

Annoyanceflashes across Klaus’ face, “So eager to leave my company?”

“You’re theone who asked me when I was leaving.”

His jawclenches, his eyes fluttering shut briefly and he’s back to casual pleasantnessin an instant. “Just making conversation. Why don’t you come in to the kitchen?I made coffee not too long ago.”

“Sure.” Sheslips off her flats – Klaus is weird about shoes in the house – and follows himthrough the house. There’s a wall of windows that face the backyard and she cansee Mars chasing one of the cats though they’re moving too quickly for her tonote which one.

“Just likeold times,” she says, then immediately wishes she hadn’t. Klaus’ back is toher, and he tenses as he reaches into the cupboard where he’s always kept themugs. He doesn’t say anything but she can tell it’s a struggle from the way hemoves, jerky, her usual mug clinking loudly when he sets it down.

Ooookay. Alighter topic is needed ASAP.

“How’s workgoing for you?” Caroline asks.

“My clientssend me a steady stream of requests.” Klaus’ main source of income isillustrations, mainly plants that appear in textbooks and field manuals.

She thinksabout dropping it, about sitting quietly and sipping her coffee but a silencethat long seems excruciating and Caroline just can’t do it. “And yourpaintings?”

Klaus isfar more passionate about his own work, had often holed up in his studio at theback of the house for so long Caroline had grown worried and taken it upon herselfto bully him out to eat and sleep. He’s shown at galleries in several majorcities and while she doesn’t know much about how much he makes off of them thesize and location of his house tells her he must do pretty well.

He glancesat her, too quickly for her to read, “Stalled,” he replies, clipped.

Whoops.Maybe not the best choice of topic. “Sorry,” she offers.

He sets thecoffee in front of her and it’s the exact perfect color. A sip tells her it’sjust as sweet as she prefers too. “I hear you’re going to be an uncle again.”

She changesthe subject whenever Enzo or Kol bring up Klaus. It’s bad enough that she can’tresist the urge to check up on him via social media. Bits and pieces about hisother family members still filter in and she’d seen the announcement that Sagewas pregnant again the last time she’d been at Enzo’s for dinner.

“Finn’spleased, of course. Insufferably so.”

“Perfectlyon brand, then.”

That teasesa smile from Klaus, “Indeed.”

“The firstkid’s really freaking cute, to be fair. You Mikaelsons were given more thanyour fair share of pretty.”

He laughs,most of his bad mood having melted away, “Such flattery. You’ll make me blush.”

“Like youblush.”

Klaus’inability to feel embarrassment was something Caroline had deeply envied. He’dtaken delight in turning her on in public, both via text or by whisperingsomething filthy that no one else could hear. Her pink cheeks had likely givenanyone observant enough a big clue about the subject they were discussing.

She’d triedto turn the tables a few times and, though Klaus had loved it, he’d also alwaysmanaged to one up her.

In the end,once they were alone and free to do more than talk, Caroline had never minded.Klaus always kept his promises.

But shecan’t let herself think about thatjust now.

She findshim watching her, knowing, a little bit heated and she wishes she’d taken offher jacket too. Caroline clears her throat, “You’ve still got their food andeverything, right?”

Best toturn to safer topics and be a responsible pet parent.

“Assumingthey still eat the same thing, yes. I noticed Mojo’s looking a bit… er… plump.”

Carolinecan’t help the rather unladylike snort-laugh that erupts at his delicatephrasing. Klaus is quick to laugh too, ather she’s sure, but she lets it slide. She slaps a hand over her mouth tosmother it, gets herself under control. “He prefers the term roly poly, thankyou.”

“Noted.”

“We’retrying exercise before a food change. You know how picky The Professor is andit’s a pain to have them on separate foods.”

“I think Istill have one of those feather sticks they like to chase tucked awaysomewhere. I’ll make sure he gets his cardio in.”

“Probablynot necessary. I think Mars will get him moving just fine.”

Klaustwists to look out the window, “You’re probably right.”

She looksover too, notes the fence has been painted, and an easy conversation aboutother home improvement projects springs up. She’s actually startled when herphone buzzes, the notification that her cab is arriving shortly.

Carolineslides off her stool, rounding the island. She’s got one hand on Klaus’shoulder, the other on his jaw, turning his head to her, and her lips pressedto his before she even thinks about it. She’s sat in this kitchen with him, shared coffee and smiles and talked about things big and small, so many times. Kissing him goodbye is muscle memory.

She freezes, her muscles locking as shetries to process just how she’d gotten to this point. Her eyes go wide only tofind that Klaus’ have closed and he wraps an arm around her waist before shecan pull away.

“I’m…” herapology fails, ending in a squeak when Klaus stands, the full length of hisbody pressed to hers.

“I’m not,”he says, against her mouth, low and a touch gravely, just before his hand sinksinto her hair and tips her head up for a firmer kiss.

She knowsshe should resist, turn her head awayand tell him they can’t. He feels too good for her to want to.

His hands arefirm, the slightest bit unsteady, like he’s afraid she’ll disappear. He kissesher deeply, fast and fierce, with an edge of desperation.  She moans into it, moulding her body to his,touching him tentatively at first, with more purpose when he shudders againsther palms. She can’t bring herself to pull back until her lungs are burning.When her head falls back with a gasp his wet mouth drags down her throat,shoving her sweater aside so he can pant against her shoulder.

Carolinelicks her lips, tries to gather her scrambled thoughts. “This is a bad idea.”

Klausshakes his head, an immediate denial. He bites gently at the curve of her neck,careful not to mark her, and then licks away the sting. Caroline shivers, herthighs clenching together from the sensation, fingertips digging into his backto hold him closer.

She triesagain, “I can’t do this again. Not…”

Hestraightens, takes a moment to blink away the haze of want. When his eyessharpen Caroline swallows harshly, the gulp audible. He looks frustrated, alittle angry. “I’ve been trying to talk to you for months, Caroline. I’ve beenpatient, waiting for a sign. Pestering my brother at every availableopportunity, crossing my fingers that you weren’t doing something senselesslike moving on.”

Caroline’smouth falls open, her temper sparking. “Something senseless?” she spits. “Senseless? You’re such…”

“Senseless,”Klaus interrupts, his expression daring her. “Ill-advised. Foolish. Pick yourterm, love. They all work.”

She shovesaway from him but can’t go far, crossing her arms as the island digs into her back.“Well excuse me for wanting more than just sex, Klaus. For deciding I wanted tobuild a life with someone.”

His fistsclench at his sides, his harsh inhale shaking his shoulders. “We had a life, Caroline. One that I thoughtwas pretty bloody fantastic. One that you walked away from without evenbothering to tell me why. My brotherhad to do what you were too cowardly to.”

“I am not acoward,” she hisses. “You never said…”

“Neither didyou!” Klaus shouts, his hands rising in frustration.

“Not evenonce!”

It’s a weakdefense and she knows it but Caroline’s never been one to go down without afight. Klaus had been the one to start flirting, Klaus had been the one to kissher. Had he wanted more, her future, the rest of their lives, wouldn’t he havesaid so?

“I didn’t…”God, she wishes she’d thought to prepare for this conversation. It’s been along time since she’d felt this tongue tied. “Well, I guess I just thought longterm wasn’t your thing. You seemed kind of… scornful or marriage as aninstitution.”

“Because I’veseen it be a nightmare.”

Fair.Caroline’s seen her share of bad ones too.

“I figuredit would hurt less if I got out early,” Caroline mutters. “When I thought aboutmy future, all I saw was you. I didn’t think you saw the same.” She’d been theone to ease back from Klaus, had calmly informed him that it was time for herto have her own place over dinner. He’d been shocked, angry, had stormed out ofthe house. “I should have asked, huh?”

She’d beenscared to. Hadn’t wanted to hear Klaus tell her she wasn’t enough. She’d goneto bed before he’d gotten back that night. Had been taping boxes together whenhe’d woken up the next morning. They hadn’t had too many conversationsafterwards.

One of hishands runs through his hair and the other hovers. She watches him considertouching her, sees how his eyes flick to her mouth again, and then think betterof it. When he speaks again it’s quieter, incredulous. “I cannot believe youdon’t know that I’m in love with you.”

It’sshocking and she takes a moment to absorb the full weight of the statement, togauge his seriousness but she sees nothing but sincerity, a weariness, in hiseyes.  She moves this time, collidingwith him, kissing him even as her eyes sting with tears that want to fall. Thisis slower, searching, and she wraps her arms around him and let’s herself enjoyhow warm he is, how good he feels. He pushes her jacket off her shoulders, hishands sliding under her sweater, a little rough and greedy for skin.

The knockat the door tears them apart. Caroline considers ignoring it when her eyesflutter open to find Klaus’ lips swollen and his eyes dark, his breathing justas uneven as hers. “That’s my ride,” she rasps. “I wish I could stay.”

Had shestill been at her old job she might have been able to swing it. Her pay raisehad come with new responsibilities and she’s supposed to be leading tomorrow’smeetings.

Klaus tipshis head forward to rest against hers, “What’s a few more days?”

Ugh,torture. It takes great effort to pull away. “I’m back Friday. Do you want tohave dinner together? We can talk and see if we can figure this out.”

Klaus nods,“I’ll pick you up. We’ll get takeout and we willfigure this out.” He retrieves her jacket, shakes it out, motions for her tospin around.

She letshim help her into it, “So confident,” she murmurs.

Klaus laughs,pulls her back into him. He presses his face into her hair, inhales with acontented noise. “I finally got the full story from Kol only because Enzorefused to let him do anything more drastic. Such as lock us in a small roomtogether with only food, water, and condoms until we’d come to an agreement.”

“Yourbrother watches too many Lifetime movies.” Not that Caroline can complain. Kol’sthe only one who’ll watch them with her.

There’sanother knock from the door and, reluctantly, Klaus nudges Caroline forward,snagging her hand and enclosing it in his. She squeezes, “Can I call youtonight?” The idea of waiting three days to speak to him, knowing what she doesnow, is super unappealing.

Klausagrees, easily and instantly, presses her up against the door for one lastbrain melting kiss. It’s only the knowledge that there’s probably a veryimpatient cab driver on the other side that prevents Caroline from wrapping herlegs around his waist.

“Be safe,”he murmurs, just before he pulls away.

Caroline’sslightly dazed as she leaves the house. The cab driver confirms her name, grabsher bag and walks ahead to stow it. She’s lucky she’s walked down the porchstairs and the front walkway hundreds of times because she does it onautopilot. It’s not until she’s in the cab, turning to wave one last time atKlaus that she realizes she’s forgotten something.

If she werein a Lifetime movie she’s have made the driver stop, would have sprinted back tothe house. Caroline really likes her job, has very specific plans for hertrajectory. Thankfully, there’s always the wonders of modern technology. Shepulls out her phone, taps the screen to connect a call to Klaus and waits forhim to pick up.

“Caroline?”he asks, sounding puzzled. “You can’t have forgotten anything.”

“Just onething.”

“Oh?”

“I love youtoo. Just so you know.”

Klaus’reply is slow to come and Caroline holds her breath. “I had an inkling. But it’sgood to hear.”

She laughs,tipping her head back against the seat. “Hence the reason why I mauled you.”

His voicedrops, the tone familiar and promising seduction. “You can, of course, feelfree to maul me anytime.”

“I had aninkling,” she jokes.

Theycontinue talking until Caroline gets to the airport and has to focus onchecking in. In the evening, the next few nights, after she’s done with workfor the day. When it’s dark and she should be sleeping they get to the hardstuff. Her insecurities, the reason she’d decided to run without fighting. Howhard it is for him to say certain things. He promises to try, she vows never tobe afraid to talk to him about the hard stuff.

She leavesthe call connected, listens to him breathing to fall asleep.

In themorning, despite her lack of rest, Caroline feels fantastic. Better than shehas in months and, on the flight home, she gets an email from her boss sayinghe’s been hearing impressive things about her performance at the conference.

She and Klaus make a tiny little scene at theairport, get a little too handsy and heated considering their audience.

They forgothe takeout and, once again, the traffic gods smile on Caroline. Last time she’dthought it a curse. This time? Not so much. They manage to avoid any and alltraffic snags and make it to Klaus’ in record time.

The animalsare very excited to see them. At first. They quickly grow indignant when they’relocked out of Klaus’ bedroom without even getting a moment’s of attentionlavished upon them. The drapes come down again, half the books on the livingroom shelves end up on the floor. Along with a bowl of fruit that had beensitting on the kitchen island.

NeitherCaroline nor Klaus hear the commotion. They’re too busy making up for losttime.

[throughtheglassdarkly]

Missing Pieces, part 1

“Maybe this isn’t home, nor ever was – maybe home is where I have to go tonight. Home is the place where when you go there, you have to finally face the thing in the dark.” – Stephen King, It

Welcome back to our misadventures. The last time you were here, we’d finally escaped Arcadia and found ourselves disoriented and confused. Evain, another changeling, was welcoming us to the Greater Freehold of Upstate New York. And so that’s where we’ll begin.

Evain figured we were pretty out of it, which we were – getting through the Hedge was disorienting as hell. But, he told us, we were at least safe-ish and he recommended that we come back to his place. We didn’t have any real other option, so we took him up on it. We ended up sneaking out of the orchard and through a back road, avoiding the families and young kids who were crawling everywhere. As I was looking around, I suddenly realized where we were: Altamont Orchards in Altamont, New York, about thirty minutes from Albany. I’d gone there a few times to pick apples and try to figure out the spice mix they tossed their cinnamon donuts in.

Given that we looked like refugees from a crappy Ren Faire (to say nothing of how inhuman we looked), we crept our way through as quietly as we could, eventually getting to Evain’s SUV. Bella tried her best sad puppy dog eyes, but Day wasn’t going to let her sit on his lap. Pam, Bella and I shared the middle seat, with Yova riding shotgun and Day in back by himself. Pam was pretty wrecked and nodded off almost as soon as we got on the road. The rest of us introduced ourselves. Evain seemed to be handling us with kid’s gloves, not really pushing conversation on us as we drove into Albany. One thing I did want to know was what year it was; I was thinking back on how Adrian and Cassi had been in the Hedge for years and years. I knew we couldn’t have been gone as long as them, but I was still a little stunned when Adrian told us it was October 2017: two and a half years after we’d been taken.

We got to Evain’s duplex and he let us inside, explaining that he lived on the second floor and had a friend renting the first floor. His apartment was pretty bare aside from the essentials and he got us some snacks. Pam decided to lie down for a bit, but the rest of us were pretty hungry and started noshing. When we sat down, I thanked Evain for letting us crash at his place. “Hey, I’m just glad you guys let me get close,” he said. “We’d seen you at a few places, but every time someone would get close to you, one of you would scream and run away. This is the first time in a week someone’s been able to talk to you.” We all stopped eating and talking and just looked at each other. None of us remembered any part of that, and it definitely didn’t seem like we’d been escaping through the Hedge for a week.

Yova and Day polished off the better part of a bottle of rotgut vodka while Evain tried to get some formalities out of the way. He told us about the freehold and how most of the upstate New York region was contained in it. “But even though it’s big, it’s still easy to get around because of the Hedge and portals.” We also learned about the seasonal courts: Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter, each headed by a changeling or changelings who would lead the court three months out of the year. Since it was October, Autumn was currently in charge. He hinted that it was in our interest to join one of the courts, if for nothing other than protection and being a part of the freehold community.

He asked us about who we were before we were taken and we each gave him our elevator pitch. He was taking notes and said he’d pass that along to the courts so they’d have an idea of where we might fit in and how we might make use of some of our skills. He also told us that if we wanted to reclaim our lives and take out our Fetches – assuming we all had one – there were people who could help us out with that. Bella was looking really unsure about this and asked how we could take our lives back when we looked the way we did. It was something that, weirdly enough, hadn’t even occurred to me until that moment: with the possible exception of Pam, we all looked inhuman – nothing like we did before. Evain told us not to worry, that there was some supernatural magic that kept normal humans from seeing what changelings look like. “I guarantee, you’ve walked right past a changeling before you were taken and you never knew,” he said.

Around this time, we’d polished off most of the chips and crackers he’d set out and he offered to go get us some Chinese takeout and some clothes that looked better than the makeshift stuff we had on. I asked if it was possible for him to pick up some stuff that I could use to make cookies. It had been way too long since I was in a full working kitchen with ingredients that weren’t goblin fruit and I was champing at the bit to bake something again. Yova asked for some more vodka. “Well, that goes without saying,” Evain said. I couldn’t help but notice that he seemed really tense around Day before he made his way out the door. “Friend of yours?” Yova asked. “Or someone you arrested?” Bella asked. “Nah, I’d remember his face,” Day said. “Well…” I started and Day sat up straight, eyes wide. “Oh, wait… maybe I wouldn’t remember his face,” he said.

As fascinating as thinking about Day’s long record of manhandling criminals was, it was around this time that Yova started looking uncomfortable. She reached up and detached her collar, saying something was moving in there. She looked inside and her eyes went wide. And that’s when I saw a telltale blue head pop up and smile. “Paisley? Darling, I’ve never been more glad to see anyone, but – what are you doing here?” Yova asked. Paisley climbed out of her hiding spot and I saw a piece of paper tied to her tail. My heart sank and I said, “Oh, no. No, he didn’t. He didn’t.” Paisley climbed over onto my shoulder and I untied the paper from her tail. My hands were shaking, but I opened it up and read it. The paper read “D: So I’m not really apart from you. -A.”

I can’t even explain what I felt, reading those words. A swell of emotion, bubbling up through me. Anger at Adrian for sending Paisley away when I knew how important she was to him being able to see and experience the world. A hot flushed mixture of desire and pleasure that he’d thought to do it. Worry for what it meant for him. And regret – regret again that I couldn’t save him and Cassi from their contract and that he was stuck in Arcadia, serving an Amberleigh who was completely unpredictable. “Why… why would he do this?” was all I could get out. Paisley flitted up and booped her nose against my own. That got a smile out of me and I scratched her under the chin. I can’t explain it, but looking into her eyes, thinking there was a chance he might be seeing me… it made me feel a little better. I’m not the sort of guy who ever had a lot of luck in relationships and Adrian making a gesture like this – as stupid and over-the-top as it was – it let me know he cared about me as much as I cared about him.

And then Yova had to say, “You know, Derek. Those are his eyes. That could lead to some opportunities…” “FLASHING HIM!” Bella piped up. And I began to think about what the statute of limitations would be for murdering two people who technically don’t exist any more. But doing that so soon after we got back wouldn’t be polite, so instead I looked over at Yova and said, “You know what this means. I get to pet Paisley whenever I want.” I might as well have stuck a knife in her and twisted it.

About an hour passed, during which point we learned that the two years we were gone were not an entirely bad time to be away from what was happening in America, and Evain came back in carrying some huge bags of clothes and a plastic bag of greasy takeout. Yova met him at the door wild-eyed and shrieked, “HOWISTRUMPPRESIDENTHOWHOWHOWHOW” and, to his credit, Evain didn’t even blink, just responding, “Because the world fucking sucks.” Truer words were rarely spoken.

Evain put the bags of clothes down on the floor and the takeout on the tiny dining table and told us that he’d heard back from the seasonal rulers, who’d asked us to meet them for dinner at 7:30. It was only about 2:00 by the time he got back, so we had plenty of time to eat, get changed, and even go out for a bit if we wanted. Bella and I started looking through some of the clothes – he’d grabbed about everything at the Goodwill that looked like it might be in our sizes – while Yova said she wanted to check the library and do some searching about what happened to her. Day said that he thought he might look into some things as well and that was when Evain started laughing – and not a pleasant laugh either.

Day looked over and very darkly asked Evain what was so funny. “Oh, my friend,” Evain said. “You’re not going to have to look hard at all. You made headlines.” Day looked like he wanted to choke Evain out and asked what the hell he was talking about. With no small amount of glee, Evain told Day that after he disappeared, the police started looking into things to see if maybe somebody took out a hit on him as retribution for an arrest. That’s when they realized everything Day had been up to and all the times he’d planted evidence or blurred some lines to get a bad guy. That’s when Day’s Fetch showed up, immediately realized how much trouble he was in, and went underground. Nobody’d seen hide nor hair of his Fetch since then.

Day started breathing heavily, looking like he was going to reach over and rip Evain’s face off, and Yova quickly popped up, escorting him outside. Evain was still snickering to himself and I was about to speak up when, much to my surprise, Bella let him have it with both barrels, telling him that he was out of line and didn’t have to tell Day the way he did. “Yeah, he can be an asshole, but you don’t have to be mean about his life going down the tubes!” she said, displaying her usual sense of restraint and decorum. “Sweetheart, you don’t understand the context here,” Evain said, without going into any more detail. He did seem to at least feel a little bit of remorse, because he toned down the snickering and told her he’d try to keep it to himself.

Outside, Yova was trying to comfort Day and tell him things were going to be okay. “No, he’s right. I’m not a nice guy,” Day said, head in hands. Yova wasn’t sure how to respond to that and asked as gently as she could if there were a lot of things the investigators might have found. Day admitted it would have been Internal Investigations’ wet dream. Yova took a deep breath and told him that even though things might be bleak, this was actually going to give him a clean slate: they’d be looking for his Fetch, not for who Day was now. “You have a chance to start over and I know people who would kill for a chance like that. I’d think on that,” she said. She also reminded him he had the potential to be better and that he shouldn’t squander it. Day sat there for a minute, not saying anything, before he pushed himself up and said he needed to take a walk.

Yova came back inside, glaring daggers at Evain, and said she was going to take the bus to the library. Evain offered to drive her and Yova turned full ice princess mode on him. She at least accepted a few bucks from him for bus fare and left, slamming the door behind her and leaving me, Bella, and Evain sitting in very awkward silence. “Well,” I said, getting up. “I think I’m gonna make some cookies.”

I found later Day took a long walk and found a park to sit and think for a while. He was about as shaken as he’d ever been, thinking back on how many of the convictions he’d worked so hard to get were probably getting overturned on what the internal investigators had found. He was thinking about how things weren’t ever going to be the same and how he put in all that work for nothing.

Back at the apartment, I made a triple batch of my signature molasses cookies (which are awesome as hell, thank you kindly), Evain grabbed a pipe and went out on the porch for a smoke, and Bella rage-sketched.

Yova got a bus to the library and got a pass to use one of the computers. She Googled herself and found almost nothing after her abduction. She of course found everything about herself before that, but after her abduction, it was like she dropped off the face of the earth. She tried checking her personal website, but it was out of commission. Her Gmail account still worked, so she sent out a few messages to some contacts. On her way out, however, she spotted an ancient Missing Persons poster that looked vaguely familiar. When she got closer, she realized it was Cassi at about age 12. She took the poster and folded it up, breathing very slowly.

We were mostly left to our own devices, with Evain leaving us alone until it was time to go meet the monarchs. He opened one of his closet doors and we saw a giant mirror inside. We got Pam up and she seemed more herself after getting some rest. We all joined hands and Evain grabbed a razor blade, cutting his arm and smearing some of the blood on the mirror. We all could feel something in the air shift. He stepped through the mirror and we all got pulled through with him. It felt weirdly normal as we passed through, emerging in a large coat closet. A very severe-looking woman with gray skin and blonde hair was staring at us. Evain seemed to be playing up a bow to her, but she just rolled her eyes and told us the monarchs were waiting.

We got led through a kitchen and into a dining room. It seemed like we were in a B&B somewhere, a weirdly calm, comforting environment. There were a group of changelings sitting and standing in the room and it was set with dinner. We were introduced to Cahir, King of the Summer Court; Mistress Lilly, Queen of the Spring Court; The Dagda, Speaker of the Autumn Council; and Kassandra Winterdale, ruler of the Winter Court. They had a big spread of food that looked almost like Thanksgiving dinner: a big turkey (which made me kind of ill to think about) and a lot of side dishes. I tried to put my plate of cookies on the table as unobtrusively as possible. The Dagda, however, made a beeline for them, asking, “Are those cookies?!” I stammered out a yes, and he picked them up and smelled them deeply, then said, “Oh, man, he’s my favorite. Kassandra, you have to smell this!” Kassandra was about as icy as her name, telling him there would be time for dessert later. I think she might be allergic to joy, but that’s just me.

Mistress Lilly was interested in making sure we were feeling welcome, telling us that they all wanted to make sure we were comfortable and got to eat. I couldn’t really handle the roast turkey, but everything else was delicious. Yova started chatting up the rulers, schmoozing with all of them and trying to network. Kassandra may have given a slight smile, and both The Dagda and Cahir were very taken with Yova. We learned the basics about the Courts and the benefits of joining a Court. We were strongly encouraged to think about where we would be the happiest. I couldn’t shake the feeling that, as friendly as the rulers were all being, they were extremely interested in as many of us joining their specific courts as possible and were willing to undercut each other to make that happen.

As dinner wound down, Yova started looking around anxiously. I was sitting next to her and low-key asked what was going on. She admitted that now that she was back, she was jonesing something fierce to play a piano. “Dude, we’re in a B&B. There’s going to be a piano in the parlor,” I said. Her eyes widened and she got up and bolted from the room. Before anybody knew what was going on, we started hearing the entirety of “Rhapsody in Blue,” much to Mistress Lilly’s delight.

Some of us took the opportunity to speak with the rulers more one-on-one about what their courts might offer. Day asked if anyone was looking for muscle or investigation and Cahir told him Summer was always looking for additional brawn. Bella mentioned that she used to be a geologist and that started something of a bidding war between The Dagda and Kassandra. The Dagda said, “She’s an academic! She’s ours!” “You don’t have a monopoly on intelligence,” Kassandra said frostily, turning to Bella. She was about as warm as I saw her (which even then is to say, not very), telling Bella that there were very few Helldivers in the freehold and that Winter had significant need of someone with her specializations.

As for me, I had been listening closely and thinking about what pitches each of the rulers made for their courts. Mistress Lilly seemed lovely, but a bit on the flighty side and I wasn’t sure Spring would be a good choice given how awkward I can be. Cahir was definitely all about macho supremacy (one of the women hanging off of him was giving Yova a dirty look when Yova was talking to him – I desperately wanted to “Oh, honey” her but thought it would be a lot more fun to see how that played out) and he seemed most interested in strength and front-line bruisers like Day. Kassandra, as I’ve noted, was just flat-out frosty and was more interested in what any of us could do for Winter than what Winter could do for us.

So that left Autumn. I had a chance to speak one-on-one with The Dagda, who was a pretty jolly guy, and asked him what the Autumn Court was all about. He told me in between eating cookies that Autumn was mostly made up of researchers and academics, always looking into fae magic. That piqued my interest right away, given how I was still trying to figure out how to help Adrian, Cassi, and the others break their pledge to Amberleigh. The Dagda also told me about how Autumn’s primary emotion that it drew on was fear. He assured me that it wasn’t as bad as it sounded, how they were more interested in the power of fear and considering how it worked than in causing fear itself. He also said that the woman who we met when we first made it through the mirror into the B&B shouldn’t be considered a typical Autumn courtier; “We’re not all uptight,” he said, chuckling a bit.

While the evening went on, I thought about what I learned from him, and the possibility of pledging myself to a group like the Autumn Court. I’m not much of a researcher or a scholar (hell, I barely managed to get above a 3.0 GPA in undergrad) but the more I thought back on what he was saying, the more I realized that was the place where I could see myself. Ever since I’d changed, I’d been picking up more on the meanings in what people said and how their words committed them to promises or actions. Even if I wasn’t going to be, say, the stereotypical bookworm Autumn courtier, something about it felt natural, like it was the right place for me to be even if I didn’t fully understand why yet.

And besides that, my birthday’s in November. Autumn totally is the best time of year.

After a few hours of dinner, conversation, and Yova oh-so-nonchalantly serenading us with the entire Gershwin library, the evening came to an end. The Dagda offered to let us stay in the B&B – turns out, it was owned by the Autumn Court and he offered each of us a room until we got our feet under us. (Also, given how badly Evain pissed each of us off with the way he treated Day, it was a little bit of an unspoken relief for all of us – and him – that we didn’t have to stay at his place) Before she left, Kassandra took an extra minute to talk with Bella about how her talents would benefit the Winter Court. After she left, Yova and I took a little time to tease Bella about how Kassandra was interested in her. “Wait, really?” Bella asked. “Oh, yeah. She totally wants to bump clams with you,” I said.

Sleep came easily for most of us that night, but not for everybody. Pam told me later how she had a dream looking through the eyes of the woman who replaced her. She saw her eldest daughter getting ready for bed and hugging Pam’s Fetch, but that there was something very, very off about the way her daughter hugged her: she almost looked nervous. Day, too, had a hard time settling in. Just before he nodded off, he had a recollection that he might actually remember somebody with Evain’s face after all.

But what kind of storyteller would I be if I didn’t leave you with a bit of a cliffhanger? Next time, you’ll learn a little more about how we found our places in the courts and dealt with the whole… coming back thing. Until then, be chill and try not to make your houseguests all want to murder you.

[velvet-roads]

What Happens In Vegas: Chapter 2

Chapter 1:

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1565

Music: 22 Faces- Periphery/ Prelude 12/21- AFI

          It was monumentally disturbing to you how easy Cowboy thought it would be to catch his prey. The sad truth was, in Las Vegas it really wasn’t that hard. It wasn’t called ‘Sin City’ for shits and giggles. The place is just as dangerous as it is fun.

          Now that the vamp was dead, it was time to get out of Dodge. You pulled a black bandanna out of your bag and wrapped up your knife. It was best not to get blood all over everything. Then you went into the small bathroom to clean yourself up. Thank God you weren’t wearing much, it made wiping off noticeable blood that much easier. Once you were clean-ish and had removed your fingerprints off of any possible surfaces you could have touched without thinking, it was time to slip out quietly.  

          You pulled a nondescript, oversized, black, Las Vegas novelty zip up out of your bag and threw it on. Flipping up the hood, you exited the darkroom, keeping your head down. Vegas had cameras and video EVERYWHERE. Even when you had made it into the elevator, you still kept your eyes glued to the floor. You didn’t have the aggressive oaf to block you now.

          Several more people ended up joining you on your little ride down to the lobby. Though it was now after 2 in the morning, the entrance hall was still crowded; as were the streets. You felt so suspicious never looking up from the ground, cloaked in your hoodie with your fishnets and converse standing out from underneath. Fortunately though, you were not even close to the most disreputable looking thing in a two mile radius.        

          After walking a couple blocks, you discreetly left your jacket on a fire hydrant. Your outfit wasn’t that crazy for down town at 2 in the morning. You once saw a drag queen dressed as the little mermaid. Shell bra with fake boobs and all.

          The closest hotel to you now was the Bellagio, so you popped inside to buy a new hoodie. Granted it was warm enough in Vegas that you didn’t need a jacket but to you it wasn’t fun to be traipsing around the streets in so little. Plus, you were in a hurry before and weren’t sure you got all visible blood spatter off of you.

          There was no doubt in your mind that Cowboy was going to be found soon. Once the body was discovered there was most definitely going to be an investigation of some sort. That was your main reason for going in and getting a new sweatshirt. You stopped in the bathroom to remove your fishnets, found a drunk girl with the same color hair as you, who was willing to take a hundred bucks to change outfits with you, then you walked through the hotel and came out of the guest check-in entrance wearing a slutty blue dress. This way, even if the cops see you on the cameras, you no longer have that specific outfit.

          Then a thought occurred to you, Cowboy had friends. You were so concerned about not getting caught by the police that you hadn’t even thought of the other vampires yet. It was a good thing you had work in town because now you had to stay and finish off the rest of the fangs. However, all that excitement was going to have to wait at least a few hours because you needed to sleep.  

          Grabbing an Uber, you headed off the strip to a small campground thirty minutes out. It was a funny place. C.C Shooting Park was an RV park and a shooting range. It was nice to have a place to shoot a few if you needed the stress relief.  

          Your way of living, when it came to hunting, was a contrast to the general hunter population. Not including the honest wage, most hunters lived a life of fast food and cheap motels. Since death was inevitable in this line of work, you refused to let the last place to lay your head be a sketchy mattress. In place of a crappy motel, you lived in a van. Now that sounds very hippie/homeless but your van is not the gutter picture that most people would think of. There is no half naked woman on the side riding some sort of mythical creature.

          You had a love of vintage cars so you lived in a purple and off-white VW camper van. The little shack on wheels had everything you would ever need; a full-size bed in the back with storage underneath, one side with enough counter space to have a small stove and a little sink, a tiny table with a few well-placed power outlets for your laptop or phone charger etc., and storage space galore. Seriously, there was storage everywhere. The space was small but extremely cozy. The only downside to the van life was not having your own bathroom. However, campground restrooms weren’t too bad, nine times out of ten.

         Life in your violet and cream camper wasn’t too shabby. If you wanted to go to the beach or camp in the rain forests of the Pacific Northwest, you could. Vanning it in hot as hell Vegas was definitely not your favorite. Luckily, one small fan, open windows and in some cases a dehumidifier worked wonders in quickly cooling the small space.

          You had the Uber driver drop you off at the entrance. It was going to be a little bit of a hike to your home but that was OK. It was secluded, quiet, and fairly safe. Walking through the dusty dead grass with nothing but the sound of the earth under your feet was cathartic. The stark silence in contrast to the club thumping you worked in was nice.

           Under the light of the half-moon you saw your little amethyst and ivory home, and you swore you could hear your bed calling you. As you unlocked and opened the door, you were greeted with a small gust of heat mixed with the scent of a cedar-wood and bourbon candle. That was another nice thing about a small space, it took no effort to make it smell nice. Inversely the same thing could be said about it being, less than fresh.

            Crawling inside, you promptly shut the doors and opened the sunroof to air out the stuffy space. Van life wasn’t for everyone. You had to enjoy nesting. That meant being cozy and in some cases cramped. All around you was beautiful wood paneling; the floor, counters, cabinets and walls. Most of your furniture covers were black, easy to re dye or didn’t show staining. For example, no one would know that you spilled red wine on your bed or that you had gotten makeup on your pillow.

           Even though you really didn’t want to, you had to take a shower. There was no doubt in your mind that you had missed some of the vamp blood on your quick cleanup, and it was very possibly in your hair. Under your bed was your clothing storage, dance wear, daily wear, and lounge. Each had their own drawer. You pulled out a black tank with a sassy saying (I put the fun in funeral), a pair of black shorts,  and a pair of flip-flops for the shower. Another random drawer held the shower essentials and a rather large bag of quarters. Most decent camping bathrooms required quarters for hot water. So, between that and the need to do laundry you always had a ton. The last thing you grabbed was the knife and the bandanna out of your bag. You figured that you might as well clean them too. A good hot shower after a hunt always felt amazing, both tension and excess vamp blood, going down the drain.  

           Once clean and refreshed the realization of how exhausted you were officially set in. Gathering up your things, you headed back to your van. You chuckled to yourself as you walked past the mirrors in the bathroom. Before your shower you looked like something out of a crazy 80s music video. Now it was just you, simple and plain you.  

          While your body was excited for sleep, your brain had other plans. That night/early morning, you dreamt about Cowboy’s friends and what they were going to want to do to you. Nightmares came with the territory and you were more than used to dealing with them but sometimes it would be nice to wake up from a nightmare in the arms of a great man. However, falling in love and keeping them alive was not something that was possible in this life. Not to mention, most normal guys tend to go running for the hills when they found out about your job and life. Rejection is one thing, but sending them running and screaming is something else.  

          As you laid in bed, you thought more about what your fictional Mr. wonderful would be like. Physically, Cowboy actually came pretty close. You liked a man who was masculine, a man who could handle himself. Most importantly, he had to be able to handle you.  

          Gripping your pillow tight, for the first time in a long time, you dreamt of your perfect man. A man you would never have.          

[fictionpractice]

Project 1, chapter 1

A lot of things happened during these few months. I don’t think I can process all this on my own. So I’m writing this down. Maybe this will help.

Let’s start at the beginning of all this crap.

My name is Cassandra Pinewolf. I’m 16 years old and before this whole thing started, I was a Junior at Lowwood High School. I lived in a average-sized apartment near  Downtown Los Angeles with my family of four: Mom, Dad, me, and Dean. I was pretty happy with my life, and I think my family was too.

Dad - his name was Andrew - worked as a researcher in a Corning laboratory. His specialty was chemistry, and with his help, the laboratory was able to manufacture a new, more advanced kind of optical cable. Cornell earned millions of dollars, and Dad was given a promotion. That was three years ago.

Dad was a great guy. He was always busy, sometimes even rushing to the laboratory in the middle of the night, but he never was too busy for us. whatever he was doing, if I approached him with a question, he would try his best to give the best answer. If Dean wanted to go to a volleyball game, Dad would gruffly tell Dean to study more, but would secretly buy tickets. And he really loved Mom. During all 16 years of my life, I had never seen a full-blown fight between the two of them.

Mom’s name was Amy, Amy Stuart. She and Dad were together since they were studying in university. Her hair always smelled like it was dipped in really good shampoo, which made me kind of offended, because I could never get my hair to smell like that no matter how much shampoo I used.

Anyways, she did volunteer work at a library near our apartment. That was a lot of help for my studying, since she knew exactly what book I needed for my school projects. Also, since my social skills were never that good, it was a comfort to see someone familiar when i was in a library full of people.

Dean was my ten-year-old brother. He went to Tiger Rock Elementary School, and unlike me, had a lot of friends. He loved to run around in the park, playing tag with Dad or chased by a random overexcited dog. That was quite a sight.

Apparently all those running paid off, since he made it into the racing team. For the past few weeks, he had been coming home late, having been trained by the P.E. teacher to run and run until he was too tired to go any longer. We were all really proud of him, and Dad (who is an atheist) even prayed for Dean to win his first race, which was to happen two days before things started going to hell.

It was another normal day for me, at least until i came home. I walked into class ten minutes before the bell rang, took out my stuff, and began reading a book. I had just started it, so I was only a few chapters in.

If I was anyone else, Ben McCloud would have been all over me, taking the book out of my hands and ripping it to shreds. As it is, it happens that I’m one of the few people he’s actually scared of, so I didn’t have to worry.

The truth was, when we were sophomores, he had asked me out a bit forcefully over text. I still don’t know how he got my number-I never give it out. Anyways, he started threatening me with select insults, so I sent some pictures of him smoking pot and other drugs to let him know I had leverage. Since then, he went the other way when he saw me coming his way in the hallway.

When the bell rang, Mrs. Swanson marched into class, a large hulking figure with round glasses, and lips that were squashed together in a way that resembled a dumpling. She taught calculus, and thank god I was good at it, she gave out the hardest tests anyone had seen. All in all, Mrs. Swanson was the stereotypical grumpy teacher.

The rest of the day was a blur. We studied, read, ate lunch, studied some more, and watched the homeworks stack more and more with despair. By the time school was over, I had to write an essay by Thursday, analyze a book by Friday, and solve 200 differential equations by tomorrow. Life in the advanced class was not easy.

The walk back home took about half an hour, which gave me plenty of time to continue on that book I was reading. It really was interesting. i had read to page 241 when I reached the apartment.

As soon as i opened the door, I knew something was wrong. For one, Dean was home. He never came home before seven on a regular weekday.

“What are you doing here?” I asked Dean, confused.

He shrugged. “Mom called Mr. Rainfields and I got to go home early.” Mr. Rainfields was the name of his P.E. teacher.

Just then, Mom walked into the living room. Her hands were clenched tightly on her phone, her face was pale, and her long hair was sticking out in various directions; she had been tugging at it.

“Kids,” she began to say. It was never good news when she called Dean and I ‘kids’. She always called us by name. The only time she had called us ‘kids’ was when Dad had gotten into a car accident and when our trip to the Grand Canyon had been canceled.

Mom hesitated for a moment, then exhaled. “Kids,” she began again. “Dad’s laboratory’s been.... closed down.”

My brain went blank for a moment.

“Closed… down?” Dean asked.

Mom nodded. “He’s lost his job.”

A moment later, Dean understood the situation and began to cry. Mom walked up to him and hugged him tightly, tears streaming down her face as well. I considered crying with them, but I had a question I wanted to answer. I walked into my room.

I was in shock. No, confusion. I mean, Dad was one of Corning’s most prized scientists. there were plenty of other, less important laboratories Corning could close if they were financially unstable. But to close down their recently most successful lab… it didn’t make any sense.

My room was simply furnished: A bed to the right, and a desk with a lightstand right next to it on the left. There were the remains of some boy band poster a former friend had given me on the left side wall. Other than that, the wall was empty. I didn’t like boy bands or posters.

On my desk was the silver macbook I had gotten for Christmas three years ago. I opened it and punched in the password. Within seconds, the familiar screen was on the monitor. I quickly opened chrome and looked up the stock price of Corning Incorporated. It was $35.22 per stock; the price had actually risen!

Now absolutely nothing made sense. Corning was actually better off than before. Shutting down a lab along with a successful scientist could do nothing good for themselves. So why were they doing this?

Because someone inside the establishment hated Dad? Could be, but again, only an idiot would cut off a potential supply of big money for petty revenge. That couldn’t be possible.

Maybe Dad had quit by himself and lied to Mom about Corning firing him? But everything Dad did was for a good reason. Why would he give up on a well paying job he liked? Also, why would Dad lie to mom?

I frowned, and turned the laptop off. I would ask Dad a lot of questions when he came home.

A few hours later, Dad returned home. Like me, he looked more confused than shocked: his face was set in a frown and he was in deep thought.

As soon as he set foot on the apartment, Mom ran over and hugged him. Dad hugged back, a bit awkwardly. I could tell he was still lost in his mind.

I spoke up. “Dad, what’s going on?”

He focused his eyes on me. “I don’t know, Cass,” he replied. “Everything happened so quickly.”

Mom finally let go of him. Her hair was in a mess and she was trembling slightly. I had never seen her like this before.

Dad sighed. He seemed tired. ”Listen, kids, let’s talk about this later.” he looked at the clock resting on the kitchen wall: almost 7 o’ clock. “Hey, it’s dinnertime. How about eating out?” He sounded almost cheerful: possibly he was in denial.

So in about thirty minutes we were pulling up the road to Tourniquet, a fancy restaurant we visited once a month. It was Mom’s special favorite, and I think Dad had that in mind, since she was taking this situation much worse than the rest of us.

“What are we gonna do,” she would whisper. “We still have to pay rent, and electricity bills, and groceries, and…” she would list every single thing that cost money until Dad comforted her by saying, “We still have some money in savings. That’ll last us a while.” Then she’d look a bit better and quiet down, only to burst into the same routine a  few minutes later.

Dad was high school friends with the owner of the restaurant, a cheerful, burly man with a long moustache he seemed to be really proud of, but others felt was a bit too large. He was a really nice guy though, and sometimes he gave Dean stickers he kept for who-knows-what reasons.

As we walked into the crowded place and took a table, the same big man ambled along to us from behind the counter. “Hey, Andrew!” he exclaimed pleasantly in a fake-ish italian accent. “ Long time no see, eh? Amy, beautiful as always. Wonderful, just wonderful to see you… And how are the kids? Cassandra, doing well at school? And Dean, I hear you made the racing team!” He had not noticed the gloomy mood my family was surrounded in. He wasn’t the sort of person who would.

Nobody was speaking up, not even Dad, so I decided to be polite. “Uh, hey, Mr. Williams. I’m doing fine at school. How are you?”

“Oh, just doing great!” He chuckled, clapping his hands together. “So, how can I serve you today?” He whipped out a menu plate from under the table. “Today’s special is shrimp dipped in a special sauce.” He wiggled his eyebrows when he said the word ‘special’.

“That sounds great, George. We’ll have that.” Dad said. Clearly he was in no mood to chat with his friend. Mr. Williams nodded happily and walked away to the kitchen.

I decided this was the perfect time to ask Dad my many questions. “So, Dad, what exactly happened today?”

Dad looked wearily at me. “I was working, Cass. Doing experiments on stuff. Then all of a sudden some guy from Headquarters comes up and tells me that my lab is shut down for”-here he made quotation marks with his fingers-”’unknown reasons’. He wouldn’t tell me even when I asked him.”

“Then why do you think it was shut down?”

“I don’t know. Probably Corning was going downhill, and decided to close up some labs to save  money. But it still doesn’t make-”

“Dad, I looked it up. Corning’s actually doing much better than it was a few months ago. There’s absolutely no reason for it to fire you.”

Dad stared at me, surprised. “Really? There’s no way…”

I opened my mouth to ask him another question, but with perfect timing, his phone started ringing. It was a little disconcerting to hear ‘Saturday Night Fever’ while I was trying to solve a question, so I waited, a little disgruntled, while Dad fumbled around in his pockets, trying to answer it. He finally grabbed it from his right coat pocket and pressed the little green icon.

“Hello? Yes, this is Andrew Pinewolf.” He said into the phone. He frowned. “Yeah… but how do you-” he listened for a moment, and looked out the window at a small man standing alone on the street. The man had his phone tightly - too tightly - pressed to his ear and was looking right at us.

‘Who is that?’ I mouthed at him.

Dad shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’ he mouthed back. Next to us, Dean and Mom were watching the man with interest.

“Okay, alright.” Dad said, as he hung up his phone. He stood up.

“Where are you going?” Mom asked. She was no longer having a panic attack, but she was confused as hell. Well, we all were.

“That guy outside is... offering me a job. In a university. I have to check it out.” Dad looked as perplexed as the rest of us.

“Wait, he knows you lost your job? That was barely twelve hours ago!” I said, incredulous.

Dad nodded. “It’s weird, I know. But I do need a job, and a job at a university is pretty good. I’ll be right back.”

Mom grabbed his arm. “Andrew, what if this is a scam or something? This can’t end well.”

Dad shrugged. “Maybe, but there’s always a chance it isn’t. Right now, I’m not in a position to be picky.” he gently let go of Mom’s arm and quickly made his way through the tables.

I looked back at the small man standing in the street and observed him closer. I had a great view of him since he was next to a streetlamp. He was wearing a long trench coat that looked two sizes too big, so it was almost touching the ground. His hands were resting stationery by his side. Overall, it looked like he was a kid dressed up as a scientist for Halloween.

But there was something odd. There was something I couldn’t grasp. The face was white, with green eyes that were following my Dad as he walked towards him. The nose was a bit large, and the lips a little small. But that wasn’t why I felt a little strange watching him.

Then it came to me. His body was too still. For normal people, even if they try to stand still, they always move slightly each moment because the human body is a dynamical system. But this guy, he was standing perfectly still. Nothing in his body moved except his eyes, which were still following Dad. There was an eerie determination in them.

Dad finally opened the doors and approached the stranger. They exchanged some words and began to talk. I strained to read their mouths: they were saying-

“Voile!” I whipped my head around. Mr. Williams was coming towards the table with a large plate of shrimps.

As he set the dish down, Mr. Williams looked up and saw Dad speaking outside. He looked mildly surprised - I guess he must have thought Dad had gone to the bathroom.

“What’s he doing there?” he asked, confused.

Explaining the whole situation to him would have been tedious, and apparently my thought was shared, so nobody said anything. We sat in an awkward silence for a few moments before Mom spoke up.

“He’s, uh, talking to a… work friend. They’re working together.” she was a terrible liar.

Thankfully, he bought it, and with a nod, walked away. Did I mention he was a little gullible?

I turned to the window again just in time to see the man reach inside his coat, produce a yellow folder, and hand it to Dad. He looked a little hesitantly at the folder before taking it.

As soon as the file was in Dad’s hands, the little man turned and briskly walked away to an old car parked across the street. Dad watched him leave for a moment, then he too turned and came back in the restaurant. As he took a seat, He opened the folder and took out a few A4 documents.

“What’s all this?” I asked, as he examined one of the papers.

“That guy there was a employee from the University of some place called ‘Ankur’.” he said. “He offered me a job as a professor teaching chemistry.”

“Come on, Dad. That sounds totally fake,” Dean said.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “Even if that university was real, It’d be in India or something.” I mean, what was a place called ‘Ankur’ doing in the United States? It sounded like some place where ancient Babylonians worshipped their gods.

“Well,” Dad interjected. He was reading a piece of paper. “Seems like it’s pretty real, and it’s not  in India.” he gave me a glance. “It’s somewhere in Nevada, look.” He handed me the document. I grabbed it and began to read it with Dean, who had leaned over to see.

‘Instructions on reaching Ankur’, the page said in black Times New Roman. Under the title was a map of California and Nevada, which filled about two thirds of the page. It was in color and a thick blue route was printed on it, the starting point being Los Angeles and the ending point being somewhere north of Las Vegas.

I frowned. It seemed like the ending point was somewhere I knew, somewhere I had extensively researched when I was 13 and in my ‘creepy stuff’ phase. Somewhere I was certain a university wasn’t in. And it wasn’t called Ankur.

“Dad, this place is in Area 51.”