#i’m trying to call and BEG them to switch my ticket to a later show even tho it’s against policy

[spencereid]

it’s the way i agreed to work a couple hours on a day i’m usually off and then i forgot i agreed to work on my day off and bought non-refundable, non-exhangable tickets bc im an IDIOT

[lady-of-the-lotus]

Xuexiao Goes to the DMV

Xue Yang and Xiao Xingchen go to the DMV (aka Where Hope Goes To Die) and share a kiss.

That’s it. That’s the fic.

Xuexiao - T (just for some cursing) - Read on AO3!

*

“If you hear about someone going berserk in a DMV on the news, that’ll be me,” the mechanical text-to-speech voice reads aloud, and Xiao Xingchen turns to Xue Yang questioningly.

Xue Yang reaches over and turns the volume down on Xingchen’s phone. “Meant to send that to A-Qing.”

“Are we going to be escorted out? Again?”

Xue Yang grins and looks around the room. They’ve already been at the DMV for over an hour. Dozens of people are draped limply over the hard orange seats, eyes glazed, going down for the third time in a sea of government bureaucracy.

“Ticket 4352, now being served at window thirty-three,” announces the robotic voice over the loudspeaker.

“It would take an alien invasion to wake these people up,” Xue Yang says as a man in overalls shuffles past. “You should see these people. This must be what a lobotomy post-op recovery room looks like.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Like the world’s most incompetent deli, filled with zombie customers waiting to eat the brains of whatever the opposite of employee of the month is. Well, ‘brains.’ They work at the DMV, after all.”

Xiao Xingchen adjusts his sunglasses. “Let's not be mean.”

“And we can all hear you,” adds a woman on his left. “Not that it made much sense.”

Xue Yang makes a face at her and turns back to Xingchen. “If they make me come back a third time, I’m going to go postal. You know, going postal should be called ‘going DMV.’ It’s catchier, for one thing, and I’ve never so much as stepped foot in a post office—”

“I’m keeping you far away from post offices. Those poor people have suffered enough.”

“How so?”

“Well, there must be a reason they go postal, right?”

Xue Yang rolls his eyes. “If the post office has the same taste in music as the DMV, I don’t blame them. Who picked this station? If it’s not Justin Bieber it’s whoever inflicted ‘Kiss Me Through the Phone’ on the world. I’d like to do something to them through the phone, and it won’t be a kiss, I can tell you that much.”

Xiao Xingchen takes a Snickers bar out of the fanny pack Xue Yang has vainly begged him not to wear. “According to the television commercials, this will improve your mood.”

“My mood?” Xue Yang takes a bite. “If I have to hear ‘Baby’ one more time—”

“Ticket 9753, now being served at window fourteen.”

“ ‘Served.’ Ha. As if.”

Xiao Xingchen feels around for another Snickers bar but comes up empty. He should have planned this better. He’d sensed Xue Yang’s mood coming on last night as Xue Yang went through his documents. He’d been cheerful enough until he found his birth certificate in the bundle of papers he’d been given after leaving his last group home.

Then he’d grown strangely quiet, and wandered aimlessly around their apartment for an hour, carrying his phone around with him and switching between a half-dozen different YouTube videos before deciding to bake brownies at 1am and burning them when he got distracted playing video games. He wasn’t paying much attention to the video game, either, going by his cursing as he got repeatedly blown up by what Xingchen suspects was a twelve-year old somewhere in Japan, and eventually gave that up to go take apart their toaster in the interest of “fixing” it.

Now he sits beside Xingchen, jiggling his leg. Xiao Xingchen wants to ask him about his birth certificate, but he hadn't dared to last night, and doesn’t dare now.

“Ticket 9755, now being served at Window 26.”

“Weren’t you 9754?” he asks Xue Yang.

“Oh, crap—” Xue Yang jumps to his feet and rushes to Window 26, brushing past a mohawked man holding a ticket marked 9755. “I’m 9754.”

The woman behind the glass may as well have been carved from wood. “You missed your number.”

“There was no announcement!”

“Or your number isn’t working. It’s not showing up on my computer.”

“What the hell does that mean? I’m on the screen! Look!” Xue Yang jabs a finger at the screen above the booth. At the bottom of the list it reads Ticket 9754 – Window 26. “9754! Window 26! All you need to do is take my picture—”

“Get back in line. Get a new ticket. Window 13.”

“Get back in line?” He looks over at the line for Window 13. It wraps around the entire room. “I already have a number! I’m on the screen!”

“Back. In. Line.”

“Just take the damn photo—”

Xingchen lays a hand on his arm. “Thank you, ma’am. We’ll get back in line.”

“Like hell we will! I’ve been here since 5 o’clock—I made an appointment! I even brought my own pen! You ever watch Monsters Inc.? You know Roz? Are you her evil older sister? Because you look exactly like—”

“Back of the line.”

“Younger sister, then. Happy?”

The woman doesn’t bother shrugging. “You’re blocking traffic.”

Xingchen begins to move, heading in the wrong direction. Xue Yang has no choice but to follow or else let him walk into a column plastered with posters emblazoned with, Make your visit easy - download the forms at dmv.gov! , Streamline your visit - make an appointment online today!, and We’re here to help!

“Let’s just go home,” says Xue Yang. “The gray, water stained walls are starting to close in. At any second I expect a giant ball to roll towards us. Well, wrong movie—whatever. I’m sick of this place. It’s cursed.”

“We’re just going to have to come back, and you’ll have wasted the hour we already spent here.”

Xue Yang groans and gets in line behind a woman with three small screaming children. “This whole thing is stupid. We can barely afford rent, let alone a car."

"We will, one day. Besides, it's good to have a license."

"We’ll just take trains and buses everywhere, or you can learn to drive. We'll fudge the vision test."

Xingchen laughs. Xue Yang relaxes slightly at the sound. After a moment, Xingchen slips his hand in his. He’s not one for public displays of affection, but there’s an edge in Xue Yang’s voice that has nothing to do with his return to Window 13.

Xue Yang’s hand tightens in his, and Xingchen rubs it reassuringly with his thumb.

“You again?” says the woman at Window 13 when they finally make it there, twenty minutes later.

“That power-mad dictator at Window 26 wouldn’t take my picture.”

The woman tilts her head at Xue Yang. “She wouldn’t?”

Xue Yang tilts his head back at her, as if to say, I know! Who wouldn’t want to photograph me ?

She smiles, a synthetic smile that reminds Xue Yang of his friend Lan Xichen’s dimpled little fiance. “Strange.”

“ ‘Strange’? I knew she could have just done it had she wanted to—”

The woman blinks at him, her smile growing faker by the minute. “I’m sure what she told you was accurate.”

“Sure, and there is no war in Ba-Sing-Se—”

Xiao Xingchen squeezes his hand, and Xue Yang stops talking and passes her his form. She stamps it a second time and hands him another ticket.

He and Xingchen return to the waiting area. Xue Yang puts his boots up on the seat next to him, resting his head on Xingchen’s shoulder.

“Describe the room to me again,” Xingchen says, trying to distract him from his brooding and, with any luck, keep him from taking out his Swiss army knife and carving his initials into the seat and get them kicked out again. Xue Yang has a talent for describing things, and Xingchen has been trying to encourage him to start writing.

Xue Yang begins to play with his long sleek ponytail. “Purgatory’s antechamber. Humanity’s lost-and-found. A void where time has no meaning. Pit of despair and industrial cleaner.”

Xingchen chuckles, making sure it’s loud enough for Xue Yang to hear.

“If their posters were honest, they’d all be in Comic Sans font, with things like, Where hope goes to die; This is your home now; Nothing escapes our pull, not even time; Human sacrifices while you wait—”

“Human sacrifices?”

"Yeah, I think so."

A crackle of static over the speaker as a new song comes on. “You know you love me, I know you care...Just shout whenever and I'll be there….”

Xue Yang starts up violently, but Xiao Xingchen gently pulls him back down beside him. “Some kind of cannibal conspiracy?” he asks, hoping Xue Yang’s knife has remained in his pocket and is not seconds away from being embedded in a blaring loudspeaker.

Xue Yang settles back against his shoulder. “I’m positive Overalls Guy never returned from Window 17. He’s probably in the office barbecue pit.”

“This must go all the way to the top. Shift supervisor too, I’d guess.”

“Baby, baby, baby oh….Like baby, baby, baby no….”

Xue Yang stops playing with his hair and starts picking at his black nail polish. He’s feeling a bit better, Xingchen’s shoulder warm and solid. “I swear that Roz lady put a curse on me. They all probably dance in a circle around a stack of burning Social Security cards every night, chanting.” He squirms, suddenly bored. “You got any more food? I’m starving.”

Xingchen rummages in his fanny pack. “Just a burned brownie.”

“I swear I set a timer!"

The timer had gone off while Xingchen was in the shower last night. Xue Yang had simply ignored it, too absorbed in trying to virtually blow up his twelve-year-old nemesis. He tends to ignore timers while cooking, usually followed by a mad rush to the kitchen to salvage dinner. “You know dinner is ready when the smoke detector goes off,” he likes to say.

Xue Yang sniffs the crumpled foil surrounding the charred black brownie chunk. “Is this the same foil I wrapped your tuna sandwich in yesterday?”

“We only have one earth!”

“Xingchen, I swear—” Xue Yang stops, rolling his eyes fondly. He’s never met anyone who can be so annoying and endearing at the same time.

Xingchen takes the brownie back. “I'll eat it. I like the burned bits.”

"It's all burned bits."

"Exactly. Perfect."

“She knows she's got me dazing, 'cause she was so amazin'....And now my heart is breakin', but I just keep on sayin'....”

“Who wrote this? I swear I won’t hurt them. I just want their address.”

Xingchen knows he shouldn’t laugh at that, but he can’t help it.

They sit there for another half hour, talking. Xue Yang has succeeded in denuding the nails of his left hand when his number is finally called. He gets his photo taken by a man with glazed eyes and no chin, and is shuffled off to the next waiting area.

“They refused to show me my photo,” he says as they settle back down. “I swear the camera stole my soul and is using it to power the fluorescent lights. I feel at peace now. Kind of floating.” He discovers a piece of gum in his jeans pocket and begins to loudly blow bubbles, making full eye contact with the annoyed Bluetooth Guy and irritated Woman With Facial Tattoo Of Bugs Bunny. “I am one with the DMV demigods, part of something larger than myself.”

“Like joining the army.”

“Or drowning in the ocean.” He lays down with his head in Xingchen’s lap, boots on the edge of Bluetooth Guy’s seat. “Why does your fanny pack smell like patchouli? Have you been burning weird hippie incense again? You promised you’d stop after you set fire to your curtains.”

Xingchen would rather Xue Yang didn’t semi-cuddle him in public, but Xue Yang’s energy is calmer when he’s touching Xingchen, and he lets him stay. “It’s that new candle you bought me, remember?”

“Right. Bought you.”

“What do you—”

“I thought it was peppermint.”

Xingchen bites his lip. Xue Yang is…well, he can read well enough to pass a driving test, but his education was…slipshod at best. Next on Xingchen’s list is encouraging Xue Yang to get his GED.

“You smell like a music festival,” says Xue Yang. “I must have grabbed the wrong one in the store. I sniffed all of them. My picture is probably hanging beside the register of every Bath & Body Works in town: ‘Beware the Candle Perv’—”

“At least someone was willing to take your picture.”

Xue Yang laughs. Xingchen rests a hand on his chest, heedless of the people around them. He likes how Xue Yang feels when he laughs, his whole body shaking, making no attempt to hide his feelings. Xue Yang makes him laugh so often, it’s a special joy for him to return the favor.

They’ve been there almost two and a half hours when Xue Yang’s number is finally called. As if the DMV curse is kicking in again, the loudspeakers creep up another few decibels.

“Like baby, baby, baby no, like baby, baby, baby oh, thought you'd always be mine, mine….”

“Xue Yang—” Xingchen starts before Xue Yang can say anything.

“I know, I know. This is penance for my putting that egg in Song Lan’s shoe last week. The DMV knows all. The DMV was here before us, and will be here after we are gone. The DMV—”

“—The DMV will make us wait in line again, if we don’t hurry.”

Together they go to Window 10, where a drab little man sifts through Xue Yang’s documents. “Fifties, balding, completely dead inside,” Xue Yang whispers to Xingchen.

“I’m thirty-nine,” says the man in a monotone, not looking up, “and you’re missing a birth certificate. And what’s this stain on your Social Security card?”

“Definitely not blood.”

The man stares at him with eyes that, had his life force not already been sucked out of Xue Yang by an afternoon at the DMV, would have done the job. “Current passport, or birth certificate.”

Xue Yang hesitates, then slips a folded piece of pink paper under the glass partition.

The man unfolds it with the sterling speed of a drugged snail and spreads it over the counter. He lines up Xue Yang’s Social Security card, bank statement, and birth certificate, and examines them line by line as if he’s a Bletchley Circle analyst and Xue Yang’s documents are intercepted enemy transmissions.

He looks up at Xue Yang. “Is this a valid birth certificate? There are no parent names listed, and the date of birth has an asterisk—”

“I know what it has!”

“What’s your date of birth?” The man slowly pushes his chair back. “I’m going to have to get a supervisor—”

Xue Yang slams the counter. Xingchen lays a hand on his arm. It’s a miracle Xue Yang’s knife isn’t out. “Don’t you fucking dare! This is what they do when—just Google it, okay? I don’t know what day I was born, they just put whatever date they thought was accurate—”

Xingchen swallows hard.

He had known Xue Yang had grown up in foster care, but had assumed he had been given up by his parents as a child when they could no longer take care of him.

Not—not abandoned as an infant—

“And change the fucking station!” Xue Yang adds. “If I have to hear that stupid fucking song one more time I will go fucking berserk —”

The man’s dead-eyed stare intensifies. “Sign here,” he says after a moment, pushing a slip of paper at Xue Yang.

“You want my love, you want my heart….And we will never, ever, ever be apart…”

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Xingchen asks as they step outside. The words sound hollow, and he wishes he had simply remained silent.

Xue Yang takes a deep breath. It’s almost cool out, a welcome change from the week’s heat. “Well, we escaped. Now we just have to get help for the others. Or do we abandon them to their fates? I vote we abandon them. You should have seen some of the looks I got. It’s like they never saw someone threaten a DMV employee before, something I’m willing to bet happens a dozen times an hour.”

Xingchen takes his arm as he begins to walk. It’s easier than using his stick in the crowded city. “Xue Yang…”

Xue Yang’s muscles tense beneath his arm. “What?”

“Nothing.” He bites his lip. He’ll have Xue Yang feeling better soon enough. “What street are we on? Turn in on 33rd.”

“What’s on 33rd?”

“Just let me know when we’re there. 33rd and 7th.”

“The train’s on 36th.”

“But the restaurant’s on 33rd.”

“The what?”

Xingchen wants to smile, but is afraid Xue Yang might take it the wrong way after what happened at the DMV. For someone who does his best to project an I-don’t-care attitude, Xue Yang is surprisingly sensitive.

“What’s today’s date?” He already knows the date, of course. It’s been on his mind for weeks now.

Xue Yang’s arm grows even stiffer. “Is this a ‘you-don’t-know-when-your-birthday-is-so-every-day-is-your-birthday’ thing? Because—”

“Not at all… Remember the day we met? You made fun of my shirt—”

Xue Yang frowns at this sudden change of subject, but goes along with it. Better than talking about that damn birth certificate. “It was white, and ruffled. You looked like an escapee from a high school production of Hamlet. What was I supposed to do?”

“You crashed a motorcycle not three feet from me. An unregistered motorcycle with stolen plates.”

"I bought you coffee to make up for it, didn’t I?”

“You had them put four sugars in my cappuccino. It was undrinkable.”

“One was a Splenda, and anyway I took you to dinner to make up for the coffee, didn’t I?”

“Pizza at one of those dollar-a-slice places you have to stand at a counter to eat. I paid for it.”

“And I paid for your kombucha, whatever the heck that is.”

“And I paid for the band-aids we had to go buy after you cut yourself after playing catch with your knife.”

“You were distracting me!”

“I was quietly eating my pizza.”

“The light reflecting off your shirt ruffles got in my eyes.”

“Four dollars for the band-aids. You insisted on Hello Kitty.”

“Spongebob was also on the table." He wrinkles his nose. "I've got about three-fifty in my pocket, if you want it. But what’s your point, exactly?'

Xingchen smiles. He enjoys winding up Xue Yang, and it’s by far the most effective way to distract him when he’s in a dark mood. “Just that you better not put extra sugar in the fondue.”

“The what?”

“A-Qing read me the dessert menu. Chocolate fondue with bananas, blueberries, pineapple, and cherries. Strawberries, too, I think, and marshmallows, maybe even non-charred brownies—”

Xue Yang stops walking. “Xingchen—”

Xingchen lets go of Xue Yang’s arm, takes his hand instead. Kisses him soundly, right there on Sixth Avenue.

“Forget your birthday," he says. "We have a new date to celebrate every year." He gives Xue Yang's hand a little squeeze and kisses him again. “Happy anniversary, Xue Yang.”

*

Liked it? AO3 👉👈

Ruffle shirt reference

Obviously, Xue Yang was simply distracted by how pretty Xingchen was.

[lavendersuh]

jaemin x reader | 70′s roller rink au | fluff | 2.8k words 

part of @nct-writers neo’clock event! 

warnings: none

summary: its the era of disco balls and groovy tunes, and you love working at your local roller skating rink. if only na jaemin wasn’t there to annoy you all the time.

note: hi friends!! i recently started roller skating this summer and it’s been so fun!! i finally was able to go to a roller rink (i masked up i promise!) but i wrote this beforehand while i was yearning to go haha. it was so fun and skating makes me so happy. i don’t think i’ve seen many roller skating aus so i hope you all enjoy!!

“Hey! Will you stop going the wrong way? I have kids learning to skate and you’re getting in their way!” 

You huff out a heavy breath from your exercise. It’s always tiring to teach young kids to roller skate, but you enjoy the smiles it brought to their faces. One day soon they would be able to easily join the adults that waltzed across the shiny wooden floors. 

Your job at the local roller rink is perfect. You love the smoky atmosphere and the big disco ball. You love hearing the latest groovy songs play over the speakers. You love being able to zoom around in your favorite bell bottom jeans and best pair of skates. 

What you don’t enjoy is annoying boys that obnoxiously skate around the rink. 

You look back at the boy in question. It isNa Jaemin, of course. The boy has been the bane of your existence since he came to the rink for the first time a little over two weeks ago. 

Na Jaemin, with his blonde hair and constant grin, always so cocksure about everything. You had to admit, he’s an incredible skater, but you could never admit that to him. 

Especially when he is doing everything in his power to annoy you at the present moment.

“Are you even qualified to teach people how to skate?” he asks, with narrow eyes, “Can you even go backwards?”

You know he’s just teasing, just trying to get a rise out of you, and you fall so easily into his trap every time.

“Of course I can go backwards Jaemin! That’s not what I’m teaching right now though!” you reply. 

“Well then, I can do a demonstration!” 

“Jaemin, no.”

“Jaemin, yes.”

You let out a sigh as you watch him show off in front of the kids. They were a nice little bunch, but they were easily distracted, especially when the distraction was putting on such a show. 

Once again, you knew, it would be a long night.

Not even a week later, you encounter the nuisance again. Tonight, someone that usually works the food counter called off, meaning you’re stuck making hot dogs and grabbing bottles of cola for a bunch of little kids and teenagers. It wasn’t the worst job, but it certainly wasn’t your favorite. 

Especially since you can’t just skate away when Jaemin comes around to annoy you.

You spot him skating around the rink with a few of his buddies, doing laps around the younger kids. You can’t help but roll your eyes. 

The last you recalled, Jaemin never ordered much from the food counter when he was at the rink, so you assume he won’t bother you tonight. You couldn’t be more wrong.

You were back behind the pretzel machine when someone came up to the counter, ringing the bell to get your attention.

“I’ll be right there!” you call out, “What can I get for you?”

“A second of your time perhaps?”

You whip your head around to see Jaemin standing at the counter, a cheesy smile across his face. His hair is ruffled and wild, and he seems to be breathing a bit heavy from the exercise he was just doing.

You huff as you walk over to him, “Jaem, if you’re just going to annoy me, go away. Do you actually want any food?” 

He doesn’t miss the small nickname that crosses your lips, but he doesn’t have time to think too hard about it. As always, he is on a mission. 

“I wanted to show you my new skates!” he says, moving backwards a bit to show you the new boots, “Nice wheels, right?”

You can’t help the snort of amusement that comes out. The skates are bright yellow, with orange wheels and laces. They certainly will stand out under the glow of the neon lights and the disco ball over the wooden rink.

He starts moonwalking around in front of you, and you can’t help but marvel with a smile of your own at the skates and the silly boy in front of you. He must catch you staring, because he breaks you out of your trance by coming closer.

He says , “I wonder how fast I’ll be able to go in them.”

He bounds off towards the rink, zipping around the people on his new wheels. He looks back over to see if you are watching, causing a triumphant grin to grace his face when he realizes he still has your attention. 

The only problem is, with his eyes on you instead of where he’s going, he nearly runs into an older lady, and quickly diverts his course to keep from crashing into her. His new skates take him directly towards the wall, sending him on a collision course with concrete. 

His fall is anything but graceful, as his friends laugh at him. You also let out a chuckle of your own at the silly boy who will do anything for even an ounce of attention.

It is once again the end of a long day, and the quiet of the rink surrounds you. The music is turned off, and you’re the last one here, finishing up some cleaning before you finally go home. 

You always loved being the last one at the rink. The roller rink was constantly alive with lots of people, lots of sounds, lots of activity. It was calming to be the only one, skating around the rink with a broom to wipe down the surface. 

As you are making your way around the outside of the rink one last time, you hear a loud noise near the entrance to the building. You can’t help but grip the broom a little tighter, before you see Jaemin come through the door.

He glides over to the opening of the rink, his boombox in his hand. You do nothing but stare as he sets it up on the ground, pressing play before starting to skate. Finally he acknowledges your presence with a casual wave, like he isn’t here after hours or anything.

“What do you think you are doing?” you ask. “The rink closed ten minutes ago, and aren’t you tired? You were here all night.”

You couldn’t ignore the slip up you made, realizing you let it slip that you were aware of his presence all night. You didn’t need him thinking you were looking at him a lot, because you weren’t. Ever. 

“I like skating to my own tunes.” he says, as nonchalant as ever. 

He apparently doesn’t see a problem with the way things are unfolding, and you let out a huff. 

“Oh my god, I’m trying to clean the floor! Can’t you just come back tomorrow?”

“Aw, so eager to see me again?” he smiles as he makes his way to you, “Anyways, I can help!”

He takes your broom, skating around while casually sweeping. You might not have brand new skates like him, but you easily catch up to him, snatching it back.

Why was he even here? Just like you had pointed out, he had been here all night. What was keeping him from going home like the rest of the crowd?

“Go, Jaemin!” you exclaim out of annoyance, “And take your annoying boombox with you!”

His face morphs into a pout at this, “You turned off the music, what was I supposed to do?” 

“Go home?”

You glide over to the portable machine producing the loud disco music, turning off the switch. You manage to pick it up, shoving the boombox towards Jaemin.

“Jaemin, I’m begging you, go home! I can’t clean if you are still here, and I want to go home, too.”

He must see the exhausted look in your eye behind all of your annoyance, because he rolls over to you.

Jaemin grabs his boombox again, “Am I too much of a distraction if I sit on the bench?”

He gestures to the bench just outside of the rink, where little kids often tied their laces. For some reason, he just doesn’t want to leave, so you nod your head. 

He sits down, and turns on his boombox again while doing so. He turns the volume down lower, and looks out at you, jokingly saluting you in a promise to not be bothersome. 

You roll your eyes, finally resuming your cleaning. 

As you clean, Jaemin talks aimlessly. He talks about his classes at the local university next fall, and about how he just can’t figure out how to land a specific jump on his skates. 

While you were reluctant to let him stay, his presence ends up being really nice. His voice is soft as it fills the empty building, and as you both walk out to your cars after locking up, you are grateful to have someone by your side. 

It feels a little weird that you are having nice thoughts about the boy who is constantly a pain in your side, but you ignore the slight upbeat in your heart rate when he bids you goodnight.

You throw him a smile as you get into your car, “Goodnight, Jaem.”

It is once again a slow Tuesday night, and you are almost about ready to fall asleep at the admissions counter. Every so often you are assigned a shift in the ticket lobby, which you don’t mind typically. On a weekend day, you would be busy taking care of admissions for people as they came and went.

The rink is not busy today. 

And you’re about to doze off. 

You sigh. The one day you don’t have a book or a newspaper or any homework to do. 

You find yourself brushing off invisible dust from your new vest and turtleneck outfit when you hear the door chime, signaling a new customer. You look up from your seat.

Of course, it is Na Jaemin.

“Hey, are you stuck out here today?” he asks, his skate laces tied together to rest over his left shoulder.

“Yeah, it's so boring tonight, kinda empty too, but at least that means you won’t plow into a sixth grader again.” you smile.

“That was one time!” he says, also grinning at the memory.

He pulls out some money for admission and you hand him the paper wristband to show he paid and brought his own skates. Just as he is about to walk through the door to get to the rink, he pauses.

“Hey, uh, what’s your favorite song to skate to?” 

“Huh?”

“Yeah,” he scratches the back of his neck. He tries to explain his reasoning, “Maybe if I play it on my boombox, you won’t make me turn it off.”

You let out a chuckle, “I’ll still probably make you turn it off.”

“Y/N, can you please just answer the question?” Jaemin seems serious now.

And while you are taken aback by the change from his normally aloof demeanor, you clear your throat, “Okay, umm, I really love that new movie Grease, right now. Have you seen it? There’s this one song that’s kinda slow, ‘Hopelessly Devoted to You,’ and it’s really pretty and fun to just skate around the rink to.”

You flush out of embarrassment for the cheesy song choice, but Jaemin nods with a smile. You ignore your traitorous heart reminding you that you had definitely played your Grease soundtrack cassette tape a few too many times since meeting Jaemin. There was definitely no correlation. 

“That song is nice.” he says, before turning away and heading into the rink, leaving you alone at the ticket counter once again. 

A few days later you once again are stuck at the ticket counter. And finally, your shift is over. The ticket counter was nice every once in a while, but you feel tired of standing there, especially more than once in a week. You much preferred the satisfying exhaustion that came from being on wheels for your entire shift. 

The staff has mostly gone home, even your boss who just needed to lock up the cash office. You had offered to lock up the building after he left, since you felt like skating for a bit before going home. 

There is something about skating on the wooden floor when no one else is around. It is entirely quiet, with the music turned off, just the sound of your wheels spinning., And peaceful, with the air clear of cigarette smoke and loud screams of children playing. It was calming.

Your calm is interrupted by soft music coming from near the entrance. It’s only when you see Jaemin’s face and his stupidly large boombox that you realize what song it is. 

Your favorite song.

You can’t help the goofy smile that spreads across your face as he skates over, leaving the boombox on the ledge of the rink wall, coming over to you as ‘Hopelessly Devoted to You,’ echoes throughout the building.

He’s mouthing the lyrics as he skates to you, his eyes bright with mischief and something else that you can’t quite place. 

“Hey,” he says once he’s finally in front of you, “Can I join? It seemed a little quiet in here.”

For some reason, this flusters you, as you look at his ruffled hair and jean jacket. “Uh, yeah sure.”

With your approval, he begins skating, beckoning you to follow him. The song ends, but starts up again, and you give Jaemin a questioning look.

“I made a mixtape of this song on loop a couple of times,” he says, running a hand through his hair leisurely, like that’s the most normal thing in the world for someone to do. “It’s nice right?”

It makes you smile regardless. The two of you skate around for a bit, simply going around the rink as you would if lots of people were there. It’s comfortable, you realize, with just the two of you all alone. 

Finally on the third loop of the song, Jaemin comes a little closer, and grabs your hand quickly, as if unsure that he is able to do that. You squeeze his hand in reassurance.

It’s strange, wherever this night is going, but you can’t remember a time that you seemed happier to be at the rink. 

“I recall you mentioning you can skate backwards, yes?” Jaemin asks, after a few moments.

“Yes, of course—” you begin, but stop talking when he spins you to skate backwards in front of him, causing you to let out a slight squeal at the change.

It’s almost like dancing in a way, as he pushes the two of you forward around the rink and you impulsively grip his shoulders to make sure you can keep your balance. 

Eventually, the two of you slow down, and he leads a few spins, which sends laughter through the air and chills down your spine. It's hard to believe just a few weeks ago this boy was the most annoying pain in your side. 

The boombox finally goes quiet after its few repeats of the song, and the building is plunged into silence again, as you stand in front of Jaemin with a small smile and a sweaty complexion. 

The neon lights glow around you and Jaemin’s face turns serious. He readjusts his grip on your waist, sliding ever so slightly closer to you. 

“I’m sorry I was an asshole at the beginning.” he says, just above a whisper to be heard by only you, “I didn’t know how else to get your attention. Finally I changed the plan to this, and I think it’s working out better.”

“The plan?” you ask, your brain cloudy from his proximity.

He has the nerve to look bashful, making his face even more cuter, “I’ve, uh, kinda liked you for a while, and I needed a plan to tell you and see if you felt the same.” 

You smile, moving your left hand from his shoulder to his jawline, stroking his cheeky tenderly. Every piece of him that you touch leaves a burning feeling within your heart, and you finally are thinking you know how to fix it.

With a bold move like when he picked up your hand, you touch your lips to his, letting them sit there for a moment. It’s a chaste kiss, leaving Jaemin to decide what to do next.

He deepens the kiss, smiling as he fully wraps his arms around you and keeps you from sliding away by using his toe stops. 

The disco ball overhead isn’t turning anymore, and the music that typically fills the roller rink isn’t playing, but you’ve never found the rink more spectacular in your life. It’s not the atmosphere of the rink that you love, but the people within.

And right now, the person in front of you is your favorite.

[nsfwflint]

NSFW Tag Game: Roleplay

Created by @nsfwzy! Tagged by @ggidolsmuts and forgot to do it when I got home from work the other night. Oops. Practically all of these are going to sound like porno plots but it is what it is. Also this got HELLA fucking long so I’m adding a read more line after number ten because I don’t want to clog up everybody’s dash. But there’s still some good stuff after it (in my opinion) so be sure to click it.

Teacher / Student OR Student’s Parent - Twice Jihyo. One day Jihyo talks to you after class. She realizes that you’ve been making mistakes lately as her TA. You confess that you’ve been distracted by her amazing body. As she starts sucking you off, the next class is about to start. She ends up leaving you to teach as she titfucks you under the desk. (Cheating slightly by changing it to TA instead of student because this was an actual idea I had for Jihyo at one point. Wasn’t happy with the way I was writing it at the time so I scrapped it to try again later.)

Nurse OR Doctor / Patient - Gugudan Mina. One day you decide to take Viagra just to see what it’s like. Once your erection lasts more than four hours, you visit the doctor responsibly as you’re supposed to do. After a preliminary examination and seeing your throbbing cock, she decides to move you to a private room so she can relieve you the old fashioned way.

Boss / Secretary - Laboum Haein. Haein is a high powered CEO with a lot of stress. Thankfully, she has you as a loyal secretary. Always eager to help relieve her stress, you stiffen whenever she calls you in her office. (No this is not a spoiler for Office Politics. I haven’t decided who the CEO is yet.)

Officer / Criminal - Uni.T Suji. One day you get pulled over for speeding. Having always liked women in uniform, you feel yourself start to harden as you see Officer Suji step out of the cruiser and walk towards your car. Knowing what another ticket will do to your insurance rates, you plead with her to let you off with a warning. After she catches a glimpse of the erection bulging in your pants, she tells you that there is one way she can get you off (Barney Stinson wink)

Fictional Characters - SNSD Yuri. Not gonna lie, sat here staring at this for like seven minutes. I’ve got nothing for this one sorry.

Personal Trainer - IU. IU’s cute and charming personality quickly falls away during her spartan training. Still, as brutal as the sessions are, you’re determined to stick them out. If only to check out her tight sweaty body every session. When you finally finish your final session, you’re a little sad that you won’t be able to check out her body anymore. Thankfully she decides to reward you with the hottest workout you’ve ever done and lets you finish inside.

Strangers In A Bar - Rockit Girl Leeseul. One night out on the town, you see Leeseul across the bar. Immediately blown away by how hot she is with her low cut shirt highlighting her cleavage, you decide she’s out of your league and go about your night. A few hours later she walks up to you out of nowhere. “Why didn’t you come talk to me?” After admitting you thought she was too hot for you, she pulls you into the bathroom for a magnificent titjob. As she mercilessly rides you, you practically devour her tits. After you cum inside her, she hovers over the toilet as all your cum drips out of her and into the bowl.

Librarian / Patron - Berry Good Johyun. One of you favorite fantasies, you couldn’t believe your eyes when you saw the hot new librarian at the campus library. Seemingly stressed from her first day, you see her walk into an isolated section looking upset. Worried, you follow her to ask if she’s okay, only to see her masturbating furiously. Noticing your giant erection, she quickly pulls you into a lustful kiss and a frantic fuck session. It soon turns into a desperate race to finish before you get thrown out, because there’s no way either of you are able to stay quiet as you ravage her pussy.

Celebrity / Fan - Laboum Solbin. Solbin is always happy to meet and greet with fans. After you ran into her in the street by chance you nervously told her that you were a big fan. not knowing if she’d remember you from fan meetings. Happy to be recognized and remembering you from past fan meeetings, she pulls you into a nearby alley and thanks you for all your support by letting you pound her wet cunt. Mercilessly pounding her against the wall, you empty your balls inside her. Giving you a grateful kiss, Solbin giggles as she gives you her number for some more private fan meetings in the future.

Spy / Interrogator - Dreamcatcher Handong. You find yourself in an unforeseen predicament after being captured by enemy forces. You manage to withstand all their torture when you hear them whispering about bringing in their ace interrogator. When Handong walks into the room, you’re blown away by how jaw-droppingly gorgeous she is. Bewitched by her beauty, you struggle to resist her fatal charms. She admits that her role is to be the carrot as opposed to the stick from earlier. Finally you succumb to her temptations and spill everything you know. As a reward, she lets you absolutely ravage her cunt. Right as your about to cum, she pushes you off of her. Your cum flies everywhere with most of it landing on her pretty face. That’s when you realize the worst torture of the night was not being able to cum inside her.

Jock OR Cheerleader / Bookworm - Lovelyz Yein. Even though you spent most of the time with your face in a book, you couldn’t help but stare whenever you saw Yein. One day she pulls you aside into an empty classroom after school and she ends up shoving your face into something else. After she cums from you eating her out, Yein rides you on the floor. At some point a switch flips in you and you start railing on her from behind over a desk. The thrill of possibly getting caught excites you in a way you never thought of. You soon realize that it’s only a thrill if you don’t get caught as a teacher walks in right as you blow your load inside of Yein. The school hasn’t decided if it will stay as suspension or if it will change into an expulsion, but either way seeing the confident Yein begging for your cock was worth it.

Tutor / Tutee - Soyou. You were thrilled when you found out that upperclassman Soyou was your tutor. How could you not be? While it was great for your fantasies at night, it turned out to be horrible for your studies. All you could ever focus on during your sessions was her fantastic body. Finally one day she gets sick of it and offers you a deal. If you ace the next test, she’ll let you fuck her. You study harder than you think anyone ever has and your efforts come to fruition when you crush the test. A little while later after you show Soyou the results, your study efforts aren’t the only thing coming to fruition as you fuck her brains out over you bedroom desk.

Vampire OR Werewolf / Human - Dreamcatcher Jiu. You were shocked to find out that the members of Dreamcatcher weren’t just following a concept. Even more shocker to find out that JIu was a weird type of vampire. While you initially started dating to be a convenient blood bank for her, the two of you quickly discovered that your semen worked even better than blood. Soon after, you dumping your cum into her depths became a nightly ritual. .

Other Monster (Choosing Succubus here.) / Human - CLC Seungyeon. Finding yourself at Seungyeon’s house was a surprise. While you definitely knew who she was from checking her out all day at work, you were shocked that she knew who you were. The first time you came was when she rode you so hard the chair broke. That’s when you felt a different kind of exhaustion creep over you. But you didn’t care at first. The second time you came, sucking on her tits as you pounded her pussy, that’s when you realized what was happening. Seungyeon was a succubus and was draining your life force. But as the two of you continue ravaging each other, you decide that you don’t care at all. If it’s the last thing you’ll do on Earth, you have absolutely no problem emptying your soul into the depths of her tight cunt.

Imaginary Audience - AOA Seolhyun. I don’t even know what this is supposed to mean so I’ve got nothing. Sorry.

Master OR Mistress / Maid OR Butler - Ailee. One thing Ailee always liked about having you as her butler was your unwavering loyalty. As long as you were around, she never had to worry about anything. You took it upon yourself to take care of all her affairs. All of them. Using you as her own personal sex machine was never a problem for either of you. While the bond you shared was unique, you know full well that it will never evolve into anything more than this. 

Escort / Client - EXID Hani. It was your first time with anyone, let alone a prostitute. You were so nervous that you paced back and forth in the hotel room before she finally knocked on the door. Opening the door, you’re shocked at the woman in front of you. Hani was beautiful for sure, but she also had a comforting feeling to her. Something that made you feel that she had no problem being an escort by night and your average goofball by day. While you were nervous about initiating, you soon lost all of those emotions when the two of you started making out. You lose yourself in the lust you have as you indulge in her body. As much as you hated it, just when you’re about to cum, you pull out and blow your load over her tight tummy. After all that was one of the rules, no cumming inside. As you slowly recover from the most intense orgasm you’ve had in your life so far, you ask her if she ever takes regular clients. She says she does and you eagerly arrange a standing appointment for every week. After the two of you shower up and get dressed again, you say goodbye at the door. She gives you a soft kiss before giggling and telling you maybe she’ll let you cum inside next time. Watching her walk off, you know that she’s just saying that to drum up more business. Unfortunately, your hopes weren’t the only thing she was getting up as you chase her down to see if you could make your session a little longer.

Photographer / Model - Stay tuned and find out.

Master / Slave - Skipped

Resident / Delivery Driver OR Repairer - Apink Naeun. Being a delivery driver was definitely an experience. You encountered all sorts of customers. Good, bad, crazy. But your favorite was definitely Naeun. She opened the door wearing a loose robe. When she went to pay, she dropped some coins. As she leaned down to pick them up, her robe reveals everything and you can’t help but stair at her incredibly tight body. Soon she realizes that she doesn’t have enough money to pay you. Thankful for the show, you tell her not to worry about. But she insists she does something for payment and drops her robe. You drop the food and rush towards her and kiss her. Between kisses, countless giggles escape her lips which relieves you because it tells you that she’s okay with it. Collapsing together on the couch, during your initial penetration you realize that her body isn’t just tight on the outside. After spending what feels like hours pounding her tight pussy, you finally blast your load inside. As you get ready to leave, you see the food you were supposed to deliver spilled all over the floor. You quickly turn to her and assure her that you’ll bring a replacement meal. Naeun smiles and tells you that it’s okay beause she’s already full

Tagging @sinsatmidnight and @lockefanfic if they want to give it a try.

Rules: Go to random.org. Click on Lists & More and click on List Randomized. There, enter at least 15 of your biases/idols you find attractive. Select at least 8 of the below options that you like. Randomise on the website to find who you remember doing these sexual roleplays/costume-plays with.

[domesticblisss]

24 Hours

Marcel Barthel x Female Reader x Fabian Aichner Rating: Mature (Minors DNI) Word count: 2008 Warnings: Smut/A little angsty. Oral (female and male receiving), threesome, double penetration, PiV, anal. Alcohol mention. Inspired by Sky Ferreira’s song, 24 hours.

If she could describe their relationship, she would describe it with “I don’t know”. Simple as that. One big I don’t know. She doesn’t think they could be called friends with benefits, well, they talk almost weekly, ask how each other’s lives are going... does that makes them friends? She likes to call themselves “I’m in town, let’s do something with benefits”.  They don’t live that far from each other, it’s a 4 hour drive from their respective towns, and an even smaller flight. Their schedule rarely match, she knows how busy they get with training and travelling for live shows and she’s constantly travelling for her own job too.

They met a few years ago, the three of them far away from the places they now call home. She was in Los Angeles to meet a potential new client to her company and Marcel and Fabian, just arriving from Europe, on their first tour with NXT.

She met Marcel first. Tall, blonde, energetic. The sharpest cheekbones she has ever seen, green eyes that made her breathless. He sees her sitting at the bar’s counter and decides to try his luck. To be honesty, she wasn’t looking for anything, but how could she say no to that angel face that she knew was trouble. He was funny, his thick german accent making her swoon. They kept their conversation going for what felt like 40 minutes until they hear a strong but at the same time soft man’s voice shouting Marcel’s name.

Marcel introduces the new guy to her, “This is Fabian, my partner! We wrestle together.” Fabian is... something. Tall, but shorter than Marcel. Bald, but she can see the hint of a thick beard coming in. Broad shoulders, morning sky blue eyes, more reserved. Marcel does almost all the talking, but only nice things comes out when Fabian decides to speak. He also got an accent, she can’t pinpoint from where exactly, assumes it’s european too and later finds out he’s italian. “A german and an italian, what a combination...” she thinks, mesmerised by the way Fabian stares at her and this knowing look Marcel gets in his eyes when he glances at the both of them.

They decided to move to a table, to get more comfortable. A few beers for them, a couple of gin and tonics for her and they stay there chatting, exchanging experiences and laughs for hours. The bar is getting more crowded as time passes and it’s almost midnight when Fabian asks “do you want to get out of here? somewhere more quiet, more private?”

“With the two of you?” she wonders, incredulous.

“We’re like a 2 for 1 package deal!” intervenes Marcel.

She stops, looks at their faces for a few seconds. Fabian is serene, just waiting for his ‘yes or no’ answer, Marcel looks like an eager kid at a candy store, about to explode with excitement but trying to hide it behind a nonchalant mask.

She wets her lips, looks at the both of them and agrees with it, “Sure. Where are you two staying at?”

They ended up going to hers, it being a five minute walk only.

What she thought would be a 1 hour top kind of night turned out to be a 48 hour weekend, with them stopping only to eat, drink some water and rest for a bit when it got too much. When she asked them if they need to workout or practice they answered in union “Oh, it’s gonna be a cardio weekend”.

Those little time out moments they spent getting to know each other. The boys told her how they started wrestling, places they’ve traveled and people they’ve met. She told them about how she started her own marketing company a year ago and how it’s slowly growing.

“I’m here for a client meeting, actually. A big, big client. I was at the bar celebrating.”

“So that means you got the contract, right?” Fabian asks excitedly.

“Yeah!”, and with her confirmation, Marcel agrees it calls for a celebration.

The celebration turns out to be 3 back to back orgasms for her. She was sure they would have had continued if she didn’t beg them to stop once she couldn’t feel her legs anymore.

The weekend went on like this. By the time the trio had to leave, they had exchanged contacts and addresses, finding out how close to each other they were.

They kept in touch, always reaching out to see how the other was, letting them know if they were around. That was their dynamic. A few encounters that lasted, 2, 3, 24 hours that, sometimes, she wished it would never end.

 One summer, tired of all the work she has been doing, she decides to take a vacation. This comes up during one of their conversations and Marcel has the great idea of inviting her to watch them perform live, “You could stay with us, if you want to, of course”, Fabian chimes in.

Agreeing with it, she packs her stuff and leaves on the next wednesday. She decides to drive there, using those precious little hours to clear her head. The GPS system and radio are on and it’s time to go.

The first couple of hours goes smoothly. She sings along to her favourite tunes, dances a little and makes a quick bathroom break. When she’s back in the road, the GPS alerts her that an accident happened, doubling her arrival time. Deciding to let the boys know, she sends them a quick audio message on their group chat, “Hey, some accident just happened on the highway. Traffic is awful... I’ll probably get there by the time the show starts.” Fabian is the one to answer her, almost immediately, telling her that’s it’s okay, that when she arrives she should look for Harry Johnson from Relations that everything will be sorted out, finishing with a “Please drive safe, tesoro ❤”

That tesoro and heart emoji combo haunted her for the rest of the trip.

They never called her any pet names.

The rest of the trip went by without any troubles. She arrives 10 minutes before the show starts, with Harry waiting for her by the door, being greeted with a backstage pass and a front row seat ticket.

She was delighted with the show. The sheer athleticism, the lights and the charisma were out of this world. But she couldn’t believe was how well Marcel and Fabian worked together. They knew each other’s moves to perfection, they knew exactly what to do, when to attack their opponents, when to save each other. Their perfect partnership made them win the NXT Tag Team titles for the second time that night.

She ran backstage looking for them, meeting the duo at their dressing room.

Marcel was the first one to greet her, hugging her so tightly she couldn’t breathe, “I’m so happy you came to see us, liebe!”

The boys took turns on taking their showers to keep her company, deciding that it would be better to head straight to their apartment. Marcel went ahead of them, letting Fabian accompany her, guiding her back to their place.

It was a silent drive, with soft music playing on the radio. He kept his left hand on her right thigh all the time, rubbing soothing circles on its insides. On red lights he would either seal their lips together or pepper her cheeks and neck with light kisses.

As soon as she got through the door of their apartment, Marcel was on her, clinging on her lips like a starved man, “do you know how much we have missed you, liebe?”

“We can’t believe you are here, Tesoro. We shouldn’t stay that long without seeing each other again”, says Fabian, while kissing her neck.

“What is it with the two of you and pet names today?” she says between moans, both Fabian and Marcel hitting her sweet spots. Marcel stops and asks what she means with it, she says that this is the first time they ever called her something like that and all he says before lifting her up to snake her legs around his waist is “I’m sorry, let us right our wrongs”

The german takes her to his bedroom, Fabian following close behind. As soon as they arrive, they waste no time on taking their clothes off. Marcel lies on his bed, ordering her to sit on his face which she takes no time to comply.

“I brought lube and the plug, they are on the pink bag on the front pocket of my suitcase.” She tells Fabian when they break their kiss, and she can feel Marcel moan beneath her. Fabian wastes no time to grab it, covering two fingers in lube and inserting one at a time to get her used to it. He takes is time with it, going slow as to not hurt her, after a minute, he slowly inserts the plug.

She grabs him by the hand, brings him down to a quick kiss and as soon as he is up, she stars sucking him. Slow licks and stokes, increasing as she feels him lose control, he grabs her by the hair, making her deep throat his dick.

Between her legs, Marcel takes some time to breathe, mesmerized by the scene unfolding above him, “You two are so fucking hot” and goes back to his job.

They stay like that for a while, with her only stopping sucking Fabian when she reaches her high.

The boys switch places, Fabian now lying down, helping her take the plug off to switch it with his throbbing cock. Marcel is not left behind, lining himself between her thighs and entering her in one swift move.

Their great work on the ring transfers to the bedroom, with the both of them working in sync to make her lose her mind. It isn’t long before she comes again, taking Fabian with her. Marcel keeps his thrusts hard and deep even with her walls closing around him, making him reach his own high a matter of seconds later.

He collapses on top of them, making the other two laugh. They stay like this for a little while, basking in each other’s presence, taking in their scents.

Marcel decides to get up when he feels his dick going limp inside her, grabbing a towel to clean her up a little, and Fabian opts for grabbing a bottle of water for the three of them.

They get back to bed with her, silence consuming them. After a few minutes, all the thoughts she has been suppressing for sometime now comes back to her.

“What are we?”

“What do you mean, liebe?”

“Are we friends? Acquaintances? What is this thing we have? I’m sorry and if you guys want to end it after this, it’s okay, but I have to say it, I’ve been keeping it inside for so long… the days we have together are the best ones. Ever. It sucks that I can only see the two of you for so little time, one day or a weekend is not enough. I always look forward to your texts, even when it’s you sending some stupid gaming meme I don’t get or Marcel thirst trapping. I hate that we live so close to each other and see ourselves so little… FUCK I’m ranting, I’m sorry. I should probably leave.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Fabian stops her, “first of all, Tesoro, you are not leaving and we are not ending anything. Marcel and I were talking about this last week, that’s why we decided to invite you to the show tonight. We love you and we didn’t know how to say it. Wait, I guess I just did? Anyway… you have your life and we didn’t want to mess with it, but, if you want to, we could try and work something out.”

“So, what do you say, liebe? Could we work something out?”

“Yeah, we can work something out…”

[sakuwriteshere]

Pretty Little Liar: Chapter 5

General warnings (for the whole story): Fluff, comedy, angst, sexual innuedos, roommates AU, Ketch is a douche

Beta reader: Rosaline 💖

Words count: 4589 words

PLL Masterlist

Main Masterlist

A/N: Thank you so much for the comments/rebblogs/likes! You’re the best! If you want to be tagged just send me an ask ;) And don’t forget, comments are loved! <3

Chapter 5 :

It has been a few weeks since the weird weekend at the Winchesters. Things are going pretty well. Dean and Y/N’s relationship is blooming into a wonderful friendship. They’re spending more time together as before. Instead of the regular roommates having the apartment as their only common connection, they’re turning into friends who are living together. They still respect each other's privacy, of course, but they are also spending most of their free time together, watching TV, playing cards, cooking and washing the plates, anything really. And most importantly, they trust each other again. Y/N has realized that except for the fake dating thing, Dean is not a liar. Of course, he lies from time to time, like any other person, Y/N herself included, but besides that, Dean is a normal human being. He’s funny, smart, endearing, a wonderful cook. In a few words, he’s a great guy. He has his bad moment, trapping himself in a little lie that just became bigger and bigger, yes. But anyone can have a second chance. He made a mistake, and once again, who didn’t? It would be totally hypocritical for Y/N to not give him a second chance.

When lunchtime rolled around Y/N was buzzing with energy. She has been waiting for this moment the whole morning. When she left for work this morning, Dean had handed her a lunch bag, as he’s used to for a few days. She doesn’t know what is inside the bag, but she knows one thing for sure: it’s going to be delicious.

Impatient fingers open the bag in a hurry, revealing a plastic box and some delicious pasta with tomato and basil sauce. It’s going to be yummy for sure. She’s so spoiled recently and she is not even trying to deny it. She stands in front of the microwave, her eyes never leaving the bowl as her meal is eating up as she licks her lips unknowingly in anticipation, Charlie comes in, announcing to Y/N that Ketch is here and wants to be served by her.

“But…” Y/N pouts and looks at her lunch longingly.

“Don’t give me that look.” Charlie defends herself, her hands held up in front of her. “It’s, and I quote ‘not the same taste when it’s Y/N.’” Charlie said in a disgusted voice, her fingers miming the quote marks.

She sighs and walks towards the main shop room, pointing a finger at Charlie and giving her a deadly glare. “Don’t touch!”

Charlie giggles as Y/N musters her best job smile.

“Hi, Mr. Ketch. As usual?” She asks, not wasting a second, as soon as the order is ready she’s going back and finally can taste the delicious meal. “You know it’s just water and a teabag, right? There’s no difference if it’s Charlie or me.”

“I beg to differ, Love.” Ketch counters back, leaning over the counter and the nickname makes her cringe slightly. She’s starting to hate it for an unknown reason, it’s not the ‘princess’ level but it’s not far.

Y/N forces a smile as she hands him his to-go paper cup and takes the change. Ketch gives her a short nod and turns around, ready to leave the coffee shop when the bell over the main door dings, announcing a new customer.

“Dean? What are you doing here?” Y/N asks, genuinely surprised.

Dean’s eyes automatically fall over Ketch’s form, irritation visible in both of the men’s eyes but a smile stretches Dean’s lips as he finally looks at Y/N.

“Rachel wants to talk with me about the shop. Apparently, it can't be discussed over the phone.” Dean explains, and Y/N realizes she always forgets that Dean is the owner. “Can you inform her I’m here?”

“I’m already on my way!” Y/N says playfully, leaving from her spot behind the counter and heading behind.

“Thank you, Sweetheart.” Dean watches her silhouette disappearing behind, a fond smile on his lips.

“So you and Y/N know each other?” Ketch asks from his side, Dean’s pleased attitude vanishing as soon as he hears Ketch’s voice.

“We’re...friends,” Dean replies, hesitating for a split second about which word is the best to describe their relationship. 

“Friends, huh?” Ketch smirks as he hasn’t missed the hesitation in Dean’s voice.

“Is ‘friends’ is a new way to say ‘banged’ for you stupid Americans?” He asks before sipping on his hot tea.

“Show her some respect, you bastard.” Dean snarls, his hands curling into fists, realizing too late that showing Ketch how sensible Y/N’s topic is for him, is a big mistake.

“Oh?” Ketch exclaims, his right eyebrow raising at the unexpected discovery. “You hadn’t banged her yet. How is that even possible? What’s the matter, Winchester? Are you friendzoned?” Ketch is literally gloating.

“Fuck off, Ketch.” Dean barks, praying for Y/N and Rachel coming back soon before he does or says something he would regret.

The room is silent for a little while, Ketch analyzing Dean’s every move. The way he seems on edge, furious, exasperated, nervous. The light bubble in Ketch’s head switches on after a few seconds.

“You care.” Dean closes his eyes slowly when he hears Ketch voicing how he feels. Now that his rival knows one of Dean’s weaknesses, who knows what he’s going to do?

Arthur Ketch has always been Dean’s rival. First it has started on the job’s fields, being both businessmen, it has always been about who’s going to win the big jackpot first. Then, it has concerned women too. A stupid and childish competition between the two, determining who will the biggest seducer, piling incredible numbers of woman years after years. The only difference between them was that every single woman Dean had spent time with, he treated them with respect. He had never let them hope for nothing, being clear since the beginning that it was for just one night, no feelings involved only pure, great sex. While Ketch seduced them, promising the moon and a wonderful life with him before simply ditching them as soon as the condom was thrown in the trash.

The bell over the door dings again as a new customer enters the coffee shop. An old lady, pushing her walker as she passes between the two men. Despite the interruption, they are holding each other’s gaze. It’s a staring match, the first one to break eye contact is the looser. 

Once the lovely lady reaches the counter, Ketch comes closer to Dean, never breaking eye contact.

“I wonder who’s going to win her first,” Ketch says quietly so only Dean could hear him.

“She’s not a prize. She’s a human being.” Dean hisses between clenched teeth. His jaws are clenching so hard it might break under the pressure.

“Oh but she is. She had just become the golden ticket, Winchester. And I’m going to win it right under your nose.” Ketch promises him, an evil aura coming out from him.

Before Dean can reply back, Y/N and Rachel come in, calling his name. He tries to ignore it at first, his murdering glare still fixed on Ketch, but after hearing his name three times already, Dean has no other choice and looks away. Ketch’s short scoff isn’t unnoticed and Dean can only bite his inner cheek to prevent any remark.

“Are you alright?” Y/N feels the need to ask when she notices how tense Dean is.

Forcing a smile he assures her he’s good before motioning for Rachel to lead the way. Y/N stays for a second, watching the spot where Dean disappeared, thinking that something was not right. She shakes her head and smiles genuinely when she notices the old lady at the counter.

“Mrs. Andrews, it’s been a while! How are you?” She asks cheerfully as she takes place behind the counter once again, ready to work on her order.

As they start to chat about Mrs. Andrews grand-children, Y/N notices Ketch is still here. He seems bored as he rolls his eyes to whatever Mrs. Andrews is saying.

“You need something else, Mr. Ketch?” Y/N asks, praying that the answer is no and he would get the hint it’s time for him to leave.

“Actually,” Ketch smiles widely and comes closer, pushing Mrs. Andrews away slightly so he can stand in front of Y/N.

“I finally have some free time in my busy schedule. I think it’s time for us to have this date I promised you.” His smug look wavering an inch as the lack of reaction from Y/N. She’s been eating from his palm since the first day they met. Why isn’t she happy now that he’s asking her out?

Y/N glances at Mrs. Andrews, not being sure of what to say and asking silently for some help from the lovely lady.

“No is not an answer, Love,” Ketch adds shortly.

“I’ll...think about it, Mr. Ketch.” She replies quietly, thinking it’s the best way to handle the situation. If she doesn’t say no there’s no need for a conflict.

“Perfect.” Ketch’s index finger hits the counter twice, before he pulls out a business card from his inner pocket and puts it on the counter, two fingers sliding it towards Y/N.

“This is my business card.” He announces. “With my personal phone number on the back.” He adds in a lower voice, winking at her in the process.

Mrs. Andrews and Y/N share another awkward glance before she takes the card and puts it in the front pocket of her apron.

“Don’t keep me waiting too long, Love.” He says as he leaves the shop. Mrs. Andrews and Y/N sighing from exasperation once the door closes behind him.

“You know, Dear, when I was your age, we called that kind of man a douchebag.” Y/N eyes are wide open, she wasn’t expecting such a word coming from the lovely Mrs. Andrews’s mouth, then she chuckles, because she has to admit she’s right.

***

Back at the apartment, later that night, Dean’s head pops out from the kitchen as soon as he hears the door opening, he’s been worried when he didn’t see Y/N again after his meeting with Rachel was over. Charlie could only tell him that she needed to leave early today. After some investigation, he learned that Y/N had asked Rachel for leaving early in the morning, which means it was premeditated, which means it wasn’t because of Ketch. At least that’s what Dean hoped.

Instead of seeing her cute face, Dean’s eyes met with a huge carton box. Dean’s feet quickly brought him near the door so he could help her.

“What is it?” He asks as he holds the box for her, the weight lighter than what he expected.

“Some big teddy for Harry.” She says, closing the door behind her and motioning Dean to leave the box near the couch.

Right Harry, her newborn nephew. Dean remembers she has told him about her sister giving birth to a boy a few days ago.

“I wasn’t thinking it would be that big.” She says, coming out from the kitchen with a knife, ready to open the box.

“Of course you picked a dog.” Dean shakes his head, hands on his hips as he watches her having a hard time getting the fluffy dog out from the box.

“I love dogs.” She shrugs, not seeing what is the big deal. “Speaking of which, when are we having a dog?”

“We’re not having a dog, Sweetheart.” Dean sighs, repeating the same sentence again and again.

“A cat then?” She tries.

“I’m allergic.” Dean counters back.

“There’s cats without fur.” She offers.

“Yeah, and they’re creepy. So no thanks.” He ends the argument, shouting a little victory sound as the stuffed dog is finally out of its box. It’s really huge, what was she thinking by buying this?

They fall silent as she inspects the toy, making sure everything is perfect before she’s going to give it to her nephew. Dean counts until ten in his head before asking what he’s dying to ask since he left Y/N with Ketch.

“So? How was your day? Something interesting happened?” Smooth Dean, he didn’t even pronounce the bastard’s name.

“Besides the fact that Charlie ate MY lunch, no nothing happened.” She pouts thinking about some delicious pasta she couldn’t even taste. She bets they tasted like heaven.

Good. She doesn’t speak about Ketch so it means he didn’t do something. Dean tries to reassure himself while she brings the stuffed dog into her room. 

“Oh and Mr. Ketch asked me out.” She remembers as she disappears into her room.

Dean’s heart stops, his eyes wide open at the news. She’s not jumping everywhere in the apartment like a teenage girl, so it must be a good sign, right? No need to be scared of him. Right?

“And?” Dean’s trying to control his voice the best he can, not letting her hear the worry in it. Play it cool, Dean. Play it cool.

“Mrs. Andrews and I had a great laughing session once he left.” She laughs, emerging from her room. “He gave me his number but…” She starts to say, and Dean nods in understanding, praying for her to tell him more. 

Wait. He’s talking with her about her love life, as if it was natural. Was Ketch right? Is he friendzoned? He’s never been in the friendzone before. Is it possible to exit from such a zone? Dean shakes his head firmly, trying to focus on what Y/N is saying.

“-never seen a guy like that! I don’t know why I was attracted to him before. I mean yes he’s good looking, handsome even. He’s smart and his British accent sounds really nice but-” She keeps on babbling, Dean parroting the last word, he likes how ‘but’ sounds.

But he’s not you. She wants to add but keep to herself. She tries to keep a straight face while internally she’s stunned by her own admission. For weeks she’s been wondering what has changed in Mr. Ketch that she’s not fawning over him anymore. Now she realizes that it’s not Ketch who has changed, it’s her. She’s falling in love with Dean. Well, shit!

“He’s missing something.” She concludes because she knows she needs to end her explanation.

They both fall silent again as they’re plunged deep down in their own thoughts. Now that the Ketch case is settled, they need to handle another problem: their feelings. As grown up people, it shouldn’t be hard to talk about it. One thinks he’s in the friendzone and wants to get out, the other thinks she should tell him how she feels. She was the one who wanted to stay friends at first, maybe he’s feeling the same? Yeah, confessing your feelings isn’t as hard as when they were teenagers. They’ve been hurt before, they know how it feels to have a broken heart.

They should handle this like the two mature adults they are.

“So, pizza?” Dean offers, avoiding to look at her.

“I’m starving!” Y/N accepts, grateful for the change of topic.

***

Mary is sitting on the couch, waiting for Dean to bring her a cup of coffee.

“Here, before we forget once again.” Dean hands her the passport she’s quick to put in the safety of her purse bag. This little papery thing has been a real trouble, more than what she already knows.

They chitchat for a bit, and it doesn’t take Mary too long to sense that Dean’s nervous about something. She knows him better than he thinks. The way he’s avoiding her sight while speaking, how many times he’s licking his lips, the way he rubs his hands together between his knees. Mary knows all the signs: her oldest son has something to tell her but he doesn’t know where to start.

Sipping on her cup, she takes her time to put the cup on the coffee table, shifting in her seat a bit to be more comfortable. Then she crosses one leg over the other and rests her intertwined hands on her knee.

“What is it, Dean?” She asks softly, giving him some way to start.

Dean looks at her like a deer in headlights, opens and closes his mouth a few times as he’s trying to find the right words.

“You want to tell me something, right? What is it about? Work? Y/N?” She offers different topics, hoping that it will help to move on the conversation. When she pronounces Y/N’s name, the way Dean’s face twitched is her biggest clue.

“Are you having second thoughts? You think you proposed too early?”

“About that,” Dean finally finds back his voice. It’s hard to speak, he can already imagine how angry and disappointed his mother will be. Whatever the punishment his mother will choose after knowing the truth, Dean only hopes that she’ll still love him. He can’t bear the idea of his mom not loving him and trusting him anymore.

“I’ve known your father for a very long time.” She starts to recount, a fond smile on her lips.

“He waited very long before proposing, you know? When he finally asked, I didn’t even think about it, I just said yes. Because where is the need to think about it when the one you love the most, your best friend, is asking you to spend the rest of your life with him?”

Dean listens carefully, drinking every word coming out from her mouth. She had him at the word ‘friends’.

“A few days before the wedding, I panicked.” She admits, telling her son for the first time. She smiles amusingly at the stunned face he’s having.

“What we had before was great. I was scared that by marrying him we would lose something. Something dearly important in our friendship. I thought ‘If I marry him, he would be my husband, not my best friend anymore.’ I know it’s stupid but I thought we would become different persons. So I asked him to cancel the wedding.”

“You never told us that.” Dean asks in a whisper, totally captivated by what his mother is admitting. “What did dad say?”

“John said something that only John Winchester can say.” She smiles fondly. “He said that for the rest of the world we would be viewed as husband and wife. That for the rest of the world, I would be Mary Winchester, mother of his children but he also reminded me that I wasn’t going to marry the rest of the world. I was going to marry him and that in his eyes no matter what, I would remain his best friend.”

Dean had a hard time to imagine his father being so soft and telling such moving words. He knew his dad loved his mother with all his heart, but still…

“Do you think it’s the same for Y/N and me? I mean, do you think she can only see me as her friend and nothing more?” He really needs to know. He doesn’t know what to do anymore and he’s greedy for any kind of help.

“I can’t tell you for sure, Sweetie.” She smiles sadly at him. “Each couple is different.” She stands up and comes closer, her hand stroking Dean’s hair in a way only a mother can.

“But I know one thing. You love her with all your heart, I can see it in your eyes. Does she love you as much as you do? I can’t tell you. She’s the only one who can answer this question.”

Dean closes his eyes, relishing in his mother’s touch and presses his face against her stomach.

“I do mom. God, I love her so much, it hurts.” Dean chokes on his words, fighting the tears as a relief feeling envelops him. It feels so good to finally voice his feelings for real.

“Then tell her only this. I’m sure she’ll say them back to you.”

***

Before going back to her house, Mary wanted to check on Y/N. Her son looked better once she had left and Mary was sure whatever trouble the little couple, they would overcome it. As her future mother-in-law, it was Mary’s duty to make sure that Y/N was at peace as well.

That’s why she’s standing in the middle of the coffee shop Y/N is working at and she spotted the young woman right away.

“Hello Y/N! It’s good to see you.” Mary greets her cheerfully as she walks towards the counter.

Y/N is surprised to see Mary here at first, she vaguely remembers Dean telling her his mother was coming today. Oh shit! Mary is coming after her talk with Dean, isn’t she? Did he tell her the truth? He promised Y/N he would tell her so it means only one thing, Mary is here to yell at her, maybe even slap her in the face, who knows?

“Judging by your face, I think you’re not really happy to see me.” Mary laughs softly, cocking her head on the side and looking at her knowingly. 

“It’s just…” Y/N trails off, wringing her hands nervously, looking everywhere but Mary. “I’m not sure I’m the person you want to see right now.”

“Don’t worry, Dean told me. I understand, Y/N.” Mary doesn’t torture the poor girl any longer and tells her she knows about their little problem.

“Y-you do?” Y/N is more than surprised. She knows that Mary is a very kind person and Dean can’t shut up how great she is but to be so understanding and forgiving, she’s really a wonderful person.

Mary nods. 

“Dean told me everything. That poor boy was a bundle of nerves.” She chuckles, still picturing Dean in his living room.

“A-and? You’re not mad at us? At me?” 

This time it’s Mary’s turn to look at Y/N funnily. “Why would I? I mean this kind of thing happens all the time. It’s natural. What matters the most is that in the end, you love him, right?”

Her eyes widen and she can feel all the blood rushing into her face.

“Oh my God, is it so obvious?” She asks, hiding her face in her palms.

“Well yes.” This time Mary doesn’t hold back her laughter, their relationship is still so young, watching them is really refreshing.

However, something catches Mary’s attention as she looks at Y/N. 

“Oh, Sweetie.” She sighs as she grabs Y/N’s left hand, inspecting it.

“He hasn’t given you the ring, yet?” She sermons, shaking her head in disappointment.

“No wonder you’re having second thoughts about his feelings for you.”

“Wh-what?” This time Y/N can feel all the blood leaving her face.

What is she talking about? Why does Mary still think she would have an engagement ring? She said she talked with Dean earlier, so she might know. Or else…

“Mary. What did you talk with Dean about?” She asks seriously, feeling the rage from a hypothetical betrayal burning into her veins. “Please, tell me everything.”

***

Dean is nervously walking back and forth in the middle of the living room. He was so stunned after his conversation with his mother that he realized he had forgotten to tell her the truth about him and Y/N. When the conversation took a turn about friendship and feelings, he completely forgot about the rest. Now he has to tell Y/N about it. She will be angry for sure, he’s starting to know her and how her head works. But he knows how important honesty is to her, so if he tells her everything, maybe she’ll be understanding? And if he’s lucky, once she has forgiven him he could confess his feelings for her?

Dean stops dead in his tracks when he hears the door opening. His heart beating hard in his ribcage, he can feel his palms beginning to sweat as he rehearses the way he’s going to tell her the news.

However, he’s at a loss for words when he sees Y/N and Charlie enter. He doesn’t know why yet, but the way the girls are looking at him, he knows he’s in deep trouble.

“H-hi Charlie. I didn’t know you were coming.” Dean greets, his eyes flickering between Charlie and Y/N.

“Um, I don’t want to sound indelicate but there’s something I would talk with Y/N-” He says, unsure when the girls kept looking at him as if he had rolled over their puppy.

“Oh really? You have something to say?” Y/N asks, the tone of her voice is furious, and the glare Charlie is sending towards him is really nothing to take easy.

“Y-yeah. I told you my mom was coming and-”

“Oh, don’t bother with it! I know everything, Dean! And so does Charlie!” Y/N yells at him, throwing her arms in the air as she runs into her room, slamming the door behind her.

“Wha-wait!” He tries to knock on her door but she doesn’t reply so he tries to turn the doorknob and realizes she has locked herself into her room.

“What the hell Charlie? What’s going on?” Dean asks the only person available at the moment.

Charlie crosses her arms over her chest and gives him another deadly glare. 

“Your mother came into the coffee shop today.” She tells him and the few words are enough for Dean to understand what happened.

Oh no. No, no, no. Everything was so perfect. How can it be ruined in just a few seconds? He was going to tell her.

“This is not what you think-” He starts to defend himself but Charlie interrupts him.

“You know who starts their sentences like that? Cheaters and liars. So tell me Dean, which one are you the most? Maybe you’re both?” 

There’s no reason for him to try to change Charlie’s mind. At the moment, the only person who matters the most is Y/N. Speaking of the devil, she emerges from her room, her head held high, her face blank of any emotion.

“Y/N, please. Listen to me. I was going to tell you, I swear.” He apologizes but stops when he sees the bag in her hands.

“What is that for? What are you doing with that?” He can feel his breath becoming short, his heartbeat fastening strong and hard.

“I don’t want to listen to your lies anymore.” Her voice is as cold as ice.

“I took care of the problem. I told your mother we broke up. See? You’re making me lie again but I swear, it was the last time.” She announced, walking towards the front door.

“No, wait!” Where are you going? Let’s talk about this. Please! I’m begging you.” Dean’s can control his voice anymore. He’s desperate, he tries to hold her by the shoulder but she brushes him away violently.

“I told you. When a couple is breaking up, one of them has to leave. Goodbye, Dean.”

As the door slams closed violently, Dean is speechless, his eyes fixed on the spot Y/N and Charlie were a second before. He can’t feel the tears pooling in his eyes as he falls on his knees. 

As his world is shattering around him, Dean realizes that what sounded like one little, innocent, lie at first, became the biggest mistake of his life.

Pour Toujours tags:  @drakelover78, @akshi8278

PLL tags: @eliwinchester99, @paiswhite, @vicmc624, @metalfangirl, @londoncallingbutiwontpickup​

[viltrumitesuperboy]

Trains Part 2 (Peter Parker x Male Reader)

I feel like I was originally taking this a different direction but somehow I come up with this garbage. Got a few ideas and a few requests, so prepare yourself for some fics.

Part 1 here

Word count: 2128

At some point, you were talking to Peter almost every day, and the same day you had to go into the city for an internship was the same day he had to go. He usually helped with losing track of time, and it got you off your phone for a portion of the day. You learned a lot about each other: he went to Midtown Tech, you went to Stuyvesant. (He'd always ask you about the escalators and you told him about how people get hurt on them. Yikes.) He worked with Tony Stark (who he would call "Mr. Stark"), you worked... not with Tony Stark.

You'd always ask him about Stark Industries, and he would tell you only a little bit every time. He said he only met a few of the Avengers, but he had more stories about Spider-Man. He said that he wanted to bring you to the Avengers Tower someday, and you freaked out to no end.

And he did. You were both on your way to the city, and you were nerding out the whole way there.

"Am I gonna get to meet Mr. Stark?"

"I think so."

"Do you know if I can visit the labs?"

"Maybe."

"What do you do as an intern?"

"Mostly paperwork. I check the levels I have access to for progress in the fields sometimes. And then I work on my own stuff."

As soon as the train doors opened, you and Peter rushed out with a crowd into the busy subway station, and you grabbed his hand to not get lost as you both began to make your way to an exit. You honestly wouldn't mind holding his hand more. You both got out and were walking to the famous tower that you would be entering for the first time.

"Oh my god. This is it. I get to go inside with Peter Parker himself, Tony Stark's intern. If I get to meet Dr. Bruce Banner, that's it. I'm gonna jump out the window," you said.

"No! No jumping out any windows. Come on, you should be in the clear if you stick with me."

Peter pulled you into a lobby you could only ever see from the outside when you passed by the windows. The fact that you were in one of the most famous buildings in the STEM field and in the world left you in awe. Peter tugged at your hand when you slowed down your pace.

"(Y/N), if you cooperate, I'll try to get you a souvenir or something to bring back."

You snapped back into reality and bounded forward to match Peter's quickening strides. As he walked with you past the lobby, he flashed an ID card to the security at the front. His hand squeezed yours when he turned quickly to reach an elevator.

"We're going up to see some of the labs first," he informed you.

"Oh my god, yes!" you whispered. "Can I see your ID card?"

"No."

You took in the entire elevator, looking at every detail of the tiles until the doors opened. Peter's hand awkwardly left yours as he put his ID away in his pocket and pulled out his phone to send a text.

"Dude, I don't think I thanked you enough for doing this. This is by far the coolest thing to ever happen to me. And I've met Spider-Man once!"

Peter laughed at your excitement. The elevator stopped, and he motioned for you to follow as he opened two doors next to each other to show you two of the labs.

"I probably shouldn't show you anything too serious because some of this stuff is really secret. These are just a few things that people are working on," he explained.

You both got closer to the blueprint hologram in the first room, and you stated in awe at the detail and the object in front of you. It was a prototype of a very small display screen that was essentially a computer, and it seemed to be fitted into a pair of glasses.

"I bet Mr. Stark is updating his own so he's testing out something new. Next room!"

After viewing both labs, he brought you to a few more where people were actually working. You got to meet a few scientists who were excited to explain to you what was happening. Peter scanned his card to one with no distinguishing characteristics, not even a plaque. He looked at you and turned the handle.

"This is probably the most important room I have access to, and this is the only one where you can actually touch anything. Don't break anything," Peter said to you with a hint of a smile on his face.

"I swear on my life," you promised.

"Okay, maybe not that severe."

He pushed the door open and gestured you in, closing the door once you were both inside. He scanned his card once more on the empty table, and suddenly hologram screens showed up all over and a door in the wall opened to reveal the one and only Spider-Man suit.

"No. Fucking. Way," you blurted out. "I literally met him on the train and now I'm in the lab for his suit?! This is awesome!"

You stared at the holograms, reading all the information you could about it.

"'Baby Monitor Protocol'? What's that?" you asked, turning to face Peter.

"It's a program to control Spider-Man's full use of the suit's powers. Then he managed to hack it and get it deactivated. Mr. Stark isn't bothering to reactivate it but he reminds Spider-Man to be responsible," he explained.

"Oh my god, are those his web shooters?!"

You walked over to the objects perched on a pedestal next to the suit. You carefully picked them up and gaped at them. You snapped your head up to him, catching a hint of a smile on his face before it was gone.

"Peter. Can I use this?" you asked, begging him with your eyes.

"I'll show you how, but don't tell anyone."

He picked it up and placed it on his wrist, aiming at a wall and pressing the button like Spider-Man would, hitting the wall in a web. He took it off and placed it on yours, standing right next to you as he lifted your wrist to aim at the wall.

"Your middle and index finger press that," he instructed, taking a step back.

You pressed the button and the shooter released a web on the wall right on top of Peter's shot. You spun to face Peter with an excited expression, to which he laughed then took it off your wrist.

"This is pretty much all I can show you for the labs. I'll see if we can talk to Mr. Stark."

You both left Spider-Man's lab and went back to the elevator. He pressed a button for a higher floor.

"That was so cool. Oh my god. How do you guys make the webs?"

"Spider-Man makes the web fluid himself. He keeps it to himself but I think he has his own notes for that."

The elevator was fast, and the doors were open as soon as Peter finished speaking. He motioned you to follow him, which you did with wandering eyes. Then Tony Stark himself walked out of a hallway, and your jaw dropped as Peter waved to him.

"Mr. Stark! This is my friend, (Y/N). He's the one I met on the train a while ago," said Peter excitedly. "I took him to see some of the labs. (Y/N), this is Mr. Stark."

You had no time to become starstruck because Tony Stark himself started to bombard you with questions.

"You go to Stuyvesant?"

"Uh, yeah."

"I have a friend there. You know the AP physics teacher on the 4th floor?"

"I don't have him but I think I know who you're talking about."

"Great. I'm busy, so I want you to take this to him. He's a little crazy. It's just a few problems in some things we're doing in the labs and I wanted him to take a look."

He handed you a folder held with a binder clip and gave you the firmest handshake you ever received in your life. He pat Peter on the shoulder as he left. You turned to Peter with eyes comically wide and your jaw dropped.

"Peter. What the fuck. Tony Stark just gave me something to deliver," you gasped. "This is the best day of my life!"

"I thought that was when you got to talk to Spider-Man," he chuckled. "And trust me, I still freak out a bit when I see Mr. Stark.

"Well, sorry, dude. If I got to meet Dr. Bruce Banner today, that's it. I'm jumping out that window."

Peter laughed and let you put the folder in your bag. You headed back towards the elevators and you clutched the straps of your bag like it was your life.

That Friday afternoon, you ended up helping that "crazy teacher" with the science stuff, and a few pictures sent to Peter got half of them done in an hour. He was definitely an interesting teacher but, as smart as he was, you couldn't understand a lot of his mumbling. You told him you'd come back tomorrow because you had to meet a friend today. He agreed and let you keep the folders with him.

You reached Peter's apartment to hang out with him before dinner at his place, and he opened the door for you with a smile.

"I have to show you something," he said excitedly.

He let you in and you shut the door, barely having time to take your shoes off before he pulled you towards his room.

"Okay, look at my computer."

You looked at him, confused, and slowly walked over to his computer.

"Why are you showing me Club Penguin?" you laughed. "I mean we play together anyway. Is that Ned?"

He quickly switched to an opened email, moving to show you the screen with a blush on his face. You leaned in to see tickets for Comic-Con later in the year, courtesy of Tony Stark. Happy emailed him, explaining that he told Tony everything that Peter texted him about. Tony said that he wanted to buy tickets for Peter and his friends because of Peter's claimed money issues. You let out a laugh in disbelief and turned to hug Peter tightly.

"This is amazing, Peter!" you exclaimed. "I've wanted to go for so long. Can we dress up or something?"

"Actually, I've been planning to do Star War Characters? I've been saving up," Peter suggested.

"Or... we can be Star Wars characters and you can be Spider-Man," you smirked.

"I- uh- what?" Peter stuttered. "I don't even have-"

"You know, I wasn't too sure if you were Spider-Man or not. I mean, Spider-Man talking to me and then a teenager who suddenly talks to me on the train? But the internship, having access to Spider-Man's lab, and the ID card that clearly showed you were Spider-Man... I think Tony Stark should fix that."

"I'm not Spider-Man!" Peter exclaimed.

"I'm sure you have a lot of good proof and your alibis are great, but your closet is wide open."

You both turned to look at his Spider-Man suit hanging on top of the rod in his closet.

"It would make the people there happy," you said. "And the kids would love it."

"I just wanted to spend time with you there. I kind of really like you and I wanted us to have a first date there," he sheepishly mumbled.

"What, we didn't already have a first date at the Avengers Tower?" you joked.

He smiled and pulled his ID out of his bag, turning it over a few times.

"I should get this changed with Mr. Stark. I guess putting 'Spider-Man' right on an ID card isn't the best idea," he chuckled.

A few months later, he went to Comic-Con as Spider-Man. His Luke Skywalker outfit was in your bag when he was done parading around as the friendly neighbourhood hero. The kids definitely loved it. Comic-Con was probably the coolest second date you've ever been on. You and Peter ended up sharing a first kiss with him hanging upside down from the ceiling and hidden from the public eye.

And he ended up showing you his new ID card: the same photo with his name and not the superhero one, his title (intern) and mini googly eyes attached to the front, courtesy of Mr. Stark as punishment for "lack of appreciation."

[hattywatch]

Jeff Skinner - Home

A/n: Any time I ever think I am capable of writing a blurb, point me to this, right here. I had the idea for this before I wrote the part 2 to Back Road, but I couldn’t focus on two things at once, so this took a back seat since so many people asked for a sequel to Back Road! This is 13 pages, a little over 5k words and is CLEAN. Totally sfw. 

Requested by my bae @hockeyandtaylorswift, and I would like to thank her and @xolilyxo for reading it and being my fav hockey biddies <3

“I can't keep staying with you guys. I feel like I'm living with an old married couple,” Jeff shimmies past Reino and gets to his seat at the kitchen island, where Eichel is leaning, munching on an apple and watching the toaster.

Jack grabs his bread from the toaster as it pops and Jeff watches as he slides open a drawer for a knife and switches spots with Sam to get to the fridge, neither of them thinking about the motion, it looks so practiced.

The way him and Sam move around each other in their apartment is so comfortable. It was really nice of them to ask if he needed a place to stay when he first moved to Buffalo, but it's going on a month now and he just wants a place to go home to that's his; with a spot on the couch that's his, and a mug that's his, and a bathroom cabinet that's filled with his stuff. He's sick of living out of a suitcase.

“Still haven't found anything, then?” Jack asks in between bites of toast while Jeff sips at his juice and shakes his head no.

Reino shuts the cabinet above his head after pulling a plate out of it and sliding his omelette onto it, “Eichs, you still have the number of the chick who found us this place? She was awesome.”

It's Jack's turn to shake his head as he scrolls through his contact list, “I don't think I do, maybe an email? I'll look through them later and see what I can find.”

Jeff nods and makes a mental note to remind him about it later; he's lived with his new teammates long enough to know that Jack's a scatterbrain about everything that isn't done on skates.

_______

You get the email late on a Monday while you're nestled into your couch with a glass of wine watching The Bachelor.

Hey (Y/N),

I wanna send a new teammate to you bc he's having trouble finding his own place and you really helped me out when I was looking. I lost your phone number but had your email so send me your number and I’ll have him set something up. He's sick of crashing with me and Sam lol.

Thanks,

Jack

You roll your eyes and scroll through your contact list to, Client Jack and text him:

It's me. Just got your email. Send him my way, I’d love to help.

_______

You get a text from a number that isn’t saved to your contacts two days after you responded to Jack’s e-mail.

Hi, I’m Jeff, Jack’s friend. He gave me your number and said that you’re the best realtor around. Do you think you could help me start looking for something this weekend? I have to get my own place before I kill a teammate 😑.

You call him, instead of responding to his text, because you’re a professional adult, and also you’re driving and that’s a dangerously high ticket that you don’t really want to deal with right now.

He sounds confused when he answers, with a whispered, “Hullo?”

“Hi, this is (Y/N) calling for Jeff?” You hear him scramble around a little, before he clears his throat, still speaking lowly but sounding a little more awake.

“Oh, yeah, hi! I didn’t think you’d get back to me so soon.” You laugh because your entire paycheck banks on you getting back to people as soon as possible and being at everyone’s beck and call 24 hours a day.

“I just wanted to set something up for this weekend. I already have a few places in mind I could show you. If you wanted to give me some times you’d be free I could schedule a few showings so we can find you a place before the season starts.” You hear him close a door and he finally raises his voice above a whisper.

“That’d be awesome, I love these guys, but I really need my own space asap. I’ll clear all weekend for you. This is my top priority right now.” He sounds tired and you smile, because you know enough about Jack to know he could be a little bit of a diva and honestly, bless Sam for being able to live with him. But you know it's tough to be thrown into it due to a trade or whatever Buffalo is doing right now, shaking up their team.

“I’ll text you a time for Saturday morning. We can meet at a Starbucks or something? I’ll drive, you’re new to the area, don’t want you getting lost! Does that work for you?”

“Sounds like a plan. See you Saturday.” You say goodbye and hang up. You make a mental note to look up this Jeff character, to see if you could get any information that may help you in finding him a home and so you know what you’re getting yourself into.

_______

You’re not exactly sure what you were expecting when you typed “Jeff Buffalo Sabres” into the Google search bar hours later, but what you found wasn’t it.

You learn the basics, that he was traded from Carolina, and like most hockey players- is from Canada. You click on a video, against your better judgement, and you hear voice, new but becoming familiar, giving canned answers about getting pucks on net and playing hard. What you didn’t expect to learn is that he’s adorable, positively boyish. His smile is wide and his eyes crinkle up with it. He seems like the type of person everyone wants to be friends with.

Quickly you close out of the window on your computer. As easy as he is on the eyes, this isn’t really productive to your pursuit of finding him the right apartment, and stalking is illegal in all 50 states.

_______

The next two days are a blur of showings with other clients and searches for apartments suited for one twenty-something male. You’re pleased that you find three to show him, and hope that he’ll take to at least one of them.

You send out a text Friday afternoon, telling him the time you’ll meet him and to be ready for you to knock his socks off.

Client Jeff: At this point I’d live in a box on the street to get my own space. It isn’t going to take much.

You send back a speak-no-evil monkey and the address of the Starbucks where you two plan on meeting.

_______

When Saturday morning comes, you’re grumpy to say the least. You try your best to get a lot of your showings done during the week to avoid the weekend traffic and get some time to sleep in, but you really liked Jack and Sam and don’t mind doing them the favor of helping their buddy out. Plus, who are you to say no to any new clients you can get.

You dress business casual; smart jeans and a navy-blazer over a plain white tee with some red flats, most of the apartments have stairs anyway. You also manage to get your ass into gear on time and are sitting drinking your coffee when you see Jeff stroll in, 2 minutes to 10.

Quickly, you realize he has no idea who he’s looking for, and you take a minute to observe him undisturbed. He looks around, presumably for you, and checks his phone, laughing at something before fast thumbs fire off a message. He walks up to the empty counter and orders his drink; you hear him say both “please” and “thank you” before he pays and throws his change into the tip jar. You decide you like him already.

When he moves to the other counter, waiting for his drink to be made, you decide to make yourself known. As you tidy up your table, your phone vibrates and you look down at your texts,

Client Jeff: I just realized I have no clue who I'm looking for. I'm here and wearing a Sabres sweatshirt if that helps?

After throwing out your trash, you step up behind him and tap him on the shoulder, “Jeff?” You ask it as a question, even though you know that he’s exactly who you’re looking for. He looks up from his phone and spins around with a media smile on his face, unsure of who he’s about to run into.

“Hi... (Y/N)?” he says with an unfailing smile, but crinkled and uncertain eyes. “Yes, that’s me,” you shake his outstretched hand, “Ready to find your new place?” His smile shifts a little and a dimple pops into his cheek, “You have no idea. Let’s go.” He grabs his drink off of the counter and follows you to your car.

_______

You keep the music on the light channel, soft pop playing from the speakers. Jeff seems content to drink his coffee and sit quietly in your passenger seat, but you’ve never really been one for silence.

“How have you been finding Buffalo so far?” He smiles again at your question, “It’s been good. The team’s really nice, the people who recognize me on the street have been really encouraging. It’s definitely a change in scenery and weather, but it’s closer to home.”

You’re happy to hear that Buffalo has been welcoming. Moving is tough, especially alone. “You enjoying living with Jack and Sam?” The light is red and you catch his eye and smile.

“They’re two of the greatest guys I’ve ever met. It was really awesome of them to let me stay as long as they have. They’d probably keep letting me, but they both have routines and I feel like I’m in the way. I just want my own space, ya know? Nothing against them.”

Nodding, you turn onto the block for the first apartment. “Well, I’ll do my best to help you out. I’m with you ‘til the end now.” He unbuckles his seatbelt as you pull over and put your car into park. You get out and open up your folder to give him the first listing. “This is a newer building. It’s really nice and they cater to a slightly more upscale client and have loads of amenities,” you tell him in the elevator on your way up to the unit.

“This place looks too nice for me, are you sure they’d even let me live here?” You laugh out loud at that, Jeff is clearly the kind of guy who holds up well under scrutiny, the kind of guy every parent wants their daughter to bring home, wholesome looking and polite.

“According to Jack, you’re about to be Buffalo’s golden boy. I’m sure they’d beg you to live here, Jeff.” A red flush rises from his neck straight up to his hairline. “I hope so,” he mumbles out as the elevator dings and he motions for you to exit first.

Outside of the unit, you do your best to feature dump and sell him on the place, “There’s a fitness center, a lounge, a study center, reserved parking, a concierge, 24 hour maintenance, and electronic keys, which is kind of cool. You’d basically be living in a hotel.” Waving the card in front of the knob, you can hear the mechanical whirring of the lock, indicating that the door is opening, so you step in and hold it open for Jeff.

He whistles low and walks past the kitchen through the dining area and into the living room. It’s your turn to laugh, “Okay… I’m guessing you don’t cook much then?”

He shakes his head, looking out of the windows that line the living room wall. “You’d be absolutely correct in that assumption.”

“Well then, not that you care, but these are granite countertops and they’re gorgeous,” you sweep your hand in a flourish towards the counters. He does his best to look sheepish and puts on a smile and nods, “They look…. Very nice?” He rocks back on his heels and shrugs a shoulder up.

“Thanks for trying. Don’t pretend to care for me, you’re the one who has to pick a place or keep living with the dynamic duo,” you smile snidely at his stricken face.

“No dishwasher though, which could be a downside for a guy living on his own,” you look at him thoughtfully, trying to figure out if he’s messy or tidy, as if you could tell from a cursory glance.

“I have siblings, we did chores growing up. I know how to clean up after myself,” you’d almost assign his tone as sassy, but he’s far too sweet for you to do anything but keep smiling at him at try to change the subject.

“No significant other will be living with you? I just realized I didn't ask, rude of me.”

“Nah,” He walks through to the bedroom, “I don’t have a girl right now.” He manages his own subject-change now, “One bedroom?”

You nod, “Uh, yes. Only one, but this building has it all; studios and units with one, two or three bedrooms! I didn’t consider that you may be having visitors. That’s my fault; I should have asked.”

He doesn’t let you berate yourself for long though, “I don’t know if I have a preference. My last place had an extra room and my family never wanted to leave, maybe this would be the hint they needed.” He winks and checks out the closet, laundry room, and bathroom before the tour is over and you get back to your car.

“Okay give me feedback? Love it, hate it? Is it missing something integral?” He buckles his seatbelt once more and looks over at you, “Honestly?” you nod and motion for him to continue.

He heaves a sigh and turns to make eye contact with you, “I have no idea what I’m looking for. When I got my last place I was so young and everything seemed awesome because it was all mine. This time around it’s so... different.” It’s an honest answer and you appreciate that, but it doesn’t really help you figure out if he’ll like the next two places any better than this one.

As you drive to the next apartment, you decide to do some digging, maybe it will help figure out what he's looking for. “You said you have siblings that visit, how many of you are there?”

He turns to look over at you, putting his coffee back in the cup holder, “There’s six of us, plus my parents.”

“Woooow” you let out as you flick your turn signal on. He’s polite and asks, “What about you, anyone come and crash at your place uninvited. Shaking your head, you tell him no, “I’m an only child. Probably better off that way. I can’t imagine having to share with five other people. I don’t think that’s my style.”

“I think if you're raised with it, it's different. You're just used to it.” You nod along because nurture versus nature and all that.

_______

The next two apartments aren't in buildings; one is the whole top floor of a house and the second is the main floor.

Jeff is polite, but you have been doing this a long time and you can tell he doesn't like them as much as the one inside of the complex, but he does seem to prefer the one on the top floor, with the extra bathroom and guest room. You watch as he takes in the dark hardwood floors, but wrinkles his nose at the downstairs apartment lacking a tub, and you start fleshing out a more robust image of what he’s looking for.

As you're driving him back to Starbucks to his car, you decide to ask again, “Okay, I don't expect you to know everything you like, but maybe if you see something on Pinterest or Instagram or anything that strikes your fancy, send it to me and I can get an idea of your tastes? I'm sure you'd prefer turn-key?”

“That's a really good idea. Give me your handle.” You spell out your Instagram name for him and your pocket vibrates with the notification. Your car crunches into the parking lot and Jeff adjusts the hat on his head, “Thanks, I know it's your job, but I really appreciate it. Jack and Sam try to help, but...” he trails off with a shrug.

Laughing, you assure him, “You don't have to tell me. I'm the one who spent 5 months finding them that place.” Jeff's eyes open wide and his smile dims, “5 months? I can't live with them for 5 more months.” You try to head him off at the pass.

“Jeff, if you promise to send me some more things that you like, I promise that I will not leave you stranded with Jack and Sam for 5 more months, deal?”

He opens the car door and gets out, leaning back in with that big smile sticking his hand out to shake. “It's a deal. Just text me whenever. I'm free all this week and next weekend. So if you want me to come see something, I'm all yours.”

You tell him will do and he hops in his car and starts it before you drive away.

_______

He doesn’t contact you for a few days. It’s Tuesday when you get a message late at night, snuggled deep into your bed watching old Friends reruns. The text makes your pillow vibrate and you tear your eyes away from Phoebe attempting to teach Joey French to unlock your screen.

When you see Jeff’s name you’re a little thrown off.

Client Jeff: I think I like this...

You wait, as you assume there’s an image that’s coming along with it.

When it finally comes, the photo is blurry but you make out a marble bathroom. It’s simple and stark white, offset by dark grey floors. It’s something to go on, albeit blurry and small, but it’s something.

Just tell me what it is that you like, and I can def go off of that.

The response comes quicker than you would have expected.

Client Jeff: Tbh, I’m a little drunk at one of Eichs friends house. Idk what I like. It’s clean and open? Different than living with a bunch of slobs I guess.

Before you can send a text back to him, your phone buzzes with another.

Client Jeff: I’m drunk texting my realtor. This is what it’s like being a grown up, huh?

You know that feel, that’s for sure, so you cut him a break and text him back.

Seemed a lot more glamorous as a kid, I know.

You fall asleep with your phone next to your pillow and your laptop on your nightstand, searching for open, bright, clean-lined bathrooms.

_______

After his drunk texts, Jeff opened up a little bit. He sent you tons of posts from @ApartmentTherapy, interspersed with some cute dogs, and funny memes. He started texting more frequently too, asking for restaurant recommendations in the city and making some small talk. You have similar taste in movies and TV, so you have a lot to talk about, but you didn't want to be the one to break the boundary, it's not professional. The second weekend you meet him for showings he has your coffee paid for and ready to go when you walk into the coffee shop.

He ends up breaking the boundary first. You assume it’s because you’re one of about 5 people he knows in the state. He's a really sweet guy, so it isn't like you mind at all. He suggests meeting at iHop for breakfast before your third weekend of showings in a row. It seems like a fine idea, you have to eat anyway and you really like talking to Jeff.

Breakfast is spent with him regaling you of his time training in the gym with Eichs and Reino earlier this week. His impression of Jack has you in stitches as you almost spit your coffee out across the table, smacking your hand over your mouth just in time. It sends him into his own peal of laughter, and ends with him face down on the table, pointing at you and silently laughing.

You head to the bathroom to fix your running mascara and he meets you at the door with your purse and tells you it’s on him when you try to shove money at him for your food.

_______

Obviously his house-mates have picked up on your new-found friendship. Jack had messaged you once to ask you to stop, as he deemed you interruptive to boys night.

Client Jack: Listen, I know you guys are like, besties now… but it’s guys night and we’re bowling and Jeff literally can’t stop looking at his phone. he’s really bringing the team down. I wouldn’t mind if he wasn’t on my team, fuck i’d prob encourage it. But tell him you’re going to bed or something so he can focus! Loser has to pick up the bar tabs, so you can understand where i’m coming from right now, (y/n).

You'd never admit it, but you smiled indulgently to yourself, pleased that Jeff really seemed to value you as a friend and not just someone he was forced to be in contact with.

Oh, so sorry that I’m ruining your night Jack. I’ll tell him I’m going to bed. At 830. On a Saturday.

Client Jack: That’s all i ask.

_____________

All the chatting helped though, each weekend you were able to fill your showings with apartments that were increasingly Jeff’s style. You both discovered that he was decidedly more modern; into clean lines and neutral colors.

You start meeting for breakfast every weekend before your first showing. It’s quickly coming up on two months before you even notice. You get along really well, so working the weekend is almost as enjoyable as your shared breakfasts. The two of you commiserate over summer months quickly coming to an end and laughing easily over people's decorating choices in apartments that are decidedly not the one.

The last listing you showed him had been especially cringe worthy, photographing way better than it looked in person. You step inside and instantly realize your mistake.

Jeff hadn't been looking up and barrels into the back of you, spewing red-faced apologies before he could even peel himself away from your back. “Sorry!” he has a hand wrapped around your waist to keep you from toppling forward under his bulk and you snort, because with his accent it comes out “sore-y” and that always gets you laughing.

You realize it before he does, the fact that his hand is still firmly wrapped around your middle, and you’re starting to get a little self conscious of the way you know your jeans are snug against your tummy under his hand. So you clear your throat and he apologizes again before removing his hand and keeping them firmly in his pockets. The tension doesn’t last long as you go through the rest of the apartment and laugh as Jeff raises his eyebrows at the shag carpet that is inexplicably in the bathroom, and you both hightail it out of there as soon as you can.

_______

It’s not out of the ordinary when he texts you late on a Friday night:

Jeff: After we go to the apartments tomorrow do you have any other clients?

You have been saving your Saturdays exclusively for Jeff's showings for the past two months, so you tell him that.

My Saturdays are solely dedicated to finding you a place to live, doll.

Did you find something specific you wanted to see?

Bubbles indicating he’s typing out his reply pop up, but it stops abruptly. They start and stop a few times, before a message finally comes through.

Jeff: Not an apartment, but there’s this new waffle house that just opened? We can change up our routine, lunch instead of breakfast...

Jeff: If you didn’t have anything else going on.  

You don’t, and that sounds like the type of relaxed weekend that you’re into, so you peck out a reply.

Sounds like a plan.

You send it over and before you can stop yourself you send a smiley face too. _______

The next day you’re positive Jeff will take to one of these units.

They all have two bedrooms, which you've learned he leans towards, just in case his parents or a sibling decide to pop in. They are all turn key- painted and furnished (he hates furniture shopping and doesn't have the time to paint)- very sleek and modern, his preferred style.

Even better, all of them come with in unit laundry. He claims laundry is his favorite chore and prefers to do it himself rather than send it out. And to top it all off, one has a balcony off the master bedroom. You think he'll choose that one, but you don't want to jinx yourself.

When you get through all three without Jeff so much as considering placing an offer, you're confused at best and irked at worst. You know he needs to find a place soon and it’s starting to feel like you’ve shown him every apartment in Buffalo and its surrounding towns. You try to take it in stride, but it’s been two solid months of multiple showings every weekend and you just want a break from it.

The rational side of you also knows that it isn’t Jeff’s fault. It’s a very important purchase and you don’t want to rush him into something just because you want a lazy weekend, but you're still a little disappointed. Jeff drove to all of the listings, “to give you a break,” he had said. He even showed up with coffee and croissants to hold you over until you go to lunch- so you’re annoyed with yourself for being cranky when he’s been so lovely.

_______

You’re clearly doing a good job of hiding your disappointment, so he pulls up to the waffle house all smiles, the dimple on his right cheek digging straight into your heart, and you feel bad for ever being vexed with him. He hops out of the car and walks up to the door and even holds it open for you, holding 2 fingers up to the hostess.

Sitting in the booth bolsters your mood, unused to waiting until after the showings to eat. It smells like heaven, and you look over the menu, already sticky with syrup. Jeff is his happy self, nudging your foot under the table to get your attention.

“What are you getting?” You look up from the menu at Jeff's rosy face and shrug. You love that he's always blushing. He's never really shy with his emotions because he's so easy to read anyway. It seems like a freeing way to live.

“I'm not sure, there's a lot of options. Banana chocolate chip? Red velvet? What are you getting?” You take the time to nudge his foot back.

He confidently closes his menu, “Cinnamon roll, for sure. With bacon.”

You close your menu at the sight of the waitress approaching, “Okay then, red velvet it is. But I'm trying some of yours, too.” Jeff says 'obviously,’ like it's something that you guys always do, and isn't pushing the lines of a realtor/client relationship.

After you place your orders and the waitress returns with a carafe of coffee for you to split, you feel a happy warmth settle from the tips of your toes to the top of your head. You take turns sharing the creamer and sit in a companionable silence before Jeff starts in.

“I’m so nervous for this season,” he stirs his coffee with a spoon distractedly, you see your opening to bring up his living situation, but he continues before you can interject. “D’you think you’d like to come to the opener?”

He sips his coffee with his eyes closed, and you wish you could make eye-contact with him. “Yeah, sounds like fun. I’ll make myself available.” His eyes open at that and he flushes from his neck up to his forehead.

“Did you think I’d say no or something,” he opens his mouth to answer you, but the waitress sets your plates down in between you so he stops. As soon as she walks away you lean over and steal a piece of bacon from Jeff’s plate.

He smiles and it’s wide and bright and beautiful, and as always- punctuated by a deep dimple. He won’t meet your eyes and spends way too long cutting into his fluffy waffles and dousing them with syrup that is surely not trainer approved, “Yeah, something like that.”

You’re halfway through your own plate, starting to get full and sated, when it starts to make sense, you’re spending every week together, bonding over movies and restaurant recommendations. You’re probably the person he’s spent the most time with since his big move. Jeff’s still plowing away through his own plate though, so you try your hand at subtly broaching the issue on your mind.

“Jeff,” he looks up mid-bite. “You know we’re like, kinda friends now right.” He looks like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t and he flames up again immediately.

“Are we?” You nod and stuff another bite of waffle into your mouth to keep yourself from smiling at his embarrassment. He draws in close to you, leaning over his plate.

“If put in an offer on the one with the terrace off the bedroom will you still hang out with me on weekends?” You perk up and lean back against the booth laughing at how dumb he is, nodding and trying to catch your breath.

“Yes you dope!” You have another bite  on its way to your mouth when another piece of the puzzle clicks together. The waffle drops off of your fork as you try to control the volume of your voice, you want to yell but you manage to contain it down to a hiss, “Have you not been putting in offers on apartments because you have no better weekend plans, you jerk!?” He has a decency to look chagrined at being caught.

“I didn’t know if I was allowed to keep talking to you after I found something,” he sputters out, shrugging.

“You could have just asked. I haven’t had a day off in months!” You steal another piece of his bacon, you feel like you’ve earned it at this point.

“Are you showing anything tomorrow? We could go out,” Jeff’s fork makes its way onto your plate, you barely notice; did he just-? He’s on it before you can respond.

“I mean- shit.” He takes a deep breath before putting his fork down onto the table with a metallic clank, “Fuck it, yeah tomorrow. What are you doing, let me take you out?” He’s so far from smooth and it’s so endearing you can’t help but smile.

“I’m helping a client place a bid on an apartment. Really nice, eat-in-kitchen and a balcony off the master. Then I have a date, I think? Nice guy, kinda slow, but he’s cute. Lots of curb-appeal, if you catch my drift.”

Jeff’s smile is beatific, “You’re not so quick yourself, so it’s probably a perfect match.” You kick him under the table without malice, too wrapped up in the sugary sweet fullness from lunch and his warm gaze.

“I’m starting to think he’s a fixer-upper. Luckily I’ve got some time.”

[avengerscompound]

The Unicorn - Chapter 9

The Unicorn:  A Pepperony Fanfic PREVIOUS

Series Masterlist

Buy me a coffee with Ko-fi Word Count:    2019

Pairing:  Tony Stark x F!Reader x Pepper Potts

Warnings:  Sex talk.

Synopsis:  Tony takes you and Pepper to a gala at the Rockefeller Center as a way to announce your relationship to the world

The Unicorn

Tony sat between you and Pepper in the back of the car.  It had only been recently that he’d started to let Happy drive the car.  He couldn’t quite explain why he had hated letting people take the wheel in the first place nor exactly what point he was okay with it.  He just knew that normally he’d have driven Pepper in one of his two-seater sports cars, and today the three of you were sitting a little squashed in the back of Audi A8 and he felt happy.

Actually happy.  Not that temporary feeling of euphoria that he used to chase by hopping from bed to bed or taking drugs.  Definitely not the dulling of his emotions all together he attempted by drinking himself into a stupor.  A real genuine sense of contentment.  He had two women he loved at his side.  They were trying for a kid.  And now he was going to go out into the world and make a statement.  This is me and I am finally happy and have people who genuinely care about me.

You were coming out at Gala at the Rockefeller Center.  Tony had opted for Prada.  A black tuxedo with a white shirt and black bow tie.  You and Pepper had both opted for gowns by Ralph and Russo.  Pepper was in off-white silk, satin, and organza, with hand cut scallops that went from small semi-circles at the structured bodice to large ones at the asymmetrical A-line skirt that reached the floor and spread out in a short train behind her.  You had managed to tie both his look and Pepper’s together while keeping your look so very you.  Your dress was hand pleated chiffon with a strapless, geometric bodice. While the two primary colors were black and white a stripe of pale pink and pale mint ran beside the heart shape black panels on the bodice and bled out into the skit.  Outlining the heart was a line of lavender that did the same.  A cape was attached to a choker made from Swarovski Crystals and opals.  It was the same, white, mint, pink and lavender chiffon and billowed out behind you as you walked.  While pepper had done her make in the smoky eyes and muted tones she usually used, you had gone with pink and purple eyeshadow, winged eyeliner and a dark red lipstick that seemed to glitter when the light hit it.  How the two of you had managed to both look yourselves, while match and neither stand out over the other amazed him, but you did.

Pepper was relatively calm at least for Pepper.  She always entered business mode when she was out in public.  Straight back and ready to deal with any problem thrown at her.   Which to be honest, was usually thrown at her by him, but he did like seeing her make things happen.  Especially when there was a little unreasonableness to the request.

You, on the other hand, were showing clear signs of nerves.  It wasn’t like you.  You were normally completely relaxed under any kind of pressure.  You had met him and the Avengers like you regularly came in contact with superheroes and it was no big deal at all.  You went out all the time.  You wore clothes that drew the eyes of everyone in the room.  You could stand in front of a lecture theatre full of people and talk about quantum physics with no problem at all.  Yet, right now you sat beside him, squeezing his hand that little bit too hard and shifting in your seat a little too much.

“It’s just a bunch of rich assholes, you know?  And maybe a few actors that really believe in conservation and had their ticket paid for.”  Tony said, rubbing his thumb in circles along the back of your hand.

“Yeah.  I can picture the asshole’s faces when they realize we’re together.”  You said, clenching your jaw.

Tony laughed.  “It’ll be great.”

You looked at him suspiciously and Pepper rolled her eyes.

“Oh come on!  You don’t want to see a bunch of old farts have a near heart attack because god forbid three people like bumping uglies?”  Tony argued.

“Bumping uglies?”  Pepper groaned.  “Really, Tony?”

Tony started laughing again at the incredulous tone in Pepper’s voice but it had done the job.  You relaxed a little, leaning against him more and softening the grip on his hand.

Happy pulled up at the curb where there were security railing keeping press and people hoping to spot celebrities back.  There was a red carpet running from the curb to the doors and as soon as the car pulled up someone rushed forward and opened the door.

Pepper stepped out first which immediately led to people calling out both her name and his.  Tony followed after her and offered his hand to you.  You took it and let him help you out of the car, and when he put an arm around both you and Pepper and started to walk, the press went crazy.  They yelled out to him over and over, so that all he could hear was a cacophony of Mr. Stark, Mr. Stark, Mr. Stark.

He didn’t stop or answer questions but the three of you stopped for photos from time to time up the red carpet.  Always switching positions so that it didn’t just look like he’d somehow managed to talk Pepper into something illicit.  Each time the three of you stopped, he could make out questions but they were all just who you were.  He knew by the time you came out again they'll have worked it out and the questions would get more personal.

When you got through the door he grabbed a Champaign from the first waiter that passed him and you and Pepper followed suit.  “That wasn’t so bad was it?”  He said giving you a squeeze around your waist.

“Are you kidding me?  That was mental.  You do this regularly?”  You asked looking around the room.

Tony shrugged.  “Kinda grew up with it.”

“Honestly, you do get used to it.  It was part of my job for so long, I just enter work mode as soon as the flashbulbs start going off.”  Pepper said.

“Right.  Work mode.”  You said.

“Not sure if work mode will work for you,”  Tony said, giving you a nudge.

“No, not if anyone actually wants to speak to me.”  You agreed.

Some people came to speak to Tony and he did his best to brush them off and generally played coy when asked questions about the relationship the three of you had.  You and Pepper stayed close together and Pepper deflected most questions before they even managed to make it to the end.

Halfway through the dinner, he could see you start fidgetting.  To be fair it was extremely boring.  These things always were.  He’d already folded and unfolded his own napkin into 8 different geometric designs.  He put his hand on your knee and traced his finger in small circles on it.

You leaned your head against his shoulder.  “You could have warned me this was so fucking boring.”  You whispered.

He snorted earning a death glare from Pepper.  “To be fair, I’m usually much drunker than I am right now and I would have walked out halfway through.”

“Oh, can we do that?  Please?  Let’s walk out halfway through.”  You begged, still keeping your voice hushed.  Your lips came much closer to his ear so he could feel the heat of your breath against his skin.  “I’ve been debating whether I could get away with jerking you off under the table and no one noticing for what feels like an hour now.”

Tony poked his tongue into his cheek and looked at you out of the side of his eye.  That was a tempting offer.  He hadn’t done anything that risky since the playboy days and he couldn’t pretend he didn’t think about it.

Not that Pepper wasn’t kinky.  She was one of the kinkiest women he’d ever been with.  It just had a time and a place and that was usually in the bedroom.  Pepper’s kinks ran formal and serious like she was.  You, on the other hand, your kinks were as wild as you were.  You liked the things Pepper did, but you were much more spontaneous.  When she suggested something you just enthusiastically went along with it.  You like to experiment.  Sample from everything available to you.  It was easy to get caught up in.

His hand tightened on your thigh.  “I think as fun as that sounds, Pepper will ground us.”  He whispered.  “Besides, the huge, sticky wet patch on my pants might be a dead give away.”

You started giggling silently beside him and his fingers tightened on your thigh.  He leaned over towards Pepper.  “You think we can make an early exit?  Someone is getting antsy.”  He whispered.

“And is that someone you?”  Pepper teased.

Tony chuckled.  “Well yes.  But not who I was talking about.”

Pepper looked over at you and you raised your hand to your mouth, sticking the tips of your index and middle fingers to the corners of your mouth and very quickly darting your tongue out between your lavender painted nails.

“Oh, good lord.  I can’t take either of you anywhere.”  She groaned but he could hear the smothered laughter in her voice.  She looked up at the speaker at the podium and then back at him.  “When people start applauding this guy.”

He droned on for another fifteen minutes and when he finally stopped speaking the crowd began to applaud.  Pepper stood, followed quickly by Tony.   He took your hand and tugged it and you scrambled up after him.  The three of you wove your way to the edge of the room and Tony texted Happy to let him know they were on the way out.

“Can we never go to a gala again?”  You asked.

“They aren't all bad.  If we waited until later there would have been dancing.” Pepper said.

“We can go dancing without the lectures about things I probably understand better than they do.” You said.

Tony laughed and wrapped an arm around both of you.  “Is that what you want to do now?  Go dancing?”

The three of you stepped out of the door.  There was a brief pause where no one had realized that they there and then like a wave, the shouting and flashbulbs started up.

“I'll do some horizontal dancing.” You said.

Tony smirked and kissed your cheek.  “That was not as sexy as you think it was.”

Amongst the current of Mr. Stark, Mr. Stark, Mr. Stark he started hearing your name too.  He assumed to make it known they knew who you were.  You looked up at him, your eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights.  “Shit, that didn't take long.”

“We knew this would happen, don't worry,” Pepper reassured you.

“Shit,” You cursed.  “I haven't told anyone!”

Tony laughed and directed you both down to the curb as Happy pulled up.  “They're gonna know now.”

“Mister Stark would you care to make a comment on your relationship with these two women?” Someone yelled from the melee.

Tony turned and raised his eyebrows at the large group before following the two of you into the back of the car.

“What do I do?  What do I tell people?” You asked, a slight panic to your voice.

Pepper put her arm around your shoulders and you leaned into her.  “Whatever you like.  We’ve got your back.  If you're worried about people coming for you for money, or the fame, we are here to give you whatever support you need.”

“Guess I should call my parents first.” You said with a sigh.

Tony took his phone from the inside of his jacket pocket and handed it to you.  He draped a hand over both Pepper and your lap and kissed Pepper’s cheek.  The potential fall out of this was going to be interested. Part of him was excited to see it.

// NEXT

[thirtysomethingloser92]

The Last Time

Author’s note: Inspired by Taylor Swift’s ‘The Last Time’ Dunno if I should do a part two or not.... Summary: “You try to help Spencer after his kidnapping and he pushes you away” Words: 1,313 Warnings: Angst.

“This is the last time Im asking you this, Put my name at the top of your list. This is the last time I’m asking you why, You break my heart in the blink of an eye”

You were watching him destroy himself, and deep down, it was destroying you as well. As soon as he was home after being taken and tortured by Tobias Hankel you had watched a light diminish in your best friend’s eyes. His once brown eyes, eyes that lit up your entire world, had been extinguished. You watched as he withdrew, as he pushed you away. Every approach was hit with a carefully constructed brick wall around his emotions and his heart. You begged him to let you in, to let you help him, but he would close the door in your face, he would be the first one to hang up the phone, he would stop replying to your messages. You watched as someone you cared about so deeply, someone who you thought you knew every inch of destroy themselves. At night you would call him, and when he hung up you would cry. All you wanted was to be his friend, someone he could come too when he had those nightmares he would sometimes tell you about. He distanced himself from you and your friendship. Soon he became someone you didn’t even know. It started slowly at first, the little bits of anger. He would lose his temper at minuscule things at first, then eventually it became him getting angry at you; saying awful and hurtful things that he would later apologize for. But it was too late, the damage was done and your heart was that little bit more scarred. The dark circles were a dead giveaway that he wasn’t coping and you tried, god did you try to help Spencer Reid in a way you thought a best friend could. You would go to his house, try and get him into fresh air, booking him appointments with psychologists, getting the help of your other friends to try and talk to him. But at the end of the day, you were the bad guy, you pushed and you pushed and you ultimately pushed him away. Derek Morgan said it was bad, that Spencer was suffering but he didn’t want to burden you with it, he kept telling you that you just had to hold on, but how much more could you hold on? How long until a persons toxic coping mechanisms started affecting you as well. You could feel your own mental health deteriorating in the effort to try and fix your best friends. In the end, you had to step away. When he became secretive, when he became someone you didn’t even recognize; you stood in front of him with your tears falling down your cheeks while he sat on the couch in front of you, his brown eyes looking duller than ever, his skin pale and his hair untidy. You swore you would be by his side through thick and thin, but when was enough? You told him that you loved him, because you were. You were completely in love with your geeky ass best friend, but you couldn’t watch him destroy himself any longer. Your chest hurt, your stomach feels like you were being punched repeatedly, you just wanted him back. He stared up at you, his face showing a look of sorrow before switching and his voice was telling you to leave. He didn’t need you, he didn’t need anyone. He was okay and he was coping just fine. You both knew the lies in that sentence. You were heartbroken when you left his apartment, even more so when you heard things being smashed around his apartment. You didn’t dare turn back around though. You had tried and you were exhausted. You were trying to save someone who obviously didn’t want to be saved by you. You couldn’t imagine the horrors Spencer faced every day, you didn’t know how to deal with the aftermath of his job. Sometimes he would show up on your doorstep with a sad smile and he would spend the evening with his head on your shoulder watching old reruns, other times he would spend hours talking to you about something completely irrelevant in hopes that he would forget what he saw that day. But you knew what he was doing, you always knew. That was how you were best friends. From the first meeting at a bookstore in the middle of a rainy September afternoon, to now three years later when you stood at the Greyhound bus terminal with a ticket to California; all you ever wanted was him. Spencer Reid hadn’t contacted you since that fateful night when he told you to leave; you tried to call him, you tried to get someone to get him to call you, but he wouldn’t. Derek said he was okay, he was alive and he was trying to get through to Spencer, but it was a slow process; you wonder if he was even missing you. Guilt flooded your entire being, you were abandoning your best friend when he needed you the most, but all the advice you had been given was you couldn’t help someone who didn’t want it. You had put your own mental health issues on the line by putting them last in helping him. You had family in California, and they were who you were going to stay with for the next few weeks; you were going to give Spencer space, you were going to give him time to heal and when he was ready to speak to you he would. You wanted to leave him a letter, but deep down you knew that you probably wouldn’t give it to him. In it was everything you already told him, that you loved him and all you ever wanted was the best for him. You were sorry that you couldn’t help him in a way that he needed. As the bus pulled in you looked around, slinging your duffle bag over your shoulder. You honestly don’t know what you were expecting, Spencer to come running up to you begging you not to leave, that he was wrong to treat you like that, that he loved you too and he would let you help him. Life wasn’t a fairytale you realized, there was no white night running up to you begging you to stay. In fact, there was an older lady standing behind you impatiently telling you to hurry up and get on board. Tears welled up in your eyes as you found your seat, a window seat because you enjoyed watching the scenery. You pulled out your phone and saw that there were no missed calls, no new messages. Pulling up a new screen, you typed in Spencer’s memorized number; you placed the phone up to your ear and waited. You told yourself that if he answered you were going to go back, you were going to go stay by his side like the best friend would. Two rings. Three rings. The last of the passengers climbed on to the bus as the phone rang out. You swallowed deeply and looked up, trying to blink away the tears. You smiled as an older man came and sat next to you. You looked back down at your phone, willing it, silently begging for it to ring with Spencer’s name on the screen. As fate would have it, the bus departed with silence from the small device. You let out a small sob, covering your mouth as the man next to you handed you a small tissue. He asked if you were okay, you didn’t know how to answer, instead, you responded with boy troubles. The older man gave an understanding look. He pulled out a small bag of unopened beef jerky from his backpack down by his feet. “If there’s one thing I know about boys,” He offered you a piece which you took “They’re not worth it. My name’s John, John Curtis”

[the-magnus-archives-archiver]

Boatswain’s Call

Case: 0110201

Name: Carlita Sloane Subject: Her work on a container ship traveling to Southampton from Porto do Itaqui Date: January 2nd, 2011 Recorded by: Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London

[Archivist (John): Look, Tim, I’d love to discuss this further, but as you can see, I have a recording to do.

Tim: Oh, come on. Look, it’s not a big deal. We just need to do a few of them again.

Archivist: Out of the question.

Tim: It’s just confusing if not. Er, like the garbageman’s statement.

Archivist: Mr. Woodward.

Tim: Yeah, so, you said that Alan Parfitt was reported missing... ah, in August 2009, which would actually be six months after the statement had been given.

Archivist: Obviously it should have been 2008. I misspoke an ‘8’ as a ‘9’. What does it matter?.

Tim: Well, someone noticed.

Archivist: Who?

Tim: Er, Josh Cole – great guy – he’s one of the students using our resources for a dissertation. Um... oh, and here, in Miss Montauk’s statement about her father’s killings. You refer to case, um, 9220611 as case, um, 1106922. Oh, and don’t get me started on the other case numbers around the Hill Top hauntings, they’re a mess!

Archivist: Alleged hauntings. And who honestly cares if I misspoke case 9220611 as 1106922? Another student?

Tim: Well, actually, yes. Um, Samantha Emery – she’s lovely – she’s actually doing a PhD in manifestations...

Archivist: I don’t care. It’s not enough that Gertrude left us with such a pointlessly awkward filing system. Half the time she doesn’t even stay consistent in her own records.

Tim: To be honest with you, er, I don’t really understand the system

 Archivist: Last three digits of the year, then the day, then the month. I don’t know why she did it like that, but I can’t change it now.

Tim: Oh... okay... Alright, so what happens if more than one statement is given on the same day?

Archivist: I... don’t know. It never came up. Was there anything else?

Tim: Oh yeah, just one.

Archivist: Good lord.

Tim: So, in case 8163103 it isn’t clear if Albrecht’s wife is called ‘Clara’ or ‘Carla’ ‘cause you keep switching back and forth...

Archivist: Well, I’m sorry if I found it hard to read a 200-year old letter, written in cursive by a native German speaker. Who complained about that one?

Tim: Oh, it’s, it’s not a complaint. I just noticed actually. Um, look I know you’ve been under a lot of pressure... it’s not a big deal, I just think it might be worth re-recording these statements.

Archivist: No. I don’t have time. I still have a mountain of haphazard statements to get through, not to mention that I need to keep this wretched tape recorder on hand just in case I encounter one of the files too stubborn to work on anything else. And when I do, I have to actually read the damn thing, which is...

Tim (BACKGROUND): Oh, woah, woah... woah!

Archivist: Fine. It’s fine. I just haven’t been sleeping much these last few months, what with all this... worm business. Which reminds me, if you do see Elias, tell him thanks for the extra extinguishers.]

Tim: Oh, yeah. Yeah, sure. It’s getting bad. I mean, Martin keeps showing me his tongue and asking if it “looks infested”. Um. So what do you want me to do about these errors?

Archivist: I really don’t care. Put a Post-It on the tapes or something. I’m not re-recording them. Now if you’ll excuse me...

Tim: Oh, yeah, sure, yep, I’ll let you get back to it. [DOOR CLOSES]

Archivist: Right. Oh, still running? Okay.  Statement of Carlita Sloane, regarding her work on a container ship travelling to Southampton from Porto do Itaqui. Original statement given January the 2nd 2011. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.

Statement begins.]

I’ve been working the shipping routes for years now, so I know there’s plenty of messed up things can happen out there. You remember the old saying ‘worse things happen at sea’? Well, let me tell you it’s just as true now as it ever was. But I’ve never seen weird like I saw when serving on the Tundra. I didn’t even want the job, really, but I didn’t have a lot of choice. We’d just hit Porto do Itaqui in Brazil in late November of last year when the ship I was on got stopped because of ‘cargo irregularities’. I don’t know what it was. Might have been drugs, human trafficking, might have just been a crooked harbour master looking for a kickback, but it didn’t really matter. Point was I had to jump ship.

This wasn’t an easy thing, though. A sailor’s union should be recognised anywhere in the world, but when it came down to it, my membership of Nautilus, a UK union, meant nothing when I was trying to get a place on a cargo run coming out of Brazil. Didn’t help that I’m a woman. A lot of people don’t think shipping is a job for women. Hell, a lot of people who work on ships don’t think it is. You don’t see a lot of us in the trade, and every ounce of respect I got, some dick-waving asshole probably bled for. But that’s fine, I can hold my own, and it hasn’t been such a problem since I shaved my head. It was enough to keep me on land for a good few days, though, as I tried to find another ship to take me on. Well, that and my bad Spanish.

I’m sure I don’t need to tell you how relieved I was when I heard that a British ship had made port. The Tundra. Now at that point I was starting to get a bit desperate, so I was keen to go to the captain and just about beg passage. Screw my qualifications, if needed I’d sign on as a workaway. I could find a better position once I was somewhere I spoke the language properly.

I eventually found the captain in a small bar in one of the seedier areas of the dockside. I’d been told his name was Peter Lukas, but to be honest I wouldn’t have needed his name – he was the only white guy in the place. Even by those standards he was very pale, weirdly so for someone who apparently lived their life on the sea. He sat there at a small table, completely alone, drinking a cup of black coffee. He was staring into the distance, and didn’t seem to notice anything going on around him. I sat down opposite and coughed.

His eyes only moved a fraction of an inch to focus on me, but it felt as though the movement had the weight of a heavy stone door. Like a tomb. Don’t know why that’s what popped into my head, but there you go. I asked if he was Peter Lukas, and he said, “Yes”. I’d gone blank on what to say next, and it was then that I noticed the silence. I looked around to see that the place was now completely empty. Even the bartender was nowhere to be seen, and the only sound was the whir of the ceiling fans above us. The captain was still staring at me, so I swallowed my unease and began to explain my situation to him. I left out the part about the criminal possibilities of my last ship, but was clear that I was in desperate need of a new post. When I had finished, he was quiet for a few minutes. Then he nodded.

“We have one space. Report tomorrow. At dawn.”

That was all he said. And it was all I needed. The Tundra wasn’t difficult to find when I headed to the docks the next day. It was big, already stacked high with an array of colourful shipping containers. I wondered if they’d loaded it up overnight, as there didn’t seem to be much activity from the crane. It was early, and I was glad I was leaving Brazil before the wet season really got going, as the sky was threatening to break. Making my way through the dock I asked around until I was finally pointed to the mate. He was a short man, heavy set with a thick, black beard. His warm, brown skin was stained darker by a life working in the sun, and he didn’t smile when he looked at me. Around his neck, I saw a chain ending in a small brass ball and stem. It looked like an old boatswain’s call, an antique sailor’s whistle. 

I introduced myself, told him what I’d told the captain and gave my qualifications and experience. The bearded mate listened quietly until I finished. Then he shrugged, and said they were in need of an Ordinary Seaman, and I was welcome to the position if I wanted it. OS was a bit of a step down for me, as I’ve been pulling Able Seaman pay for these last few years, but it was a ticket out of Porto do Itaqui, so I jumped at the chance. The mate still didn’t smile, but he did offer his hand and introduced himself in a gentle Dutch accent as Tadeas Dahl, First Mate of the Tundra. I was surprised, as it seemed a bit abrupt to be leaving, and I hadn’t even had time to stow away the duffel bag that was my only luggage. Still, I wasn’t about to disobey the first order I’d been given on a new ship.

The Tundra was pretty normal. I’ve served on a half dozen ships almost identical to it, and I fell into my duties quickly. We set off almost as soon as I was on board, and it was only later I discovered we were heading across the Atlantic towards Southampton. I was very happy to find that out, as I had assumed we’d be making plenty more stops before crossing back to England. With any luck it wouldn’t be more than a couple of weeks before I was home, and those would be spent in maintenance, repainting and taking watches with ‘Iron Mike’, the autopilot.

So that was fine, but I did start to notice a few things on board which didn’t really seem to add up. The first was the crew. They were quiet. Very quiet. I mean, I’ve been on ships where I was pretty much the only native English speaker, and plenty of people prefer to keep to themselves. Hell, not being too comfortable around people is a damn fine reason to go to sea. This was different, though.

It wasn’t just that they didn’t talk much, they seemed uncomfortable with me. They’d avoid eye contact, and only barely acknowledge me if we were on a shift together. As first I thought it was because I was a woman, but then I saw that it wasn’t just me. They avoided each other just as much as they did me. Meals were always quiet, no matter how many people were eating, and there was no friendly games of cards or chat in living quarters. There was no real conversation in any language. It was like they were doing everything in their power not to think about each other. It took me less than a day of ignored hellos and grunted answers before I fell into line, becoming just as quiet as my crewmates.

The only person who spoke was Tadeas Dahl. The mate would walk among the crew, giving instructions and orders in a dozen different languages, as the crew scrambled to carry out his commands. He was just as composed as he had been when I met him, and it soon became clear that, if he had emotions, he kept a tight wrap on them. He would stride along the ship, his antique whistle swinging from his neck. He never actually blew the boatswain’s call, apparently preferring to summon the crew via the intercom or horn. It just hung there, its polished brass heavy around his neck. I didn’t see Captain Lukas at all that first week. I only knew he was onboard because every meal time the cooks would hand a tray of food to the mate, who’d take it up to the captain’s cabin. We never saw the man himself, though.

There was one crewmember who did catch my eye. He was a young guy, white and, from what I could tell, Scottish. I never really got more than his name out of him: Sean Kelly. He had the bunk opposite me, and we were on different shifts, so I would often see him lying there when I returned from my night watch. He didn’t talk any more than the others, but he also didn’t go around with that blank look on his face. He looked scared. 

There were other odd things about the ship, but hands down the weirdest thing, I didn’t notice until a few days out into the Atlantic. Now one of my duties was to check the deck containers were securely in place, none of the twistlocks or lashing rods had broken or come loose. It was usually just busywork – I’d never been on a ship that lost a container, though it does happen. This shift, though, I noticed something wrong. I saw that one of the lashing rods, towards the stern, had broken. And not at one of the ends, or the twistlock itself, but right in the middle of what should have been solid metal. From a distance it looked fine, new paint shining in the sun, but looking closer I saw that it had rusted all the way through. Not just that, but checking out where the rod connected to the container, it became clear that they had rusted together. Fresh paint covered up most of it, but once I knew what I was looking for I saw it everywhere. The shipping containers, all of them, were rusted in place. How could this have happened, though, if they were being changed over at port? How long had the Tundra been sailing with the same cargo?

I decided I had to look inside. Stupid, maybe. If it was something illegal, they might toss me overboard first and ask questions never, but only if I got caught. And I was just about sick of nasty surprises. 

I did it on my next late shift. I kept an eye on the rest of the crew and waited for my moment. I’d already marked out a ground level container where the padlock had practically rusted off. It wouldn’t be difficult to get it open. It was about 3am when I had my chance. I was alone on deck and the wind was howling loud enough to muffle the groan of the container’s rusted hinges. It took three kicks from my steel toecaps to get it open, but finally I was able to get the door ajar. It was so stiff it took almost all my strength to get enough of a gap to walk through, but finally I could see inside.

It was completely empty. There was no sign of cargo, or any markings or debris on the floor that might have shown there had ever been anything inside. I couldn’t believe it, a transport ship with nothing to transport? It didn’t make any sense. I managed to bust two other containers open, but they were the same. As far as I could tell, every container on the ship was empty. I was still trying to figure out what this could mean when I saw a couple of torches approaching. I almost panicked and ran, but where exactly was I going to escape to? The empty, uncaring ocean stretched out for hundreds of miles in every direction. So instead I swallowed my fear, and pushed the door careful closed, trying my best to hide the broken lock before making my way onto the deck.

I was met by the mate and a half dozen other crewmen behind him. He looked at me for a second, then nodded and told me to follow, then he continued walking. Confused, I headed after them as they made their way around the ship, silently collecting up or waking all the rest of the crew. I started to ask what was going on, but the glares I got shut me right up. Finally, when we had what looked like the whole crew together, we walked over to the lifeboat.

Now we definitely weren’t sinking, so I hadn’t really paid much attention to the lifeboat before, but now I looked at it, I realised it wasn’t what I’d have expected. Most modern container ships have a lifeboat that looks more like a lumpy orange blob than a boat. They’re designed to be quickly and safely dropped into the water and tough out whatever conditions the sea might throw at them. But this was an old fashioned boat, with oars and a winch mechanism for lowering it into the water. It didn’t even look like it had any supplies in it. Standing there in front of it was Captain Lukas, as silent as the rest of his crew. 

The Captain nodded, and one by one the crew of the Tundra got on board the lifeboat. I got on too. I mean, what else was I supposed to do? I didn’t know what was going on and no-one seemed to want to tell me, but I sure as hell wasn’t getting left alone on that big empty ship. So I got in and sat down, as a couple of the crew began to lower the lifeboat into the sea. A few others took up the oars, and as soon as we hit the water, they began to row quietly away from the Tundra, which floated, motionless.

The sky was clear and the wind had died down, so the stars reflected perfectly on the still ocean surface. All the lights on the ship had been turned off, so the world and all the empty horizon was only lit by the moon. As we rowed, I looked around my companions on the lifeboat. Everyone I recognised was there, except for one. I checked each face in turn, but I could see no sign of Sean Kelly, my scared bunkmate. Had we left him behind? Was he still back on the ship, sleeping away ignorant of the fact that he was now utterly and completely alone?

Almost as though he knew I was about to speak, Tadeas gave me a warning glare. The mate reached down and took the old brass whistle from his neck. He pressed it to his lips, and blew.

I have never heard a whistle sound like that. It was shrill, so high and piercing that I felt my hair stand on end, but it also seemed distant. Like I was hearing it from far, far away. I don’t know how long he blew that boatswain’s call for, but by the end, I realised we were surrounded by thick sea smoke. We should have far too far south for it, but it rolled and billowed around the lifeboat, obscuring the Tundra. No-one said a word, but I could have sworn a few of my shipmates were crying.

I don’t know how long we floated there, sat in the dark water, but eventually the fog cleared and the mate sounded the boatswain’s call again, this time a short, sharp whistle. We saw the Tundra, dark and still upon the water, and began to row back towards it. The lifeboat was painstakingly raised and the rest of the crew returned to their positions. Sean Kelly was nowhere to be seen. And I never saw him again.

After that night, the atmosphere on board changed. People talked, and you’d occasionally hear actual laughter on board. Games were played, people drank, and there was this sense of relief to it all. I tried to join in, but got dark looks any time I asked about Sean. At one point the third mate, a man named Kim Duong, told me that I should shut up and be grateful, as it hadn’t been “an easy choice”.

I kept to myself the rest of the way, and left the ship as soon as we landed in Southampton. I didn’t even think about my pay until it came through a couple of days later: twenty-five thousand pounds. For barely two weeks work. I don’t mind telling you, it was almost enough to tempt me back.

Almost.

Archivist Notes:

An interesting statement, though difficult to investigate any potentially paranormal activity, as there does not appear to have been anything explicitly supernatural occurring in this statement. A lot of strange happenings and implicit weirdness, but nothing that can be isolated as a ‘supernatural event’. There’s also the fact that even a casual search of port authority records shows the Tundra is a currently active cargo ship operating for Solus Shipping PLC, a company founded and majority owned by Nathaniel Lukas. In addition to such business ventures, the Lukas family also provides funding to several academic and research organisations, including the Magnus Institute. Much as I want to dig further into this, especially given certain parallels with case 0161301, Elias gets very twitchy when we look into anything that might conceivably have funding repercussions. 

It doesn't look like I’m going to be able to do any further investigations into this. Even though the official crew manifest for the Tundra has remained the same for the last ten years. Even though I can’t find any record of actual cargo being loaded or unloaded into it from any UK port. Even though Sean Kelly disappeared from the port of Felixstowe in October 2010, and his body washed up on the coast of Morocco in April 2011, six months later. According to the coroner, it had only been in the water for five days. Maybe I’ll mention it to Elias. Just in case.

[ivadeshin]

Five Soda Maximum (High School AU) pt 15

(need to start from the beginning?)

“What do they do in Germany for dates?”

Caleb laughs and opens a bag of chips. “I would not know.”

“C’mon.” Molly’s tail flicks behind him, amused. Caleb shrugs and tries to think.

“Same thing as Americans, I guess. Kids go to movies. Adults go to restaurants with the lights at... hmm. Medium lights?”

“With the lights dimmed?”

Caleb nods. “With the lights dimmed.”

“And a single tea light in the middle of the table,” Molly adds in a serious hush, pretending to cup his hands around a tiny candle between them. “To roast... your tiny fancy restaurant marshmallows on.”

Caleb snorts. “On toothpicks?”

“Yeah,” Molly agrees. “You could use the ones that come in hot chocolate mix.”

“Nein, those are... too hard, they are like sugary American cereal pieces. What is that brand Jester tried to - oh, Lucky Charms. Those are not marshmallows!”

“They’re... marshmallow... inspired?” Molly pulls out something wrapped in foil, and it turns out to be half a meatball sub. Caleb makes an interested sound, tugging the bag toward him and rummaging for the other half. “Is your stomach thing getting better?”

Caleb feels a mild rush of embarrassment, but it’s more minor than it would have been several weeks ago. The entire group seems to have settled on offering to share what food they’ve got, happy when he eats full portions and not pressuring him when he can’t. It’s a lot less confrontational than what he gets at home, and he feels a little silly for expecting outsiders to treat him the same as his parents. “Yes,” he says honestly. “I think um, just unpacking... knowing my school schedule... understanding more English...”

“Being settled,” Molly finishes for him. Caleb nods.

“Yes, good word. Settled.”

“Is it that new things, um, stress you out, or was it specifically moving from Germany to here?”

“Much more the second thing.” Caleb tucks some hair behind his ear, taking a deep breath and looking around a little. He can smell faint tobacco smoke from the alley they went in - it seems like the employees take their breaks there instead of up here, and so it’s unsurprising that they haven’t seen anyone else come up. That’s probably why Molly picked it.

“Did you move for work?”

Caleb blinks, a little too lost in thought to make sense of the question.

Molly shrugs. “I mean, your dad, or your mom, did they have to move here for a job.”

“No.” Caleb laughs softly. “Their jobs here are... are not better, I think they are, they, they are much worse, actually.” He unwraps his sub and takes a few bites.

“I’m not making the best conversation to get you hungry, am I.” Molly rubs his horn and looks away.

Caleb wants little more in life than to keep Molly from being sad. “S’ok,” he says around a mouthful of meatball. “Did... you... mag...dese?”

Molly laughs. “Yeah, my own secret recipe. I wanted us to have some hot food but I can’t make much.”

Caleb shakes his head and makes a thumbs up sign, glowering at his thumb when he sees that it’s already got a streak of red sauce on it.

“Oh! Here, hold on.” Molly sorts through the bag, pulling out a large plastic chip clip that’s holding on to a small stack of paper napkins. He pulls a couple out and then sets the clip on the table between them. Caleb’s just finished cleaning himself up when his phone chirps.

Nott (green fist emoji): sup

Caleb grins at his phone. “I am going to take a picture and send it to Nott,” he says, and stands up to take a top-down photo of the items spread out on the table. Molly starts to lean back, getting his folded arms out of the shot. “No, it is okay, you are part of the...” Caleb blushes and Molly laughs, leaning in further and crossing his eyes at the camera lens. Caleb takes the picture.

“We should take a selfie later,” Molly is saying, as Caleb clicks through the options to send the attachment to Nott. “My Facebook profile picture is super old.” He stops when Caleb freezes. “Friends take selfies together here, guy friends, it’s-”

“I cannot go on Facebook,” Caleb says too quickly. “I mean, I can. I can look at it but I cannot, no pictures.”

Molly blinks. “Even if I don’t tag you?”

Caleb shakes his head quickly. “I’m sorry, it’s, it’s complicated.”

“How would your parents even know? I’m not trying to be an asshole, I just...” Molly gestures with the remains of his sandwich. “You filled out that form to not be in the yearbook, and it’s like, there are parts of it I don’t get, I guess.”

“Those two things are not about my parents, exactly.” Caleb looks down at his sub, sitting up a little straighter and making himself finish it before he says anything else that’s going to send him into stomach cramps. He’s almost done when he realizes Molly hasn’t said anything, is waiting on him, aware that there’s more. “I cannot have my face show up on the internet. Neither can my parents. We came to America because we could not hide well in Germany.”

Molly’s voice gets quiet. “Are you serious?”

“Yes.” Caleb crumples up his tinfoil very carefully, turning the corners inward and then the corners made by that, over and over. “It is not, we are not terrorists or something. The German government is not mad at us.”

Molly doesn’t say anything.

“It is hard to explain and I have not told anyone yet. I do not want people to know. I had to... there is a queue you must wait in, they decide if you can m-move to the U.S. and we had to go quickly so, so I made up, I.” Caleb takes in a shuddering breath and realizes he’s trembling a little. He tries to complete the sentence, but his mouth opens and nothing comes out. The table shifts a little as Molly gets up, and Caleb looks up and sees Molly rushing around the side to scoot in next to him, grabbing his hand on the table and squeezing it.

“Are you having a panic attack?”

“I do not know,” Caleb says, and laughs a little desperately. “I am sorry... this... it is all very...”

Molly shakes his head several times, then tilts his head so his left horn is resting gently against Caleb’s right temple. “Um. I can’t remember anything from before I was fourteen.”

Caleb inhales slowly. “A... again, please?”

“I can’t remember anything from my life from before I was fourteen. I only remember things from age fourteen to now.” Molly’s face isn’t visible to Caleb right now, but he sounds like he’s smiling and also like he’s kind of hurt. “Does that help? I’m not trying to one-up you, I’m just. Trying to make sure you don’t feel weird.”

That certainly wasn’t what Caleb was expecting to hear. “You... hit your head? Something hit your head?”

“No.” Molly’s thumb strokes over his fingers in slow, gentle sweeps. “They did a bunch of scans because that’s what everyone figured, but there was no, you know, internal swelling, or skull damage, or any brain damage...”

“Are you sick?” Caleb sounds about as scared as he feels.

“No, there’s no reason to think so.” Molly pulls back and frowns at Caleb’s expression “I think I scared you worse. Shit.” He laughs and shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I kind of panicked.”

“But that is real, what you said.”

“Yeah, it’s really real. I don’t remember anything. They think it might be psychological but that’s, like, impossible to rule out, so it’s always on the table? If that makes sense?”

Caleb tries to reach into his mind, searching for what he knows about memories and brains and... “Trauma, sometimes it gets locked up and you cannot ... think of it?”

“Yeah.” Molly shrugs. “Like, to be fair, I was in a city famous for runaways and gay homeless kids who got one-way tickets from their families, so if something awful happened to me, I was in good company.”

“I’m sorry, one-way tickets, I do not understand.”

“Like, if your shitty family finds out you’re gay, they give you a one-way ticket to a big city and tell you to never come back...” Molly nods at Caleb’s disgusted expression. “Yeah.”

“That is awful.” Caleb tries to imagine this. “My parents would never...”

“Yeah, mine maybe did.” Molly shrugs. “Or maybe they were great and died! Or, I don’t know.”

“What,” Caleb tries to digest this. “What is your first memory?”

“Like, a haze of a few days where I was lost and trying to find a familiar street, and then I gave up on that and begged, but that wasn’t getting me much money...” Molly peeks up, maybe gauging Caleb’s reaction so far. “Some, um, some working girls found me... wandering around lost, so they sort of adopted me.”

“--what?”

“They were like, ‘You’re a kid! It’s not safe out here!’ They yelled at me and told me I was a fucking idiot and I could get hurt and... and they took me to a Waffle House and bought me like all the food I could eat.” Molly sniffs. Caleb watches his face, the sad sort of calmness of it. “I stayed on one of their couches for a few weeks. I hung out with them a lot and one day they got busted and, um, and the cops thought I was, you know...”

“...also working?”

“Yeah.” Molly laughs. “I busked, sure. Other than that I was in their apartment. One of them had been making me watch educational tv to make up for the fact that I wasn’t going to school. Like... yeah.”

“Did you get arrested?”

“At first? Sort of? They couldn’t process me because I didn’t have any ID or anything, and the cops, um, were mostly human, it was one of the tiefling girls that finally convinced them I was a young kid, and they did some blood test and were like, ‘oh, shit, you’re a minor’, and then my case changed departments like seven times... finally most of the girls got out by giving up dealers’ names and I went into the foster system.”

Caleb frowns. “So your name is...”

“Made up.” Molly shrugs. “The girls called me ‘Empty Stomach’, and then just ‘Empty’, and that sort of sounded like ‘M.T.’, and so by the time the sting happened I was M.T. It’s sort of dumb.”

“It is not dumb.” Caleb turns his hand awkwardly under Molly’s, wrapping his fingers around Molly’s hand and squeezing it. “I like it a lot.”

Molly snorts and ducks his head a little further. Caleb doubles down, switching his left hand to hold Molly’s so he can reach out with his right hand, initiating a hug across the other boy’s shoulders.

“Do you ever remember more pieces? Or is it just... not there?”

“Just not there.” Molly pulls his hand free, standing up - but it’s only to pull his food to this side of the table, so he can resume eating without moving away. Caleb smiles. “My memory of things now is pretty normal. There’s just, you know, nothing before a certain time.”

Caleb ruminates over this for a while, taking a drink from his water bottle. “Do other people know?”

“Gustav knows. Yasha knows. Tova knows. Bosun and the twins don’t.”

Caleb nods. “I will not say.”

“It’s not bad, I’m not embarrassed, it’s just... weird.” Molly shrugs. “Like yours, I guess.” When Caleb laughs hollowly, Molly hesitates. “Yours... is bad?”

“Remember the ‘huge mistake?’”

Molly frowns. “That you texted about? It’s that? You did -  what the hell could you have done to make your family have to move?” He pales a little and goes quiet. “Did you kill somebody by accident?”

“What!? No.” Caleb slouches on the bench. “I... my friends, we liked computers, and... we thought we were, you know, big shots.” They were so stupid, Caleb thinks. They were kids. “We had, you know, a computer club at school, we would use proxies and do whatever we wanted... we got dark web browsers and decided we would take down one of the little empires on there. They sold, um, very awful videos. And we tricked them and got some information on some of ... of the people who made the videos, and leaked it to the police. They were busted. Nobody...”

“You were like internet super heroes?”

“No!” Caleb hits the table, making it reverberate. “We were idiots. We could have died. They were criminals and they did not care, and, and, and they, they did not all, they were not all there, they were all in different countries. So some were arrested, the rest were very mad... they traced us, they started calling our houses, watching us on security cameras, they wanted us to pay.”

“Holy shit.”

“We had to tell our parents what we did. Local police could not do anything, these men were in other countries, using spoof phone numbers, hiring...” Caleb buries his face in his arms and shakes.

“Caleb.” Molly’s hand is light between his shoulder blades. Caleb tries to take full breaths, but he can’t, so he just gasps for air as quietly as possible, over and over, until he feels an insistent swatting feeling on his thigh. When he moves his arms to see, it’s Molly’s tail, giving him the gentle little friendly smacks like during their lunches. In spite of himself, Caleb chokes out a brief laugh, and Molly tilts into him and covers his body with his.

“I do, I do not think I make much sense,” Caleb mumbles into Molly’s shirt.

“You tried to stop some shitty people and they tried to get back at you?”

“Yes.”

“And they wouldn’t stop and the cops wouldn’t help?”

“Yes.” Caleb hiccups. “They said they would poison my friend’s family. And burn my house down. They had plans for all three of us.”

Molly holds him tighter.

“I am sorry I am a big mess.” Caleb can feel the perspiration covering his skin getting Molly’s shirt damp. “I think maybe I am not good for dating.”

Molly is still for a moment, then tucks his head in carefully, pressing his lips to a spot on Caleb’s neck. “We’ll just have to keep trying until we’ve both run out of crazy fucking stories.”

[randompandagirl]

So I just reread my Nano from last year (for the first time) that I thought was a piece of garbage... and it was much better than I thought it was. It’s not amazing, but it definitely made me laugh at bits (I think I’m hilarious, honestly). Anyway, I actually want to write more in it for fun. I also decided I am going to post it on here because I feel like it. So below is Chapter One. Even if it gets no comments I will probably post the other three chapter later.

This story is about a school for Time Travelers.

Elsewhere Chapter One “And afraid of a disaster, Miss Clavel ran faster and faster.” - Madeline, Ludwig Bemelmans  

                                                         Kinsley’s POV

“And you have absolutely no say?” Yesenia asked, giving me the side eye as she popped another cherry into her mouth.

  I shook my head. “No say whatsoever. I tried begging, I tried bargaining, I tried threatening. Nothing.” 

 “Well that's stupid. It's not like you're moving, or some delinquent! Why in the world does your mom think it's a good idea to send you to a boarding school for senior year? And besides, aren't boarding schools for like, super rich people?” Yesenia was about to grab another cherry but I quickly put the lid on the container and moved them away. I sighed as I did so and shook my head. 

  “Apparently I am getting a scholarship or something.” Which honestly made no sense to me, nothing did about this situation, but this least of all. I was a slightly below average student and I was held back in seventh grade, so I was also older than everyone else (except Keegan, but then, even some of the teachers were younger than him). If that doesn't scream not scholarship material I don't know what does. Also, I don't remember applying for anything. I would have remembered applying for a fancy school in New Zealand. 

   Yesenia, now that the food was out of her reach, stood, leaving me to sit alone on the park bench. “So you're really leaving tomorrow.” 

  I nodded up at her, lifting my hand to block out the sun.

   “That's just great.  Now I'll have to sit with Becky for lunch.” She sighed and then shrugged. “I guess I'll see you when I see you.”

    I just nodded again and then watched her as she left. Yesenia had been the last person on my list of people to say goodbye to before I left. It went just as I thought it would. We weren't that close, but I knew she would be mad if I didn't at least try to make an effort. Not that I would be here to see, but I know for a fact she would have been subtweeting me for weeks.

  I sighed opening up the cherries and tossing one in my mouth.  I knew I should probably be heading home, but who knows when the next time I would be in North Carolina was?  I wanted to enjoy the sights and sounds one last time.

   I closed my eyes and leaned my head back  and just soaked up the sun, letting my mind race.

   When my mother had told me three weeks ago that I would be attending Sudbrink Academy in New Zealand for my senior year I thought she had finally lost it.  I thought for sure it was a scam, so I googled it. I called the school and talked to real people. It was not a scam, everything they said seemed legit. 

 Even so I was skeptical. I was still skeptical. I would probably stay that way until started classes. Who knows, maybe even still.

   A buzzing feeling on my leg alerted me to the fact my mother was calling. She always called. Never texted. Which meant I always had to have my phone at least on vibrate.

   I sat up, opening my eyes, and answered her call. “Yes?”

   “You're still meeting me and Dan for dinner, right?” Her voice sounded frantic. It always sounded frantic. She always seemed to be worried about something or anxious about another. 

  “Yes. I told you, five thirty.” I quickly checked the time on my phone. “It's five. I've got time.”

    “Okay, okay! I just wanted to make sure you remembered. I will see you there!” She hung up before I could reply.

    I knew I should probably go home and make myself presentable before going out to dinner with my mother and her boyfriend, but I didn't really have much left that wasn't already packed away. So instead I just sat on the park bench just a little while longer and watched as a couple of kindergartners chased each other across the playground.

   As I watched I began to feel myself zoning out. Everything started to feel foggy and my vision became cloudy. I could no longer hear the shouts of the little girls. My stomach clenched as I realized what was happening. I forced myself to drop my head into my lap and covered my ears with my hands.

    “You're here, you're fine. You're here, you're fine.” I muttered to myself until I once again heard the little childish screams. I lifted my head and everything was back to normal. I had to get out of here. I threw the cherries into my backpack and slipped it on. As I headed for my bike chained up against a near by tree I counted. I counted how many episodes I had had in the past month. Seven. This was my seventh episode.

   I wasn't quite sure what was happening but it made me feel sick to my stomach. It felt like I was was being erased. It was the only way I could describe it, and did, to my therapist.  She had tried to help, I know she had, but nothing changed; it was still happening.

   My thoughts kept moving as I started to bike to the restaurant. Truthfully, and this was not something I had told anyone, but I was actually happy to be leaving. The circumstances that were making it happen made no sense, but I had lied to Yesenia when I said I had tried everything

.   When my mother told me, I, of course, at first was outraged, but the more I thought of it, the more I wanted it. To leave.  I hated my school, I really didn't have a best friend, or even a close friend. My boyfriend and I had broken up a bit before the school news (good riddance) and my mother was... well... my mother. 

  It wasn't her fault. She had a problem, and I know she is taking her meds, and trying her best, but at the end of the day, I just feel like we're two people living in the same apartment  for convenience only. I know that is a horrible way to view a parent, and there are some days where she is a mother. But most days we barely see each other.

   Me leaving would be best for both of us. She would be able to focus on Dan and her job, and I wouldn't have to feel guilty for feeling like she was my child more than my mother.

Dinner went just as well as expected. I was waited almost a half an hour for my mother and Dan to arrive at the restaurant and then had to endure Dan's quips such as, “Are you sure your Denise's daughter? Maybe you were switched at birth! Like that tv show!”

   Dan was a nice guy and good to my mom; he could just be terribly stupid at times.  The truth is, Dan wasn't the only one to have made those 'jokes' though. That's what happens when your mom is blonde and blue-eyed and your father was a random Japanese exchange student that your mother can't remember the name of.  You end up looking nothing like your only blood relative that you know. With my black hair and hazel eyes, the only part of us that look even slightly familiar is our noses: long and narrow.

   So the comments were a common occurrence, though Dan had been with my mother for about a year now, so now they were just annoying.

   After dinner was done my mother and I went home where we sat on the couch and watched Singing in the Rain. Well, my mother slept and I watched as I painted my nails. I glanced at her every once in a while and couldn't help the sense of relief that rushed through me whenever I thought about tomorrow.  I glanced one more time at my mother, quietly snoring with her mouth open, and leaned over to place a blanket over her.

     Tomorrow I would hop on a plane and would be gone for almost a year. Nothing to worry about but my school work. No teachers that already hated me. No fake friends to keep up with. No ex-boyfriend to avoid. I could completely start over. Be someone totally different. 

~~  I had never been on a plane before. In fact I have never been out of North Carolina before so my eyes were everywhere every step of the way. The flight had been paid for by the school, which I was pretty sure was not protocol, but neither my mother nor I questioned it because $2,000 for a plane ticket was two thousand dollars out of our price range. It was a nice flight, but was ridiculously long and by the time we landed I was very discombobulated.

   When I stepped off of the plane, after going through customs, I was surprised to see someone standing there waiting for me. I knew they were waiting for me by the sign that held my name in big block letters: Kinsley Bennett.

   “I'm Kinsley Bennett.” I said, walking closer to the woman that stood there, my feet feeling like lead with each step. She smiled warmly at me.

   “Kinsley, I'm Ursula! I am one of the caretakers of the grounds at Sudbrink Academy! Come with me, and we will gather your belongings and be on our way!”

  I wasn't sure what time it was, but I knew everything she said was way to bright for me. I yawned discreetly trying to hide it behind a hand and followed her through the airport to the baggage claim where thankfully all my luggage was. I had heard stories about baggage being lost or damaged and had worried about that the last hour of the flight.

   All the while Ursula talked, but I was so tired that nothing she said registered with me whatsoever. I remember thinking vaguely how dangerous it was that I was not fully aware of my surroundings, but not for long. Once we got into her car she insisted I sleep for it was a bit of a drive to the Academy and I promptly obeyed.

When I woke up I was no longer in the car. That was the very first thing I noticed because my body was outstretched and everything was still. My eyes flew open and I sat up fast

.   “Your awake!” 

   The voice was accented, British, and young sounding and not at all familiar. My head jerked to where the voice came from and I saw a teenage girl sitting on a bed across the room. I looked down and saw that I was in a bed as well.   

“What the hell.” I stated. “How did I get in here?”

    The girl smiled brightly, and two dimples appeared on either side of her cheeks and her blonde ponytail swung as she stood to her feet.

    “Ursula brought you in! She tried to wake you up but she said you were sleeping like the dead, so she carried you in! I helped bring in your luggage. I didn't open anything, I swear!”

    I didn't answer her I just peeled the blanket off of my body my face scrunched up in a scowl. How did Ursula carry me in? What kind of person carries a sleeping nineteen year old. 

   “I'm Tilly by the way! Short for Matilda.” The girl said standing in front of me now with her hand outstretched.

   I looked at her hand and then up and her little cherub face and then shook her hand reluctantly.

   “Kinsley.” I stood and immediately went for my things. “How long did I sleep. What time is it?”

   Tilly titled her head to side as she thought. “Well I think it's been about four hours since Ursula dropped you off. I just came back from dinner. I'm your roommate by the way, if you didn't guess that by now!”

    I found what I was looking for, my hair brush, and sat back on the edge of my bed. “Great, I am going to have some major jet lag.” I sighed and then looked at Tilly again. “I'm sorry, but I'm still a little weirded out about the whole someone carried me in here thing.”

    Tilly laughed. “Well, that's Ursula for you! She treats us all like her children. She is such a sweetheart!”

    I made a non-commital grunt as I hit a snag in my hair. “Sure.'” 

   “Well, I can show you the dinning hall if you're hungry!” Everything this girl said was bright and cheery. I was not sure how I was gonna last with her as my room mate for a year.  She was the kind of person I usually avoided. I didn't have the stomach for twenty-four seven optimism. Here was hoping we weren't in any of the same classes.

   I pulled the hair brush through my hair in one last stroke and then dropped it to my bed and stood. “Do we have curfew?” I asked. 

   “Ten o'clock!”

   “Right, okay. Uh, thanks for offering, but I'm gonna just... go by myself.”  

  Tilly's smile faltered just for a moment, but then was back. “Okay!  The dinning room is on the floor level. All the dorm rooms are on the top two levels. The classrooms are in between. We are in the east wing, room 23!”

    “Thanks.” I looked around for my purse, which I found on the dresser that stood next to my bed and grabbed my phone.

    Without another word I left the room and started wandering around for an elevator.  This place was huge, I soon realized. I mean, I had seen the pictures on it's website, but I was guess I thought it was deceiving. After going down hallway after hallway of rooms I finally found an elevator. I pushed the down button and waited.

   When the doors opened one other person was inside. It was the first person I had seen since Tilly. I had heard some people behind doors, but not a single person had been in the halls. It was strange.

   I stepped into the elevator and pushed the button for ground level and then eased myself onto the elevator wall. I glanced at the other person with me. It was a young man, probably roughly my age, who looked maybe Mexican? He had wild curly hair that came to rest just above his shoulder and the longest eyelashes I had ever seen on a guy. I only noticed them because his eyes were closed.

   He had earbuds in and must have been listening to music. I don't think he even noticed me get on.  I looked back at the panel of buttons and saw that we were on the eighth floor out of ten. That was ridiculous. I swore under my breath. 

  “You're new here, aren't you.” The voice definitely held a Spanish accent.

   I rolled my eyes. “How can you tell?” 

  “You're leaning against the freshly painted wall.”

  “What!” I cried jumping off of the wall, throwing a look over my shoulder. Sure enough there was yellow paint on my shirt. I groaned. 

   “That's great.” I muttered. “Who paints a wall and doesn't put up a sign?”  

  The boy shrugged, a small smile on his face, and puts his ear buds back in. 

    I frowned and  looked to see what floor we were on. Two. I sighed; I wanted to change my shirt, but I was also hungry. My stomach rumbled at the thought of food. Dinning hall it was. The doors opened and I stepped out, the boy following me. Thankfully he headed in the opposite direction. 

   I wondered briefly how many people he was going to tell that the new girl just branded herself as much with a coat of paint. I sighed and kept walking down the hall I had chosen. Thankfully the Dinning hall was not far and still open. 

   I checked my phone. It was six and a couple of kids were still eating. The dining hall was not like any cafeteria I had been in. It actually gave me Harry Potter feels as I surveyed the area. There were long tables in rows, but instead of a head table, it was a food bar with what looked to be the kitchen peaking through a hole in the wall. 

  Dinner was uneventful. No one came up to me and I approached no one. I wandered around the ground level a bit, finding the main entrance and a library before I backtracked to the elevator and returned to my room. 

  Tilly was still there and was sitting at her desk (there were side by side desks facing out the windows, I assumed the other desk was mine) using a sewing machine.  After I changed into some pjs (I doubted that I would be going out again) I sat down on bed once again and watched her. I suppose I should know some things about her so that I could be prepared. 

   “So, Tilly.” I started.

    She lifted her head from her sewing machine and stopped, turning in her chair to smile at me. “Kinsley! You found your way back!”  

  “Yeah. So, how long have you been going to school here?” 

   She hesitated and then answered slowly, “Well... I've been here since I was ten. I actually live here.” 

   My eyebrows rose in question. “You live here? What, do your parents teach here or something?”

    She looked down at her hands that were  gripping the back of her wooden chair. “Ah, no, actually. My parents passed away when I was young. The board thought this would be the safest place for me.” 

   Now I was really confused. “What?”

   Her eyes lifted to mine and realization seemed to pass over her face. “Oh, right. You're new. Completely new. Don't worry, tomorrow at Assembly everything will make more sense.”

    I sure hoped she was right because at that moment I was confused as hell.  Assembly was at eight thirty in the morning, which normally would be fine, but I was messed up with the time difference. I missed breakfast, but I had some gushers in my purse that I quickly consumed. Unlike the night before I didn't want to wander my way to Assembly and miss being late so I went with Tilly whose pony tail was definitely hair sprayed and barely moved.

   We found seats in the back which surprised me because Tilly seemed more like a front row Teacher's Pet kind of girl.  However, I did not complain as I slid into my seat and looked around.

   The room was actually an auditorium, it looked like it could seat at least five hundred people, though there was definitely not that many people. There was stage where two tables sat with eight people sitting behind them. One person was at the microphone. It was a large, tall man wearing a very sharp suit. In fact, everyone sitting at the tables seemed to be dressed really well.

   I looked down at my clothing, which was a pair of skinny jeans and a white and black striped shirt. I wasn't slumming it, but I also wasn't tea with the Queen. I shot a glance around the auditorium just to check out everyone else, but they all seemed to be dressed pretty normal was well.

   “Hello, and welcome everyone to Sudbrink Academy!” The man at the microphone's voice boomed throughout the auditorium. Everyone's head swiveled to the stage and a hush fell over the room.

   “Most of you are returns, but we do have a few new students joining us. Six to be exact, and I just want to personally welcome you. I am the Head of Council, Dr. Jansen.  After Assembly all six of you will join me in my office, for a more in depth briefing.” 

  Tilly grabbed my arm and gave it a squeeze, giving me an excited smile. I forced a smile back as I yanked my arm back, frowning as soon as she looked away.

    “For everyone else, we are glad you decided to come back and learn another year with us. It is important to always learn and perfect your craft and here at Sudbrink you are learning from the best. As usual protocol, all traveling must be approved by a member of the board only, no exceptions. We do not want any trouble. Now, I would like our newest students to join me in my office, while everyone else, please give your full attention to Professor Lin.”

   I hesitated for a moment. I was not really in the mood to stand and draw attention to myself, but I had a feeling if I didn't get up, Tilly would do something, so I eventually stood and followed two other kids that were leaving the auditorium.

   None of us said anything as we followed Dr. Jansen to his office. As we were walking  I counted in my head and only came up with five of us. I wondered where the other student was, though the thought quickly passed when Dr. Jansen called me to his office first.

   “Kinsley Bennett.”  It must have been alphabetical.

   Once we were seated in his office he began. “I am so glad you could join us Kinsley.”

   “Thanks for having me... I just have a few questions-” I started, but he held up a hand to stop me. I shut my mouth, irritated, but I wasn't about to make a fuss. I was here on scholarship; I could be shipped home at any moment. And no matter how weird this was, I just got here and I did not want to leave just yet.  

 “I'm sure you have lots of questions, Miss Bennett, and I am hoping I can answer them. I am going to just go ahead and tell you why you are here. A couple of years ago we took notice of  you. We could sense a Traveling, but it was never constant so it took us a while to find you, but when we did we knew you had to be here. Had to be trained.

  Miss Bennett, you are what we call, a Traveler.” He took a pause here as if he was waiting for a reaction. I felt void of all emotion. What the hell was he talking about? I was really stuck on the whole, they had been watching me a while thing. 

   “What?” I finally said, because it did not seem like he was going to go on until I expressed interest in what he was saying.

    “You are a Traveler. You Travel.” Again he paused. I think he was getting some weird sense of joy from my utter lack of understanding.

   “Um, no, I stay at home and watch tv. This is the first time I've even been out of my hometown.”

    He laughed then and I narrowed my eyes. “No, no, my dear girl. Travel as in, time. And space. And parallels.”

     I knew it. I knew this whole scholarship thing was a scam. This was some kind of cult, or a big kidnapping scheme. I stood up, ready to flee.

    Dr. Jansen did not really seem all that fazed. “Miss Bennett, do please sit. I understand you may be experiencing confusion, but let me explain further. “  

  Again he waited for me. He was not going to speak until I sat, and I small part of me wanted to know how he was going to explain away all the bat shit crazy he just spewed. So I sat.

    “Miss Bennett, have you ever been somewhere, maybe alone, maybe with a group of people, and then all of a sudden you are not where you once were? Have you ever been in one place, and then it seemed to fade away and then you were in another? Have you ever felt like, you were being erased from right now?”

    My mouth became dry as he spoke. It was like he had sat in on my therapy sessions. My therapist was the only person I had every told any of that to. So unless he had some how gotten a hold of her and tortured confidential information out of her then...  Then what, I wasn't sure. But it was something. It had to mean something.

    “I have never traveled through time, or space or whatever.” I finally said,  and just saying that out loud made me feel like an idiot.

    “No, you are right about that, but that is only because you don't know how. It's in your blood, your body knows what it was meant to do, but your mind has been hesitant. Here at Sudbrink Academy we will teach you all you need to know about Traveling.”

    He seemed to earnest and sincere, but like, weren't cult leaders like that? And Tilly...  

  “So... everyone here can time travel?” I asked.

   He nodded. “Yes, everyone who teaches and attends this school is a Traveler. For many people this is home. I am not sure if you noticed but we have people of many different ages here. Travelers are all family.”

    I had not noticed the age difference thing, but I didn't really pay that much attention to the people. I didn't know what to do. I didn't have the money to go home,and no outdoor survival instincts to be heard of so I couldn't just run away. 

And what if...    What if he was telling the truth?    I know it sounded crazy but it would explain a couple of things. It would definitely explain the feeling I had of not being all quite here.  Then, without another thought, I decided to believe him. To trust him. 

   “So... I'm a Traveler.” 

   As if he could hear my decision in my voice he nodded and smiled. “Yes, Miss Kinsley. I know you may have a plethora of questions, but that is what this school is for. To learn more about yourself. Now, unless you have any supremely pressing needs, I will need to speak to the next new student.”

    I thought for a moment. What qualified as a supremely pressing need? “Um, I guess not.” I stood and he did as well and shook my hand. He opened the door for me and I exited, letting the next person go in. 

   Once in the hall a smartly dressed man who sat at a desk (he looked like a secretary?), called my name. I walked over to him and he handed me a folder with my name on it. I took it and opened it, leafing through the pages. 

   “That holds your schedule for this first semester and some basic rules to follow and a brief history.” He said this all kind of monotone, like he did it all the time and was sick of it.  

  “Thanks.” I said as I walked away. I took out some stapled papers that read: Schedule, on the front. I read the first page and realized that school didn't technically start till tomorrow. I was relieved. I still wanted to wrap my mind around all of this crazy, and read the rules and history. The history for sure, maybe it would help everything make more sense. 

[itsadrizzit]

2, 5 and 8, please!

THANKS! Answers are under the cut because, as usual, I get LONG WINDED! I just love talking about my work, okay?

Fanfic Day Meme

2. What is your favourite snippet of dialogue?

Can I be EXTRA and give you some from all my fics (the recent ones anyway?) I feel like they all have this one moment that’s like…ah ha that dialogue bit was PERFECTION

Maybe It Will All Come Back to Me

‘You’re not half as charming as you think you are. Now stop arsing about, I want coffee.’

‘Fine,’ Vincent said, turning back to the stove. ‘I know how dangerous it is to get between you and your coffee. I’d hate to put my life at risk.’

‘Smart. I knew there was a reason I liked you.’

‘Not my devastating good looks and captivating personality?’

‘Just make coffee.’

‘Hmm okay. But only because I fear for my safety if I don’t.’

Merry Christmas, Here’s to Many More

“What are you watching?”

“Great British Bake Off.” Vincent said, nonchalant, as though this were a thing he did every day at eight thirty in the morning.

“Great…what? Have you been watching a baking show for three hours?”

“There’s nothing else on. I’ve seen all these already, but when I tuned in they were making stroopwafels and it made me think of home so I left it.”

“Hmm.” Chris could understand that. Honestly, he could go for a stroopwafel and coffee himself right now, but he had a match tomorrow and needed to be careful what he ate—even on Christmas.

Then his brain caught up with Vincent’s words and he lifted his head from Vincent’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, did you say you’ve seen all these already? Since when do you watch Great British Bake Off?”

Vincent shrugged and pursed his lips, eyes turned to the floor, his cheeks tinged with the barest hint of pink. “I…well I started watching it when I moved here, honestly, but I’ve been watching back seasons while I’ve been away and I watched the latest season online. I confess I’m a bit hooked.”

“But…” Chris started and then stopped because Vincent could watch whatever he wanted but why hadn’t he heard about this baking show obsession before now? “You don’t bake, do you? Unless you were holding out on me for all those months.”

“No. I just…It all looks so good and I can’t actually eat cake because of training, which I know is sort of like torturing yourself, but the whole idea of it is just…” a pause and then he set himself, jaw strong and his voice firm as he lifted his eyes from their fixed stare at the floor. “I really like cake, Christian, leave me alone.”

We’re Less Than Half As Close As I Want to Be

Vincent looked down at the bag in his hands, then squinted at the screen, “You got me a Denmark shirt?”

“Open it all the way up,” Christian said. “I promise it will make sense eventually.”

Vincent lifted the adhesive flap and slipped the shirt out onto his lap. Fabric cool and smooth against his hands, although the underside had ridges in it  where the designers had ruined an otherwise sharp and sleek kit by carving an outline of a viking into it.

He hoped his uncontrolled eye roll had been obscured from Christian’s view when he held up the shirt to examine it.

“This shirt is terrible,” Vincent said.

Christian let out a snort of protest, which Vincent ignored, then said, “Turn it around. The front is just regular.”

Vincent did as he’d been instructed, flipping the shirt over at his hands and staring at the back. It wasn’t much better than the front, really—bizarre font that made most of the players’ names nearly unreadable. This one no different. White lettering stark against the bright red background.

He blinked at the shirt for a few seconds. Staring. Processing. Taking it all in. Trying to understand what this was supposed to mean.

“Christian what the hell?”

“I got you a shirt.”

Vincent lowered the shirt to his lap so he could stare down at the screen. “I see that, but…I’m not Danish.”

“No. You’re not. But I am.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Vincent said. “None of this makes any sense. It’s a Denmark shirt, but it’s not your shirt. It’s…mine? Or, well, it has my name on it. But your number? Or mine? Although not your number, really, or my number but…”

Stay in My Eyeline

Hard to choose for this one because everything Daley says is great, but I love Chris and the Belgians, so…

“Why would any of us make it easier for you to continue making these abysmally bad life choices, Chris?” Toby asked.

“Please don’t make me call him.” Chris was ordinarily above begging, especially when he knew his friends would hold it over him for as long as they could, but these were extenuating circumstances.

“Christiaan ,” Toby said in the disapproving tone of a Dutch opa he reserved for whenever Chris was being particularly stupid about something involving Vincent. “If you want to do something this monumentally idiotic, then you’re going to have to work for it. I’m certainly not going to enable you.”

“Nor I,” Jan said.

“Well I’m not doing it,” Mousa said with a shrug. “But don’t think I don’t want to find out what happens when you do. I sort of wish we could watch it over a group chat.”

Chris threw a hand in the air. “I thought friends were supposed to help and support one another in their time of need.”

“How badly do you want to do this, Chris?” Jan asked. “Bad enough that you’re willing to go through all of this? Think on it.”

His friends were being insufferable, but Chris couldn’t blame them for it. The whole thing was probably hilarious, really, if you weren’t the one who had to call your ex and ask him to get you tickets to watch your current boyfriend, who was on the same team as your ex, play a match. With the added complication that as far as Chris was aware neither of them knew about his involvement with the other.

When had Chris’s life gotten this complicated? All he’d ever wanted to do was put his head down and play football, not end up in a string of problematic relationships with members of the Dutch National Team.

“And what am I supposed to say to him when I call? ‘Hi, sorry I’ve been going out of my way to ignore you for five years. Can you get me a ticket to your match today? Thanks, that’s so great of you. Just so you know, this doesn’t make us friends or anything, I just really need a ticket and you’re the only one I can call. Okay?”

“Overdramatic much?” Mousa asked, raising one eyebrow.

This May Be My Last Song

I cut this one for length because I needed to get the whole thing in but it was LONG, so I took out some of the narrative.

“We’re sort of a mess, aren’t we?”

“Hmmm,” Christian said. “A beautiful mess, yes. After all, here’s me all businesslike and telling you to leave me behind and go to Brighton and then the next second getting all sentimental because you’re laying in bed making that face.”

“What face?”

“Your ‘I really want to fuck you right now’ face.”

He scowled down at the phone where Christian’s face was quirked into a wide grin, the corners of his eyes crinkling up as he laughed at Vincent.

“I don’t have a face for that.”

“Mmmm.” Christian’s voice shaking, with laughter this time, and none of this was funny thank you very much. “Not true. You have a face for everything. Lucky for you, that one is particularly hard to resist.”

“Stop laughing! I do not have an I want to fuck you face.” His voice a bit louder than he’d intended. Echoing off the walls and through the sparse, open space.

The click of a door handle a second later and Tonny’s voice around the corner. “Do I want to know?”

“It’s…uhhh…” Vincent said, flashing a warning look down at Christian as he scrambled for the button to mute the audio.

“None of my goddamn business,” Tonny said, lifting his headphones from the bedside table and sliding them around his neck. “I’ll just…be over here. You…keep on doing whatever it is you’re doing. Don’t worry about me.”

Heat rising in Vincent’s cheeks. “I…ummm.”

Tonny held up a hand and shoved his headphones over his ears. On screen, Vincent found himself staring at the ceiling of Christian’s hotel room, phone abandoned on the bed as Christian continued his fits of laughter.

Vincent had just straightened up, earphones in hand, when Tonny slipped his headphones off the ear closest to Vincent.

“To be fair to whoever that is, you do though,” he said, his voice matter-of-fact.

Vincent’s face burning hot now, and how did Tonny know anything about his sex face?

“I…oh my God, what?” Vincent’s head in his hands because this was not happening to him.

“You have a face. For everything. Definitely for that.” Tonny shoved his headphones back on his ears and flashed Vincent a thumbs up.

Vincent flopped onto the bed, shoved the headphones into their port, and tapped at his screen, still showing the dull white of the hotel ceiling tiles. “Are you done?”

Darkness as Christian’s hand closed around his phone, then a finger jabbed at the screen before Christian’s gasps of laughter burst into his ears.

“Oh. My. God.” Christian gasped out in English before switching back to breathless Dutch. “Your entire face right now. Who was that? He’s fantastic. We should be friends.”

Vincent glared down at Christian. “Tonny. Who apparently has seen my non-existent sex face. Godverdomme, Chris stop laughing.”

I refuse to select one from Five Times Christian Eriksen because there are MANY of them and my co-author wrote most of the funny bits anyway,

From the Loose Ends podfic, I will just go with a line that made me laugh out loud at the way I delivered it EVERY SINGLE TIME. It is in Chapter 9 when Eric and Dele are drunk and in Portugal and Eric misspeaks and then Dele makes fun of him for it and the way I read that line was honestly just MINT. You can listen to just that clip here (right click it to open in a new tab).

5. What’s your favorite headcanon you use in fics?

Ummm…I think my favourite is that Vincent used to watch Christian when he played at Ajax. Even though Vincent was at Feyenoord and he was supposed to blindly HATE all Ajax players he’d saw Christian playing in a match vs the Feyenoord first team when Vincent was still on the Feyenoord youth team and he basically became fully infatuated with him in that borderline obsessive first crush way. He’d record the Ajax matches and watch them late at night in his room and he’d watch all the interviews and videos of Christian and the Denmark matches when he could get them. It’s one of the main reasons he went to Spurs because he knew Christian was there and he wanted a chance to play with him. So when they first meet Vincent already knows a ton about Christian and he has to act like he isn’t the biggest fankid in the world and try to just be cool like…he is your teammate and your peer now, you can’t just stare at him and gush over him. Meanwhile Christian is his usual oblivious self who has no idea that Vincent has had a crush on him since he was a teenager.

8. How often do people catch onto your little details?

Honestly…I have no idea. I don’t even know if *I* catch on to my little details. If any of my readers out there want to weigh in on this I’m happy to know. Same with podfic…how often do people catch the little effects I put in. Sometimes they are in your face, but sometimes they’re pretty subtle so I wonder if anyone notices them or not.

This is an interesting question. No one has ever really mentioned them to me, but I am always interested at the things people do pick up in my writing because I’m like oh, you’re right, but…I never meant that to be a thing, but there it is! So it’s always a fun surprise, even for me.

Thanks! Fun as always. Sorry I got a bit out of control with the dialogue. Dialogue is one of my favourite things to do.

[spaceorphan18]

Finding Kurt Hummel: Previously Unaired Christmas

Masterpost

5x08: Previously Unaired Christmas

Look - it’s no secret that I am not a fan of this episode.  It still makes my stomach twist a little for reasons that I can’t entirely articulate (and I suspect are far more personal than any real issue the episode presents).  I know people are split on either loving this episode or hating this episode - maybe doing this will help me figure out what’s really going on.  

I, personally, have two issues with the whole thing. (The second one I’ll explain within the narrative of the episode.)  The first is that it does kind of feel like an FU to pretty much everyone.  I don’t necessarily think it’s to the fans explicitly (though the stuff with Kurt kinda feels like that), but in general, I’m guessing they were forced into a holiday episode that they didn’t really want to do by the network.  Because more so, the nastiness towards Christmas feels like that.  

I also have to wonder if Cory’s passing plays a small part.  I mean - this is cracky Glee - it’s been cracky Glee for a while now.  We just had an episode about puppets, twerking, and dressing up in bizarre Lady Gaga outfits.  The show has been kind of off the rails for most of season 5, and this episode almost feels like the climax of that (after the break - things feel a little more...normal?)  

Anyway - I don’t know exactly how we ended up here - but I kind of wish that Glee didn’t end it’s Christmas run on a, well, whatever this note is.  

Oh! And one last thing.  At this point - season six was not shortened.  I wonder if they had another, more heartfelt, Christmas episode idea for their final one.  Hmmm.  

What If

We open with Jane Lynch talking about how this was a secret hidden away episode.  And I’m bringing it up because this whole set up seemed to confuse everyone.  No - this was most definitely not a lost episode, nor do I think it’s any more or less controversial than anything else they did on the show.  (I do think the writers didn’t give a flying fuck - and were warning about that...)  

However, this whole intro does seem to make things confusing.  Yes - it’s set in season 4.  Yes - I’ll bet they did, at some point, come up with the Rough Trade Santa thing the previous year, and just discarded it until now.  However, shout out to @ckerouac for bringing up the point that -- if Glee wanted to go cracky, they could have gone so much further.  I mean if you’re going to go AU - why not do something entirely wacky.  They kind of did in Glee, Actually with Artie’s fantasy.  So, I’m kind of in agreement.  Why bring it back to season 4 (other than you have newbies you have to deal with).  Why not shoot it into the future, or just switch everyone’s bodies again.  Glee can go that extra mile, why not?  Who knows.  

Meanwhile - I need to state that this did not happen in the main timeline.  It could have (sort of - there are so many continuity errors that it hurts my head).  But it did not.  This is completely AU.  And really, I could skip it if I really wanted to.  I’m going through it just the same because a) for completeness sake - it’d bother me if I didn’t, b) there are some interesting Kurt-meta points that I think are worth bringing up.  

That long winded, probably unnecessary preamble aside - here we go. 

Grandma Moses

So.  We open on the New York side with Santana crashing at the loft, buying Kurt weird doll heads and tickets to Dildo island.  (Are we being edgy yet - the writers ask? Just you wait ;))  Okay, so this scene kind of sets up what the whole New York act is supposed to be about.  It seems they want to address two specific things about Kurt (that I have at least seen in criticisms, and I’m pretty sure the writers did, too)  -- a) That he didn’t have enough of a “normal teenage reaction” to his break up with Blaine and b) that Kurt is an old grandma, desexualized gay.  

Well.  Glee being in its FU mode is going to rectify that - just not in the way that’s going to satisfy anyone (I shouldn’t generalize - I know there are people who love this episode, my regards).  

And - in a FWIW thought, Kurt is an old grandma.  He always has been.  That’s just part of the make up of the character.  

The point, however, of Santana’s little monologue of exposition here is to set the stage for what’s going to happen in the rest of the episode.  It reminds me of the Tattooo Guy in The End of Twerk - telling Kurt that if he’s going to go nuts, he has to go all out.  

[2 asides - 1. Santana is also getting rewritten break up stuff (I’m guessing in response to criticism), as they seem to retcon a ton about the Brittana break up.  2. This whole story seems to be a commentary about Kurt specifically, and not really about Blaine?  Blaine seems to be fine this entire episode - though he’s barely shown because he’s off screen with some weird yule log obsession ;)]  

Meanwhile - Rachel has gotten them all jobs as elves at the mall.  Which - I suppose makes sense.  Oh! And weirdly enough - there’s no discussion from Rachel about her own break up with Finn (which makes sense because of Cory), or about Brody, or Cassie, or any of the stuff that happened to Rachel in season 4.  Weird, right? Nah, she’s just a backdrop to the Kurt and Santana stuff.  I will say - Rachel saying that she’ll be the best Jewish Elf ever made me laugh. 

Bad Santa

Ah, the one highlight of the episode - Chris Kurt in that elf costume.  It was like he was born to play an elf.  Lol 

Anyway - they get to the mall, and Santa’s late, and drunk.  (Not really here for bad santa - but his line about them in an ‘equity card’ mindset had me laughing.)  So, of course Rachel takes charge and they try to calm the audience with Here Comes Santa Claus. It’s -- perfectly fine.  In general, I find the music of the episode, with the exception of Love Child, somewhat uninspired.  Oh, right, this is a musical show, we have to have music.  Here’s a Christmas song.  

Of course, at the end, the kids aren’t charmed - they throw crap at them.  Yeah - we totally didn’t see this happen in season 2.  

I have read some meta about how Kurt, Rachel, and Santana are stand-ins for the writers here -- that whatever they do, it’s gonna get crap thrown at them.  (The thought is echoed at the end, too)  Oh! I have lots of thoughts on this, but I should probably save it for another post, cause it’s not really about Kurt.  

So -- the next day? Later that day? Santana goes and takes a bath...in the loft? I have no idea what the time line is.  I haven’t watched the Lima side of this episode since it aired.  Anyway, Kurt and Rachel call her up and beg her to help them.  Santana gives another obligatory joke about Kurt being an old grandma - born to play Mrs. Claus.  (Um, Santana - I think we’ve established that Kurt was born to be that Elf.)  

Oh - this still says so much....

Santana arrives as Mrs. Claus and proceeds to be a bitch to little people under ten.  Kurt and Rachel rightfully look horrified.  Sorry.  I don’t like this sequence.  It’s mean spirited and awful.  I don’t think it’s funny when adults are mean to innocent kids.  Moving on...

And....then we have the arrival of “Sexy Santa” Cody.  (Dude - this guy is totally skeevy to me -- who arrives at a mall without a shirt? But whatever)  And the rest of this plot line gets played out like half baked smutty fanfiction.  

I will say this -- I do think all of this is completely in character for Kurt.  Remember Ricky Martin in season 3?  This is essentially the same reaction from Kurt.  Kurt finds lots of guys attractive -- and he is allowed to react to it.  (And we’re in cracky mode - this is totally played up for laughs, in the same way it was when Ricky Martin guest starred.) 

This is also not one of my issues with the episode. 

Anyway - Cody wants to “get to know” his elves before he helps them.  Ew.  Kurt those abs are clouding your judgment, buddy. 

That Godawful Chipmunk Song

Santana once again reminds Kurt that he’s a stick in the mud and convinces him to spike his own eggnog.  And then Cody arrives.  Again.  Shirtless.  **rolls eyes**  And obviously scoping out the place so he can rob it.  Maybe that’s part of the reason I can’t really get on board with Kurt hooking up with him.  Cause it’s obvious that this guy is gross and going to be bad.  Yuck. 

Anyway, we all know what a light weight Kurt is - and within a few sips of cooking sherry and eggnog, he’s all flirty mcdrunk pants.  

So - this whole Chipmunk thing - in bulletted form because my brain is currently working better that way... 

I, personally, think this song is dumb.  Sorry.  

It creates this super weird adult/kid vibe between Cody and the loftmates, which I find uncomfortable.  

Cody is obviously playing this all up because he’s going to rob them - which makes his actions later really awful.  

Trashed Kurt with anyone else (especially Blaine, but anyone really) would have been hilarious in just about any other context.  

Chris, obviously, had a lot of fun filming this - so I’ll let him have that.  

The point where SO goes on her diatribe - so feel free to skip

Oh, where to start.  

1. Cody is taking advantage of a incredibly drunk, barely legal teenager in order steal from him. I don’t think the writers put a whole lot of thought into it -- other than saying ‘hey, we can make Kurt a sexual creature’, but I do think it was kind of in bad taste. 

2.  I wasn’t personally offended by it - but there were a lot of people who were (especially when it gets to the being tied up, and Kurt telling Cody no), and a lot of people telling them to get over it because it was cracky glee.  The whole hoopla over that in fandom has always left a bad taste in my mouth.  

3. Gross Cody stuff aside, no I don’t think this is out of character for Kurt.  Kurt’s in a bad place about breaking up with Blaine -- and after being pushed by Santana hard enough, having enough alcohol in him, and being presented with the opportunity, Kurt’s trying to get out of his shell a bit and enjoy himself.  He’s perfectly right to do so, and I do think it makes sense that someone going through a hardship like a rough break up with a first love would try something new -- especially being a first time college student with no limitations. 

4. What about “you matter” and baby penguin Kurt?  Well - first of all, I don’t think Kurt has ever been a baby penguin, and I’m going to spend a lot of the second half of season 5 talking about Kurt being very much a sexual being.  I also think that Kurt does and will always be particular about sex -- again, the writers had to get Kurt incredibly drunk and in a very specific situation for this to even present itself.  I don’t think it’s that Kurt can’t (or won’t) have casual sex, but more so that it means more to him when it’s with someone he loves.  Had this not been a throwaway episode intent on being offensive and cracky, that thought might have been explored. 

5. It cracks me up that they kind of even half-assed Kurt being a sexual being.  Sure, Cody’s half naked in-between Kurt’s legs.  It’s more of a slight of hand, though.  The kissing is a) cut away from very quickly, and b) barely kissing (the first part when Santana and Rachel come in isn’t really even kissing - it’s like stage kissing, where you kiss their cheek, it looks like making out, but it’s not).  The whole thing looks way more provocative than it really is. 

6. I do think it’s unfortunate that they didn’t let Kurt be this provocative and flirty (and handsy) with anyone else on the show.  I do think Kurt has hotter moments (with Blaine - in various episodes, I can name them for you if you like).  But the whole being overtly sexual and gay and somewhat naked is limited throughout the show (this goes for Brittana, too, for that matter, and even the Quinn/Santana hook up - they were mostly covered and a good four feet from each other on that bed). 

6B. As an aside, though -- Glee doesn’t do overtly sexual very often, and nearly every time they do it’s for comedy.  It makes me wonder if there was some kind of limitations in general.  I mean, Finchel never got a mostly naked sex scene either - though Blaine and Brittany did -- for comedy.  

7. I do think there’s an interesting story about season 4 Kurt dealing with his break up -- which would have included more intimate moments with Adam, and/or other people.  But that wasn’t the story they chose.  

7B. I do think, ultimately, this was the writers saying - well we could have written that story - but we prefer the one we are doing.  I think it’s in part of the whole FU thing they were going for.  I mean, even for people who wanted to see Kurt get more action -- he’s going to get punished for it in a sec, so even that feels like a bit of an FU.  

Moving on... the next morning Santana and Rachel wake up to find that they’ve been robbed and Kurt is tied up.  

Kurt does say that when he said no to a sexual thing - Cody got aggressive and tied him up.  That is leaning on sexual assault there, show.  Again - I’m not personally offended, but I also don’t think it’s funny either.  

Oh, as an aside I want to mention the whole thrown in joke there about Kurt being sexy to kiss because it’s like he has no kiss (geez, is it just me or is there a blow job joke in there somewhere?) it is a comment on Chris’s physical attributes.  So, calm down people when we get to Santana’s rant in season six.  Every character gets pot shots about their looks. It’s part of being an actor in general.    

Go Feel Shame

It’s...the next day? And Kurt’s talking to Santana (seeming much more Kurt like than the rest of the episode) about how he just wanted to let loose and feel better.  (Well, alcohol rarely helps with that kiddo - but it’s a lesson nonetheless.)  It’s interesting that he says he feels ashamed (he shouldn’t - but I can see why he would).  And he also doesn’t want Blaine to know, ever.  (An odd comment for something that is an AU)  

I do understand some people’s thoughts that they wished Kurt had had a better experience about letting loose a little (and in some ways he did -- I mean that was what The End of Twerk was about).  And I agree in that not every poor decision in your life needs to be met with shame and being robbed.  

But I do think it’s also Glee’s way of saying - hey, we did hear you - and we’re going to continue to tell the story our way.  

They all look really lovely in this scene.  Rachel has a new gig for them - singing behind a wall of glass.  

It’s the fourth wall -- Kurt, Santana, and Rachel are the writers again.  It’s probably better that they stay there for their own safety.  But also - this episode is what happens when that wall is broken down between creators and fandom - a weird mess of....whatever this is.  

Oh! One last final side thought -- no, there’s no Klaine duet.  That doesn’t bother me within the context of this story - it wouldn’t have made sense anywhere.  That said, I’m sorry they didn’t get a final duet.  I think Winter Wonderland would have been a nice conclusion for them.  Let’s take a moment and lament that there was no season six Christmas episode to end on a high note with. 

Time to move on to the regular story at hand.  

[harryff]

Chapter Three Bellina.

As she promised Harry did reach out to her more than he admitted. Facetime calls and texts helped with the distance problem. His tour was winding down but that didn’t mean he would be less busy. He tried to shower her with gifts but she adamantly refused gifts that were more than $50. He was to treat her like any regular man and not use his status or money. Making his way to the US from Europe he made a pit stop at her city to see her.

He surprised her by sending her a text to meet him at his hotel room. This week wasn’t a good week she was emotional. The anniversary of her father's death was coming up and as usual she gets emotional anything could make her cry. She fussed internally it was literally  last minute. He requested to spend the whole day with her, and even though she agreed because she wanted to see him too, her emotions were a little unhinged that day.

After practice she made her way to his hotel room. Sitting in the lobby she spent 10 minutes drying her tears and checking her face to make sure she didn't look like the emotional wreck she felt like. Gathering the strength she made her way up to his room her hands shaking in the elevator biting her lip. She was exhausted she packed outfits to change into and things to shower with but at this moment her tights and hoodie was all the energy she could master up her face free of any makeup her skin was pale.

When she knocked on the door his bodyguard reluctantly let her in.

“He's a sleep ima go wake him up”

She interjected “No it's ok”

“He told me to wake him up once you got here”

“No! It's ok let him rest i'll keep busy” she said placing her bag down.

“Ok” he shrugged going back to his room

She spent the next 3 hours stretching looking at her phone switching chairs, snacking at some point she checked in on him. Harry woke up to complete silence looking at his clock he noticed 3 hours had passed he slumped over on the bed he was exhausted and thought  was it really all worth it. Checking his phone he looked to see if Bellina had called him she hadn't.

He dragged his body out of bed to go get ready for her arrival. He showered and changed clothes before emerging from his room. The room was dark only a sliver of light was let in by the curtains. That's where he saw Bellina sitting on the floor her hair curly hid her face, knees to her chest looking down at her phone she looked small.

When he walked towards her she looked up at the glass which betrayed him by showing his reflection.

“Damn i was gonna scare yeh”

“Too slow” she joked back

He squats down behind her “Hello luv”

She bends backward to look at him and smiles “Hi” she said softly she goes back to eyeing traffic.

Harry sat down next to her. She was being cold but not on purpose. She turned to face him and smiled “how are you?” her words so soft he could barely make out what she said which made him get closer

“ ‘M doin’ luvely now tha’re here” he said pushing her hair back her curls were wild they covered her face. “How are you pet?”

“Im ok” she sighed.

“You should have woken me up” he said caressing her cheeks

“I tried to you were dead asleep.”

“You did?”

“Yes”

“When?”

“I walked in i said your name you were like in deep slumber”

He made a face, he was naturally a light sleeper, how come he didn't hear her walking in

She bit her lip trying to contain her grin

“Oh you cheeky devil” he exclaimed poking her side

She squealed moving away. Which only enticed him to continue. Pulling her close he tickled her sides while she exploded in laughter. When he went towards her ear she laughed hard causing tears to escape. “I'm sorry” she professed. He finally stopped listening to her giggles calm down her body twitching from the tickling sensation.

“I missed yeh pet” he said touching his forehead with hers

Pet a nickname that took her awhile to get to used to . Why would he call her pet? but she chucked it as being a british slang

“Me too Harry” she caressed his neck

He leaned down placing gentle kisses on her lips. She smiled in between kisses. His lips craved more but they had yet to. Standing up he pulled her along with him

“No seriously why didn't you wake me up?”

“I checked on you, you were like in deep sleep cuz i even removed the covers from your face”

He smiled and sat down pulling her down to sit on his lap “so i was thinkin’ we could stay here ’nd just relax. Is that ok with yeh?”

“Yes, how's the tour?”

“Perfect no better feeling than performing” he smiled

She smiled running her fingers through his hair

He reached up and pulled on one of her hair strand which sprung back in formation.

“Yeh ok luv? Yeh look pale.” He said caressing her cheeks a bit more firmly to add color.

She sighed “yea”

“Wha’ is it? tell Harry wha’s bothering yeh”

She laughed “you are weird”

“I wan’to kno’ tho’ i can tell something is wrong”

“Just had a rough week”

“Do yeh want to talk bou’ it?”

She smiled and shook her head. They hadn't had a conversation about parents and siblings they were still in the get to know each other phase.

“Well how's dance luv?”

She shrugged “we are fighting”

“Why?”

“Because he wants to do all these things and be flashy but i don't think it's what's going to get us that championship.”  In frustration she looked up “he quit on me monday walked away wednesday and today we are just fighting over little shit.”

“Aww im sorry luv” he was sympathetic coming from a boy band with 5 different singers

She shook her head “Its ok. I told him suck it up! And he walked away” She giggled

He smiled. “Have yeh eaten?”

“No” she said looking down at her phone Emiliano had sent her a promo picture

“Yeh look great” he said eyeing her phone

“Oh thanks.”

Their bond grew throughout that day they learned things about it each other told secrets.

*A month later*

Harry preparing for his last show walked out on stage he greeted his fans told them how much he loved and a heartfelt message before performing. As he sang his song he scanned the crowd, when he saw Bellina he had to take a double look to make sure it was her. There she sat on the third row smiling at him. If he had known she was coming he would have flown her over the night before.

Giving it his all he sang his heart out. She watched intensively, the women around her screaming his name begging for a chance to touch. Getting up silently she walked away before his show ended he looked over to her seat surprised she wasn't there scanning the crowd he looked frantically, was it all an illusion? she was there she did cheer him on. She did her dance for him.

After the show was over he called her frantically all his calls were being forwarded voicemail a bit of disappointment creeped in he really wanted to see her but now he had to greet his VIP guests. He walked out refreshed waiting for the swarm of excited fans mostly women to flood in. In that crowd she crept in, he hadn't seen her at first they were surrounding him causing a little pandemonium. He was to hug each one of them and take a picture, from the side she grabbed his hand he turned around to face who was to be so bold. There she stood quickly she gave him a hug and handed him a t shirt for him to sign

He smiled at her “What's your name luv?”

She smiled “Bell”

“Bell gorgeous name”  he said signing her shirt.

“Thank you I really like your album you are awesome” she flirted,he smirked “well my time is up thanks again” she said reaching in for a hug with a subtle turn of the head she kissed behind his ear. Grabbing her shirt she walked away. He didn't want her to leave she had to stay they were going to party and he wanted her to be a part of that.Harry immediately looked at his bodyguard who caught on, he stopped Bellina at the door

“You know I can't let you go”

“I have a flight”  she looked back at Harry who was busy with his fans

She stepped forward and he blocked her with his body

“I have a flight to catch!” she stressed

“Well you should have known better, look just come to go to the club will be there in about 2 hours then sneak away” he bargained

“Fine where do I go now?”

“Go with Derek” he instructed

When she got to the club he lingered around so that she wouldn't leave 2 hours turned into 3 after midnight they flooded in Harry and his close friends with a few stragglers .3 hours she spent entertaining conversations she didn't care to have and  searching for flight tickets he had ruined her plans. When he got there he asked for her whereabouts . She blended into the crowd perfectly you barely would notice her. They searched for awhile before the body guard spotted her “there she is!”

“Where?” he looked

“By the edge”

She was looking like she was flirting, however she wasn't her companion was just overzealous. Slowly working the room she made her way to him an earshot away he called her. She ignored him her newest companion was a comedic they laughed at his jokes. Harry called to her again trying to play cool,the people around them couldn't know what he was doing but it was apparent she was ignoring him because whomever she was talking to turned to face him so he knew she heard him.

“Can yeh go get her please ‘nd have her seat next to me ‘nd tell her don' move” he begged Katie

“Yes no problem”

As she spoke to the stranger Katie intercepted  “Hi! haven' seen yeh in a while could yeg come wit’ please, I’m sorry i have to take her”

“No its cool i'll catch up with her” he smirked

She smiled

Katie shoved her on the couch and sat done next to her

“Harry wants yeh to stay put so anyway tell me how have yeh been?”

“Good” she said, “what about you?”

“Great!”  they chatted for awhile before Katie left her side

This time it was him to ignore her. She sat playing with her fingers and phone he would glance over from time to time make sure she was still around. Another stranger invaded her space and occupied her time she was glad she crossed her legs and turned to face him

“May I?” he asked before sitting down next to her

“Yea absolutely” she said moving a little

“Hi I'm Chris” he said sticking his hand out

“Bell” she smiled shaking his hand

“So do you know the one direction guy?” he said motioning towards Harry

She shrugged “not really, just a fan do you?”

“Nah so what brings you here?”

“Celebrating”

“Oh ok what's the occasion?” he inquired

“Success” she smiled

“I'll drink to that” he said raising his glass

When Harry looked over she was leaning on her elbow on her knee he couldn’t see her face. He noticed a man sitting next to her giving her she attention he longed to do himself. He made a face before walking over. At this point him and Bell looked more like a couple, than two strangers.

He plopped down next to her she knew who it was without turning her head but she had to acknowledge him or it would look suspicious because even Chris noticed.

She turned to face him “Oh I congratulations on your success!” she said giving him a side hug “proud of you”

“Congrats men!” Chris said shaking his hand “Thanks” Harry smugly greeted him

Bellina then turned her attention back to Chris

Who held a questioning look “I thought you were a fan?”

“I am but he is occupied with other girls their flocking towards him see?” she said pointing out three women heading their way. Harry clenched his jaw hearing her comment

“You're right so back to my organization it's non profit, we do stuff for kids in the rural areas”

“Oh really? interesting!”

“Yea”

When the girls reached Harry invited them to sit down which meant he moved closer to Bellina, but she was good at ignoring him, so good that when he put his hand on her back she didn't flinch. Not even when he started caressing it and slid it to the side and grabbed her, her ticklish spot. Instead she sat up and readjusted she was too good at this.

The conversation between her and Chris died down eventually

“Well it was nice chatting with you. You think we can exchange numbers?”

“Uh sure” she said uneasy, it was just a conversation she would hate to let him down

Harry clenched his jaw when he read out his number to her

When she looked at her phone she had 3 hours remaining to get to the airport to catch her next flight

“Oh I have to leave!” she said standing abruptly

“Oh really?”  

“Yea flight to catch”

“Ok well maybe I can walk you out?”

“Ok” she said thinking nothing of it

“Congrats again!” she said turning to face him

Before she could get out the door Harry was already texting her  

Harry: don't go

Bellina: I have to I already missed my first flight I can't miss this one

Harry: don't go pet,

Harry:  please

Bellina: Harry I can't miss my flight

Harry: you can take my jet or let me buy you another one

Bellina: no that's not how it works you know that, we'll meet again

Harry: what's the purpose of the damn rules if I no one can know we are dating, let me buy you ticket  

Bellina: no we made these rules together H you have to stick to them, I'm sorry I have to go but I'm glad I got to see you

He was angry with her, he didn't respond. Angry that she ignored him so well that other men would flock to her side without him interjecting and stopping that whole motion, mad that she was unfazed with his presence. He didn't like to be ignored, not like that it drove him mad.

After that incident Harry and Bellina didn't talk much although she reached out to him he wasn't in the mood he felt rejected by her and was in no mood to have conversations. He was letting his ego get the best of him. Which only caused Bellina to retreat back and not pressure him, she was only doing what they agreed upon. In public under no circumstances were they to act like they knew each other the relationship hadn't even gotten a status, he was still weary and he didn't want a title or social media to ruin things.