#if you there for the crash and burn of The Old Blog you probably saw

[superdupersummer]

I haven’t done a RB game in aaaaages and doing one seems fun but then I remembered how the last time I did one turned out and suddenly I feel like that picture of Silent Hill

[skitskatdacat63]

Tysm for the tags @fernando-jpg and @rubywritten !!!!

F1 Asks:

Who is your favorite driver?

Fernando and Seb! They come as a pair. Do not seperate :)

Do you have any other favorite drivers?

Yep! But mostly retired drivers </3 I love Mark and Jense! And then for current drivers, I like Oscar, and Max a bit as well(I can't help but feel loyal to him bcs he was my first fav)

Who is your least favorite driver?

I dislike being a hater on main but....#3 and #4. Also tbh I feel neutral to dislike about most current drivers, other than my 3 guys, so!

Do you pull for drivers or do you like teams as well?

I'm mostly driver motivated, I think I'd follow Fernando anywhere, and probably Oscar too. I like and support teams as well but mostly just because my guy is there! It's like, I love Aston, right? They support Fernando, they're willing to do so much for him, they love him, the vibe is really good. But if he decided to blow up Aston tomorrow, I'd be like "I'm right there with you!!"

If you like teams, what team do you pull for?

+ HOWEVER! I am an RBR devotee. Like it's not even that much about the drivers, I like Max a lot, but I think I'll always keep my eye on RBR as long as I'm into F1. I just love the history of the team and their vibe. My fav team of all time will always be RBR 2009-2013, just so special to me 🥹 Not that I was actually around for it but, the way they evolved from a team that was mostly there to bring fun to the paddock to one of the most successful teams of all time, as well as being a fucking energy drink company in a sport full of car companies, is just so cool and inspiring to me. And I love the red bull golden boys so much(Seb and Max beloveds!!!) And I also have an addiction to red bull....But I got into them first so I have a special connection, even if I don't root for them all the time. Them and their aesthetic makes me happy :) they are F1 to me :)

How long have you been into F1

Probably over a year and half by now? I wish I could say I've been into it longer but unfortunately I am an American shjfkgkg

What got you into F1?

I've mentioned this several times before but. I read some oneshot in my prev fandom that was an F1 AU. And I was just like, enthralled. The first time I read it, I had to keep looking up stuff, and I kept going back to it. And then I went on the author's blog, and saw they talked about DTS and how to get into F1. So I tried watching DTS and it was alright I guess. But there happened to be an actual race that same weekend, so I tuned in, and was so into it!! Ah man there's nothing like that first race tbh. I knew only one driver, Max, and I rooted so hard for him and he won 🥹 it was just fun back then not knowing enough to be stressed and having pure focus on one guy. I'm happy where I'm at now, but that first race was cool :,)

Do you enjoy fanfic/rpf?

Yes of course >:) I think I probably looked at the ao3 page for F1 before even watching my first race actually, it's very habitual for me when joining a fandom. I draw rpf and write my own AU lore stuff, and meta and all that. And I think I check the ao3 page at least once a day 😭 its an essential part of my fandom experience

How do you view new fans?

Hmmmm sometimes I feel like an old person, even though I haven't even been here that long. I think F1 has such a learning curve and barrier to entry compared to most fandoms. Like you have to learn so much about racing and the drivers as well until you feel like you actually have a good grasp imo. So I guess it's weird for me to see new fans bcs im like, oh god was I like that back then 😭 I'm happy to see new fans ofc!! But it's also like, good luck on your learning journey 🫡

If you could take over as team principal for any team, who would it be and why?

I am not a good leader, I think we'd crash and burn if I took over a team 😭 they'd be like "Catie! What should we do???" and I'd have a nervous breakdown. Go back in time to be TP for McLaren and be like, be careful who you invite to your garage at the Miami gp LMFAO

Are your friends and family into F1 as well?

Yes! My brother was into F1 before me(what a bastard for not getting me into it earlier.) Which is hilarious though because I pay for the F1TV account that he leeches off of. Like, damn who's the real F1 fan 🥱 I got my dad into it last season, and it was a very gradual process. He's a huge Fernando fan though, which is really fun, and sometimes he's much more positive abt the sport than me hahaha. He likes Fernando bcs they're both old men, and getting to see Fernando succeed last year is what pulled him into the sport. Some of my irl friends know of F1 but I don't think they watch all the races.

Are you open to talking to other fans/friends?

Of course!!!!! I am always desperate to talk to new people, feel free to hit me up always :D I will talk about anything F1, Fernando, Seb, Vettonso, etc related whenever :) I remember I got an ask a while ago last yr that's like "are you open to being friends/mutuals w strangers." It's like, um, yeah??? Its a lot of fun to be on here, I love making connections

Hmmmm ive seen a lot of people do this already so don't mind if I tag you and you've done it already aahh. But I will tag @suzuki-ecstar @sansebastinae @boisinnot @astronomical-light @thatdemonbish

[lorrainestea]

Morgan Elsbeth: The Scarecrow

If you follow any of my blogs - this one or @sarcasteacdraws - or just find the Morgan Elsbeth tag under my posts, you probably noticed I often connect my posts with Morgan with song lyrics by Tobias Sammet and his music project "Tobias Sammet's Avantasia". Even from the pieces of lyrics you can make a picture about his work, but I wanted to make a deep dive in one specific album (or more wise trilogy) - The Scarecrow, because the similarities between this story and Morgan Elsbeth's journey are insane.

Tobias composed three albums known as "The Wicked Trilogy" - The Scarecrow, Anger of Babylon and The Wicked Symphony. The trilogy tells the story of the main character simply known as Scarecrow. Scarecrow comes through a lot of pain because of tragic love, he is unhappy, broken hearted, on the bottom of his strength and probably in the darkest places he's ever been. Besides pain, depression and sadness he also feels rage and anger. And this is where Mephistopheles comes to a scene - he uses Scarecrow's weaknesses against him, promises glory, strength and revenge if he offers his soul. And Scarecrow agrees. At first you can hear in the songs how he enjoys the feeling of power in the delusion this will lead to happiness again. By the end of the trilogy Scarecrow realizes he made a horrible mistake. In the moment of weakness he traded himself for something as vain and unstable as power and glory. This battle is lost for him.

Morgan lost everything - her family, home, people and even her own heritage when the magic of Nightsisters left her. She was left scarred forever, she carried the trauma ALONE as there was no one who would understand. People who should take care of her let her down. It left so much pain and she wanted revenge. Rage and contempt were Morgan's guidance aside with her ambitions.

So yes, she is a perfect Scarecrow.

And who is Mephistopheles then?

It's simple - Thrawn.

Thrawn saw in Morgan an opportunity when no one else gave her a chance. He showed a real interest in what she wanted to achieve and thanks to his brilliant mind, he somehow made Morgan trust him and give him her devotion. Both Mephistopheles and Thrawn are smart enough to in final get what THEY want by supporting Scarecrow's/Morgan's hate and encouraging them to act in their rage. They feed the anger so it became an attachment and both Scarecrow and Morgan are stuck in place, blinded by their hate instead of finding how to heal.

In the song "The Toy Master" (sung by Alice Cooper - Mephistopheles and Tobias Sammet - Scarecrow) there is a part where Mephistopheles says: "I'm dealing in pain" which is a great parallel to Thrawn's line "Offer accepted" when Morgan offers her anger. And later there a verse in which Scarecrow responds "It's their turn to crash and burn" and again, parallel to "My world has been burning since I was a child, why this one should be different?"

It Tales of The Empire sadly is no deep dive in Morgan's and Thrawn's relationship so this is more of my theory and point of view. However it would actually make sense, don't you think? Thrawn is clever and think is much larger spectrum than the other Imperials. He sees in Morgan a potential - as long as her desire for revenge and the old pain buried under her anger live. She is basically willing to do anything, even risk it all and build a hyper space ring to travel in another galaxy because she believes Thrawn is alive. Her devotion makes her believe in him and his survival even though everyone else thinks she is just crazy.

And later on Peridea Morgan also realizes she maybe lost everything, same as Scarecrow lost his soul. For some reason (Filoni explain!) Thrawn left her behind and sends Morgan to death. She dies knowing she never felt peace again and she will never find it, she will never turn her pain in bringing her people back, she will never have a chance to finally let go of her attachment and that she probably served as another insignificant piece of Thrawn's mastermind plan. Who else would have the ability to help in such a hopeless situation then obeying, devoted, loyal Nightsister he let taste power and glory for some time?

And no, I'm not saying Morgan would achieve nothing without Thrawn - she was already a Magistrate when they met, but I think if he never got her a chance, maybe she would find a new purpose as she would slowly heal. Perhaps she would stop living in the past as she would realize causing pain to others can't change what happened and it can't change anything now.

Both Scarecrow and Morgan are tragic characters that can't be excused for causing so much pain to others, but they can be understood - they were hurt and the smart game master encouraged them to stay this way.

[magnuficent76]

No pressure but like. If you wanted an excuse to talk more about your ocs' (hypothetical) Pokémon (teams). This is it oooo ooo

(<- would really like to hear more if you have ideas for what mons your ocs would have bc I seem to now be so in love with the concept) (but no pressure)

Oh Beetle, you know me all too well and you just know I will absolutely talk more about random Pokémon on this blog. Here we have the Solar Years guys and their mons !

BALTAZAR (They don't have a main type because they're just a farmer, but back in their elite 5 days they were probably grass/dragon)

- Torterra [It's just a big fuggin lad !!!! A huge guy !!! It's nice and steady and good for a guy who's lived in a farm for most of their life. I like to think they would let kids ride it around too :]]

- Tangrowth [Its a huge guy with crazy hair. I just can see Balt with a Pokemon like this so clearly its insane. I love this Pokémon too so ofc im giving it to my favorite little guy !!!]

- Salamence [Probably was the symbol of his old elite 5 team, but once that crashed and burned.... yeah, they don't like talking too much about it. This guy brings back bitter memories, but Balt does his best to separate them from the team itself. Its better for both of them.]

- Haxorous (shiny) [Same as salamence, but even more so. It makes Balt feel bad that he ever put these poor guys in harm's way by battling with them as hard as he did, but he already apologized like a thousand times for it so they already forgiven him don't worry. Honestly probably a huge baby, given Hax was given to him when he was young <3 they grew up together !!]

- Leavanny [I just think Baltazar deserves a buddy okay !!! Its a silly little lady !!! Also Sewaddle is adorable and I love the idea of Balt finding a grub in their garden and taking care of it instead of throwing it out okay. Grab that Grub]

LUIS (ice/fighting or ice/dark. Are you surprised that the angry ice guy is angry and ice. Probably training to be elite 5, and getting pretty fucking close to it)

- Walrein [This is Luis' starter simply because I just think the Vibes are fit. Probably just picked up a spheal in his youngin days and it stayed with him forever !... this sounds a lot sadder now, huh..]

- Sneasel -> Weaville [Angry and competitive little fellow with a fondness for stealing ? Why, that's just exactly like Luis !! He didn't even have to try to catch this guy, it just showed up one day and then stuck around because Luis kept giving it bacon bits. Now they're the bestest smuggest buddies...together ♡]

- Annihalape [No surprise here huh. This Pokémon follows literally the same premise as Luis' whole story: Got so fucking mad it dies and comes back wrong. Luis saw this Pokémon for the first time and is like you just like me fr (takes good care of it to project)]

- Krookodile [It has cool ass sunglasses and it kicks a whole lot of ass on the battlefield. Luis gets it primarily for aesthetics but secondarily for its sheer power. More than happy to kill for any of his mons but especially this guy]

ANDROMEDA (Fairy/Fire gym trainer !)

- Volcarona [That's her starter right here. It slays cunt and its also a gorgeous little thing !! Just like xem fr fr !!]

- Flareon [Matches with Sylveon because they were from the same litter ! Evolved to keep Andromeda safe because this fuckin idiot keeps getting himself in situations and shit. Extremely defensive of everything but mainly because of the first thing- just a really well trained guard dog that forgot how to have fun. Still very soft and silly]

- Sylveon [Matches with Flareon because they're from the same litter ! LOVES Andromeda to death and it is absolutely mutual ! Most spoiled ever !!! Also insanely brutal. don't worry about it though 🙏]

- Alcremie [Just a sweet lil thang. I like to think this one is mostly for aesthetics but its still really well cared for]

MARSH (FIRE FIRE FIRE FIRE FIYAAAAHHH]

- Quilava [Starter Pokémon. I think the angry looking and explosive personality just sold it to him. He wants to evolve it SO bad but they're both still working on it.]

- Houndour [Its a fire ouppy... he has to have the fire ouppy. They're both young and growing up together but they'll both be the most destructive hounds ever just you fuckin' wait <3]

[imagine-it-to-be-true]

Fix You - Caius Volturi x FemOC Three Shot: Part 2

Hey guys! So, originally, this story was supposed to be a One-shot. But because of the overwhelming amount of requests I’ve received (thank you so much sweeties, by the way), I’ve decided to make it into a three parter. This is part 2, and the first part can be found on my blog. I’m not sure when I get around to writing part 3 as uni starts back up today, but I’ll try my best not to keep you in suspense for too long. This part is more centred around chaos than romance. Nothing belongs to me (including the GIF) Also, warnings: violence, blood, death.

Andromeda’s POV

The sensations were weird. First, I had been in a lot of pain around my stomach region. I could hardly breathe, let alone express my pain to the handsome-yet-creepy, blonde stranger taking care of me. Though I’m sure he knew. I mean, even I knew I was dying, and he was helpless to save me, so I didn’t bother speaking. I could see the concern in his eyes and hear his sweet whisperings as he stroked my cheeks and wiped away my tears. But these little comforts were not enough to stop the hurt. Then, when I saw him holding a huge syringe, it sent me into panic mode. I never liked needles, not to mention ones which were about to inject unfamiliar liquids into me. But he reassured me it would help, which calmed me down. Not like I could defend myself in that moment anyways. I guess it couldn’t hurt me more. It turned out he was right. After a few minutes, I noticed the pain slowly going away. Maybe it wasn’t the liquid, but the fast-approaching release of death, I wasn’t sure. My cries began to slow, and I could feel more pleasant sensations, such as the pale man stroking my hand with his thumb, gently massaging circles into it. Then, he asked,

“What is your name, omorfiá mou?”

Gasping for air, I attempted to speak,

“Andromeda,” came my whispered reply. With my half-opened eyes, I was able to see his perfect lips draw up in a smile. Focusing on his features, I didn’t even realize that my pain was entirely gone, and I was feeling rather loopy. I watched the man bend down closer to me, brushing my hair back and running his ice-cold knuckles down the side of my neck. Suddenly I felt a sense of vulnerability. I felt his cool breath hitting my ear as he whispered,

“Do not be afraid. You will live forever. You are mine now, and I will never let anything hurt you again.” I was confused and fear began to resurface. I had gotten away from one creep, only to be taken by another. This man scared me to my core. But before I could dwell on my thoughts, I saw him quickly lean down towards my neck, as if he was about to kiss me. That was not what happened.

Indeed, I momentarily felt his cool lips touch the sensitive skin of my neck. But then a sharp pain erupted. Whatever it was that he injected into me was definitely helping. I was aching again, though differently this time. It was a dull, electrifying, fiery sensation, which immediately spread from my neck to my brain, and all the way down to the tips of my toes. My body was on fire, but it was not as intense. If one were to be scratched over and over and over again, pain would increase. This was what I was going through. It was continuous and that was making it worse. An hour had passed, then two, then I lost count. I couldn’t see anything anymore, my vision clouded. Yet I could still hear him. He never seemed to leave. Others would come and go. Time would pass and I would feel needles in my arms. I assume he kept injecting me with whatever it was, which managed my pain; probably morphine. I learned his name was Caius from others who had come in and spoken to him. Caius. What an unusual name. But it fit him.

He had injected so much morphine into me that the dull burning sensation eventually stopped. That, or perhaps I adjusted to it. I could not tell how much time had passed, but by now, it had been a while, for sure. I had given up. If it were not for his constant voice, and feeling of his icy hands touching my own, I would have believed I passed on. But eventually, my vision slowly began to return. I hadn’t felt injections in hours, and no pain returned, which was strange.

The entire time I lay there, presumably dying, I thought of my life. Who would miss me? I had no parents. Both died in a car crash when I was 12. I was in the back seat and miraculously survived. Given no time to adjust to the tragedy, I was immediately placed in a foster home in New Haven, where I experienced endless amounts of bullying. But as with all foster children, my stay was temporary. For the next five years, I bounced from one home to the next. This made me reserved, quiet, and untrusting. I was socially awkward and had very few friends. My main comforts came from the company of animals. Truthfully, I got used to this solitary existence, finding that I expressed myself better through storytelling than the spoken word. In fact, my unfortunate childhood did not impact my standing at school. I was always a good student, and this landed me a fully paid scholarship to NYU where I completed a double degree in journalism and history. The lack of family and friends allowed me to dedicate all my time to my studies and work, which was conducting research for my professor. Then, after graduating, I decided to make a drastic change and start fresh with a move to Europe. For the last two years, I had spent my time travelling several countries and writing articles on historical artifacts, buildings, and churches. I sold my stories to networks as a freelance historical journalist, living alone and moving often from place to place. In fact, Volterra was my last stop in Europe before I planned to relocate to Egypt and focus on Pharaonic history there. Not many of Volterra’s tourists knew about the building I had been photographing, which was off the main street and down an alleyway. It was not glamorous, but historic, which drove me to it. That is where I was and what I was doing when I was suddenly grabbed and dragged into a dark alleyway.

My life had been flashing before my eyes over and over again. I wanted to live. To do better. To be better. I was sick of being alone. So, when my vision began returning, I was filled with motivation to live. Really live. Finally, I could focus my eyes. I stared up at what appeared to be a bed canopy. It was velvet, and dark red in color. To my right, I could sense the smell of burning candles. It was so prominent that it made my nose burn. My hands were balled into fists, grasping the cotton sheets and I could see that I ripped holes in them. How much pain was I in that I ripped a bedsheet with my bare hands? I then noticed something strange. I was not breathing. Since when was I not breathing? This frightened me immensely, and I bolted into an upright sitting position. As I did, the bed violently shook. The canopy swayed as if it would collapse at any second. Did I do this? I’m a weak little girl who couldn’t even fight off a drunk man in an alleyway, how was I doing all this? I heard a sound to my left and immediately snapped my head towards the source. It was a young woman – girl more like it – that I did not recognize. She had strange red eyes, much like my rescuer. But she frightened me more than him. There was a certain evil surrounding her, I could sense it. How, I did not know. All I knew was that she did not wish me well.

“Hello, Andromeda.” She spoke coolly.

I looked at her, suspicion and confusion painted over my face.

“H-how do you know my name?”

“Master Caius told me.”

‘Master?’ that sounded strange. Not something a girl would call a man. What was this, a sex trafficking operation? Before I could speak, she continued.

“He has been by your side. He will return any minute now. He went out hunting for you.” She spoke like an information-giving robot: just spewing facts, unmoving, her expression unchanging.

I closed my eyes and shook my head. “Hunting… that’s not necessary. I- I don’t eat meat.” Her expression finally changed. Her smirk transformed into a creepy smile, and she let out a laugh.

“Believe me, dear girl. It is not exactly meat he will be returning with.” She turned on her heels and stormed out of the room. Two guards opened the bedroom door for her and shut it as she left. So, they have my room guarded. I guess they aren’t going to let me leave.

I was not in a hurry; I needed to see Caius. Thank him. And ask him how he was able to fix me. Was I remembering correctly that he bit me?! What a strange thing to do. I looked down on my stomach, which was completely injury-free. Then, I reached my hand to the back of my neck, trying to feel any bitemarks there. Nothing. What the hell? I did not understand. I had a lot of questions and needed answers, the most pressing of which was why my throat was on fire. I would have asked the girl, but something in me yelled to keep my distance from her; that she was dangerous. Slowly, I stood up from the bed, noticing that the white dress I had on when I was shot was no longer on me. Instead, I wore a soft, white nightgown, with lace on the collar. It seemed like a typical garment from Tudor England, or something. It was unlike anything I had seen in any mall or shop. Come to think of it, the entire room had a historic, gothic feel to it. The décor resembled a royal palace.

My feet hit the marble floor and I began walking around the room, making my way to the bookshelf. There, a massive assortment of books awaited. However, they were not the typical books one would find in a normal home. These were all historic and ancient. I picked up a copy of the Iliad. Looking at the bindings, I could tell the book was old. More interestingly, it was still written in Homeric Greek – not a language many would be able to read. Whoever this belongs to was most definitely smart.

Suddenly, I felt the burning in my throat worsen. The sensation intensified to the point where I was nearly panicking. Ready to run for the doors and ask the guards for help, I heard footsteps approaching.

The door swung open, and the man… Caius walked in. No longer dying, I could properly admire his features. He looked perfect, truly. Not a single flaw on his face or skin. His nearly white, blonde hair carefully combed back behind his ears. He moved towards where I was sat in an armchair and knelt in front of me. Immediately, I was filled with a calmness. It was like I was home. I cannot describe it completely, but it was as if all problems were erased, and I was safe. This was the second time I managed to judge a person based on feelings, all within the last few minutes. First with the young woman from earlier, and now Caius. Before he could speak, the feeling was gone, and replaced once again with unease and danger, as I watched the young woman reappear, dragging a man by his wrist. Behind her, the guards entered the room and stood on either side of the man. I could feel that he was not dangerous, as the fear was practically radiating off him. The woman stepped behind him and gave him a push towards me.

“Dinner,” she stated coldly. I looked from her to the frightened man, to Caius. I could see annoyance on his face, as he turned to her and spoke.

“Must you, Jane? Do you not know of patience?”

“Forgive me, Master Caius. You were not one to show patience often, and I do learn from you.” She stated simply.

When Caius turned to me, I was grasping my throat, which was burning almost unbearably. “What is happening?!” I choked out.

“I know this will not make sense to you right now, and I will explain everything, I promise. But the only thing that will stop the ache is if you drink blood. You need to drink this man’s blood.” Caius whispered to me, out of earshot of the poor man.

I froze and looked at him with wide eyes, face in complete and utter shock.

“WHAT?! What did you just say?!” I exclaimed, not believing what I heard.

He sighed and leaned in once again, whispering. “In order to save your life from your injuries, I was forced to turn you into a vampire. You need blood, and you need it now. Trust me.” He tried again.

“I WILL NOT! ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?!” Hastily standing, I pushed him away. My intention was to give him a normal, hard push so that he gets the message. But nothing prepared me for what happened. When I pushed him, he went flying across the room and hitting a marble column, which shattered on impact. Immediately, the room was filled with noise and dust as the column went crashing down around him. I pushed myself into the corner of the room and watched in terror. That impact would have killed an elephant. Yet Caius, simply rose, brushing dust off his blazer and pants. The evil woman – Jane as he called her – appeared emotionless as she turned her attention from Caius to me.

“Fine. More for us then,” she said. What followed, was simply too much for me to handle.

First, I heard Caius yelling, “Jane, NO!” In one swift motion, she tore the frightened man’s throat with her teeth. Blood gushed out from the wound, spilling all over the white marble floor. I screamed in terror. But what was even more terrifying than the poor man’s death, was the smell of his blood. It was driving me crazy. It was like nothing I had ever experienced it. I craved it. Needed it. And was so close to taking it all for myself. But with any remaining strength I had left, I stopped myself. This was not me. I was a vegetarian because I cared for the well-being of animals. There was not a thing in the world which would force me to do anything to harm another living soul. So, I curled up in a ball in my corner and rocked back and forth, trying to focus my senses on anything other than the delicious smell of blood.

“I will deal with you later. Take him and leave, now!” I heard Caius’ voice. “You are not to come here again; you are not to see her! Now go!”

“Yes, Master Caius.” I heard her disgusting, venomous voice once again as she left. The doors closed and the room was filled with silence.

I momentarily thought Caius left too, but then I felt the sensation of safety return to me.

“How did I do that?” I ask with a shaking voice.

“You are a new vampire. For the first few weeks, you will be stronger than the rest of us. This will pass, and you will adjust.” He said gently.

I continued hugging my knees and rocking. Caius continued.

“This is not how a newborn should experience the first moments. But Andromeda…” he hesitated, “You need to feed. If you do not, it will only get worse. Your awareness will seize to function, and you will eventually kill more than you would have otherwise.”

With no response from me, Caius reached for my hands, placing his own over them. This woke a rage inside of me. I grasped his wrists and pushed him backwards. His back hit the wall, not as hard this time. I began speaking.

“You did this to me. You made me this… this… monster. This is on you. You should have let me die. Now, because of your selfish need for heroism, I will murder countless others.”

We both rose to our feet. He gently approached me again, saying my name, but I held my hand up to block him. “Get out. I don’t ever want to see you again. I hate you.”

With that, I pushed him towards the direction of the door. He paused,

“Andromeda-”

“GET OUT!” I picked up a glass vase and threw it in his direction, and he finally left. I sat down on the cold marble tiles, pressing my back against the wall, and screamed in agony.

[imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl]

Not Over You

A/N: This gif isn't mine, so if you're the owner, let me know so I can give you the credits.

Pairing: Keanu Reeves X Reader

Word count: 2.8K

Summary: Months after Keanu puts an end to your relationship and disappears, you bump into him, reawakening intense feelings.

×

You never expected to be the only human being on Earth who would go through life without an episode of a heart break. It would happen sooner or later, and you, like everyone else, would get over it. Eventually.

But you could never guess the one to give you such a painful experience would be Keanu Reeves, the one and only.

You met Keanu by mistake. An accident. In a day where your whole life was coming undone, two years ago. You had just lost your job, your parents were giving you a hell of a hard time about it, and you, seeking comfort in your boyfriend, found him half-naked with another girl. That made you drive insanely fast, through busy streets, only to stop on this bridge outside of the town. You had no intention of jumping, you just needed time to think and the wind was strong and heavenly. Maybe it could wash it all away.

It didn't. But a man decided to stop, assuming the worst, and asked you not to do anything reckless. You assured him you wouldn't, and a small, heart to heart conversation started. It took several minutes for you to finally turn and look at the man, and that almost gave you a heart attack. You couldn't believe your eyes. And you couldn't believe him, of all men, would pause his whole life just because of some random girl by the bridge.

But that was only the first day. He invited you for a coffee, and it took only a few days for you to get to the man behind the worldwide famous actor. And you fell in love with him. For a while, you thought he had fallen for you too.

But the media was restless. People soon found out about the age difference and that made them go crazy. News channel, tabloids, magazines, internet blogs, everything, they were all about Keanu's younger girlfriend. It didn't bother you though. You couldn't care less about what people think or say. But one day, it got to him.

One day, he decided to have an honest conversation with you about it. Keanu told you he felt old, so out of your league. Him. Out of your league. You remember laughing at this statement. But he didn't. He was dead serious as he pointed out all the things you couldn't share. How you belonged to different generations and never seemed to get each other's references. How you were into different things. It soon became a fight when you realized what he was doing. The yelling started and soon the crying. Keanu apologized and ended things. He wished you the best. He wished you to find someone your age, someone better than him.

That happened six months ago. It feels like years though. Since that day, you can only see him on TV. No texts, no calls. Nothing. Like he hasn't been in your life at all.

“(Y/N).” Your friend calls you, dragging you away from your thoughts. That's when you realize what made you remember him. Two men on your left, a few tables away, are talking about motorcycles. “You ok?”

“Yeah.” Nodding, you look down at your cup of coffee, still untouched. Your friend made you come to this new coffee shop early in the morning, and you wish you could enjoy it. But now that Keanu is once again in your mind... You find it difficult to take in the beautiful vintage decoration. The pastel colors and all the happy people around you, chatting and smiling.

“Please tell me your not–”

“I'm not.” You cut her off, taking a deep breath. “I was just... Thinking about this office party next week. I can bring someone. Wanna come?” Lying is not your thing, but if you tell Laura you're thinking about Keanu again, she won't let it go easily.

“Sorry. Next week will be hectic, I don't think I can.” Feeling her eyes on you, you sigh. “But on the weekend we can do something nice like going to the–” She stops talking suddenly, eyes wide, staring at something behind you.

“Laura?” Raising your eyebrows, you wonder which one of her many ex-boyfriends is here. “Do you need me to go so you can talk to him?”

“No, no.” Running a hand through your hair, you notice this person approaching by how she moves in her seat. Still, you don't turn to check who it is. The only boyfriend she had that you liked had to move to someplace in Europe. The others are all idiots, so why bother to look?

“Just tell me what you want to do.” Muttering, you finally take a sip of your coffee before putting the cup down again. Too bitter for your taste. Or is it just you?

“(Y/N).” The mention of your name isn't what startles you. Or what makes your heart, ripped in half, skip a beat. It's the voice. You haven't heard it in a very long time, but you recognize it immediately. You crave for it. “Hi.”

“I'll leave you two.” Laura stands up, taking her bag, and giving you a stare. You don't know what it means though.

She doesn't even give you time to think. Perhaps you should leave as well. But you're frozen, not able to even look at him.

It takes a few seconds until he takes a seat before you, where Laura was. Seeing Keanu now is... What? Torture, certainly. Because you just realized you want to jump in his arms again, hug him, kiss him. Is painful because you know you can't do any of those things. And you shouldn't want to.

But there he is, looking as good as the day you first saw him. Dark hair hiding one of his eyes, the stubble that always looks so rough, but you know how soft it really is. He's right there, and you could just stretch your arm and touch him.

There are a lot of things you want to say, and the words fight for a chance to be spoken.

'What the hell do you want?'

'Where have you been all this time?'

'I still love you.'

'Why did you came to talk to me?'

'Do you still love me?'

“Hi.” It's stupid how this is what wins in the end.

“How are you? It's been a while.” He hesitates a little, those dark eyes never leaving you, burning. How much you missed those eyes looking at you...

“Normal.”

“Just normal?”

“Just normal.” You should lie. Tell him you're absolutely fine. Happy as hell. Maybe you should even tell him you're going out with someone. But you just can't. You love him too much, and the time you had together was good. The very best. The way it ended doesn't change how amazing it was. So you just can't bring yourself to lie to him. But you don't tell the truth either. Keanu doesn't have to know how devastated you still are after he left. “You?”

“Guess I can say I'm normal too.” There are things left unsaid. From both of you. “Is it too bitter?”

“What?” You mumble, and he gestures at your coffee. He knows you. Too well perhaps. “Yeah. Why-why are you here, Ke?” When you notice how you just called him, it's too late. Cursing yourself, you bite your tongue. “Keanu.” Or should you say, Mr. Reeves? You don't know where you stand now. Friends? It can't be since he disappeared.

“I heard of this new coffee shop and decided to come and... When I saw you, I just had to come and talk.” He nods, maybe to himself. “But I can go if that's what you want.”

“No.” How could you want him to leave? “It's... It's good to see you again.” A smile finds its way to your lips. “After what? Three, four months?” You dissimulate, not wanting to just let it show how much you missed him.

“Seven months next week, I believe.” Is he counting? Why would he do that? “Too long.”

“Too long.” You're still speaking when a young couple stops by your table, excitedly talking to Keanu. You smile to see how he excuses himself, with an apologetic look, to give his fans attention. He's always kind to them, never being rude. When he stands up for a picture, you take the chance to leave, your heart sinking a little. After leaving the money on the table, you take your bag and walk away, doing your best to hold back the tears threatening to roll down.

You had imagined this moment a million times. Seeing him again. You thought you'd yell, curse him and bravely walk away. But this? You're walking away out of fear. You're running away from the feelings, too strong for you to handle. How is it possible to love someone so intensely after all this time?

“(Y/N)!” His voice comes with the familiar noise of his motorcycle. So you stop, breathing deeply, hoping the soft shadow of the three above you will hide your teary eyes. “I'm sorry about that, I–”

“You know I don't mind, Ke... Keanu.” Damn it.

“I... I want to talk to you. So maybe somewhere more private where we won't be interrupted?”

No. You don't want to talk to him. You don't want to pour salt on the wound. “Alright.” If only you were stronger.

Keanu gives you his helmet, and you put it on before climbing on the bike behind him. There's no choice but to hug his waist, so that's what you do, trying not to enjoy it so much. It's probably nothing. He probably just wants to apologize.

You can't help but notice he still keeps the same speed as before. Not as fast as he usually goes when he's alone. As much as this gesture warms your heart, you try to keep it distant. Try to keep it cold. Cold people don't get hurt.

You're not impressed when you stop at his place. Well, his house. One of them. He moved after breaking up with you. Keanu waits patiently for you to move to the ground. The bike is too high for you, so it's always a little complicated. Taking off the helmet, you hand it over to him, making your way to the front door. But halfway there you change your mind. Being inside his house is too much. It's too familiar, too... Too much. So you walk around it, straight to the backyard.

Sitting on the wooden table, you take in the view. The morning sun turns everything into a dream. You remember that the best pictures you have with Keanu were taken here after you either decided to crash here or passed out on his couch.

Memories. The damn memories never leave you alone.

“I forgive you.” You burst out when he comes to sit before you. “If you want to apologize for... I don't know, for anything. I forgive you.”

“I wasn't planning on this.” He starts hands together above the table. “But I saw you there and... I just had to.”

You don't know what to say, so you look down, unable to sustain eye contact anymore. What are you doing? What is he doing? “You disappeared.” It just comes out, suddenly, full of... Anger? Desperation? You don't know, but it's overflowing. “After everything we've been through, you broke up with and disappeared. Not a single call. Not even a text. Nothing!”

“I had to.”

“You had to?” A humorless laugh escapes your lips and you stand up, determined to leave. On foot, if that's what it takes.

“I had to because if not I'd come back to you.” He raises his voice a little, just enough to make you stop in your tracks, hands shaking a little. “I did what I did because of you.”

“No, you did it for yourself.” Turning around again, you sustain his stare. “I didn't want to end things. I love you!” It came out wrong. Didn't it? It was supposed to be in the past. “I loved you.” You correct yourself, a hand on your forehead. “I... I'm sorry. You think I'm too young for you and that's ok. You have the right to think that but don't put words in my mouth. I never cared about age.”

“Everything I wanted was you to have the chance of making a better choice. Someone your age who could keep up with all the pop culture things you're into.” He speaks slow, his voice soft and low again. Keanu never raises his voice at you. Well, he only does it get your attention when you're too mad to listen, but he never enjoys it.

“If I wanted someone my freaking age I'd be looking for him.” Stepping forward, you slam both your hands on the table. “When I fell for you, I wasn't paying attention to the numbers. I fell for you. You. Why can't you accept that?”

“The tabloids were saying that I was–”

“Taking advantage?” You finish it for him. “Yeah, they said a lot of mean stuff but I didn't give a damn. Our relationship was between you and me. The rest of the world didn't get a say in it.”

Keanu looks down, breathing deeply. You just stand there, waiting. Begging... Begging this means something. Something good.

“Say something, please.”

“I still love you.” The words hit you like a train, and you stand up straight, not strong enough to look away from him.

“Don't say that if you don't mean it.” You beg, your voice barely a whisper.

“I mean it.”

“Don't say that if you still think we can't be together because of this or that!” You gesture at nothing in particular, tears rolling down now, all the walls you put around yourself falling to the ground. “You broke my heart once, don't do that again.”

“I can't stop thinking about you.” Keanu stands up, walking around the table and stopping before you. “Every single day I had to fight the urge to call you. Visit you. To... Have you back, but I couldn't. That's why I moved away. And I only came back because I thought I got over you but... Clearly, I didn't.” When he takes your hand, you swear you feel the world slowing down. You have been dreaming of his touch for so long now that you just don't have to strength to push him away. You want him. And... If he wants you too...

“Ke, please don't–”

“When I saw you, it came back. Everything since that day on the bridge.” Pulling up your hand, he places a soft kiss on your knuckles. “Every hug, every kiss, every date. It reminded me of how much I missed you.”

It's useless to fight it. It's useless to put any effort into trying to step away now. Your arms move from his chest up to be around his neck as you end the small distance between your bodies. Keanu is quick to hug your waist and it feels like both your bodies move out of instinct. Like you missed each other in levels you can't even understand.

“What do you mean, Ke?” Your voice is weak, barely a whisper. Involuntary, you stand on your toes, needing, wanting to kiss him again.

“I don't care what they say. Tabloids, magazines, to hell with them. All I need, all I want is you and if you really don't mind having such an old man–”

“Everything about you draws me in. Inside and out.” Cutting him short, you caress his cheek, wondering if you should allow yourself to be happy. If this is really happening.

“I know, darling.” He takes a deep breath. “I know what I did hurt you very much but... If you're willing to try again...”

“If you ever break up with me again over this whole age shit or for anything someone who doesn't even know us says... I'll be the one to disappear this time.” You mutter with your eyes closed, using whatever is left of your strength to keep from kissing him. “Promise me.”

“The plans we had... About getting married, having kids... I want it all back. I want to get things where we left them.”

Biting back a smile, you nod, finally allowing your thirsty lips to meet his. And it feels like heaven, like getting a chance to breathe after being underwear for too long. He tastes just the same, like home. Some tears roll down, giving the kiss a salty taste, but you don't mind. They're tears of joy now.

When you pull away to breathe, he lifts you up, and you quickly wrap your legs around his waist. “You didn't get a chance to drink your coffee so let me make you breakfast.”

“Like before?”

“Yes. And if it's up to me, it'll be like that forever. For the rest of our lives or for as long as you want me.”

“Forever, then, Ke.” Smiling, you place a soft kiss on his lips. Yours now, once again. “Forever and always, babe.”

[yuta-nakamots]

Candle Light - l.hc ; Part 1 of 2

Pairing - College!Haechan x Ghost!Reader

Genre - Angst in the beginning, but it’s just fluff from there

Warnings - Character death, supernatural activity (you are literally a ghost)

Summary - As the resident ghost that haunts your old apartment, you take pride in scaring away those who dare move in, not wanting them to ruin your memories. Though your mission changes after a group of boys arrive. These are the four boys you allow into your space and your heart. One of them is the candle that supports you, and you are the fire that burns atop it, his beacon of light.

Word Count - 5.7k

A/N - this series is inspired from a discontinued series that @soleilhyuck​ originally wrote on her old blog. let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list :)

Tag List - @sunflowerhae @eunsangelical @soleilhyuck @neoyoungho @carefreebubble​

You are a ghost, to put things simply. The past three years of your undead life have been spent wandering through your apartment complex, though you mostly stayed to your unit and scared away those who chose to move in, as it is your precious space. It reminds you of your family, the people who had moved away shortly after your accident because they couldn’t stand constantly walking past the place where you took your last breath.

Three years ago, you were in your second year of college and making your way back home from your on-campus job late at night when you were hit by a car as you crossed the street. You had your phone out to finally respond to the messages that were built up and read all the emails waiting in your inbox, you didn’t even see the car speeding down the road. Apparently, it was a classic drunk driving case as the light above you was red, telling them to stop, but they were too inhibited to recognize the traffic signal.

You remember the feeling of getting hit and blacking out, but when you came to, you were a few feet away from the crowd of people in front of the car. When you pushed yourself off the ground and made your way over to them to see what they were making such a big deal about, that’s when you saw it. Your lifeless body was sprawled out on the road, bruised and bloodied from hitting the hard pavement and the impact of the car.

Within the crowd were a few of your coworkers who probably left a little while after you and were making their way back home or to their dorms as well. One of them was your childhood friend who lived a few floors below you. You ran to him and said his name, trying to get his attention, but he didn’t answer. You tried again, eventually yelling and reaching out to shake him by his shoulders but you watched as your hands passed right through his frame.

You were in denial at your current state and you stayed frozen in place as he whipped out his phone and called your mom. It felt as if everything was going all too fast around you, like the Earth was rotating faster than you could keep up with. You saw your parents and little sister running across the street, all of them in their pajamas.

You watched as your mother knelt down and held your head to her chest as she wept, her tears sinking into the fabric of the shirt you were wearing.

You watched as your father spoke to the paramedics when they arrived, telling them that he had just gotten to the scene and he was alerted by your friend who stood behind your mom, looking over you as he shook his head in disbelief.

You watched as your sister, only fifteen years old, struggled to grasp the situation at hand. She had never lived a single second of her life without you. Regardless of all the fights and arguments the two of you got into, at the end of the day, you were her older sister, the person she looked up to most, the best role model she could’ve ever asked for. She stood at the edge of the crowd, too shocked to even move.

You watched as the paramedic team loaded your body onto the stretcher and into the ambulance where they tried to take your vitals, all their efforts in vain. They pronounced you dead on site, silence washing over the group of people who had been witnesses and those who knew you and stayed to offer support.

You don’t know what came over you, but you found yourself walking the path back to your apartment as if nothing had happened. Walking through the lobby, you made your way to the elevator and hit the button out of habit and waited for the familiar rattling as the elevator made its way down. The doors opened and it was empty, as usual for it being this late at night, but you didn’t mind.

When you got off at your floor and trudged through the hallway to your apartment, you reached around to get your keys out of your backpack, and tried to insert it into the doorknob, watching as your hand and key went straight through the door itself and reality came crashing down on you again.

You could only sigh as you shut your eyes willed yourself to take a daring step straight through the door that would’ve definitely stopped you in your tracks hours ago, yet when you opened your eyes, you were met with the familiar sight of the unit you spent almost your entire life in. You were numb by now, you felt tired and drained, You threw your bag on the ground of the room, not even noticing it as it simply disappeared while you flung yourself onto your bed and allowed your eyes to close while you drifted into a state of unconsciousness.

It had been three years since that fateful night, your family moving out not even a month later. You tried your damn hardest to get their attention as they packed the tan boxes, crying out that you were still here, you were still alive. But none of it ever seemed to work, they continued their movements without a single glance at you.

Ever since then, you had remained alone in your apartment, playing with those who chose to move in. Most didn’t last more than a few months, losing their mind to your antics as you closed and opened doors, slammed windows, flipped light switches, and even moved their belongings around the unit. Simple things like these were enough to make tenants terminate their contracts and move out of your home.

Part of you felt the slightest bit of guilt for doing this, but it was your space. Besides, it wasn’t as if you were hurting them. You wouldn’t call yourself a bad ghost, per say, as you were quite peaceful, never going as far as to physically harm anyone. Though you didn’t know how much longer you could stand aimlessly roaming around before you truly lost your mind and went mad.

July 2019

In the sweltering summer heat, which you fortunately could no longer feel, you were broken out of your drifting trance as you heard the front door to your apartment open. You watched from the sofa as four handsome boys walked in, lugging suitcases and boxes behind them. You peeked around the wall separating the main room from the kitchen as you heard them arguing with each other and talking about their classes.

From their conversations, you gathered that they were going to be second year students at your university. They were your age, though you were theoretically older than them, but whenever you were able to manifest the silhouette of your human body, you look just the same as you did back then, three years ago.

You were also able to learn their names as they shouted at each other, trying to figure out whose boxes were whose.

“Jeno, put that one down in the main room.” One of the boys yelled, the black haired one looked up as he found the room in question and yelled back in acknowledgement as he carried one box in his right arm while guiding a bike with the other. He seemed to be the most well built out of all of them, the black tank top he was wearing doing nothing to hide his strong arms from view.

“Hey, Jaemin, go open some windows.” Jeno commanded as he set down the box with a thump and you watched as the grey haired boy split off from the rest of them and went to open the windows next to the door that slid open to the balcony.

“Guys, come look at this view.” Jaemin exclaimed, Jeno and the brown haired boy joining him as he looked through the glass and admired the view of the city.

“Can someone please help me with this.” Said an anxious voice from the front door and you turned along with the rest of the boys, the fourth and smallest of the group as he struggled to make his way through the suitcases left haphazardly in the hallway while carrying an easel that was just as tall as him, if not taller.

“Yeah, sure thing, Renjun.” The tan skinned boy with dark chocolate colored hair walked over and laid down in his tracks, causing the shorter boy to curse in frustration and the other two to let out laughs from across the room.

“Haechan, I will literally step on you if you don’t move.” The aforementioned boy had immediately caught your eye. He was like the physical embodiment of summer itself.

You sat back down on the couch and watched as Jaemin and Renjun claimed your parents' old room since it was the largest and could fit both of them plus Renjun’s easel and other art supplies. Jeno took your younger sister’s room, finding barely space to store his bike alongside one of the walls before venturing into the shared bathroom between his and Haechan’s room. The latter boy took your room, the smallest one with a window offering the same view the balcony did, not minding the cramped environment as he didn’t bring much with him in the first place.

A feeling of annoyance built up in you when Haechan opened the window and stuck his head out the same way you used to do ever since you were younger. You couldn’t deny the fact that he was attractive, heck, all of them were, but that wasn’t enough to quell your irritation at how these boys were in your home.

As Haechan pulled away from the window, you were about to slam it shut right in front of him and begin your plan to get rid of them. But before you could move, Jeno burst into the room, telling Haechan to “come look at the refrigerator this place has, it’s got a screen and everything” with much excitement.

You left your bedroom, following Haechan out as he paused to take another look out from the glass panelling that separated the main room from the balcony, one of your most sacred places as it was where you often enjoyed doing your homework due to the cooling breeze that would occasionally blow by, ruffling your hair as it passed.

August 2019

Halfway through the month, the boys had all started their classes and you were able to learn their majors and educational plans. Renjun was an art major that was just getting his core classes out of the way before transferring to a school with a specialized art program. Jeno majored in biology with hopes to become a physical therapist or veterinarian, he was having a hard time choosing, believe me. Jaemin was a business major and you felt like an idiot for not realizing it sooner with all the smooth talking he does and his way of persuading the others to do his share of chores for him. Haechan, the boy that bothered you most out of all of them, was undecided. This didn’t surprise you either as he was always on his computer playing video games, not showing much interest in anything else.

You found it entertaining to listen in on their conversations as they talked about their school activities like when Renjun joined the astrology club or when Jeno had joined the humane society club. Though Jaemin didn’t join any clubs, he had joined many other outside volunteer organizations. He especially loved talking about volunteering at the local orphanage and care homes for the elderly. He even got a job at the new cafe that apparently opened up recently just a block away from the apartment complex. Haechan, unlike the rest of them, didn’t do anything outside of school. He’d come home, do some of his homework, and immediately go to his computer to play Overwatch regardless if he was truly done with his work or not.

By this time, you had already started messing with them by fooling around with their doors and windows. None of them were truly phased though, passing it off as just the wind or the weight of the windows themselves being heavy enough to close on their own. The only one who seemed to have any suspicion of your existence was Renjun

September 2019

Around this month, the boys’ school semester was in full swing and you could truly see what type of students they were. Renjun and Jeno were both very organized and self-disciplined, wanting to finish their work before they allowed themselves to relax. Haechan and Jaemin were the opposite of that, wanting to relax first and recharge their mind before doing any school work. Jaemin always made sure to finish his work though, even pulling a few all-nighters unlike Haechan.

Even though you’ve continued to mess around with them, they were seemingly unbothered by your antics, only blaming themselves when you started misplacing their objects like when you moved Haechan’s keys from the kitchen island to the coffee table in the living room or when you moved Jeno’s notebook from his desk to the bathroom counter. It was quite funny though, when Jaemin came across the notebook after using the toilet, yelling out into the hallway “hey Jeno! Were you reading your biology notes while taking a dump or something? You forgot your notebook in here.”

Jeno came in muttering as Jaemin finished washing his hands, “I could’ve sworn I left it on my desk when I finished taking notes” his voice trailing off at the end as he reached up and scratched the back of his head while taking the notebook from the counter and making his way back to his room.

Again, it was only Renjun who seemed to have any amount of brain cells that were alert of your presence. One evening, you were watching him paint in his shared room and you had accidentally knocked down the cup that was holding his paintbrushes, wincing as it crashed down onto the floor from his desk. “Ah!” He had exclaimed as he whipped around from the canvas, taking in the sight of his brushes scattered on the floor and his cup rolling beneath his chair. He turned around again, peering around his easel, checking to see if the window was shut, “I swear this place must be haunted” was what he said when he realized that the window was indeed securely shut.

October 2019

As fall started to settle in, the leaves changing color and the air growing colder, you were given less opportunities to play around with windows and doors, forcing you to come up with more ideas to get them out. Your next momentous idea came to you on Halloween night as you were spread out on the seemingly unoccupied armchair, watching the horror movie the boys had put on. All four of them were crammed onto the couch because it had the best view of the TV and none of them wanted to sit on the floor or in another chair where they’d have to turn their neck to look at the screen.

You weren’t really a fan of horror movies but it’s not like you could complain. Besides, they were younger than all of the previous tenants and seemed to be active users of Netflix, allowing you to see all the new things that had been added to the streaming service. You found it funny when you noticed that they all had their own profiles on Jaemin’s account seeing as how he was the only one actually making enough money to pay for it.

It was about half an hour into the movie when the first jump scare happened. You laughed as Jeno practically threw the bowl of popcorn that was peacefully resting in his lap into the air, most of the popcorn landing on Haechan who was sitting next to him. “Wait, guys, did you hear that?” Renjun asked as he looked in your direction, pupils searching for the source of your laugh while you sat frozen in shock.

“It was probably just the neighbors.” Haechan said nonchalantly as he picked pieces of popcorn off his head and shoved them into his mouth.

Renjun shook his head, “no, I swear it sounded like it was in this room.”

“Dude, if you’re that scared of the movie then you don’t have to watch it.” Jeno said, earning a giggle from Jaemin.

“I’m not scared, I just thought I heard something.” Renjun mumbled as he slowly turned his attention back to the movie.

Only a few people could hear you and even fewer could actually see you. You were used to being totally invisible to the wide majority of tenants who moved in, not many of them believing in ghosts until you began your pranks and scared them into realizing that ghosts do indeed exist. The fact that Renjun had heard you was enough to let you know that he was a believer already and you planned on using this to your advantage soon, and by soon you meant within the next hour or so.

Right after the boys witnessed a gruesome death in the movie, you had turned off the TV, pressing the power button on the back of the monitor to match the timing of the characters’ unconscious body dropping to the floor. They initially thought it was part of the movie, that it was a cut to a new scene, but they soon realized this was not the case as the TV screen stays black.

Renjun’s eyes went wide as he frantically searched for the TV remote on the couch and coffee table in front of them, his breath getting stuck in his throat as he saw it sitting atop a stack of magazines, certain that he would’ve noticed if anyone had moved to grab it. “This TV doesn’t have an auto-timer feature does it?” He asked, his voice quivering in fear.

“I-I don’t think so.” Jeno admitted, clearly also quite shaken up.

Jaemin glanced around the room before remarking, “the power is still on though so I don’t know why it would have shut off.”

“This is what I mean when I say this place is haunted,” Renjun burst out, abruptly standing up and letting the blanket they were all sharing fall to the floor, “I’m going to bed before anything else bad can happen.” You smiled at his innocence thinking he could just sleep away your presence.  As he passed you on his way to his room, you whispered his name and held back a snicker as he jumped, his head whipping back and forth to find you. “Who’s there?” The other three boys just laughed at him, enjoying the show they thought he was putting on. “Guys, I’m being serious.”

“None of us said anything.” Haechan remarked, obviously thinking that his friend was going insane.

In Renjun’s panic, you had moved to get out of his supposed path to his bedroom, but you weren’t ready when he suddenly made his way back to the boys on the couch, threatening to punch them. He walked straight through your form and froze as the cold air hit his skin, causing the hair on his arms to rise.

“What? Cat got your tongue?” Jaemin teased.

“Did you guys really not feel that gust of air?” Renjun asked, eyes blown wide in disbelief.

Jeno shook his head, “nope,” he stated, popping the ‘p’, “I think you should really get to bed though, you stayed up kinda late last night so maybe you’re just imagining things.”

Renjun stomped his foot angrily before turning on his heel and storming off towards his room, “fine, but don’t come crying to me when this ghost starts messing with you guys too.”

Sure enough, that’s exactly what you did. Later that night, when they were all asleep, you had come up with your own way to mess with each of them, mentally high fiving yourself as you made your way to Haechan’s room, which was actually your room.

You proceeded to open the single window, along with all the doors, even the sliding one for the closet. You took it upon yourself to empty the contents of his pencil case, placing them in the shape of a sun in the middle of the floor, remembering how he called himself ‘full sun’ though admittedly it resembled something more of a summoning circle so you quickly scrapped the idea, opting to simply just scatter them randomly.

Happy with your work, you passed through the shared bathroom, which was surprisingly neat for two boys, your gaze landing on Jeno who was letting out light snores as you entered his room. He was the neatest out of all of them, his desk always cleaned up before going to bed, his outfit for the next day already planned out and resting on his chair. You knew how much he valued his cleanliness and organization, so those were the things you were going to ruin.

You opened all of his desk drawers, taking a few things out and placing them around the room, even into different drawers that they didn’t belong in. You then took apart his stack of books, opening them to random pages and placing them on top of each other in any which way, making your own precarious leaning tower. The finishing touch was when you turned his clothes inside out and laid them on the back of his chair. You looked over at his sleeping body, snoring even louder than before, smiling to yourself as you moved to the last room.

Jaemin didn’t have much on his side of the room for you to play around with but you noticed his hand was hanging off the bed so you decided to try out one of the pranks that you’d learned about from your friends back in high school where if you placed someone’s hand in warm water while sleeping, it would make them pee in their sleep.

You made your way into the kitchen and willed your power to manifest your semi-solid human body, needing it to grab a cup from the drying rack and turn on the sink to fill it with water. As you popped it into the microwave and pressed the buttons to heat it up for 2 minutes, cringing at the obnoxious sound of the beeping, remembering the horrid couple that brought it in with them.

While waiting for the microwave to finish it’s job, you leaned against the counter, eyeing the mountain of dishes in the sink in disgust, wondering just when will these boys actually clean up. They were relatively neat for a bunch of boys but that doesn’t mean they were in an acceptable range of overall cleanliness, barely of them making any use of the washing machine in the hallway. You stopped the microwave just before it went off, and grabbed the warm cup out before making sure to reset the timer and close the door.

You turned around, trying your best to balance the cup and not spill any until you looked up and saw a wide-eyed Renjun standing in the doorway. “W-who are you?”

You dropped the plastic cup out of shock, the warm water spilling all over the floor, not that you could feel it or care about it. “No one” you responded quickly, before forcing your body to revert back to it’s normal invisible state.

“Wait no, come back. You’re the ghost from earlier aren’t you?” Renjun pleaded as you moved slowly to stand behind him, making sure not to cause any gusts of air. “What’s your name, if you don’t mind me asking, and why are you here?” He questioned, staring at the place you were previously.

“Get out.”

You watch the hairs on his neck rise as he froze in place and began stuttering “P-p-please don’t hurt me, I just want to help you.”

“If you want to help me then get out” you jeered.

“Don’t you wonder why you’re still here? I can’t just leave you to endlessly haunt this place,” Renjun said, trying to reason with you. You sighed realizing that he was one of those types of believers, and he wouldn’t be leaving as easily as you thought. You left the kitchen, the breeze following you signaling to Renjun that you were moving, “isn’t there any way I can help you?”

You didn’t respond, only heading through the living room to the balcony where you turned around and sat down in a lawn chair one of the boys had set outside, your gaze settling back on Renjun’s in the hallway. You heard him sigh as he walked into the kitchen and then some shuffling around as he was probably cleaning up the water you spilled before he headed back to his room.

November 2019

As the weather grew colder and their workloads grew heavier, you often found the boys exploring new ways to warm themselves up. Jeno took to impromptu workout sessions even when he was fully clothed in a hoodie and sweatpants. Renjun opted to simply drink warm drinks while the funnies of them all was Jaemin who preferred to wrap himself in blankets, keeping himself in his cocoon as he moved throughout the apartment, even when he went to use the bathroom and when he cooked. You didn’t mind those things, the only coping mechanism that really bothered you was the scented candles that Haechan would use.

He’d often go to bed, forgetting to put out the candle and you’d watch as the hot wax melted down, some of it dripping onto the desk it was on, your desk to be specific. You swatted at the flame, effectively extinguishing it as you slammed the window shut, rousing Haechan from his sleep. Seeing as how nothing was out of the ordinary, he fell back asleep within a few seconds making you scoff at his ignorance at possibly burning the whole place down.

This became a regular occurrence as Haechan’s assignments grew in their numbers and intensity, forcing him to stay up later and work through the cold of the nights. You were glad he was making an effort to keep up with his schooling, but not when those obnoxious candles were left ablaze every single night as he drifted off into dreamland.

December 2019

Renjun had finished his midterms the earliest out of all of the boys, meaning that he got to stay in while all the others still went back to campus. You enjoyed being in his room while he painted, liking the ambiance it gave off. You often found yourself drifting in and watching him as his brush ran across the canvas.

Though one day, as you sat on Jaemin’s bed on the other side of the room, he suddenly spoke out. “I know you’re there.” He didn’t stop his motions, only dipping his brush back into the orange paint he was using before returning his attention back to the sunset inspired painting he was creating. “You know so much about me, yet I know nothing about you. Don’t you think that’s a little unfair?” He stated as he turned to grab another brush, dipping it into the royal blue resting on his palette. “If you were going to hurt us, you would’ve done something by now. We’ve been here for nearly five months at this point and you only seem to pull harmless pranks on us.”

You materialized behind him before speaking. “Is it too much to want my own home for myself?” He jumped a little, much to your amusement.

“I’m sorry?” he said, not seeming to understand what you were getting at.

“This is my home, I want you to leave, let me live in peace.”

“I don’t think you understand” he began, “you’re not even alive. Your spirit may be but you have no physical embodiment to live here.”

You bring a hand up to his cheek, his brush stopping in its tracks, “I’m more alive than you think, Renjun.”

“I don’t even know your name, so how am I supposed to believe--”

“Who are you even talking to?” Both of you whip around, not remembering having heard Haechan come through the front door, too immersed in your own conversation.

Renjun suddenly notices your floating blue lit figure next to him, “her! I was talking to her” he exclaims.

“Who?” Haechan asks, clearly confused.

“Don’t you see her?”

“No, Renjun, I do not see her or anyone else in the room for the matter. I think those paints must be toxic for you.” He remarked, walking out of the room.

“Haechan, no, wait-- come back” Renjun pleaded as he scrambled to force Haechan to see what he was seeing, which you knew was impossible since Haechan was a non-believer.

In Renjun’s haste, he kicked one of the legs of his easel, tipping it over. Before it could hit the floor, you grabbed it, causing it looking as if it were hovering in the air. But to Renjun, who could very much see you, it made him that much more certain that you were real and it made him that much more persistent to figure out why you were here.

Barely even a day has passed since then when you learn that Renjun is able to see you even when you weren’t in your misty human form. He could see you as you floated throughout the rooms and wandered through the hallways. You only realized this after watching his eyes follow you as you made your way from the kitchen to the living room, passing in front of the TV that he was currently watching.

“You can see me?” you asked, not believing that he actually could.

He seemed just as surprised as you, his mouth open in surprise. “I-I think so?” A few seconds went by as you both tried to process what was going on. “Why can I see you and hear you but the others can't?” He asked.

“They don’t believe in ghosts, or at least not as much as you do.” You explained, shrugging your shoulders apprehensively.

Renjun leaned back into the couch, his face showing just how shocked he was, the realization of being able to communicate with a ghost only now hitting him. “Can you at least tell me why you’re still here?”

You scoff before responding to him, “I told you, this is my home and I want you and your friends out.”

“I’m sorry, but we’re just a group of broke college students. We don’t have anywhere else to go. I promise that we’ll move out at the end of the school year.” You rolled your eyes at him as you move to sit out on the balcony, ready to figure out a new way to force them out before then.

Two weeks later on new year’s eve, being the ‘broke college students’ they were, the boys had settled down in the living room with the TV on as they watched the ball drop while eating instant ramen and drinking from the two cheap bottles of bourbon they had bought earlier in the week.

Growing up, you had always thought it was fun to play with sparklers and watch the fireworks from the balcony of your unit. But now days you found it stupid, knowing that humans believed it would drive away bad sprits, yet little did they know that it really didn’t do much except irritate them. You would know from your own personal experience.

You and Renjun had gotten used to his ability to see you, this newfound ability causing you to hang around him a little more, though the others were convinced he was going insane. They were just about ready to hand him over to the mental ward for schizophrenia when he turned to you asking “are you okay with all the fireworks going off?” referring to the channel they had the TV set on.

“Yeah, it’s fine. They’re annoying at most but I don’t care.”

Haechan dropped his set of chopsticks, his eyes and mouth agape as he stared at Renjun. “What was that?” he questioned, clearly in shock.

“Oh, you can hear y/n?” Renjun questioned, not at all phased as he finished chewing on the noodles in his mouth.

“Who is ‘y/n?’” Haechan asked, bewildered.

“She’s the ghost that lives here, the one I was telling you guys about since like, Halloween?” He said, looking over at you for confirmation, to which you nodded.

“Yeah, Halloween.” You acknowledged, Haechan’s eyes landing on you as he began to see your faint silhouette sitting next to Renjun.

Jaemin, with an eyebrow raised in concern, is the first to break the sudden silence that fell across the room. “Okay Renjun, we’re taking you to see a psychologist tomorrow.”

“No guys, y/n is real, I swear,” Renjun protested, “Haechan can hear her and I can see her too. Look, y/n hold this.” He said, handing you a napkin. It rested on your hand before floating through you and landing on the floor.

You watched as Jeno’s eyes grew wider and his eyebrows raised as he became the slightest bit skeptical of your existence whilst Jaemin was still unamused, convinced that it was just a trick of the wind. Before they could say anything else, voices could be heard from the TV as the crowd started to count down from 30, effectively distracting the boys from their previous discussion.

You noticed that one of them didn’t return his attention to the TV, however. Haechan’s gaze was still fixed on you as your glowing misty blue figure became clearer and clearer to him.

A/N - this series is inspired from a discontinued series that @hyuckgasm​ originally wrote on her old blog. let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for Candle Light :)

[inglourious-imagines]

Blame It On The Alcohol (Lewis Nixon)

Summary: You and Lew got into a huge fight so you now have a conversation with Harry to get it out.

Author's Note: Shout out to @alienoresimagines for the help!

Taglist: @alienoresimagines @floydtab @meteora-fc @eugenesmorphine @band-of-brothers-cz @real-fans   @not-john-watsons-blog @tealaquinn @ok-roemanov @mrseasycompany @punkgeekchic @wexhappyxfew @hellitwasyoufirstsergeant @rarmiitage @hihosilvers @mavysnavy @easynix @stressedinadress @georgeluzwarmhugs @easy-company-tradition @immrsronaldspeirs @snafus-peckuh

.

.

.

"Tell me every terrible thing you ever did, and let me love you anyway."

"You argued again, didn't you?" Harry Welsh looked at her knowingly as he placed a little wooden chair next to her. Y/N nodded slowly as she kept staring at her glass with the gold liquor she downed in the next second. The alcohol was burning its way down her throat as a pleasing wave of warmth followed.

"You should stop with the drinking for tonight, really." Harry frowned once he saw the almost empty bottle on the table right next to her.

"If you want to lecture me about good behaviour then leave it for another day. I'm not in the mood." Y/N snapped and finished what was left in the glass. Welsh had never seen her that drunk before - her eyes were bloodshot, her hands were trembling even though she'd never admit it, and the way she looked at everything and everybody around told the Lieutenant that she's at the verge of a collapse.

Harry sat down quietly on the other chair next to her and pushed the bottle with the glass away. "How about you tell what happened?" he started in a calm low voice as he stroked her back reassuringly to show her he's here to listen.

Y/N let out an ironic laugh shaking her head - Harry knew that this was her way to keep it all together. If she began to be sentimental and really starting to tell the story, she'd break down immediately and Welsh wouldn't be able to put her heart back together.

Only Lewis Nixon could do that.

"He's just a goddamn alcoholic that doesn't know when to stop." Y/N stated as casually as she could, reaching for what was left in her magical bottle.

"Yeah because you're a total saint, right?" Harry eyed her actions with a caring frown on his face. This wasn't good, not even a little and he knew it. "What did I tell you about the alcohol?"

Y/N rolled his eyes at him but to Harry's surprise she stopped in her tracks and left the bottle where it was. The situation was way worse than he thought.

"I don't know if I want to be with him anymore, Harry." Y/N whispered so quietly that the soldier barely heard her saying the hurtful sentence.

Welsh glanced at the woman in disbelief, absolutely taken away by her confession. If anything was stable in this world, then it was them - Y/N Y/L/N and Lewis Nixon. And now, it seemed like this stability is falling apart.

"Don't say that, you're perfect for each other, dear!" Harry tried save the situation as he watched a tear roll down her cheek.

"I don't know if he even loves me." 

Harry Welsh wasn't sure if he's hearing right in the moment. What possibly could go so wrong that made her question Nixon's unconditional love for her?

•••

"You're drunk. Again." Y/N stated as soon as her boyfriend, who was obviously in a grumpy mood, stumbled into their room. It hurt her to see the most important person in her life at the moment like this. She was getting tired of his bad habit and despite her endless effort to persuade Lew to stop drinking so much. She suggested to take it gradually, step by step, she promised him she'll be there for him all the time. But Nixon didn't seem to care at all and when Y/N saw him that night being drunk than ever with one other bottle still in his hand, it was the last drop.

"Is there even a time when you're not fucking drunk?" Y/N frowned as she watched Lewis rummaging through his locker apparently searching for more alcohol.

"Don't be such a prude. You should have a glass yourself, you seem upset." Nixon replied without interest, not even bothering to look at his girlfriend.

"Lew, I'm serious. I think you've had enough for today." she tried to remain calm and serene but the long bottled up anger was slowly fighting its way out. 

"And who are you to tell me what I should or should not do?" Nix snapped straightening himself as he walked toward her with a vague expression on his face. 

"I'm just concerned about your health, goddamn it! Someone has to when you're so fucking reckless!" Y/N raised her voice, the anger made her stand up from her chair and take a few steps toward the officer.

"I didn't ask you to take some fucking care of me! I can do whatever the fuck I want!" 

The room was filled with so much tension, unsaid feelings, hurt and Y/N knew this is the best time to leave but she kept her emotions hidden long enough to stay and get it all out.

"Then what the hell are we still doing here, eh? When you don't care about anyone and anything?!" Y/N felt how her tears are fighting its way out but she clenched her fists hard and it was gone. They needed to go through this.

"Well I don't know!" Lewis just confirmed her doubts and this time a single tear did roll down her cheek.

"And the funniest part is you won't even remember this conversation tomorrow 'cause you're just so fucking drunk!" Y/N almost shouted. She surprised herself how cold and strong her voice was even though she was shivering inside.

"Are you serious? Look and how about this? Do you think I'll remember this?" Lewis cried out, grabbed a near vase and threw it on the ground. The loud crash made them both stop for a moment and Y/N made a few steps back. She'd never seen Lew like this. 

For the first time they looked at each other, no remorses, no shouts, and remained calm for a few seconds until Y/N shook her head slowly and walked out of the room without a single word.

•••

Y/N stayed the night at Speirs' room on a couch waking up every hour. The crash of the vase echoed in her head and she didn't know if this is really the end of the longest relationship she'd ever been in.

Everybody heard about the argument the couple had last night but no one asked any questions about it and Y/N was glad. 

She was just having a breakfast with the other officers when Lewis Nixon came in looking like a complete disaster - his greasy hair was an absolute mess, his bloodshot eyes looked like he was crying the whole night, and when he reached for an empty chair to sit down, his hands were trembling like some old man's. 

After all he'd said and done, it hurt Y/N immensely to see him like this.

So broken. So guilty. So alone.

"May I have a moment with my girlfri-" Lew stopped in the middle of his sentence realizing that they might not be together anymore. He swallowed the pain slowly. "With Y/N? Privately, please."

They were alone again. Nixon didn't move or said anything for another few minutes. He knew he messed up, a lot, but he also knew that the woman in front of him is one of a kind, he'll never find anyone like her ever again, and she's worth every goddamn fight in the world.

"I'm sorry, Y/N. If I could, I'd take it all back in a second." Nixon finally spoke up, his voice sounded hoarse.

"I don't know, Lewis. Maybe it's good it happened. We probably need-"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence. Please." He sounded desperate, hurt and guilty. "I know I'm not the perfect boyfriend but you're the only person in this goddamn world that knows me, truly knows me. Nobody has never done so much for me like you have. I love you more than anything and if you want to end all this, then be it. I just want you to know I regret yesterday so much and I care about you. Truly."

By that time Lewis Nixon, the intelligent officer of Easy Company, 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment, 101st Airborne Division, was genuiely crying. Tears were rolling down his red cheeks but his lips were formed into a little smile. "I promise I'll limit the drinking. Please just don't... don't leave me."

Y/N stood up without a word from her chair. She was fighting a battle in her, the toughest one. But she knew one thing for sure.

A smile crept on her lips as she looked at the man in front of her who she fell in love so deeply on one of those hot summer days in Toccoa, Georgia, 1942.

"If you don't come over here and kiss me like you mean it, I might change my mind."

[rmtndew]

All I’ve Ever Known ~ Chapter 4

Summary: Fiona’s life is a shattered fraction of what it used to be. She’s trying to navigate her new normal when she meets Detective Marshall, who gives her something more to look forward to.

Pairing: Marshall and OFC.

Rating: PG

Warnings: Mentions of death, cancer.

A/N - This was intended as a short drabble but it got out of hand and became a multi-chapter story instead. It’s my first Marshall fic and the first fan fic that I’ve written in over a decade. The title comes from the song ‘All I’ve Ever Known’ from Hadestown: ‘I was alone so long, I didn’t even know that I was lonely. Out in the cold so long, I didn’t even know that I was cold. Turned my collar to the wind, this is how it’s always been. All I’ve ever known is how to hold my own, but now I want to hold you, too.’

Tag list - @hollydaisy23​​, @readings-of-a-cavill-lover​​, @onlyhenrys​​, @omgkatinka​​, @speakerforthedead0-blog​​, @gearhead66​​,  @thethirstyarchive​, @oddsnendsfanfics​, @littlerinoa, @agniavateira​, @aaescritora​,

If you’d like to be added to the tag list, let me know!

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

I woke the next morning ten minutes before my alarm went off. At first I couldn’t figure out why and tried burrowing back into my warm bed to get my last few minutes of sleep back, but then my phone alerted me to a new text and I realized that’s what had woken me up. I sighed. I knew it was Darcy. Sometimes she woke up early with big ideas for her store and texted them to me, asking my opinion. She met me when I was working in interior design and any time she entertained the idea of having a dine in section, she’d send me pictures of what she wanted and ask how feasible it would be. Most of the time they were way too grand to fit into her pre-existing building. Other times she’d talk about a small coffee shop to encourage more people to come in and pick up their own orders and cut back on our deliveries. But I couldn’t see how renovating a portion of the store, buying new equipment and hiring extra employees to run a coffee shop would lower costs just by maybe cutting back on some deliveries. 

I was planning on ignoring the text until after I’d actually gotten up, but when another came through I knew it was best to just go ahead and nip it in the bud before she sent me an entire magazine’s worth of photos. But when I hit the home button on my phone I saw that the texts hadn’t come from Darcy. I had to squint against the brightness of the screen to make sure I saw the name right. Marshall.

I sat up and turned on my lamp, then looked at my phone again, reading the texts from their previews. 

Hey, it’s Marshall. I had a great  time yesterday. Sorry I was falling asleep on you. Can I make it up  to you this weekend?

Sorry. You’re probably sleeping. It might take more than coffee to make it up to you now. Dinner?

I suddenly felt wide awake and was no longer irritated by my few minutes of missed sleep. I would have gladly given up several hours for those texts. I decided not to reply to them right then, though. I wanted to make sure I’d had enough coffee to formulate a comprehensible reply and not look like I was drunk texting him, which I had a history of. My conversations with Darcy at five in the morning were proof of that. 

I got up and went about my morning routine like usual, trying not to wake Mom. When I made my way downstairs, I poured a cup of coffee and sat at the table. I sipped it, thinking about what to say to Marshall. I wrote and rewrote the text half a dozen times before finally having something I felt okay with, then I sent it.

Hey Marshall. I had a great time, too. You don’t have to make up for anything but I’d still like to have dinner with you. What day did you have in mind?

My heart was thudding from nerves and excitement. I was so focused on trying to calm myself down that I almost didn’t hear Mom when she walked in.

“Morning, sweetie,” she said, grabbing a coffee cup.

“Good morning,” I replied, then jumped slightly as my phone vibrated on the table. I tried not to look too enthusiastic as I grabbed it. 

Does Saturday work for you?

“Darcy again?” Mom asked, pouring coffee for herself. 

“Um...no, actually.” I tried biting back a smile but it didn’t work. “It’s Marshall.”

Her eyes went wide and she smiled back. “He’s writing to you at six in the morning?”

“He actually wrote me earlier. He asked if I wanted to have dinner with him Saturday.”

She sat down at the table beside me. “What did you tell him?”

“I haven’t replied yet. I don’t want him to think I’m just waiting by the phone for him.”

She looked at the phone in my hand. “Isn’t that exactly what you’re doing, though?”

“Yes, but he doesn’t have to know it.”

She laughed then blew on her coffee. “I’m glad this whole texting business wasn’t around when I was dating your father.”

“Even if it was, you’re a lot more forward than I am. You wouldn’t have had a single issue with texting Dad first, or answering him right away,” I said. My phone made another sound, reminding me of my unread text and I finally opened it, then replied. 

Saturday is perfect. What time  would you like to meet? 

“Well, there was only room enough for one coy person in our relationship and Rodger called that role,” Mom said after I put my phone down. 

I laughed. “I don’t think ‘coy’ was the right word for Dad. I think socially awkward was more appropriate.”

“He was too smart to be a social butterfly, too. He had to have a couple of flaws.”

“He couldn’t set the timer for the coffee pot, no matter how many times I showed him, and he thought that the Sharknado movies were amazing. He had his flaws,” I joked.

“This coffee pot is confusing.”

“He was an engineer!”

My phone buzzed in my hand and that time I didn’t wait to open the text. I read it right away. 

Would you let me pick you up  instead? Around six?

“Well, what does he say?” Mom asked.

“He wants to pick me up instead of me meeting him.”

“Are you going to let him?” 

I looked at her and she was smiling at me. I shook my head at her, laughing again. “You want him to come here so that you can see him, don’t you?”

She shrugged. “You keep talking about how handsome he is.”

“He is handsome. And it’s an awfully gentlemanly thing to do…” I bit my lip for a moment, pretending to think it over.

“Just tell him yes. We both know you’re going to.”

I gave another laugh. “Fine.”

I would like that, thank you. And  I’m curious, what does Detective  Marshall eat when he’s not eating a  cuban sandwich and plain chips?

I put my phone on the table. “What are your plans for today?” I asked, then took a sip of my coffee. 

She gave me a cheeky grin. “Changing the subject.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m not changing the subject. I’m asking what my mother is going to be doing while I’m out earning the bread for this family,” I joked.

She snorted. “You don’t earn the bread, Fi, you just bake it.” She nodded at my arm. “And burn yourself in the process.”

“That’s the first time I’ve burnt myself in a year and a half. I’d say that’s a pretty good record.”

“That’s true,” she said. “And if you must know, I was thinking of going down to Valley and talking to Georgia about starting music lessons again after the new year. I think by then I’ll have recovered enough to be able to teach at least a few days a week.”

“You’re going to put yourself around snot nosed kids in the dead of flu season?” I asked dryly.

“I’ll be teaching teenagers, not little kids, and I’ll wear a mask,” she said. “I’ll make sure to clean everything between students and have them use hand sanitizer when they come in. I’m not going to be immunocompromised forever, and I’m not going to live in a bubble until then, either.” She gave me a smirk. “Besides, I can’t let you be the only one that earns the bread around here.”

I laughed at her but it was cut short when my phone buzzed again. 

Stuff that’s probably not very  good for him. Like Italian.  How does that sound?

Just when I thought I couldn’t be any more attracted to him, he confessed to liking my favorite type of food. I couldn’t stop my train of thought that went to me one day making an Italian dinner for him as a date. But my mind’s eye set up the imaginary dinner in my old apartment and I knew that would never happen. I let that thought go and took a deep breath, trying to focus my attention on the present moment.

That sounds great. I love  Italian food.

I sent it and sat back in my seat. I tried not to let my mind wander too far down the road with Marshall. I’d been on a lot of first dates in my life with guys that I’d thought were great who turned out to be jerks and I knew what that disappointment felt like. And even though I couldn’t imagine Marshall disappointing me in the same way they had - he’d proven at our coffee date that he was far more respectful, even while he was tired - I wanted to remind myself that I needed to take things one step at a time. 

Perfect. I’ll see you  Saturday at six, then.

I must have looked pretty gooey eyed over the whole thing because Mom reached out and touched my wrist gently. When I looked at her, the teasing tone was gone from her face and she was smiling at me. “I’m happy for you, sweetie. I really am.” 

I was a ball of nerves all Saturday morning and afternoon. More than I’d ever been on the day of a first date. But nothing with Marshall fell into my ‘usual’ category. There was something about him that made him different from any other man I’d gone out with. And maybe that was it: He was a man. Not some boy masquerading as one. He was quiet, and fierce, and protective. He thought before he spoke. And even when delivering a threat - like he had to that creep in the bar - he’d done it calmly and with authority. He exuded confidence, not cockiness, and there was honestly nothing more attractive than that. 

I was nearly ready, just zipping up my boots, when I heard a crash downstairs. I rushed down and found Mom in the kitchen, trying to pick up the broken pieces of one of her giant coffee mugs.

“I’m - I’m not sure what happened,” she said. “I just lost my grip.”

“It’s okay.” I took a step towards her, trying to avoid the pile of porcelain. “Let me clean it up.” 

“I can do it,” she said, sounding flustered.

“I know you can but you’re in socks and I’m wearing boots.”

She stood her ground for a moment, then finally sighed and relented, taking a step back. “Okay. I’ll get you the broom.”

“It’s fine. I’ll get it. Just watch your step.”

I went to grab the broom as she threw away the large chunks of her broken cup that she’d been able to pick up with her hands. I could tell she was frustrated. 

“You know, if you didn’t like that mug, you could have just gotten rid of it, you didn’t have to break it,” I joked, taking the broom and dustpan from the broom closet. “Or were you afraid I wouldn’t take the hint and buy you another one if I thought it just went missing?” 

She gave a small laugh but I could tell she was still embarrassed. “I actually liked that coffee mug a lot.”

“I’ll get you a new one.”

“You don’t have to do that. I can -” 

The doorbell rang and she stopped mid-sentence. We both froze, my eyes flicking to the clock on the stove. It was 5:53. Marshall was early. After a moment, Mom took a step towards me, holding out her hand to take the broom from me. I shook my head.

“You’re wearing socks,” I reminded her. “I don’t want you to cut your foot.”

Her eyes grew wide. “So you’re going to clean up after me while I go meet your date?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She brushed her hand over her barely there hair, trying to collect herself, then let out a breath. “Okay, I’ll go let him in.”

“Don’t be too charming. He might have a thing for cougars and I don’t want to have to fight my mom for a guy.”

She smiled for real, the embarrassment of having her daughter clean up after her letting go enough that it was no longer plainly visible. “No promises,” she joked, then left the kitchen to answer the door. 

It didn’t take long to clean up. Even though the cup had shattered pretty good, its bright white color stood out against the dark wood of the floor, making even the tiniest pieces easy to see. After making sure I’d cleaned it all up, I threw away the pieces and put up the broom and dustpan, then went to find Mom and Marshall. 

They were standing in the entryway. Mom was saying something about teaching at Valley and Marshall stood in front of her, his hands clasped behind his back, and a look of sincere focus on his face as she spoke. Mom was a small woman but next to him, she looked comically tiny. 

I paused for a moment, taking him in. His hair looked a bit more controlled than any other time I’d seen him, his curls tighter and not quite as messy. His beard looked like it had been trimmed, giving it a purposeful look instead of the ‘I’m too busy to shave’ vibe that I’d gotten from him previously. He wore a thick blue sweater that made the color of his eyes pop when they drifted over to me. It was brief, maybe less than a second, before concentrating on Mom again. But he had a slight smile and it was enough for her to notice. She turned and looked at me. 

“There she is. I guess I’ll stop talking your ear off and let you two go,” she said. 

Marshall smiled at her, then at me, bigger that time. “I didn’t realize I was early. I apologize.” 

“No, don’t. You’re fine,” I said, moving to grab my coat. “I’m ready, I was just cleaning up a broken cup. I’m basically like Cinderella around here.” 

Mom snorted. “Hardly. Cinderella was made to do chores. You’re the one who won’t let me lift a finger,” she said. “Besides, I think she sang while she worked.”

I raised my eyebrow at her as I put my coat on. “Do you want me to sing?”

She shook her head. “No. No one wants that, sweetie,” she said, making Marshall laugh. She looked at him. “Fi spent a good portion of her teenage years screaming along to music in her room. I didn’t even know you could make ‘Girls Just Wanna Have Fun’ sound angry until she proved otherwise. Needless to say, her father and I encouraged her other interests a bit more enthusiastically.”

I grabbed my purse. “I should have let you clean up your own mess and answered the door myself,” I joked before kissing the top of her head. “Bye, Mom.”

Marshall smiled again. “It was nice meeting you, Mrs. Sparks.”

“Likewise, Detective Marshall. You two have fun.”

We left the house and after a few steps down the walkway, he jabbed his thumb back at the door. “She’s funny.”

“She can be,” I agreed. “She’s a spitfire, though, that’s for sure.”

“I like it.”

“Yeah, I like it, too.”

We walked to his truck and he opened the door for me. “You look gorgeous, by the way,” he said as I got in. 

I felt myself blush instantly, caught off guard by the compliment. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, closing the door for me. 

We’d only made it to the driveway and my stomach was already doing somersaults. He made me feel like a teenage girl, all giddy and excited, and I loved it.

He went around the front of the truck, then climbed in the driver’s side. I tried to sneak a look at him while he was putting on his seat belt but he caught me. He smiled as I snapped my head straight ahead. 

“Sorry, I just, I was…” I tried to think of an excuse but I couldn’t think of anything that didn’t sound lame. I let out a sigh. “I was checking you out,” I admitted. “I can’t lie. There’s no point. Sorry.”

“That’s the least offensive thing a woman has ever apologized to me for,” he said with a laugh, starting the truck. He leaned forward enough to catch my eye, making me instinctively turn my head towards him. He grinned. “Did you see anything you like?”

My blush deepened and I couldn’t hold back a giggle. “Maybe.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I mean, that is a nice sweater.” 

“Oh, so you were checking out my jumper?”

I shrugged. “It brings out your eyes.”

“Does it now?”

“It does. And you have very lovely eyes.”

“Thank you,” he said. “But my daughter bought the jumper, so I can’t take credit for it.”

“She did a good job,” I said, forcing my eyes to look up front as we pulled out of the driveway. Even though I’d already admitted to checking him out, there was a difference between looking and leering and I didn’t want to come off as creepy. “I take it that this wasn’t your weekend to have her?”

“It was supposed to be but she was invited to a Halloween party with some of her friends so she asked to do that instead. She’ll be with me tomorrow.”

“What did she dress as? For the party.”

“A cowgirl.” 

“Does she ride horses or did she just like the costume?” 

“No, she rides. She took lessons when she was a bit younger. And she and I go riding some weekends.” 

“So you’re Detective Marshall during the week and cowboy Marshall on the weekends? Does that ever cross over? Do they have mounted police in the homicide unit?”

He shook his head as he laughed. “No, not that I’m aware of.”

“That’s a shame.”

“Is it now?” he asked, and his tone made me blush all over again.

“I’m actually not going to answer that. I’m going to wait until we get a little further from my house to fully embarrass myself so that when you fake an emergency to get rid of me, my ego doesn’t get too crushed.”

“Do you really think I’d do that?”

“I hope not, but I’ve been excited about having dinner with you, so I’m going to try not to mess it up.”

“I think you’d have to try pretty hard to mess it up,” he said as we stopped at the end of my street. He glanced at me. “And I’ve been excited about it, too.”

[emachinescat]

Burton Guster Gets Salty

A Psych Fan-Fiction

by @emachinescat ​

@febuwhump ​ day 15 - “run, don’t look back"

Summary: “Run! Don’t look back!” That’s what Shawn says to Gus as they run for their lives from a killer with a gun.  But Gus does look back – just in time to see his best friend go down with the crack of the pistol.

Characters: Shawn, Gus, Henry

Words: 3,860

TW: None

Note: Takes place in October, about 10 months after “The Polarizing Express.”  The timeline isn’t super important here, but there is a reference to that episode, as well as to “Shawn Takes a Shot in the Dark.”

Keep reading here, or on AO3!

If you enjoy, please consider liking, commenting, or re-blogging, and you can follow me for more content like this! :)

Burton Guster should have learned from his childhood of Sunday school – when someone says, “Don’t look back,” listen.  Keep your eyes locked on the path ahead, don’t stop, don’t turn around, just run.

Lot’s wife looked back after expressly being told not to by God himself.  She got herself turned into table salt for her troubles.

Of course, it wasn’t God’s voice who ordered Gus to run and not look back.  It was Shawn’s, and Gus rarely listened to his best friend, mostly because nine times out of ten nothing Shawn said made any sense.

Oh, what Gus would give to get turned into a pillar of salt right now.  It would be so much more bearable than what had actually happened when he’d ignored Shawn’s frantic orders and skidded around to check on his friend’s progress.

Lot’s wife got off easy, Gus thought grimly.  She was so busy turning into something that made mashed potatoes into clouds of bliss that she didn’t have time to see the destruction in her wake.  

She didn’t have to watch her best friend get shot.

The thing was, it wasn’t supposed to be a dangerous case.  They’d actually done everything by the book this time – a rare occasion for Shawn, who was really trying to prove himself after the Czarsky fiasco last year.  Gus was proud of him.  Shawn was still, well, Shawn, annoying and juvenile as ever, with an endless supply of embarrassing nicknames, but in more subtle – and more important – ways, over the past year he’d started making strides to grow up a little.

And then this happened.  They found their covers blown, and they were cut off from the SBPD because their wires had been discovered.  A Shawn-sized distraction later, and they were bolting out of the lake house where the bad guys had been running their counterfeiting and cocaine operation (they were quite ambitious in their criminal activities, with their fingers in more than one illegal pie), out in the middle of the woods, running for their lives from at least four angry killers with guns.

Shawn was lagging behind a bit – he’d been picked on by the goons, roughed up a little before their escape, and he was hurting, slower than usual.  Being knocked to the ground with a powerful right hook and then given a few hearty kicks in the ribs would slow anyone down.  Gus stopped to let him catch up, and nearly took a bullet to the face.  He’d ducked just in time.

That’s when Shawn, clutching his abdomen with one arm, waved him on with the other.  “I’m coming, buddy!” he called, barely dodging a bullet himself.  “Don’t be that one Stormtrooper who can actually hit his target!”  When Gus hesitated, Shawn ordered, his voice firmer and more authoritative than Gus had ever heard it.  “Run!  Don’t look back!”

And so Gus did what he was told.  Shawn was catching up anyway.  And they seemed to be gaining ground as they hopped over roots and skidded through puddles of red and golden leaves.  Any other time Gus would have enjoyed hearing the autumnal crunch beneath his loafers.  Now, he hated the sound, because it might give away their position.  Still, though, that bobbing and weaving technique that Shawn’s dad had drilled into them on camping trips really came in handy.  It had helped Shawn get away from a shooter in the woods once before, and it seemed to be doing the same now.

They raced through the trees, and the sound of their pursuers slowed.  It helped that dusk was turning to night in earnest, and the full moon was mostly blocked by the canopy of trees overhead.  The light that snuck through the cracks dappled the forest floor with just enough luminescence that they could see where they were placing their feet.  It would be hard for their pursuers to see them in the dim light, let alone hit their targets.

After what could have been no more than ten minutes but felt like hours – his chest burned, his breath came in bursts, there was a nasty stitch in his side, and his heart thudded so fast and hard that he feared he would develop a blood clot or have a heart attack or something equally as dismal.  He forced himself to keep moving, before he realized belatedly that he hadn’t heard the sound of his best friend moving behind him for a bit.

Gus couldn’t help it.  He stopped and turned, squinting into the deepening dark to see that Shawn was about twenty feet back, hunched over, arms wrapped around his bruised midsection, trying to catch his breath.  He saw Gus, stood up and lifted his arm to motion him forward.

That’s when the sound of a pistol cracked through the air and Shawn went down.

***

The next twenty minutes were a blur.  Gus managed to make it back to Shawn without getting shot himself and tugged his friend, already struggling to his feet, up, unthinkingly slinging Shawn’s right arm around his shoulder.  Shawn yowled in pain.

Fueled by guilt and panic, Gus muttered hasty apologies, switched sides, and then somehow, miraculously, steered a clumsy, weak Shawn back into motion, dodging and weaving, staggering around roots.  The trees were thinning, and the crackle of the leaves became less frequent under their feet.  Ahead, Gus could see twin beams of headlights winding their way down the curving highway.  Somehow, miraculously, they’d made it back to the road.

And he wasn’t sure if they were being chased anymore.  Beside him, Shawn gasped in his ear, “Ditch… up ahead.  There’s an overhang of ground.  We can… hide there.”

Gus squinted toward where his buddy was pointing a shaky finger.  Gus found himself once again staggered by Shawn’s insane eye for detail.  He wasn’t sure if Shawn had just spotted the hiding place in the dark, or if he had noticed it earlier and recalled exactly where it was later on.  Either way, it was impressive – not that he would ever admit that to Shawn.  Even in the daylight, Gus wouldn’t have been able to tell it was there, but he dragged Shawn along with him, and there it was, a divet in the earth partially shielded by an overhang of grass and dirt, not forty feet from the road.  He helped lower Shawn to the ground and winced in sympathy as a pained grunt forced itself from his friend’s lips as they wedged themselves into the pseudo-cave.

And just in time.  Voices from overhead, the swing of flashlight beams darting on the ground in front of them, just missing their hiding spot.

“I can’t believe we lost them!” one man growled.  His footsteps crunched on the dirt just above their heads.

“I told you they didn’t go this way – only complete idiots would head for the road, where it’s open!”

“Did you hear those guys in there, bickering like an old married couple about whether Milk Duds or Whoppers are better while we were threatening to kill them?  They are idiots!”

Gus was offended.  Also, on a side note, he’d totally won that argument.  Whoppers were the clear winner.

“I’m telling you,” said another voice, this one female.  This was the chick who’d knocked Shawn flat on his ass.  And then dug her steel-toed boots into his sides.  Gus felt Shawn tense beside him.  Neither of them breathed.  “I heard them come this way.  The leaves make it hard to hide your trail.”

“There were so many people crashing through them that the sound was coming from everywhere,” growled a fourth voice.  Another sweep of a high-powered flashlight.  The beam barely missed Gus’s toes, and he resisted the urge to tuck his knees tighter to his chest.  Even the smallest of movements could give them away.  “Well, come on.  Let’s check deeper in.  And I know I got at least one shot on that loudmouth psychic.  If they get themselves turned around in these trees, he’ll probably bleed out before they can get help, anyway.”

The voices moved farther away.  “What about his friend?”

A sharp, biting laugh.  “That guy will probably just die of fear as soon as he’s alone.  Did you see him cry when we started whaling on the psychic?  What a wuss.”

Although Gus could really not care less for what a group of criminals thought about him, the words still stung – probably because he’d dealt with such doubts about himself many times before.  Shawn and Gus remained uncharacteristically quiet until the sound of the boots on dry leaves completely disappeared into the distance.

Shawn, unsurprisingly, spoke first.  “Dude, we’re like Froyo in Lord of the Rings.”  His voice was strained, and Gus could just make out the shape of Shawn clutching at his right arm in the dark.  It wasn’t bright enough to tell if there was any blood, but he knew there would be.

“It’s Frodo, and you know it Shawn.  I just made you watch the extended editions of all three films last weekend.”  Shawn had complained loudly and often that it was the longest 18 hours of his life.  But Gus had seen him scoot to the edge of the couch during the battle at Helm’s Deep.

For once, Shawn didn’t try to claim he’d heard it both ways, which worried Gus almost as much as the gunshot wound itself.  “Yeah, I know.”  A pause, then – “But I could really go for some Yogurtland frozen yogurt right now.”

Gus relaxed a little knowing Shawn’s good humor wasn’t all gone.  “Tell you what, once we get out of here and get you to a hospital, we’ll get some Froyo.  I’ll even buy.”  He said it like it was something special, but with Shawn, Gus always paid.  Then he got serious.  “How’s your arm?”

The extended silence, broken only by a shuffling sound as Shawn tried to get a better look at the wound in the dark, set Gus’s nerves on edge.  At last, Shawn answered, “Not too bad.”

“Shawn…”

“I’m serious, dude.  It hurts like hell, but it went through the outer part of my tricycle.”  In an overexaggerated British accent, he added, “‘Tis but a flesh wound!”

“Tricep, Shawn,” Gus said wearily.  

“I’ve heard it both ways.”  Shawn’s voice was strained and weary, but Gus couldn’t help but crack a tiny grin.

“Yeah, well,” he changed the subject abruptly, knowing that they were pushing their luck staying here if they wanted a chance to escape before those searching for them gave up on the woods and came circling back.  “Come on, can you stand up?  We’ve got to find a phone.”  Their captors had taken theirs.  

“There’s a diner about a couple of miles down that road,” Shawn managed, hissing in pain, as Gus helped him crawl out of their hiding spot and pulled him gently to his feet.  Both of them remained hunched, trying to make themselves as small as possible, just in case.  “It can’t be later than eight now.  It should still be open.”  His tone was wary, and Gus knew that he was vividly recalling the last time he’d been shot and had tried to call someone for help.  He’d ended up in a worse situation than he’d already been in.

Gus patted Shawn gently on the back.  “We’ve got two sets of eyes now.  You’re not on your own this time.  We’ll see it from a mile away if anything’s wrong.  But first, we need to try to stop the bleeding.”

He sensed rather than saw Shawn bob his head in a curt nod.  Exhaustion rolled off him in waves.  Gus quickly removed his own jacket – at least it wasn’t his nicest one – and ripped the sleeve off.  On TV shows, tearing apart a piece of clothing looked easy.  Gus was sweating by the time he’d separated the garment into two pieces, and his hands had cramped up.  He had to rely on the light of the moon – brighter now that they were out of the woods and not huddled in a ditch – to quickly but carefully wrap the sleeve around Shawn’s upper arm.  He tied it, pulling tightly.  Shawn barely managed to temper a cry of pain.

“Sorry, Shawn,” Gus breathed, eyes prickling at the sound of his friend’s agony, and the knowledge that he had caused it.  He gave Shawn a couple of precious seconds to recover, but the bad guys could be back any moment.  They needed to move.  “You okay, buddy?”

Shawn managed another nod.  Gus supported him as they made their crouching, tiptoed way to the road and walked along the side, hidden just within the treeline.

***

The hospital didn’t keep Shawn overnight, but they might as well have.  It was nearly five in the morning by the time they trudged into Shawn’s dad’s house – Henry had insisted that Shawn stay with him; Shawn on painkillers was an unpredictable disaster waiting to happen if he were left alone.  Shawn had been too strung out on the drugs and exhausted from all that had happened to him to do much protesting.  He’d tried to argue but fallen asleep halfway through his third point (“I have leftover tacos in my fridge, and I know you sure as hell don’t.  Home is where the tacos are.”).

It had been a rough nine hours.  The trek to the diner had been slow and arduous, especially for Shawn, whose injury, despite being a flesh wound, bled through the bandage – it had taken all of Gus’s resolve not to puke at the metallic tang of blood in the air.  This, in turn, made Shawn lethargic.  Thankfully, the diner was still open, and nobody there was working with the criminals down the way.  They’d thought they were renting the lake house for a family reunion or something.  Shawn and Gus had made quite the spectacle staggering in, dirty, panting, Shawn’s right sleeve stained with blood.  A couple paying for their meal gave Gus a cell phone, and they called Lassie and Jules.  They didn’t make it to the hospital before Shawn was released, as they were taking care of the mess at the lake house.  Around three-thirty, Gus got the call that all of the perps had been rounded up and that they were en route to the station for interrogation.

At least they didn’t have to wait in the waiting room.  Gunshot wounds trumped most  illnesses and injuries on the urgency factor.  Gus had called Henry while Shawn was taken back to a curtained room, and they’d both joined Shawn as the doctor had just begun to stitch up the entrance and exit wounds.  

They’d given him a blood transfusion and a hefty morphine shot, and kept an eye on him for the next several hours.  Then, when they felt he was doing well enough, they’d packed him a goody bag filled with prescriptions, instructional packets on cleaning and caring for GSWs, pamphlets on recognizing infections, and a metric ton of gauze and bandages.  A still-drugged Shawn raised his good hand and whooped on the wheelchair ride to the car like he was on a roller coaster (though Gus had a feeling Shawn would have done the same thing had he been completely sober).  Between Gus, the amused nurse steering the hospital-themed ride, and Henry, Shawn had been bundled into Henry’s truck, and then Gus squeezed himself in from the driver’s side, and soon found himself wedged uncomfortably between his best friend and his best friend’s father.

Shawn had fallen asleep with his head on Gus’s shoulder before they got out of the parking lot.

And now they were at Henry’s, Shawn in a pile on the couch, nestled under a protective hedge of blankets and snoring softly.  His right arm was bandaged and in a sling, strapped tightly to his chest.  He’d be in the sling for a week, at least.  It didn’t look comfortable, but with the painkillers, Shawn probably could have slept on a bed of cacti and been just as content.

Henry had insisted Gus stay the night since the Blueberry had been left at the lake house (if only they could have found the keys that had been taken from them before they’d made a run for it; none of this might have happened at all!).  Gus graciously didn’t point out that the night was basically over at this point anyway.  He wanted to stay with Shawn for a while and knew Henry needed to sleep.  And he was holding out hope that Shawn’s dad might make pancakes when everyone was awake.

After double checking that his son was sleeping soundly and safe on the couch, Henry offered Gus a weary “‘Night,” and stumbled up the stairs to get a few more hours of rest.  He’d been up all night, as had Gus.  Shawn was the only one who’d gotten any sleep at all.

Even though Henry had offered to let Gus sleep in Shawn’s old bed, Gus stayed in the recliner, burrowing into the comfy cushions and pulling a throw over his weary body.  He didn’t think he would be able to sleep, with the events of the past night swirling in his head. And then there lingering guilt, that question of if, in looking back, he had distracted Shawn, made him a target.  

But he fell asleep almost at once.

***

He awoke to the smell of pancakes.

The Super Sniffer caught hold of the scent before his mind had even woken up, and he was sniffing hungrily at the air before he cracked his eyes open.

A laugh sounded from the couch, a bit weak, but instantly recognizable as Shawn’s.  “You’re like that old hound dog from Lady and the Tramp,” he commented.  Gus struggled to a sitting position, as the chair had made a valiant effort to absorb him while he was sleeping, and then glared at his friend.

“Pancakes, Shawn,” was all he said in rebuttal.  He studied his best friend, who was lounging on the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table, a brazen move considering Henry was just in the kitchen and could pop in at any time.  His face was still pale from blood loss and the remnants of pain the medicine couldn’t completely squash.  His eyes had a glazed quality to them, and his arm was still strapped to his torso.  But overall, he looked better than he had last night.

Gus extracted himself from the recliner and sat down next to Shawn on the couch, who had turned back to the TV.  It was mid-October, so ABC had been playing reruns of the Harry Potter movies for the past few days.  The Chamber of Secrets played out before them, and they watched it in companionable silence for a bit, with the occasional sound of clattering from the kitchen mingling with the sounds of the film.  Gus felt the tension rising within him, though, as his mind wandered from Lockhart’s class on Cornish pixies to the way things had transpired the night before.

When he couldn’t take it anymore, he muted the TV right as Neville was flown up toward the ceiling by his ears.  Shawn glanced over questioningly.  Closer up, he looked much more subdued and drained, and Gus could see the lingering discomfort in the tightness at the corners of his mouth and in the way he didn’t complain about Gus’s interrupting the movie.

“Shawn… listen.  I’m sorry.”

Whatever Shawn had been expecting his friend to say, it apparently hadn’t been that.  Shawn’s brows furrowed over hazel eyes.  “Why?”  A beat.  “Are you going back on your promise of Froyo?”

Gus gave a half-hearted chuckle.  “No, but… I didn’t listen to you.  I stopped and turned back.  And then you got shot.  And I’m sorry.”

Now Shawn’s entire face contorted in befuddlement.  “You think that I got shot because you… turned around?”

“You were right – I needed to run, to keep moving.  You’d made yourself a small target while you rested, and you were doing a good job of catching up.  If I hadn’t stopped and distracted you, if you hadn’t reached our arm out to wave at me…”  He trailed off, guiltily.

For the second time in the ten minutes since Gus had woken up, Shawn laughed at him.  “Dude, what is it you’re always saying about casualties not meaning coronations?  You know, when I accuse someone without any evidence and you get all pissy about it?”

Gus rolled his eyes.  “It’s causation does not equal correlation.  It means that just because two things happen around the same time, one didn’t necessarily cause the other.”  He was so used to correcting Shawn automatically that it took a moment for his own words to sink in, for him to realize what exactly it was that Shawn had done.

Shawn grinned, and though it was a bit muted, it was also infectious.  “See?” he prompted.  “You said it yourself.  It wouldn’t have mattered if you’d kept running or not.  I was in the line of fire either way.”

Gus felt some of the weight lift from his chest, but he couldn't get the scene out of his mind – Shawn yelling, Run, don’t look back!  Gus stopping, turning around.  The report of a gun.  Shawn dropping to the ground.  In that moment, Gus hadn’t known where Shawn had been hit.  For all he’d known, his best friend could have been dead.  And he couldn’t shake the instant replay.

Shawn nudged his leg against Gus’s, dragging his attention away from his glum thoughts.  “Seriously, Gus,” he said, his voice even and lucid, despite the prescriptions he was currently on.  “It’s not your fault, and I don’t blame you at all.  In fact, you’re the reason I made it out alive at all.”

The fist around Gus’s heart loosened its hold a bit more.  He breathed in deeply.  “Really?”

A troubled look flickered for just a moment in Shawn’s eyes.  “I’ve been shot and on the run before, man.”  Gus knew this, of course, and Shawn knew full well that he knew.  But Gus stayed quiet and let him speak his mind.  “And I gotta tell you – being alone is terrifying.”

“It was still terrifying with the two of us,” Gus argued blandly.

“Yeah, but,” Shawn said, studying the fingernails of his left hand like they were the most fascinating things he’d ever seen.  “I wasn’t alone, so.”  He left off awkwardly, but Gus felt as if new life had been breathed into him.

“I’m glad you’re okay, Shawn,” he said.

“Thanks, man.”

From the kitchen, Henry’s voice called out, “You two are adorable.  Now get your asses in here before the pancakes get cold.”  

Shawn and Gus grinned at each other, and Gus gently helped a woozy Shawn to his feet.  On the way to the kitchen, he let Shawn lean on him, like he always did.

The pancakes were the best Gus had ever tasted.  They tasted of chocolate chips, and maple syrup, and the sweet, sweet nectar of friendship.

[kandaxxx]

Nice blog!!!! Can I ask for a scenario (or whatever you see fit) for kanda bandaging up his s.o who was injured??? Can you make it cute and fluffy pleaseeee!

You’re always allowed to ask for something that involves my baby boy! Plus, cutesy, feeling Kanda is my fav 😊 After thinking hard about this request, I came up with an entire fic idea for this, so this is definitely probably too long, but I hope you enjoy~

Running through his internal Rolodex of every mission he had ever been on, Kanda couldn’t remember a single one that he had actually enjoyed. He always did well, as he was a skilled Exorcist, but he had never actually had fun going out on them. They were jobs, nothing more. Jobs that left him feeling dirty, tired, and sore.

They also meant being away from his lover for extended bouts of time, something that would always immediately put him on edge. His partners noticed this, that he was even meaner and crankier and more confrontational and explosive than he usually was.

But luck appeared to be on his side. For the first time in a long time, his lover had been assigned to the mission with him.

The pair had traveled by train into Croatia. Kanda had spent most of the train ride in the same way he usually was, sulking and quiet. He half-listened as his partner prattled on about this and that, though if they had been paying attention, they might have noticed the way he was watching the changing expressions on their face as they looked at the passing scenery outside of the window in total adoration. They were so beautiful, and he found himself distracted by the child-like wonder and surprise and awe on their face as they saw different scenes.

They checked into an Inn with their assigned Finder and were walked through what the Finder had found in his own exploration of the area: stories of a woman who lived in a small cabin on the outskirts of the town. She was supposedly in possession of a mirror that contained magicks that allowed the person looking into it to see the happiest moment they had ever experienced in place of their reflection. It was said that she offered the mirror to those who had been devastated by the loss of a loved one to allow them to relive happy memories. 

They brought their belongings up to their shared room. They had suggested that they go to bed for the night and start fresh first thing in the morning. But Kanda, ever impatient, wanted to go investigate right away. He didn’t bother waiting for an argument before grabbing them by the arm and all but dragging them from their room and out into the cool air. 

Despite Kanda having to frequently remind the other, “We’re not on a fucking vacation!” whenever they wandered off to look at something or adventure, they had found the cabin with relative ease. 

It had been completely surrounded by akuma as far as the eye could see. The duo stole a glance at each other and nodded in sync. Neither had to speak a word to know exactly what the other was thinking.

Mugen was drawn. His partner’s weapon was drawn. They simultaneously launched themselves into battle.

It was ugly. It was tiring. There were just so damned many.

As Kanda, airborne, brought Mugen down to slice an akuma in half, one managed to catch him from behind, landing a particularly nasty hit to his abdomen. He heard his partner cry out his name in horror as he crashed into the ground. In their distraction, they took a horrific hack to the leg, red spraying everywhere.

That was all Kanda needed. His spotted vision suddenly went as red as their blood. The rage was all encompassing; he couldn’t lose them. No, he wouldn’t lose them. He forced himself up, ignoring the way his abdomen ached with the movement, and cursed himself to heal quicker so he could end this battle.

It was ugly and nightmarish, but they were able to finish it.

When all of the akuma were slain, the old woman took them in and provided them with as many first aid supplies as she could. Kanda bitterly batted her away, leaving he and his partner alone in a small room.

As though he weren’t even aware of the agonizing way his abdomen burned with every minuscule movement, he could only focus on one thing: them. They were conscious, which filled him with relief. 

He carried them to a tiny bed, gentle as possible before climbing onto the thin mattress and sitting down next to them. 

“K-Kanda,” They rasped. “You need to wrap your own wounds. Don’t worry about mine, I can get them.” They started to sit up and the swordsman scowled as he used the palm of his hand on their shoulder to push them firmly into the bed.

“Shut up.” He muttered. Brows furrowed, he began to arduous task of wound care. The head-nurse would have been horrified to see him go about it; with his enhanced healing, wound care wasn’t something he was very familiar with. But he wasn’t an idiot and was perfectly capable of doing fine enough to at least be effective, even if it wasn’t neat.

Their skin shuddered at his feather light touches as he applied salve to the wounds.

“Seriously, Kanda. I know you’re a crazy badass that can heal fast, but the cut in your stomach is bad and needs to be wrapped.”

Kanda’s hands froze and his eyes traveled up the injured form of his lover up to their face, still beautiful through the scrapes and drying blood and dirt. For a moment, his mind went blank. Suddenly, he felt something fluttering in his chest. He could have lost them today, but that wasn’t the worst of it; it was how surprised he felt when he realized that losing them would have absolutely destroyed him. It wouldn’t have been the first time he lost somebody who mattered to him...he knew what that kind of hurt felt like.

He wouldn’t have survived it again, he was sure.

Seemingly out of nowhere, he bent forward and, soft as could be, pressed his lips into theirs, his palms strong on either side of their face.

When he pulled his lips back and pressed his forehead to rest against the others, he just sighed.

“K-Kanda?”

The young man blinked then, broken from his reverie. He sat back up straight and reached over to grab another roll of gauze. “Shut the fuck up and let me get this over with.” 

His tone had been annoyed, but the other hadn’t missed the softness that had glazed itself over his eyes.

[xxx-cat-xxx]

All my Marvel fanfiction

Happy end-of-the-year season! I thought this is a good occasion to compile all the stuff I’ve written to date and spam your dash with my MCU hurt/comfort fics. This is probably the last time I’m gonna put all the fics on one list, because there’s just so freaking many of them now.

I´d be incredibly happy about a reblog to make this blog reach a few more potential readers. Thank you all for sticking around with me so far!

P.S. If you don´t know where to start, the ones I like most are bolded.

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Whumping both Tony and Peter

What We Lose in the Fire We Gain in the Flood - The universe is saved, Thanos is defeated, the Vanished are returned, and Tony has survived (though with severe radiation burns and one less arm). Everything should be good now - except that it isn’t. (My big 2019 Irondad project - 13.5k words, holy shit!)

One of These Days - Tony gets injured, and a guilt-stricken Peter runs away. Luckily, there´s people looking after both of them.

Away from the Sun - Peter gets injured, and Tony gets injured, and neither of them are quite over Titan yet.

Shadow of the Day - Tony and Peter are stranded in the desert after a plane crash.

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Whumping Tony Stark

Thougher Than The Rest - A Pepperony h/c fic that takes place just after the final battle in Iron Man 3.

Just a Bend in the Road - A post-Endgame sickfic with the whole Iron Fam (in the AU where Tony is alive, of course).

Peter Parker and Bruce Banner’s Guide on How To Make Iron Man Sleep - When Tony and Bruce both get a cold, Peter is there to look after his favourite superhero couple. Fluff.

When All is Said and Done - My 4.5th Tony vs. Migraine fic, this time featuring Bruce as caretaker. Science Boyfriends.

Stairway to Heaven (almost) - When the Hulk breaks the elevators in Stark Tower, Peter and Tony have to climb to the top in order to repair them. 93 floors shouldn’t be an issue, Tony tells himself, and completely ignores his heart condition. Turns out that was a bad idea.

When the Walls Come Down - After rescuing Iron Man from his latest kidnapping experience, Clint and Tony are stuck in a crappy motel room. Tony insists he is fine. Clint knows he’s not.

Going Out in Style - Here’s what happened the night after Tony’s disastrous birthday party in IM2.

Say When - Some angsty Endgame and Infinity War canon, including lots of Tony Whump and Irondad feels.

Told You So  - Three times Tony and Bruce take care of each other. Sweet hurt/comfort and Science Boyfriends.

New Beginning - While recovering from the injuries sustained during Civil War, Tony becomes addicted to morphine. In typical Stark fashion, he decides to quit cold turkey and deal with the withdrawal symptoms on his own. Fortunately, Bruce won’t let that happen.

The first time Tony tells Pepper he loves her - I promise, the content is a hundred times less cheesy than the title suggests. TWs for alcohol and drug abuse.

settle our bones (like wood) over time, over time - Tony is down with the flu, so Rhodey helps out by looking after Morgan (and her dad).

let our hearts (like doors) open wide, open wide - Pepper is pregnant, Tony freaks out, Bruce Banner is a good bro and Peter Parker the best Spider-son.

Endgame Drabble inspired by that Tony/Pepper hug

Leave out all the Rest - Irondad, Spiderson, and the rest of the family. This is long and a bit sad, but I´m proud of it. TWs for illness and death.

Not Us - Endgame trailer inspired Steve & Tony something where Tony has pneumonia and everyone is sad.

Sleeping at last - 5 times Tony couldn´t sleep (and the one time he could). Featuring a severely sleep-deprived Tony and various people (and AIs) looking after him.

Safe - Tony, Bruce and Clint are stuck in a “shithole of a safehouse”. Then Tony gets sick, and Clint gets two memorable photographs.

Lose another one - Tony´s arc reactor acts up, Peter worries and receives a sad hug.

Game Face - Tony & Migraine & Steve. This one is whump for whump´s sake, with detailed descriptions of vomiting.

Science Brothers Birthday Drabble - Tony gets carbon monoxide poisoning while preparing a surprise for Bruce.

Behind closed doors - After Ultron, Tony feels like the other Avengers are distancing from him. When he gets appendicitis, he tries to hide it from his teammates.

Just because I´m losing doesn´t mean I´m lost - Tony´s fever is so high that he becomes delirious, but that doesn´t stop him from trying to lead Peter and Clint on a mission - until they find out about it.

Tenderness - Tony with a bad migraine and Pepper looking after him.

Always Gold - Tony is injured while protecting Peter in a battle, but he has to pull through to get everyone to safety.

Devils and Dust - Steve witnesses Tony falling apart on Peter´s birthday party.

Lights and Sounds - Tony has a migraine while spending the day with Peter.

I don´t need to be the hero tonight - Tony attempts a picnic with Peter and May while being in a bad shape both physically and mentally due to a battle lost the day before.

And when it hits, it hits you hard. - Tony returns to earth after Infinity War.

Cracks in the surface - Tony is badly injured on a mission with only Peter there to take care of him.

Where my demons hide - Tony gets beaten down by fever and anxiety, and Peter is trying to be there for him despite Tony´s best attempts at keeping him away.

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Whumping Peter Parker

spacesick - Peter and Bruce get motionsick while trying out Tony’s new spaceship. This is very crack and kind of gross.

Headlights on Dark Roads - When Peter is stranded in the middle of a forest at night with serious injuries after one hell of a week, he doesn’t call anyone for help. But Tony comes to his rescue nevertheless. 

Surprises - All Tony wanted was a peaceful night to work on Peter’s birthday gift. But his kids make sure that this doesn’t happen.

Too Close to Home - When Peter gets drunk at an Avengers party, he is not the only one to feel the consequences.

At least I didn’t puke on you - Peter accidently takes Steve’s emergency pills that are designed to make him sick in case he gets poisoned. Cue Tony and Steve spending a night on the bathroom floor with a very pukey Peter Parker.

When you fall like a statue - A worried and exasperated Irondad taking care of Peter and Cap, who both faint after forgetting to eat for 36 hours.

Spiderpox - Peter gets Chickenpox while staying with the Barton Fam. Tony and Clint test their parenting skills.

If you´re still bleeding - Peter is sick and emotionally affected by a movie he saw. Tony tries to figure out how to talk to him about being okay with his feelings despite not being okay with his own.

Blue skies fade to grey - Peter is sick at school with Ned, MJ and eventually Tony taking care of him (well, trying to…in their own particular ways).

Saltwater - Peter gets seasick on a cruise with the Avengers, who try their best to take care of him.

Seen the rain - After a mission, Peter battles sickness caused by motion and guilt. Tony, pretty worn out himself, tries his best to help him through it.

A hand upon my forehead - When Peter gets mildly sick after a mission, Tony discovers that human company isn´t necessarily a bad thing.

Thunder Road - Peter gets carsick around the Avengers and receives help from an unexpected caretaker.

——————————————–

Other stuff with lots of feelings

Fixed It - In which Pepper faints for the first time in her life.

Asleep - A post-Iron Man 2 ficlet for the Pepperony Week prompt ‘Sharing a Bed’.

Hero - My one and probably only Stucky fic.

Lightning Crashes - Peter and Morgan meet after Tony’s funeral.

Human Touch - Tony and Peter take care of Bruce after a mission.

Spectacular - Peter has a special mission: buying reading glasses for Tony, who, of course, doesn´t need them at all.

Precious - Pregnant Tony/Pepper Christmas drabble.

When September ends - Tony, Peter and the old piano.

——————————————–

Red in my Ledger (Natasha series)

Perfect Cuts - When a mission goes badly, Nat and Tony cope in not exactly healthy ways. TWs for self-harm, alcohol abuse.

Holding Water in your Hands - During the missing five years, Natasha is holding position at the empty Avengers compound and trying to hold herself together. Rhodey finds her on a bad day.

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OC Whump

Concussion Fic

[just-my-sickly-pride]

Debut || Roger Taylor x fem!Reader

summary || you’re twenty years old, a full-time uni student, and you’re living out of home. money is tight. so, naturally, you decide to sell your virginity to the highest bidder. when you get an offer from some guy in his mid-thirties, you put on your nicest dress and head on over. but there’s a problem: he has no idea who you are, or why you’ve turned up at his house at nine o’clock at night. maybe things aren’t going to be as simple as you’d hoped. modern day au.

rating || explicit, with fluff dotted throughout. 18+ only. do not read if you are under eighteen. the age gap between reader and roger is sixteen years.

word count || about 17.7k.

author’s notes || welcome one and all to my very first fic on this blog! i pictured roger circa ‘85 (specifically live aid) for this fic. this fic is also dedicated to my friend and fellow mid-thirties-Roger enthusiast Jennifer @mrfahrenhcit (i couldn’t find a way to work in everything you asked, but i’ve saved some of them for the next roger fic that’s in the works). fun fact: this is the first reader fic where i’ve used ‘Y/N’. some people have said they’d had issues with this post being extremely slow to load, or the app has crashed - i think it’s just bc it’s so long, and i apologise for the inconvenience.  [i am a proud member of the anti-cross-tagging club.]

masterlist

     You don’t think you’ve ever felt more nervous before in your entire life.  You’ve wiped your sweaty palms on your dress ten times in the past two minutes, and your heart hasn’t stopped racing from the moment you woke up this morning.

    What are you doing? Seriously, what the fuck are you doing?

    Well, that’s the thing. You know exactly what the fuck you’re doing.

    You aren’t doing it out of embarrassment, or anything to do with pride. You don’t feel pressured, not by anyone, not even by society, fuck society, but you saw some dumb article about it – it was hardly even an article, just gossip – and it gave you the idea, and then you were doing some research about it, just for the money, it’s just for the money, you’ve been living out of home for two years now and life’s still kicking you in the ass, so why wouldn’t you do it for money, if you could? And you can. So you went onto some website and snooped around to check for at least some sign of legitimacy, and then, well, you were making an account, and you made an account, and uploaded some photos that you never thought you’d upload to the Internet, and, a couple weeks later, you found out that someone had chosen you. Chosen you.

    And now here you are.

    On your way to a strange man’s house.

    To lose your virginity to him.

    Because he’s paid for it.

    Well, he’s paid half. The other half comes… after.

    And you’re not nervous about the actual sex part, you suppose, but more about the fact that you’re going to a stranger’s house for sex. Does that make you a sex worker? Could you call someone who played guitar in one gig and got paid for it, but never got paid for it again, a musician?

    Probably. But maybe that isn’t the best comparison.

    You don’t know much about this guy. Just his address, his name, his age – thirty-six, could be worse, to be fair – and that he’s obviously got plenty of cash to spare. And he’s definitely not the sort of guy you want to have around. Seeing as, y’know, he’s paid a twenty-year-old virgin to have sex with him.

    The Uber pulls up to a stop in front of a house. It’s dark outside, almost nine in the evening, so the house is hard to make out, but it’s quite a nice place, very white-picket-fence. Something out of a magazine catalogue about the suburbs. You thank your Uber driver and grab your oversized handbag, climbing out of the car.

    You close the door behind you.

    The Uber drives off.

    And you’re alone on the sidewalk.

    You hoist the handbag onto your shoulder. It’s got a couple of things you think you’ll need – condoms, lube, two change of clothes depending on what this guy is after. You think you look more than nice enough in your heels and tight, black dress, but just in case.

    You glance at your phone, double-checking the address. You send a quick message to your best friend Justine: at the house. will keep u updated.

    She’s the only one who knows; and she only knows because you figured that at least someone should know, if something goes wrong.

    Good God, you’re hoping nothing goes wrong. Not in that way. Not in any way, really.

    And again, you’re back to asking yourself what the fuck you’re doing.

    You take a deep breath, and start heading up the front path.

    Your hands are shaking by the time you reach the front step, but you force yourself to raise a fist and rap your knuckles on the door. The automatic porch light is yellow, and you can’t help but feel irked by how unflattering it is.

    You can hear movement inside the house. A part of you is searching for the sound of kids, although God forbid there’s any to be heard. But a guy like this… Well, your first conclusion is that he’s looking for an affair.

    You really don’t want to be some kind of mistress. But, you suppose, this is really just a business transaction, so you’re free of at least most of the guilt, right? All of it, if you actually have no idea if he’s married.

    Please don’t mention your wife, you pray. Don’t implicate me or whatever.

    Finally, the door opens, and you feel like you’re about to throw up your heart onto your feet. But you push it down, and drink in the man in front of you.

    If you weren’t sure before if he was a dad, now it’s unmistakable. He’s slim, and reasonably tall – not remarkably so, but still tall – and he’s dressed in loose jeans and a blue flannel that he has rolled up to his elbows. His hair is blond, sort of shaggy, sort of spiky, like he spends his time running his hands through it. You idly wonder what it’d feel like in your hands. Guess you’ll find out soon enough.

    But the thing that really knocks your socks off is the big blue eyes that blink at you, framed by eyelashes that you’d kill to have yourself. Those eyes flash down to your outfit, and then back up at your face.

    Okay. Maybe this whole thing won’t be that bad at all.

    You give him your most winning smile. “Hi,” you say in a way that you hope is both alluring and professional.

    He blinks at you again. “Hi,” he says, his eyes wide. His gaze flits up and down your body, like he’s trying to compute what he’s seeing in front of him. “Um, hello. What, uh– Can I help you?”

    His voice is soft, softer than you were expecting. Gentle, almost.

    You lick your lips and shift your feet. “I’m, ah, Mandy. Are you Roger? Taylor?” Your name is fake, of course. You’re not sure about his. Not that it matters.

    “Yes, that’s me,” Roger says. He scratches the back of his head. “Uh, I’m sorry, you’re, um, lovely, but I don’t think I know you.”

    Huh. Odd. Is this a foreplay thing? “We have an appointment. You booked me two weeks ago, and you gave me this date and this time,” you prompt unsurely.

    Roger’s brow crumples. “An… appointment?”

    You feel your face starting to heat up. You almost ask if you have the right address, but no, you already know that he’s Roger Taylor, he’s the one who booked, so you must have it right. “Yeah,” you say. “You, um…” You lower your voice a touch. “You already paid in advance. This is pretty much a done deal, but I’m just here to fulfil my end of the bargain. And then, of course, you’ll have to pay me the other half.”

    Roger’s starting to look a little pale now, and you’re not quite sure what to do with that. His eyes dart down to your outfit and back up to your face. “Pay you?” he says. “I’ve– what? I’ve paid you? What did I pay you? When?”

    Now you’re both embarrassed, and confused, and well, this isn’t something you’d pictured going wrong.

    You suddenly feel very exposed in your tight dress and heels.

    “Uh.” You scratch behind your ear. “Like, I don’t know what to tell you. You’ve booked me, and I’m here. And it wasn’t a small sum of money, so I doubt you’d want to…”

    Roger’s mouth opens, and then closes, and opens again. “Oh, shit, hang on,” he says, his voice flat, “did I… Was this all booked and arranged two weeks ago on the Friday night?”

    “Yes,” you say. “Why?”

    Roger sighs heavily, and rubs his eyes. “Oh, shit,” he moans. “For God’s…” He raises his head, and sighs again. “Look, um, Mandy, there’s been a big misunderstanding. I, um, went through a divorce, er, relatively recently, a few months ago, and I’ve been doing a bit of wallowing, I guess you could say, and my friends tried to cheer me up a fortnight ago on Friday by bringing round a few bottles of very nice whiskey and gin. I don’t remember a lot of that night, but, now that you mention it, I have some vague memory of my friends trying to get me to, you know, ‘move on’, and, um, I think they might have looked up… people online.”

    Your ears are really burning now. “Oh,” you say.

    “That’s what this is, isn’t it?” Roger adds. “You’re a…”

    “Not really,” you blurt. “Kind of. It– oh, man.” You bite your bottom lip, hesitating, not quite sure how much to reveal about the situation. “Okay, I’ll be honest. Yes, I’m… from a website. But I’m not – this isn’t a living, or a side gig, or whatever. Not that it would matter if I was, because there’s nothing wrong with…” You shake your head. Stay on track. “It’s just a one-off. You paid me to… to take my virginity.”

    You swear you can see Roger’s soul leaving his body in that moment. “You– I what?”

    You shrug helplessly.

    Roger takes a step back, pressing a hand to his forehead. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters. “Jesus Christ.”

    “I’m sorry for the confusion,” you say, and your stomach sinks further when a realisation comes to you. “I…” You swallow. Your mouth is dry. “I’m really sorry, but I can’t – The money you gave me. I’ve done this to help pay bills and rent and everything, and it’s already been used. A chunk of it, anyway. I can’t refund you. I’m really sorry.”

    “No, God, don’t apologise,” Roger says. “You weren’t to know.” He shakes his head. “Fucking dickheads, the lot of them.” He looks to you, and warily inspects your face. “How old did you say you were?” His voice is small, like he’s scared of the answer.

    “Twenty,” you reply, and his shoulders sag in relief.

    “Thank God,” he says. “I mean, still, you’re so young, but at least you’re…”

    “An adult?”

    He nods, grimacing sheepishly. “I really am being honest when I say I don’t remember much of that night. My mates aren’t those sorts of people, but, well, who knows what they’d try to pull when they’re pissed.”

    “No, it’s fine,” you say. “I look young for my age. But I am twenty.”

    “No, I believe you,” Roger says quickly. “I’m not… No.”

    You wipe your palms on your dress again. What now? Do you just go home? That wasn’t the cheapest Uber ride you’ve ever had. You were kind of relying on that extra money.

    Roger seems equally at loss. “You– Did you have to travel far?”

    “Not that far,” you say. “Forty minutes-ish.”

    “Fuck,” Roger says. He puts his hands on his hips, and then drops them again. “What time is it? It’s nearly nine, isn’t it?”

    “Yeah, about nine.”

    “It’s late. You should be getting home.”

    Your heart sinks. Wow. Okay. This is really just over like that. “Um, yeah, I guess,” you say. You take half a step back. “I’m really sorry about the– the, um, whole mix-up thing. And sorry about your divorce.”

    Great. Real smooth.

    “Thanks,” Roger says. He hesitates, and you’re about to turn and head back down the driveway, when he says, “How are you getting home? Did you drive?”

    “Uh, no,” you say. “Uber.”

    “Uber? God, no, sod that,” Roger says. “Let me…” He fumbles for something in his back pocket, but comes up empty. “Let me pay for it. I don’t– Can I pay you for it?”

    “It’s all right,” you reassure him. “You’ve already given me– it’s okay.”

    “No, please, I insist,” he says. “Should I– cash? I can give you cash. Or… transfer…” He rolls his eyes at himself, those pretty blue eyes that shouldn’t belong to a man his age, but somehow suit him perfectly. “God,” he mutters. “I usually have things more together than this, I promise. I’ve just been caught beyond off-guard.”

    “Sorry,” you say again.

    “It’s not your fault, really, I don’t– How could I blame you? You had no idea. I am going to murder my friends.” He sighs, rubbing his temple. “Um. Okay. I’ve paid you before, haven’t I, if you got the deposit? How did I do it? I can just do it that way again.”

    “You transferred it to me,” you say. You shift in your heels. Your feet are starting to ache.

    “Let’s do it that way again, then,” Roger says. “I’ll just get my phone, sorry.”

    “It’s okay, really,” you say yet again, stopping him. “Don’t bother. I’ll– It’ll take me two minutes and then I can be on my way home.”

    Roger hovers, and then says, “Can I– Did you want to wait inside? Or out on the steps? Could I get you some water, at least?”

    You hesitate. “Um–”

    “I’m not trying to do anything,” Roger blurts, and then he shakes his head. “Now it sounds like I am trying to do something. I’m not. Really. If you want, you can just wait here and I’ll go inside and leave you alone.”

    You glance at your phone. You haven’t ordered the Uber yet, but you are pretty thirsty. You look back up to Roger. “Well, I already had it in my head that I was coming here to sleep with you, so I’m not really concerned about you trying anything,” you say. “Some water sounds nice, actually.”

    Roger laughs. Like his voice, it’s unexpectedly soft, and it makes you smile.

    “Um. Yes,” he says, glancing at his feet. “Well. Um, come on in, then.”

    You head back up the path, and Roger steps aside to let you in.

    You slip past him. He smells good.

    His house, on the inside, is just as white-picket-fence as it is on the outside. Not the tidiest, but you suppose he wasn’t expecting company.

    He seems to notice the slight mess the same moment you do, and he hurriedly darts forward to tidy up.

    “Sorry,” he says.

    “No, don’t worry about it,” you say.

    He bends down to grab an empty beer bottle from where it sits on the floor next to the couch. Nice ass.

    Not that it matters. You aren’t sleeping with him anymore. But, to be fair, you are only human. Just because you’re no longer ordering doesn’t mean you can’t admire the menu.

    “I, uh, wasn’t expecting any guests, obviously,” Roger adds, half-jokingly.

    You chuckle, and adjust your dress. Roger’s eyes flash down to your hands, then to your chest where you’ve pulled the dress down a little further in your adjustment, and then he quickly looks away, running his hand along his jaw.

    “Uh, um,” he says. “Water? Um– take a seat, by the way. Feel free to sit…” He gestures vaguely around him. “Sit anywhere. Anywhere you like.”

    “Um, okay,” you say, and hesitate, before awkwardly perching on his couch.

    “Sorry, did you say you wanted water?” Roger says.

    “If you wouldn’t mind,” you say.

    “Yeah, of course,” Roger says, and then disappears into the kitchen.

    You breathe in a lungful of air and slowly let it out. Wow. Talk about an unexpected evening.

    You take out your phone and message Justine. boy do I have a story to tell u.

    She’s online, and she replies immediately. fuck what’s happened?? everything alright??

    You bite your lip, considering how to reply. yeah I’m fine. the guy is super easy on the eyes, but there’s been a mix up and basically I am remaining firmly in the virgin zone for the foreseeable future lol.

    You backspace and try again. yeah I’m fine. long story short I’m coming home. tell u about it when I get there.

    is he ugly?? Justine replies, and you can’t help but smile in amusement.

    oh no, that’s not the issue even a little bit, you reply.

    “I’m assuming tap water is fine?” Roger says, reappearing with a glass of water, making you jump slightly and flip your phone face-down on your leg, as if he could somehow see the screen from across the room. “Sorry, I should’ve asked. I don’t really have anything else.”

    “No, no, tap water is fine, thank you,” you say, and he hands the glass to you.

    You take a sip.

    Roger glances away, seemingly looking for something to do or something to say, as if the answer is written in the walls. He chews on his thumbnail.

    Your mind scrambles to find something to say, but it feels like trying to eat soup with a fork.

    “Is everything all right?” Roger asks suddenly, looking to you. “I know this is probably completely inappropriate, but… Well, paying for someone to…”

    Your stomach sinks with embarrassment. “Oh,” you say. “Um. Yeah. Yeah, everything’s fine. Just – could do with the money.”

    “Of course, yeah,” Roger says hurriedly, nodding. “You’re at uni?”

    “Yeah. And living out of home, so.”

    “Right. Yeah, of course, I should’ve guessed. Sorry, that was…”

    “No, it’s fine,” you say with a reassuring smile. You chuckle. “I’m sorry for disrupting your evening like this.”

    “No, no, it…” Roger smiles, and you feel every trace of oxygen leave your lungs, because wow, he’s attractive. “It’s a welcomed interruption, actually.”

    “It is?”

    “Well, all I had planned was to watch something shit on Netflix and drink beer,” Roger says, screwing up his nose. “Not exactly exciting.”

    “Oh, don’t let me stop you,” you say. “Sounds like they were big plans.”

    Roger laughs, and your heart thuds against your ribcage. “The sort of plans that sound much nicer when you have company, I think.” He pauses. “Not that– not that I’m expecting you to–” He sighs, running a hand through his hair, making it stick up. “I’m sorry,” he says. “Really, I’m not usually this… awkward.”

    “You don’t have to apologise,” you say, shaking your head.

    “I used to be a real ladies’ man, you know,” Roger says. “Back in the day. Before my wi– my ex-wife. And the kids.”

    “Sure,” you say, drawling sarcastically.

    Roger laughs again, a little surprised, but amused. “I was!” he insists. “I was picking up women left and right.”

    “I believe you,” you say lightly.

    Roger grins, and you have to take a steadying breath. “You’ve got a tongue on you, haven’t you?” he says delightedly.

    “So it’s been said.”

    It comes out more suggestive than you’d intended. Roger takes a moment to drink you in, and then he bites his bottom lip, looking away, one hand sliding into the back pocket of his jeans, the other one slipping under his shirt, massaging his shoulder.

    Your stomach flips and jumps. You take a sip of water.

    “You sure you’ve never been with anyone before?” Roger says.

    You snort. “That’s a pretty rude question, don’t you think?”

    Roger smiles sheepishly. “You’re right. Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

    You take another sip of water, and then say, “I haven’t slept with anyone, no. I think I’d know if I had.”

    “Right,” Roger says mildly, nodding.

    You narrow your eyes at him. “What?”

    “Nothing, I didn’t say anything.”

    “You’re thinking very loudly. Is there something wrong with me not having slept with anyone?”

    “No,” Roger says, his eyes widening. “No, shit, that’s not what I was trying to say. It– you just seem… I’m just surprised. That someone like you…”

    You adjust your dress again. Roger’s eyes drop to your breasts again, and back up to your face. “What do you mean by that?” you ask, trying not to preen.

    Roger ponders over his answer for a while. “You just seem to… know what you want.”

    “Oh, you think so?”

    “Yeah,” Roger says noncommittally.

    His eyes find yours, and they stay there. Your heart is racing in your chest now, making your blood feel warm. You’ve been attracted to plenty of people before, but this is really something else.

    Roger clears his throat, breaking away, and you surreptitiously squeeze your thighs together.

    Your phone buzzes on your thigh. It’s Justine. so he’s hot?

    “Is that your Uber?” Roger asks. If you aren’t mistaken, he sounds almost disappointed.

    Your cheeks grow hot. “Oh, um, I haven’t actually… I forgot to call it.”

    “Oh,” Roger says. A tinge of relief? “Well, no rush.”

    “It’s just my friend checking up on me,” you add.

    “That’s good of them.”

    “Yeah. Well, actually, she was checking up on me before. Now she’s just–” You open and close your mouth a few times, but decide to be honest. “Uh, she’s just, um, asking about you.”

    Roger quirks an eyebrow, and it’s so hot that you have to look away. “About me?”

    Your phone buzzes again. are you on ur way home now?

    “Uh,” you say, and quickly type out, not yet.

    “What have you told her?” Roger asks, playfully curious.

    You put your phone down, and take a breath, smoothing your hands down your legs, thinking carefully of how to answer. “Just that you seem nice.”

    “Nice?” Roger says.

    “And you’re… Well.” You smirk. “I’m sure you’ve seen yourself in the mirror. No point in boosting your ego too much.”

    Roger steps forward, drawn to you by an invisible string. “I don’t think I understand,” he says faux-innocently.

    “I’m sorry, weren’t you just saying a minute ago that you were pulling girls left and right?” you say, cocking your head.

    “Oh, yeah, when I was twenty,” Roger says. “Not talking about now.”

    “Have you tried?”

    Roger pauses, slightly taken aback by this, and his eyes roll to the ceiling as he thinks, blowing hair out of his cheeks. “You may have a point there.”

    “And I suppose that’s why these friends of yours contacted me?”

    “You… may have a point there,” Roger says again.

    You nod to yourself. “I don’t see why they couldn’t have just taken you to a pub and set you up with someone there. It’d have been a lot cheaper.”

    “They’ve, um…” Roger cards his hand through his hair. “They’ve tried that, actually.” He hesitates, and then walks over to you, sitting down on the armchair near you. “They’ve taken me out a couple of times.”

    “And you’ve struck out?” you ask.

    Roger chuckles. “No. I – well, like you said, I suppose I haven’t really tried. I didn’t want to.”

    “Too soon?”

    “No, it’s not that. It’s…” Roger pulls a face. “I don’t know. Haven’t felt like it, really. Maybe it was too soon. Or maybe the thought of having to try to chat someone up just seemed like so much effort.”

    “Surely it wouldn’t be much effort for you.”

    Roger meets your eyes again, and he smiles slowly, running his tongue along his teeth. “Oh yeah?”

    Your phone vibrates. The way Roger’s looking at you makes you wish it was something else vibrating that you could put to good use alone in your room.

    Roger’s eyes flick down to the phone, and back up to your face. “That your friend again?”

    You hesitate, and then flip the phone over. hellooooo????? wtf is going on????

    “Yeah,” you say, and put the phone down beside you.

    “You going to answer it?”

    “In a minute.”

    You smooth your hands down your thighs. Roger watches like a hawk.

    Your hands slide back up your thighs.

    He swallows.

    You smile.

    “You, um, you ever…” Roger tears his eyes away from your thighs to look at your face. “Have– have you ever had a boyfriend? Or girlfriend?”

    “Yeah,” you say casually. “Not for a long while, though. And nothing too serious. Nothing as full-on as marriage.”

    Roger laughs, but it comes out sounding a bit strangled. “Yeah. That’s all right, though. That doesn’t matter.”

    Your phone buzzes.

    You ignore it.

    “I never got around to… all of that,” you explain. “Y’know. Fucking.”

    Roger’s face goes slack. “Uh–”

    “I wasn’t waiting for anyone special,” you continue. Your blood feels electrified under his gaze. “Just never quite got there.”

    “Never quite–?”

    You hum. “That’s misleading. I’ve made out with plenty of people, but that’s all. Some over-the-clothes action. Basically nothing, really.”

    Roger looks like he’s struggling to breathe. “Uh-huh.”

    “You probably find that hard to imagine,” you say with a wry smile. “Having kids and all. How old were you your first time?”

    Roger blinks, and takes a moment to reply. “Uh, I was sixteen.”

    You laugh. “God, I can’t even picture…” You frown, and shake your head. “It’s hard to picture what it’d be like, you know? The reality of it? You can watch as much porn as you like – and I’ve watched plenty, mind you – but, like, I know that it’s not real. Not realistic, anyway. I’ve spent what feels like ages just trying to picture what is actually is like, but it’s impossible for me to know.”

    “It’s good,” Roger says, and it comes out in a rush, and he looks surprised at himself.

    You feel a thrill go through you. “Good?”

    “Yeah,” Roger says. “Everyone says your first time isn’t good, but that’s only if your partner doesn’t know what they’re doing. And it’s nice when you have an idea of what you’re doing, too, but that comes with time. And if you have a good teacher.” He rakes his hand through his hair again. “But when the chemistry is right, and the mood is right, it’s… good.”

    “That’s descriptive,” you murmur sarcastically.

    Roger huffs a laugh. “What do you want, a detailed explanation? Graphs and illustrations?”

    “A demonstration would be nice.”

    Shit. Oh, shit. Shit shit shit. Why the fuck did you say that?

    Your eyes are wide, and you open and close your mouth a few times. “Uh.” Roger looks as surprised as you feel. “Oh,” he says. “Um. Wow. Is– is this part of the…”

    You blink. “Part of the…?”

    “The whole…” He gestures vaguely. “…thing. You being paid to…”

    “Did I just make a complete idiot of myself as part of my attempt to woo you as a kind-of sex worker?” you ask. You can’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “Nope. No. That was all me. Just being a dumbass.” You groan, covering your face. “I’m sorry,” you say from behind your hands. “This is so embarrassing.” This whole night has been nothing but a huge embarrassment. You can’t wait to go home and forget about it, thanks to an unhealthy dose of alcohol.

    “I’m sorry,” Roger says.

    You lower your hands. “For what?”

    “For – I don’t know. I just felt I needed to apologise.”

    You snort. “You don’t have to apologise for me very clumsily and awkwardly and horribly trying to flirt with you, Roger.” You roll your eyes at yourself. “You’re probably used to seeing that all the time.”

    “Again, not for a very long time,” Roger says. “But I know what horrible and awkward flirting looks like, and… that wasn’t it.”

    “But clumsy, though, right?” you say, screwing up your nose.

    Roger chuckles. “Maybe. But that’s all right.” He shifts in his seat. “I was just as clumsy.”

    You wave a hand, and reach for your phone. It’s high time you called your Uber. And reply to Justine. “You weren’t flirting with me.”

    You re-read the messages from Justine you’re yet to reply to.

    so hes hot?

    are you on ur way home now?

    hellooooo????? wtf is going on????

    Then the new one, from a few minutes ago: for the love of god can u please reply to me. something. anything. I’ll take a solid thumbs-up.

    So you send a thumbs-up.

    When you look up, Roger is staring at you, and you realise he hasn’t spoken since you did.

    You’ve well and truly crossed a line somewhere. You can’t blame him for wanting you out. “I’m sorry,” you say. “I’m just – my friend. I’ll get the Uber now. Sorry it’s taken me so long.”

    “Don’t,” Roger says.

    You pause. “Don’t what?”

    “Don’t order the Uber.”

    Your stomach bubbles. “Wh– No?”

    “Not yet, at least,” Roger says. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You think I wasn’t flirting with you?”

    “Why would you be?” you respond automatically.

    “Why would…” Roger shakes his head. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

    “Because I’m a random twenty-year-old woman who’s just shown up at your door on a Tuesday night dressed like this talking about how you paid to take my virginity,” you say bluntly. “Which is more than a little off-putting.”

    “Well, all right, I’ll give you that,” Roger says. “But here I am, still trying to clumsily flirt with you nonetheless.”

    You break out into a smile, a bashful one, and duck your head. “Oh.”

    “Oh,” Roger repeats, a touch playfully.

    You glance up at him. He’s smiling at you, pleased with your reaction, and the thought of kissing him flashes through your mind, and you’ve suddenly never wanted anything more. You purse your lips, looking at your hands again, fiddling with your phone, flipping it around and around in your grip.

    “Mandy,” he says gently, and you’re puzzled for a moment before you remember –

    “That’s, um, not my real name,” you tell him with an awkward chuckle. But you really like how he said it all the same.

    Roger looks so embarrassed that you can’t help but laugh. “Here I was, trying to be all suave, and now I look like an idiot,” he says.

    You shake your head. “You don’t. You didn’t know.”

    “I should’ve guessed you weren’t using your real name.”

    “No, it’s fine,” you giggle.

    “Well, am I allowed to know your real name? So I can try again?”

    You hesitate.

    “Unless you don’t want to,” Roger says quickly. “That’s fine. Security, and all. Stranger danger.”

     You laugh again. “Stranger danger? I’m in your house.”

    “I could be a stalker. You don’t know that.”

    Fuck, you’re attracted to him. “Dork,” you say with a roll of your eyes.

    Roger chuckles, his eyes sparkling.

    “It’s [Y/N],” you add.

    “[Y/N],” he repeats, and your breath catches ever so slightly. He pauses, and then comes to sit beside you on the couch, and holds out his hand. “Nice to meet you, [Y/N],” he says. “I’m Roger.”

    You giggle, and take his hand, shaking it. “Nice to meet you, Roger.”

    He’s so close now. He smells amazing, and his hand is warm, and his eyes are so blue, and his lips–

    You realise you’ve been staring at his mouth, your hand still in his, and you glance back up at his eyes before quickly taking your hand back, looking away.

    You tuck your hair behind your ear, clearing your throat. You’re barely aware of your own body – only his, and how close it is to yours. Like there’s a force between the two of you, connecting you. When he swallows and moves his hand back to his own lap, you can feel it as if it’s your own.

    “Do you, um…” Roger takes a breath in, and you feel your chest, your lungs, buzz. “Tell me about yourself a bit.”

    “Me?” you say, looking to him. Oh, wow, he really is close. Fucking hell, you want him.

    “Yeah,” he says, smiling. “What do you do for fun? Stuff like that?”

    You lick your lips, and his eyes dart to the movement. “Um, well, I…” You absentmindedly adjust your dress, and it catches his eye again. “I’m at uni, in my second year. It’s all right. Pretty stressful, obviously, but I like it well enough. I live with two of my friends. I, um… I like… dogs.”

    Roger laughs.

    This is so stupid, you realise. You both clearly want each other.

    You shake your head. “Stupid,” you mutter.

    Roger frowns. “What’s stupid?”

    “This,” you say. You gesture between the two of you for emphasis. “This.”

    “Oh,” Roger says. He shifts away from you. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

    You huff. “You’re not.”

    “Then what–”

    “Kiss me,” you cut in.

    Roger stops. “Kiss you?”

    “Yes,” you say, keeping your gaze steady on his. “You’re too damn difficult to resist. So kiss me.”

    Roger hesitates.

    You raise your eyebrows. “Unless you don’t want to?”

    “No, I – I do,” he says. “I just…”

    “What?”

    “I feel like the circumstances… I don’t want you to think I’m just doing this because I’ve paid you to…”

    “I don’t think that,” you say. “And I don’t want your money; this is way beyond that now. I’m not trying to trick you into sleeping with me so I can force you to pay me. I just know chemistry when I see it.”

    Roger chuckles. “I was right,” he says. “You know exactly what you want.”

    You steel your nerves. “Yeah,” you say with a shrug of your shoulders. “And I want you.”

    Roger swallows. “But you don’t even know me.”

    “Nope.”

    “And you’re in my house.”

    “Yep.”

    “And I’m so much older than you.”

    “That’s right.”

    “And you’re…”

    “I’m a virgin,” you finish, nodding. “I know. But for the love of God, Roger, if you don’t kiss me right now, I’m going to scream.”

    Roger exhales, shakes his head minutely, and then says, “God fucking damn it,” and leans in to kiss you.

    You immediately shift to press closer towards him, one hand coming to rest against his chest. He kisses you earnestly, but gently, like he’s nervous. Nervous about making you feel pressured, you can safely assume.

    But that’s not what you’re about. You pull back, and, before he can say anything, you climb on top of him, straddling his waist, and kiss him again, more deeply than before. He breaks away just far enough to whisper, “Holy shit,” and then ducks his head to kiss down your throat. You tilt your head to give him more room, one hand against his chest and the other raking through his hair. His hands, rough and warm, smooth up your thighs, and your breath catches. They stop just under the hem of the dress, and a soft whine slips from your throat.

    Roger moans in response. “Jesus Christ.”

    You reach down and grab at his wrists, urging his hands to go further up the dress. “Touch me,” you pant.

    He draws back, and you look down at him, at his slightly flushed cheeks and his ruffled hair, and you want him naked, right now. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything you don’t want to,” he says. “We can just make out, that’s absolutely fine. Just because of… the whole… arrangement…”

    “Roger,” you say slowly, “I’m only going to say this once, because I don’t want to have to repeat myself.”

    He nods, swallowing.

    You cup his face in your hands, boring your eyes into his. “I want you to fuck me. Tonight. Right now.”

    Roger takes a shaky breath. “Are you–”

    “What did I just say?” you cut in. “Not repeating it.”

    Roger smiles, laughing breathlessly. “Bloody hell.”

    You smirk. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

    “Oh, it most certainly is one, believe me.”

     You lean in to kiss him, and his hands, thank the Lord, slide further up your thighs. You start unbuttoning his shirt, blindly, fumbling a little, and your kisses grow more eager.

    You’ve kissed a number of people in your time. Not a whole lot, but a few. And Roger really takes the damn cake.

    When his shirt is fully unbuttoned, untucked from his jeans, you move your lips down his neck, and he moans, letting his head roll back, his hands shifting to grab your ass, pulling you against him. You can feel the tent in his jeans, and, beyond thrilled, you grind against it, loving how a bolt of arousal shoots through you. Roger’s grip on you tightens, and when you nip at his skin, he spits out, “Fuck.”

    You rock your hips against him again, and he laughs again. “God, it’s been too long.”

    You hum, nipping his throat again and soothing it with your tongue. “How long is too long?”

    “Months. Lost count. Ah, fuck.”

    You pull back, giving him a look, and he lifts his head to meet your eyes. “Try twenty years,” you say dryly.

    Roger shakes his head. “Can’t even imagine.” He kisses you, just once, and then murmurs against your lips, “I promise I’ll make this good for you.”

    You shiver. “I’m sure you will.”

    “I mean it.” He kisses you again, and then sits back, his hands sliding back to your thighs and squeezing them gently. “I want this to be good for you. If I’m going to be your first, I want you to enjoy it. So you have to tell me if I’m doing something you don’t like, yeah?”

    You nod. “Yeah.”

    “I don’t care what it is we’re doing – you can tell me to stop at literally any point, and I will, no questions asked.”

    You nod. “I know, I know.”

    Roger chuckles. “You just really want to get things going, don’t you?”

    “Yes.” You press your lips to his, and, now that you both know where things lie between you, you’re both eager to get to the next step. The kisses quickly become more feverish, hotter, deeper. Roger’s hands go to the back of your dress, working the zipper down your spine, and you shudder at the feeling of it. When he’s done, you sit back to yank it over your head, dropping it the floor behind you.

    Roger’s eyes drink you in, his mouth hanging open. “Whoa.”

    You flush under his gaze. You know you look good – you’d worn your push-up bra and matching lace underwear for a reason – but it’s still a rush to get a reaction like that.

    “Bedroom?” Roger says, his voice a touch weak, and you nod, leaning in to steal one last kiss before climbing off him, taking his hand and pulling him to his feet. He groans slightly as he does so, and you giggle.

    “I know, I know, I’m old,” he says.

    “No, I like it,” you say, tugging him closer to you and hooking a finger of your other hand through a belt loop on his jeans. “Dad noises.”

    Roger shakes his head, his hands coming to rest on your waist, and you lean into the touch. “Don’t say that,” he grumbles. “Makes me feel even older.”

    “You’re not old,” you say, rolling your eyes. “You’re not even forty.”

    Roger laughs. “Ah, yes, a real spring chicken.”

    “Can you stop whining and fuck me already? I’m gonna be forty by the time we get to it.”

    Roger snorts. “Cheeky.” He leans in to kiss you, and you curl your arms around his neck, pressing into him.

    When you break apart, you take Roger’s hand again, and he leads you to his bedroom, both of you stumbling slightly in the dark house. You’re only in your underwear, but you’re still wearing your heels, and you feel like you’re in some kind of Victoria Secret ad.

    Roger keeps glancing back at you, his eyes sweeping your body, and he’s so distracted he almost runs into a wall at one point, and you have to tug on his arm to pull him out of the way, laughing as you do so. He retaliates by pushing you up against the wall and kissing you senseless, his thigh slotted between yours. You’re lightheaded and unbelievably turned on by the time he breaks away again, and it feels like a lifetime before you reach his bedroom. 

    Roger switches on the light.

    The double bed is unmade, but the room itself is fairly tidy, just a pair of shoes and a shirt on the floor. The whole room screams tax-paying adult, and you’re reminded again that the man you’re about to sleep with is, in fact, a proper adult. Not like you, an adult by the loosest terms imaginable, but a fully-grown man with children and a mortgage and a career, probably. A completely different world to yours.

    But none of that will matter when you’re both naked. 

    He closes the door behind him, and then you’re pouncing on him, pushing his shirt off his shoulders and all but tearing his belt off. His hands are tight on your hips, and when you undo his belt and the button and fly on his jeans, he pants, “Bed, bed, go sit on the bed.”

    You do as you’re told, sitting on the edge of the bed and crossing one knee over the other, taking the opportunity to quickly tie your hair back out of your face while and Roger fumbles with the rest of his clothes, kicking off his shoes and pulling off his socks and jeans. You can tell that he would’ve been thin as a twig back in the day, and you’d easily call him slender even now, but his body is soft, the sign of a father who’s spent more time taking care of the kids and having a beer in the evenings to wind down than going to the gym. It suits him, looks good on him. You’re certainly a big fan.

    Soon, he’s down to nothing but his boxer-briefs. His boxer-briefs, which are neon green.

    You break out into a grin, and Roger looks down at them, sighing. “Of all the fucking pairs I could’ve put on today,” he mutters.

    “They’re pretty great,” you say, and you make sure you have Roger’s full attention before you uncross your legs, spreading your knees wide, leaning back on your hands, “but I’m more interested in what’s underneath them.”

    From the look on Roger’s face, you’d guess his legs are about to give out from under him. “You’re gonna fucking kill me,” he huffs, and he hurries over.

    Grinning, you scramble backwards on the bed, lying down, and he crawls after you, over you, and his kiss is bruising.

    Your hands are shaking now – with excitement and with nerves, a lot of nerves – but you ignore that, and worm your fingers inside his underwear, wrapping your hand around him and giving him a tug.

    He jerks, and you have a moment of panic where you think you’ve done the wrong thing, but then he kisses you with more fervour, so you do it again. This time, his hand finds yours, gently guiding you away.

    “Did I do something wrong?” you ask.

    Roger looks confused for a moment, and then says, “God, no. I just don’t want to get too worked up before we get to, y’know, the main event.”

    “Oh,” you say, smiling in relief.

    “You really have no experience at all, do you?” Roger says, sounding almost disbelieving.

    “That’s what I’ve been saying,” you say. “It hasn’t all been some elaborate ruse to get into your pants. Literally all I have is some vague, theoretical ideas on how this works. And I know the mechanics. But that’s it. So you’re gonna have to be patient with me.”

    “That’s fine by me,” Roger says. He chuckles. “It’ll make everything I do seem much more magical than it really is.”

    “Sure,” you say mock-condescendingly.

    Roger laughs, and he looks so wonderful when he’s laughing that you can’t help but smile, your hand reaching up to comb through his hair.

    He notices the look in your eye, your smile, and he smiles back in a way that makes your stomach squirm and your fingers and toes tingle.

    He kisses you, and the squirming in your stomach grows into full-blown butterflies, big Amazonian ones, and you begin to have an inkling that, oh no, this could be bad. This could be very bad indeed.

    It’s probably nothing. He’s just hot, and nice, and funny, so you’re excited to have sex with him. That’s it. You’re a duckling that’s imprinted on its mother. Except you’re a human, and Roger’s the first person you’re having sex with, not your mother.

    Not the best analogy you’ve come up with. You can’t blame yourself, though – the way Roger’s kissing you is turning your brain into mush.

    He presses a kiss to just under your ear, and then kisses all the way down your throat, and you tilt your head back. “Feels so good,” you murmur.

    You can feel Roger smile against your skin.

    He keeps going, kissing the hollow at the base of your throat, further down still, and you bite your bottom lip. He presses a kiss to the top of your right breast, and then looks up at you. “Can I take your bra off?”

    You nod eagerly, and he moves back so you can sit up. “Oh, I’ve still got my shoes on,” you said.

    “I’ve noticed,” Roger says, and you chuckle.

    “As super sexy as they are, I do wanna take them off,” you say.

    Roger ducks forward to drop a kiss to your neck, and the butterflies are back, and you can feel your cheeks going pink. You want to hide your face, but Roger’s right there, and you can’t look away from his eyes. “How about you take your bra off,” he says, “and I’ll get your shoes.”

    “You don’t have to take my shoes off for me,” you say.

    “Well, I want to,” he says simply, and shuffles down, climbing off the bed. He gestures for you to shift forward, and you do, until your feet are hanging off the bed, your knees hooked over the edge. Roger gets onto his knees – he makes a dad noise as he does so, and you giggle again – and fiddles with the buckle on one of your shoes.

     You take a moment to watch him, biting your lip, smiling, and then reach behind you and unhook your bra, slipping it from your shoulders.

    He doesn’t look up right away, and you’re thankful for a moment to get your head around the fact that you’ve never been completely topless in front of anyone before. You’re self-conscious about the grooves the bra has dug into your skin, about the way your breasts look without the aid of the push-up, and you almost go to cross your arms over yourself, but then Roger glances up, and his hands go still. “Bloody hell,” he breathes. “You’re gorgeous.”

    You tuck your hair behind your ear. “Thanks,” you say in a small voice, unsure how else to respond.

    Roger shakes his head, and focuses back on the shoe, making quick work of it and easing it off your foot, setting it down beside him. He moves onto the other shoe. “Talk about winning the fuckin’ lottery,” he says.

    “I could say the same,” you say.

    Roger stops again, looking to you, and then smiles, looking back to the shoe. His ears have gone red.

    He takes the second shoe off and places it beside the first, then presses light kisses to the inside of your knee. He moves further up your leg, up your thigh, and you realise you’re holding your breath. His arms are curled around underneath your legs.

    Roger looks up at you, his thick eyelashes making him look almost angelic. “Is this all right?” he says. “If I…?”

    He’s asking if he can eat you out. Oh, God, he’s asking if he can eat you out. He wants to put his mouth and tongue there, and maybe his fingers, too, and no one’s ever done that before.

    You nod eagerly. Maybe a little too eagerly, as Roger laughs.

    You feel your stomach cave in on itself in embarrassment. “Actually, no thanks,” you say, trying to pull your legs back. “Changed my mind.”

    “No, no, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh,” Roger says, still chuckling. He coaxes your legs back to where they were, and kisses your thigh. “It was just the look on your face.”

    “You’re doing a terrible job of wooing me,” you say, aiming for resolute and chastising, but it comes out sounding more weedy and humiliated.

    “I’m sorry,” Roger says again, and his hands stroke your legs soothingly. “I am. I didn’t mean to make you feel embarrassed.” He smiles, a glint in his eye, and you’re momentarily left breathless. “Can I… make it up to you?”

    You can’t help but smile back, rolling your eyes. “Wow. Cheesy.”

    “Thank you,” Roger says. “I’m going to be honest, as fun as this banter is, my knees aren’t going to last forever.”

    You splutter a laugh. “Yes, yes, okay, yes please.”

    Roger surges up off the floor to press a firm kiss to your lips, and you take a moment to wonder just how dodgy his knees really are if he can do something like that, or whether he was just looking for a convenient segue into getting your underwear off. You’re not fussed either way.

    Roger kisses your collarbone, and then pulls back, hooking his fingers into your underwear. “Lift your hips up for me, love?”

    The pet name makes heat pool between your legs. Oh, Jesus.

    “Mm-hm,” you say, hoping it sounds more nonchalant to him than it does to your own ears, and lie back to lift your hips, and he slides your underwear down your legs and drops them near your shoes.

    You expect him to go back to his knees straight away, but he holds himself above you, kissing you, deep and slow, making you whimper into his mouth. One hand holds himself up, and the other one massages your hip, his thumb kneading your skin. Relaxing you, you realise. You let yourself get lost in the kiss, and you’re only partially aware when Roger’s hand moves from your hip to your thigh, brushing over your skin.

    You’re extremely aware, however, when his fingers stroke through your folds for the first time.

    Despite yourself, you jump, and Roger murmurs, “Sorry,” but you shake your head to dismiss his concerns, and pull him in again.

    For a few moments it’s strange, feeling someone’s else hand there, and you’re very conscious of how wet you are, and you wonder if it’s something you should be embarrassed about, but then Roger circles your clit, and suddenly all your worries seem very far away.

    It feels… good. Really fucking good. Roger’s fingers are rougher than yours, but they’re clearly experienced in how they move.

    You push your hips up against Roger’s hand, wanting more, and Roger complies, his fingers moving just a touch more roughly, and he ducks his head to nuzzle at your throat, kissing it, nipping lightly.

    “Oh, God,” you moan to the ceiling, overwhelmed already, and you almost laugh at how surprised you sound. Your hand grips Roger’s hair, and you hope it’s not too hard, but you couldn’t let go if you tried.

    Then Roger’s hand is gone, and you let out a choked sound at the sudden stop. You try to gather your thoughts to ask why, but then Roger is kissing down your body. Oh, man, you think, unable to conjure up anything else, and Roger chuckles, and you realise you said it out loud, but you don’t have time to be embarrassed, as Roger takes one of your nipples into his mouth, his tongue swirling around it, his teeth tugging at it, and you gasp.

    “I’ve never… That’s new,” you say weakly, hissing when Roger runs the flat of his tongue over your nipple.

    Roger pulls off to ask, “Do you like it?”

    “Yeah,” you say. “Yeah, uh-huh.”

    “Good.” He goes back to his task, and you arch off the bed slightly.

    “So good,” you breathe. Roger switches to the other nipple, and you moan appreciatively.

    Eventually, both to your dismay and your excitement, he draws away, and presses a single kiss to the space between your breasts. “You’re fucking stunning,” he says, and then he moves back to climb off the bed, setting himself between your thighs.

    You struggle to wrap your head around it. How he could be making you feel this good, and then still compliment you, as if you’ve done anything to deserve it?

    Roger doesn’t waste time talking now. He kisses the inside of your thigh, and then he dives straight in, his tongue nudging your clit as it pushes through your folds. You suck in a sharp gasp, your hand gripping his hair tightly. Your other hand flails, grappling at the sheets as he starts to find a rhythm. You wind up pressing the back of it to your mouth, trying to muffle the sounds you’re making, trying to gather some sort of control, because right now you feel like you’re falling head-first off a cliff, and Roger has complete power over how you land.

    He does something with his mouth – you couldn’t tell for the life of you what it is – and your hips buck against your will. “Sorry,” you blurt out, and it comes out broken and breathless.

    Roger just adjusts one of his arms, bracing it across your hips, holding you down, and you moan. His other hand joins his mouth, sliding a finger into you. “Oh, fuck,” you whisper, and then your hand returns to its position, keeping you somewhat quieter.

    It doesn’t take long before Roger’s working in a second finger, pumping them in and out of you, and the sound of it is so obscene that it makes your face go bright red. You’re climbing towards an orgasm, frighteningly quickly, and when a third finger squeezes in beside the first two, you very nearly come, but the sting of the stretch is enough to keep it at bay.

    But then your body relaxes around the three fingers, and Roger crooks them just so and sucks on your clit, and you move your hand away from your mouth to say in a rush, “I’m– I’m so close, I’m gonna come, fuck, ah, shit,” and then–

    Then Roger is gone, his fingers and mouth are gone, and you’re left teetering on the brink of an orgasm, feeling like the air has been punched out of you.

    “Wh– Roger?” you say, your head a mess. You prop yourself up on your elbows to see Roger still between your legs, but instead he’s massaging your thighs with his thumbs, dropping light kisses to your soft skin.

    He smiles up at you, his nose and chin glistening. “Thought we could try something.”

    You shake your head to try to clear it. “But I was just about to…”

    You can still feel the urge. Another minute, and you’ll be there. But the longer you wait, the more the feeling fades. It makes you want to punch a wall.

    Roger hums. “I know. That’s the point.”

    You frown, trying to wrap your head around it. “You… don’t want me to?”

    “Not yet.”

    It finally clicks. “You’re gonna do that to me a couple more times before you make me come, aren’t you?”

    Roger’s smile widens into a grin. “That’s the plan. If you’re on board.”

    “I’m on board,” you say. “As long as when I do come, it blows my fucking mind.”

    “That’s really the point of it, love.” Roger keeps eye contact with you as he leans forward to press a kiss to your core, and you shudder. “And move your hand away from your mouth. You don’t have to be quiet. The more sounds you make, the better.”

    “When am I gonna get my hands on you?” you ask. “I’ve barely even touched your dick yet.”

    Roger huffs a laugh, and you can feel his breath against you. “We’re getting there,” he says easily. “Good things come to those who wait.”

    “Ugh, that’s such a dad thing to say,” you bemoan, lying back down.

    Roger laughs again, and then his mouth and hands return to where you so desperately need them. You suck in air through your teeth. “Fuck, Roger.”

    Roger moans, and you jerk at the sensation.

    He brings you to the edge once more, and, even though you don’t tell him when you’re about to come, he knows, and leaves you hanging once again. So close, so close, but not close enough.

    You feel like crying. Or kicking him in the face.

    You moan helplessly, slinging an arm over your eyes, your legs trembling as Roger smiles against your thigh – you can feel it. A smug smile that makes your blood boil and your core throb even more than it already is.

    Then his fingers push into you for a third time, and his tongue licks through you, but this time it’s slow, painfully slow, not enough to make you come but enough to keep your head lost in the clouds, enough to make your stomach clench and twist, desperately searching for something. It’s enough to make you grind your teeth together. “God, fuck, I need to come,” you sob against the palm of your hand, your thighs trying to clench around Roger’s ears, but his arm is in the way, keeping your hips still.

    His tongue drags against your clit, steady and unhurried, and the gasping whine that rips itself from your throat is piercing to your ears. Not even your hand could muffle it.

    “There we go,” Roger says, and does it again.

    You squirm. “Roger, fuck, please, I wanna come so bad.”

    Roger’s fingers still move in and out of you at a leisurely pace, but he uses his mouth to say, “You wanna come?”

    “Yes,” you say miserably. “Please, I need to.”

    His thumb presses against your clit, and you bite your bottom lip, your body twisting.

    “Christ,” Roger breathes. “That’s a fucking sight.”

    “Fuck me,” you beg. “Anything, just please.”

    Roger takes his hand away, standing and wiping his face on the back of his hand, and you swear. He kicks off his boxer-briefs. His cock is hard and red, swollen, leaking. You sit up and zero in on it like it’s a four-course meal and you haven’t eaten in days. You scramble off the bed, dropping to your knees in front of him.

    “Fucking hell,” he says, clearly not expecting you to do that.

    “Can I suck you off?” you ask desperately, resisting the urge to just shove your mouth around his dick without further preamble. “I’ll do a good job, I promise. Just tell me what to do. I’m a fast learner.” You curl your fist around him, sucking the head into your mouth.

    Roger makes a strangled sound, his hips bucking slightly. “Wait, wait, wait,” he says quickly, guiding your head away with a hand on your head.

     You pull back, but keep your hand where it is. “Just fuck my mouth,” you say, gazing up at him. “I dunno how that works, but I can keep it open.” You do so, sticking your tongue out, silently begging with your eyes.

    Roger chuckles softly to himself, running a hand through his hair. “You’re gonna make me come just from running your mouth like that.”

    You open your mouth wider.

    “Or from just doing that,” Roger says. He pries your hand away from his dick, using it to pull you to your feet.

    He kisses you, a hungry kiss, a you’re doing so well kiss, and it makes you preen. “But I want to fuck you,” he says. “I’ve had my dick sucked before; you’ve never been fucked.”

    “I’ve never sucked a dick before, either, though,” you reason.

    “Well, hit me up next time you’re in the neighbourhood,” Roger jokes. Before you can reply, he kisses you again, and you drink him in greedily, palming at his cock until his kisses grow sloppy, messy, more teeth and tongue, and he has to snatch your wrist. “Let me get inside you first,” he growls. “Good God.”

    “I like it when you’re bossy,” you say, teasingly.

    Roger hums, his eyes dark. “You need that attitude fucked right out of you.”

    “Do it,” you say fervently, grinning in delight when he grabs your other wrist as well to stop you from touching him. “Do it, do it, do it. Fuck it right out me. I need it. Never had anyone try to fuck anything out of me before.”

    Roger shudders. “Jesus.”

    You half-heartedly try to tug your wrists back, but he holds them tightly. “Fuck me till I can’t walk,” you say. “Come on.”

    Roger takes a breath, and then lets your wrists go. “Bed. Now.”

    You scramble to obey, clenching your thighs together at the sight of Roger. He looks wrecked already, his hair a mess, his skin flushed, his eyes glassy, his lips red. He goes to his bedside table and digs out a bottle of lube and some condoms. “Maybe should check the date on these,” he mutters to himself, and squints at the packets in his hands. After a few moments of peering at them, he sighs in frustration, and reaches for the pair of glasses on the table that you hadn’t noticed before. He slips them on, and then nods at the packets. “They’re fine.”

    He goes to take the glasses off, but you say, “Wait, show me.”

    He turns to you. “Show you what?”

    Fuck, he looks gorgeous in those glasses. They’re large, round ones, with delicate silver frames, and you make a soft sound. “Oh, wow.”

    “I know, they’re horrendous,” Roger says, taking off the glasses and setting them down. “My eyesight’s always been shite, but I can’t stand wearing the bloody things.”

    “No, you look great,” you say. “So great, in fact, that I need you to get the condom on so you can fuck me literally right now.”

    Roger raises his eyebrows. “You what?”

    “I’m dying here, Roger,” you say loudly, smacking the bed beside you. “You look hot as fuck in those glasses, and I’m so insanely horny that I’m about to explode. I need your dick in me right now.”

    Roger grins, and rips open the condom packet. “All right. Jeez.”

    “Let me do it,” you say, crawling over to him and taking the condom from him.

    “You’ve ever done it before?” he asks.

    “Not since we had to at school when I was, like, fifteen.” You do it carefully, to the best of your memory. Your mouth waters being so close to his cock. “Is this right?”

    “Yeah, perfect,” Roger says. “You look incredible, by the way.”

    You look up at Roger, and the butterflies return. You’re left momentarily speechless, but it doesn’t matter, because Roger leans down and kisses you. His hand rests against your collarbones, and you get another idea in your head. You rise up into a kneel, keeping his lips on yours, and then you take his hand, pressing it against your throat: a silent invitation.

    Roger moans into your mouth, and applies some pressure, just a bit, testing the waters.

    It makes your core ache, and you kiss him harder, so he presses harder in return. His palm is warm against your throat, and you keep one hand loosely around his wrist, the other hand in his hair, as it is wont to do.

    You end up lying back on the bed, Roger pressing his hand against your throat as you gasp and squirm.

    “You like this, don’t you?” Roger says, fingers on his other hand dipping into your folds. “Fuck, feel how wet you are.”

    You nod desperately. Your mouth is hanging open, and your head is starting to swim.

    “Is that all for me, love?”

    You whimper, nodding again. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears.

    Roger lets go of your throat, and you gasp, your eyes wide. “More,” you say immediately. “More. Fuck me like that.”

    Roger smiles, keeping his palm against your throat, but brushes his thumb across your skin. His other hand curls around your knee. “Your enthusiasm is… mind-blowing,” he says with a chuckle, “but just take a moment, yeah? You’re all over the shop. Slow down a bit.”

    “I don’t wanna slow down,” you protest, grabbing onto his forearm.

    “We’ve got time, love. It doesn’t have to be over so quickly.”

    “You can’t tease me like that, almost make me come, like, three times, and then tell me to slow down,” you say. “I need you, Roger. Christ, I need you. Show me what it’s like, show me how good my first time can be.”

    Roger’s pupils are blown wide, and he lets out a shaky breath. He swallows. “Spread your legs.”

    You grin, and do so. Roger lets go of your throat and leans over you on all fours to kiss you briefly. “I’m not choking you while I fuck you,” he says. “I want you to feel all of it, not have your head somewhere else.”

    You nod vigorously.

    Roger reaches for the lube. You hold out your hand, and he raises an eyebrow at you, but pours some into your hand. You reach forward and slide your fist up and down his cock, spreading the lube. He groans and shudders, and then he says, “That’s enough, that’s enough, I want to fuck you.”

    You take your hand away, wiping the lube on the sheets, Roger surges forward to capture your lips with his, and you feel the head of his cock nudging at your entrance. A shot of adrenaline explodes within you.

    “Tell me if it hurts, okay?” Roger says, and you nod.

    Then, slowly, he pushes into you, just an inch or two. You gasp at the stretch, gripping onto his arms, your mouth wide.

    Roger stills, and nuzzles at your throat. “You okay?”

    “Mm-hm,” you say, biting your lip. “Keep… Keep going.”

    He does, rocking in shallowly, just going a little further each time. He’s panting against your neck, and you can feel your sweat pricking your skin. You can’t help but admire Roger’s back, the way the muscles move.

    It feels good. Once you get over the initial shock to the system of having something that size inside you, you realise why you were so excited to get to this in the first place.

    “I’m good,” you say, nails absentmindedly scratching the back of his neck. “It– It doesn’t hurt or anything.”

    “You sure?” Roger asks, kissing your neck softly.

    You can’t help but laugh. “Roger, for the love of all things holy, fuck me.”

    He doesn’t need another invitation. He slams into you, and your eyes go wide, a tiny sound of surprise leaping out of you.

    “Sorry,” Roger says, raising his head to kiss you in apology.

    “Don’t fucking apologise, it feels good,” you say back. “Come on, come on.”

    Roger laughs, and kisses you. You can feel his laughter against your lips, feel the way his smile changes the shape of his mouth, and that dangerously warm feeling in the pit of your stomach returns.

    You could get used to this. Get used to Roger laughing against your lips as he’s buried inside you. Get used to teasing him, to turning him on, to rolling around in his bed.

    As soon as the thoughts creep into your mind, you banish them. That’s not happening, you tell yourself harshly. This is a one-and-done deal. You can’t develop feelings for a man you’ve only met once. A man who is, by the way, in case you’ve forgotten, sixteen years older than you.

    Then Roger pulls out halfway and drives back into you, and all you can think about is his dick.

    Your hand goes back to your mouth, just like before, keeping yourself quiet as you moan and whimper. Your ankles hook over the small of Roger’s back.

    But then Roger pauses, sitting up, and he unwraps your legs from around him and pushes one of your knees flat on the bed, keeping you spread out wide. “Hands away from your mouth, love,” he says. “Let me hear you. It’s okay, you can let go.”

    Your face burns, and you cover it with both of your hands. It’s too big of an ask. You’ve never felt more vulnerable. “Roger…”

    “[Y/N].”

    You lower your hands. He’s watching you, his blue eyes burning with desire, but they’re soft, too. Understanding.

    “Keep your eyes on me,” he says. “Hold onto the sheets, yeah? Can you do that for me?”

    You nod, and, with no small amount of effort, let your arms go by your sides, your fists wrapping in the sheets.

    Roger smiles. “You’re amazing.”

    You turn your head away, overwhelmed.

    “Eyes on me. Hey.”

    You look back at him. Exposed. You’re exposed, in every sense of the word.

    Roger braces himself on the bed beside your ribs, and, keeping one hand on your knee, holding it down, he starts fucking into you again, hard and deep.

    The sound you make could best be described as a mewl, and it’s a sound you’ve never heard yourself make before. Your hands tighten in the sheets, fighting the urge to cover your face again. Roger’s eyes are still on yours, and it’s too much, you want to look away, but you can’t.

    “So good for me,” Roger pants. “Fuck. God, you’re incredible.”

    You whine. “Roger.”

    “That’s it, love. Say my name.”

    He thrusts into you at just the right angle, making your back arch. “Roger.”

    Roger groans, and he lets go of your knee to circle his fingers around your clit. You gasp, your eyes finally breaking away from his to look to the ceiling, feeling yourself climbing rapidly for the fourth time that night.

    “Let me come, let me come, please,” you beg, your arms straining as your fists pull on the sheets.

    Roger leans forward again to kiss you, a mess of heavy breathing and tongues and lips brushing. You let go of the sheets to clutch onto him, pawing at his shoulders and back and hips, unable to settle on where you want to hold him.

    One hand inevitably slides into his hair, and you grip onto it, tugging it hard. Roger’s rhythm stutters, and he groans out your name.

    His fingers feel so fucking good, and, doubled with the way he’s stretched you out, tripled with how he edged you before, you just know how hard you’re going to come. You can feel it building deeper within you than you’ve ever felt before, like an impending tsunami.

    Roger readjusts, sitting back again, his brow furrowed as he searches for just the right spot to hit you.

    When he does, you cry out. “Right there, right there, fuck.”

    Your hands scrabble for purchase, and one finds your own hair, burying itself, and you don’t pull, but you keep a firm grip on it, the slight pain being the only thing keeping you from losing yourself entirely. Your other hand finds the same spot as before in the sheets, and you sob, screwing your eyes shut.

    “You close?” Roger asks, and you nod.

    “Say it out loud, love.”

    “Yes, I’m so close, I’m so close,” you gasp. You’re almost there, you can feel it, only inches away, moments away.

    “Open your eyes, come on.”

    You do, and meet his gaze. “Roger,” you whimper.

    “You gonna come for me?”

    “Y-yeah.”

    “I wanna hear it, yeah? Wanna see you. See you come undone on my cock.”

    And that’s the final nail in the coffin. You orgasm pulses through you, so hard that you convulse, and you wail, blurting out Roger’s name, clenching down on him. Your blood roars in your ears, and you’ve never come so hard in your life.

    Roger moans out, “Fuck,” and then pumps once, twice more, and then comes, groaning your name, a shudder ripping through him.

    When he comes back to himself, blinking his big blue eyes at you, you can’t help but think he looks otherworldly. His face, pink, shines with sweat, as does his whole body. Locks of hair stick to his forehead, his temples. His mouth hangs open, and his chest heaves, and maybe it’s the ten-out-of-ten orgasm you just had, but in that moment, you kinda want to marry him.

    He takes the hand you’ve tangled in the sheets, and presses a kiss to your wrist. Your heart just about explodes. “You all right?”

    You splutter. “All right? The fuck’s that meant to mean?”

    Roger smiles, massaging the palm of your hand with his thumb. “I mean, are you hurting anywhere?”

    My heart hurts from you being all hot and perfect and stupidly romantic, you think. “No,” you say. “I’m just fine.”

    He pulls out of you, carefully, and it does nothing but reignite a spark of arousal within you. Then he collapses onto the bed beside you with an unmistakable dad noise, and takes off the spent condom, tying it off and tossing it into the rubbish bin beside his bed. When that’s done, he wastes no time in rolling onto his side and pulling you in for a kiss. You hum happily, shifting closer to him, not even caring about the sweat and how wet you are all over your inner thighs.

    When he breaks away, he says, “So. How do you feel?”

    “Like I just had the biggest orgasm of my life,” you say.

    Roger chuckles. “I meant now that you’re, y’know…”

    It clicks. “Now I’ve lost my virginity?” you say playfully. “Had my sexual debut? I’ve become a woman?”

    “Not that any of it matters, of course,” Roger adds. “But it’s still… It can be a big thing.”

    You give him a soft kiss. “Yeah, it doesn’t matter,” you say. “Virginity is nothing but a social construct and all of that.”

    “Of course,” Roger reiterates.

    “But I feel… happy.” You hope your grin isn’t as cheesy as it feels. “It’s nice to not have to… worry about it anymore, I suppose? I don’t know if I was really worrying about it before, but it… I don’t know.” You shrug. “I just had a really good time. That’s all that matters.”

    “Good.” Roger’s hand goes to your hip, squeezing it. “I’m glad.”

    “Did…” You lick your lips. “Did you have a good time?”

    “Did I have a good time?” Roger repeats, almost aghast. “Are you joking?”

    “Even though I had no idea what I was doing?”

    “You’re a natural.”

    You laugh. Your stomach squirms – both because of those ridiculous maybe-almost-could-be feelings, and because, even though you know in your mind that the whole sex part of the evening is over, your body certainly isn’t ready to throw in the towel just yet.

    Your thighs clench together, but you do your best to hide how it feels. You don’t want to be greedy.

    Roger feels your thighs move under his hand, though, and he looks to you questioningly. “Are you still–”

    “No, no, I’m fine,” you say lightly, shaking your head. “I was just moving around.”

    Roger pauses, and then says, “All right.” He kisses you, and then takes a moment to gather his energy before he sits up. “I’ll get us some water.” He turns to you, pointing a finger at you, as if something just occurred to him. “You should go pee.”

    Your eyes widen, and you nod. “Oh, yes, good thinking.”

    “Bathroom’s just there,” he says, gesturing across the room at the closed door.

    “You have an en suite?”

    “Well, yeah. Much easier when there’s kids around.” His face falls a little. “Not that I’ve had the kids here very often recently, but uh…”

    “I’m sorry,” you say.

    He shakes his head. “Sorry. It’s fine. Great way to bring down the mood, eh?” He leans down again to kiss you, and then stands up, stretching. “Be back in a mo’.”

    You watch him, your gaze hawk-like, as he pulls on his neon-green underwear and disappears out the door, raking his hand through his hair as he goes.

    Your thighs clench together again, and you whimper.

    You try to push it aside, and slide off the bed to go the bathroom, pulling on your underwear as you go. You don’t exactly feel like putting your push-up bra back on, but you don’t want to just lounge around completely naked. Would it be too presumptuous to put on Roger’s shirt?

    You bite your lip, considering, and then decide to just bite the bullet, slipping it on and buttoning it up. It’s comfy, and smells like him; you understand why women in movies do it now. You do have to call bullshit on wearing a man’s shirt like a short, cute dress though – it’s more just like a long shirt, and you’re glad you’ve chosen to put on underwear.

    It feels odd to pee in a stranger’s house – even odder that it’s an en suite – but you’re thankful that you get a moment to properly gather yourself in private, instead of while being surrounded by the smell of sex.

    It’s when you’re washing your hands that you finally get a look at yourself in the mirror. Your mouth drops open in horror.

    You look like a fucking mess. Your foundation is patchy where you get oily and where you’ve sweated it off, and there’s a slight ring of smudged mascara under your eyes – honestly, you’re thankful that it’s not worse, and that your setting spray did at least something. Your hair, though, is the worst of it all. You look like you’ve been dragged through a bush backwards.

    “Oh, shit,” you whisper to yourself. What can you do? You don’t have any make-up with you to try to fix the problems, but you can’t exactly take it off, either. You have no way to fix your hair. You untie it from the ponytail it was in and try to smooth it out, but it doesn’t really do much, so you tie it back up again, but it’s a shitty ponytail, so you untie it and try again. Then you try a third time, and give up, settling on the disaster that it is, and grab a tissue, blotting at your make-up.

    You sigh, staring at your reflection. Well, fuck. What the fuck are you meant to do? How the hell can you go back into the bedroom, knowing you look like this?

    “[Y/N]?” Roger calls. “You all right in there, love?”

    You shiver. God, the way he says the word ‘love’. The way he says your name.

    You clear your throat. “Um, yeah, I’m– I’m fine. Just…” You can’t say you’re still peeing. Oh, fuck, what if he thinks you’re taking a shit or something? “I’m just fixing up my make-up.”

    “I think there might still be some make-up wipes in a drawer somewhere, if you want to have a look,” Roger says. “Maybe they’re no good anymore, I’m not sure.”

    You have a dig around, and find a packet. It’s already been opened, quite a while ago by the looks of it. Must be Roger’s ex-wife’s.

    The thought of that sits weirdly with you, but you’re not quite sure why. Almost like you feel like you’re intruding, maybe. You certainly don’t feel like you belong here, in this bougie, nice house.

    You sigh again, and pull out a handful of make-up wipes, seeing if there’s any that still hold any moisture. One in the middle has a little bit, so you carefully run it under your eyes, and lightly tap it over your forehead and down your neck to soothe your skin, fixing up any problem areas as best you can without it being too obvious that you’ve just wiped off the make-up.

    The end result is fine. Not good, and certainly not great, but… yeah. Fine.

    You throw the make-up wipes into the bin, take a deep breath, and exit the bathroom.

    Roger’s on his phone, and he looks up when he hears the door open. His face goes slack when he sees you. “You’re wearing my shirt?”

    “Isn’t that what girls are meant to do after sex?” you joke.

    “I just haven’t seen, um, anyone do that in… in a long time,” he says, somewhat stilted, and he glances down at his hands. He quickly turns his eyes back to you. “It looks good. Really good.”

    “Thank you,” you say, and pad over to the bedside table near him, where he has two glasses of water waiting. “Which one’s mine?”

    “On the left.” Roger sets his phone down and watches you as you take a sip of water.

    He’s close to you, and, like before you kissed for the first time, you’re hyperaware of every movement. But he barely moves, just waits for you.

    When you put the water down, you hesitate. You want to climb on top of him, kiss him, feeling his arms around you again, but is that too much? Does he want you to go? Are you overstaying your welcome?

    “You all right?” he asks gently.

    You nod. “Um, yeah,” you say, and take a step back. “You probably, um, have work or something tomorrow, so I should go.”

    You don’t miss the way Roger’s face falls a bit. “Oh, you want to go?”

    No. “Well, it– I don’t want to impose…”

    “If you want to go, then I’ll order an Uber for you,” Roger says. “But don’t feel like you have to go if you don’t want to.”

    The Amazonian butterflies are back yet again. “I…”

    “Because – and correct me if I’m wrong,” Roger says, reaching out and tugging on his shirt, pulling you closer, and you go without any resistance, “but I think you were telling a bit of a fib before, when you said you were… what did you say? Just moving around?”

    You press your lips together as Roger guides you between his legs, and he tilts his head back to gaze up at you. He smiles at the look on your face. “Am I right?”

    You can feel your face heating up again. “No,” you mumble unconvincingly, hiding your smile behind your hand.

    “No hands over mouths,” Roger murmurs, reaching up and taking yours. “You don’t have to hide.”

    Fuck. Oh, fuck. His voice sounds like a warm fireplace feels, and you barely even know him, but you’ve never felt safer, more comfortable, around a man. You can’t pretend now – you’re really starting to like him.

    Roger raises his eyebrows at you, just a touch, searching your face. “So? Am I right?”

    “It’s fine,” you say, shaking your head. “I’m fine, really. You’ve done plenty, I… I can’t ask for more.”

    Roger hums, and presses a kiss to your palm before letting your hand go. “All right, okay,” he says. “I was wrong, I see. Can I at least tell you what I’d do to you if I had been right?”

    You breathe in shakily, and nod once.

    The corner of Roger’s mouth quirks up. “Well,” he says slowly, “first I’d kiss you, of course. And, as hot as you look wearing nothing but my shirt and your knickers, I’d undress you again. Get you lying down on your back, all spread out for me. I’d kiss you some more. Then I think I’d choke you, because you seem to like that a lot, yeah?”

    You nod, hypnotised.

    Roger nods as well. “Right. And then, while I was holding you down by your throat–”

    You gulp.

    “–I’d get my other hand, and I’d–”

    “Okay, yes, you were right,” you blurt out, and grab his face, ducking down to kiss him desperately. He kisses you with just as much hunger, and nudges you a few steps back, giving him enough room so he can stand up and start unbuttoning the shirt. As soon as he’s done, your shrug it from your shoulders, and Roger pulls you closer by your ass. One hand moves to cup your jaw, his tongue pressing against yours. It doesn’t take long before the hand shifts to your throat, and you whimper softly, urging him to tighten his grip.

    He does, and the feeling of it goes straight to your core. Your hands clutch at him frantically.

    He lets go of your throat, and you suck in a gasp, then latch onto his neck, kissing and nipping and sucking at his skin, licking off the salty traces of sweat.

    “Careful, love, careful,” he says shakily. “I can’t turn up to work looking like I’ve been attacked by a vacuum.”

    You huff, but soften your kisses. He moans under his breath, and you don’t think you’ve ever heard anything hotter.

    Soon, you break away, and crawl back onto the bed, and he follows you, positioning himself on all fours above you to kiss you deeply, his knee slotting into between your thighs. He presses it against your core, and you instinctively grind against it, shuddering when it fires an electric shock of arousal through your system. Roger shifts, readjusting his balance so he can bring his hand back to your throat, and you welcome it. You grind against his leg again.

    It’s when you have to stop kissing him, your brain going into overdrive trying to force you to focus on breathing, you have to breathe, that Roger sits back, moving his leg out of the way and replacing it with his other hand.

    “Fuck, Roger,” you gasp, twitching under his grip, your hands vice-like on his forearm. Your eyes slide closed, revelling in the way your head swims, the way your body fights to suck as much oxygen as it can into your lungs. You’re still so wet from before, still so stretched out, that Roger slides two fingers into you at the same time with ease, and you let out a stuttering moan, bucking your hips into his hand. His fingers swirl around your clit, hitting it in just the right way, and within minutes you’re almost there.

    “Most people think the best part about getting choked is the actual ‘getting choked’ part,” Roger says out of the blue, and you frown, trying to follow, opening your eyes.

    “Hear me out,” Roger says casually, pushing his fingers back into you and flicking your clit with his thumb, and you whine. “Are you close, love?”

    You nod.

    Roger hums. “You look so good like this. Does it feel good?”

    You nod again. “Mm-hm.”

    “Yeah, looks like it does. Looks like you enjoy it.”

    “Ah, Roger, please.”

    “It’s all right, love, I’ve got you.” Roger’s fingers quicken their pace, and you make a sound, squirming.

    “As I was saying,” Roger continues, “people think the best part of getting choked is actually getting choked. But it’s not. The best part of it is actually being let go. Do you want to see?”

    You nod, barely even listening to what he’s saying. You’re too close to coming to pay attention.

    And then Roger lets go of your throat at the same time he brushes your clit, and a rush of oxygen flows into your lungs, a rush of blood flows back to your head, and your orgasm slams into you, and the world seems so much brighter in that moment. “Oh, fuck, fuck,” you gasp, your back arching, your eyes wide.

    It feels like it goes on for a lifetime, although perhaps that’s just your mind trying to sort itself out. When you do finally start to come down from your high, you realise you’re shaking, and Roger is grinning at you. You blink at him owlishly.

    “Wh– Huh?” you breathe, your heart racing, and Roger laughs.

    “So you’re alive, then,” he teases, and leans down to kiss you.

    You grab onto him, kissing him soundly, and roll the both of you over, so you’re straddling him. You just stay like that, just making out, letting the frenzied kisses lull themselves into something slower, something calmer. Just kissing for the sake of it. Roger’s hands stroke up and down your back, and you could almost fall asleep like this.

    Speaking of falling asleep – you have to break away, hiding your yawn by tucking your face into his chest. Roger hums, and you can feel it vibrating against your body. You smile. “Sorry,” you mumble.

    “Can hardly blame you,” Roger says, his voice low. “It’s late.”

    You let yourself slump against him, a moment of pure self-indulgence, and then roll to the side, dumping yourself onto the bed. You groan, unable to stop yourself from instinctively shifting into a more comfortable position for sleeping, your arm beneath your head like a pillow, your eyes closing.

    “I’m sorry,” you say again, muffled by your arm. “I’ll leave in a minute.”

    Roger says nothing, and you feel your stomach coil in guilt. God, he wanted you to leave fifteen minutes ago, didn’t he? He was just too polite to say anything. And then you pressured him into making you come again, because you were too selfish to know when enough was enough. Great, fucking great, you’ve fucked it all up, and you’re a huge piece of shit, and you–

    “Did you want to stay the night?” Roger asks tentatively.

    Your eyes fly open, and you shift up onto your elbow. “What?” you say. “Stay?”

    Roger glances away from you. “It– It was just a suggestion,” he says. “Just an idea, I don’t know. I, um – it’s just late, and I don’t want you travelling all that way on your own. You can, obviously, if you want to, that’s up to you, I just…”

    You’re hardly even listening. You’re still struggling to drink in the first thing he said. “You want me to stay?” you ask.

    Roger looks to you, and bites his bottom lip. “If– Well, if you want to, then, um, yes, I’d like you to. But only if you want to.”

    You beam, and your heart triples in size. “Um, yes. I’d like to.”

    Roger smiles back. “Good. Great. That’s–” He clears his throat. “Did you want to have a shower?”

    “I think so,” you say with a laugh. “I’m…” You went to say I’m so disgusting right now, but you don’t want to fuck up your now-sleepover before it’s even properly begun. “Yes please.”

    “Well, you know where the bathroom is,” Roger says, nodding towards the en suite. “There’s a spare toothbrush in the drawer, if I remember correctly. I’ll get you a towel.”

    “You’re not coming into the shower with me?” you ask coyly.

    Roger blinks, and you laugh.

    “Oh,” he says. “You were joking.”

    “I wasn’t,” you say. “You just made me laugh.”

    Roger swoops down to steal a kiss, and you don’t let him leave, pushing up into him, stealing a few kisses back.

    “Let me get you a towel,” he says, and then climbs off the bed and pads out of the room.

    You bite on your finger to stop yourself from making some stupid giggle, or maybe a dumb squealing sound like a little girl. He asked you to stay the night. He wants you to stay the night.

    Oh, shit, you realise, your finger dropping from your mouth. Justine. You never told her what was happening.

    Where’s your phone? In the living room. Spitting out a curse, you pull on your underwear and Roger’s shirt again, and hurry out. You run into Roger, arms full of sheets, in the hallway. “Hey, is everything all right?” he says. “What did you forget?”

    “I never told my roommate I wasn’t coming home,” you say. “Last she heard, I was about to book an Uber.”

    Roger’s eyes go a little wider. “Shit, whoops. Yeah, go tell her.”

    You shoot him a smile, and scurry off to the living room. Your phone is on the couch, and you snatch it up. Wow, shit, it is late. You’re glad you only have an afternoon lecture tomorrow.

    Thankfully, just one message from Justine, from about half an hour ago. hey, haven’t heard from u in a while. just send me a message when u get this ok? xx

    You respond. fuck sorry, left my phone in the other room. I have SO MUCH to tell u omg, but in a nutshell uhh we ended up sleeping together, it was fucking amazing, and now he’s asked me to stay over, so ill see u at uni tomorrow maybe? if not then at home xx

    You keep your phone in hand, and head back to Roger’s room. He’s started cleaning up in the minute you were gone, stripping the bed. Fresh sheets sit on the floor. “What’s this?” you ask.

    “I’m making the bed,” Roger says simply, tugging a pillow from its case. “I’m too old to be sleeping on sheets I’ve just had sex on. Let me tell you, it makes a difference. And the sheets were due for a change, anyway.”

    You step forward. “Well, let me help.”

    “Don’t be silly, jump in the shower.”

    “Don’t tell me what to do.” You set your phone down beside his on the bedside table, and together the two of you help remake his bed.

    Roger chases you into the shower then, and says he’s going to tidy up the room a little more before he joins you. “I’m on a roll now,” he says, picking up your shoes from where you kicked them aside during the bed-making. “Can’t stop, won’t stop.”

    You take the make-up wipes. The door is about halfway open, and you can hear Roger moving around, hear when he trips over something and hisses out a curse, making you smile.

    The make-up wipe freezes in the air near your eye. You can’t very well have a shower and go to bed without taking your make-up off – it does not make even a vague semblance of a pretty picture – but this is… way more intimate than you were expecting. Why didn’t you think of this when you agreed to stay over? Roger’s going to see you without your make-up on, with your hair tied up in a bun. He’s going to see you in the morning, all bleary-eyed and disgusting. Fuck, morning breath. You have the spare clothes you brought that you can change into tomorrow, but no extra underwear. Nothing to wear tonight. It’s a miracle that Roger even has a spare toothbrush. What time does he get up for work? Will he expect you to leave before he wakes up?

    Are you a one-night-stand? Is that what this is? Are you asked to stay the night if you’re nothing but a one-night-stand, or does the fact that he asked you mean something else?

    “Is your roommate all right?” Roger asks, coming to the door, leaning against the doorjamb. “No freak-outs?”

    You lower the make-up wipe. “Um, no. It’s all fine, I think.”

    “Have you found the toothbrush?”

    “No, I haven’t checked yet.”

    Roger moves around you, pulling open the drawer and rummaging through. “Ah, here it is. Still in the packet! How good am I?”

    You smile as he presents it to you like it’s a medal of honour. “Thanks.”

    “Sorry about the make-up wipes,” Roger says. “They’re not great.” He huffs, and then leans against the edge of the sink, rubbing his hands down his face. “I’m sorry,” he says again. “I’m… I’m actually really nervous.”

    Your eyebrows shoot up. “Nervous?” you repeat. “About what?”

    “About… you staying over,” he confesses. “It’s been, I don’t know, ten years since I’ve had anyone new sleep over. My brain is suddenly filled with every annoying thing I do when I sleep. And I look awful in the mornings, let me tell you. If you think I look bad now, just you wait.”

    “Who says I think you look bad now?” you say. “I thought I made it perfectly clear that I think you’re a hot piece of ass, Roger.”

    Roger splutters, flustered, and you grin.

    “I move around a lot,” he says. “When I sleep. So be prepared to cop an elbow to the face.”

    “Don’t you worry, I’m a heavy sleeper,” you say. “And I move around, too.”

    “I run hot,” Roger adds. “I’m like a space heater. And sometimes I talk in my sleep, but only when I’m really stressed about something, like work. I can be really very clingy.”

    “I run cold,” you say with a shrug. “So clingy suits me fine.”

    Roger pauses, staring at you, like he wasn’t expecting an answer like that. Then he snaps out of it, glancing away. “Sorry,” he says for a third time.

    “Don’t apologise,” you say, shaking your head. “You don’t have to. I’m nervous, too. Like, really fucking nervous. I’m– I’m too nervous to even take my make-up off.”

    Roger’s eyes search your face. “I won’t care what you look like,” he says gently. “I’m sorry that you feel nervous about taking it off. But it won’t matter, I promise.”

    “Just wait and see,” you joke in a sing-song voice.

    Roger is silent for a few moments, and then he says, “Well, I hope you’re ready. I’m going to kiss the bloody daylight out of you when you take it off.”

    You don’t know how to respond. “You don’t have to do that.”

    “I’m going to. I’m going to do whatever it takes to make sure you don’t feel uncomfortable without make-up on. And if that means I have to keep kissing you all night as a reminder that it doesn’t matter what you look like without make-up, then that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

    You duck your head, making a disgruntled sound. Why does he have to say cute shit like that? Why must he make you suffer?

    Roger pushes the packet of make-up wipes a little closer to you, waggles his eyebrows at you, making you giggle, and then reaches across you for his toothbrush.

    You start wiping off your make-up.

    Roger waits until you’ve finished taking it off, until you’ve brushed your teeth, until you’re well and truly left without anything to do, and then he cups your face in his hands and does exactly what he promised he’d do.

    One steamy make-out session and one far-too-long shower later, you’re sitting on the newly-made bed, wrapping in a towel, the strands of hair that slipped loose from your bun sticking to your neck and temples. You’re watching Roger pull on a pair of underwear and rifle through his chest of drawers. He pulls out a huge shirt, clearly worn and well-loved, and turns to you, holding it out. “I went on a day trip once to Brighton,” he says. “We were out to a pub and I spilled red wine all over my shirt. Had to buy a new one. Sent one of my mates to get it for me and he came back with this. Hence why I have a shirt about five sizes too big for me.”

    “You didn’t have to explain,” you say with a chuckle, taking it from him.

    “I feel like I did,” Roger says. “I, um, usually use it as a sleep shirt when I travel.”

    You slip it on, and then stand up, letting your towel drop to the floor. The shirt is long enough to cover everything, but you’re not about to bend down any time soon.

    You glance over at your underwear, where they’re in a pile near the door. Should you put them back on?

    “Please don’t,” Roger blurts.

    You look to him. “Huh?”

    His face goes red. “Um. I just– I– You– I saw you look over there, and–” He rubs his hand along his jaw. “I, um…” He looks to the ceiling, and says it in a rush. “I’m sorry this sounds awful but I saw you looking over at your knickers and I don’t want you to put them on because you look really hot wearing my shirt and the thought of you wearing nothing underneath makes my brain explode.”

    “You’re one to talk,” you say, “standing in front of me in nothing but a pair of boxers like that doesn’t make my brain explode.”

    Roger’s eyes flick towards yours, and he breaks out into a smile, and then laughs. “I guess we’re even, then.”

    “We’ll be truly even when I see you wearing my clothes,” you say teasingly.

    Roger steps in close, his hands coming to your waist. “I don’t think your dress would fit properly, love.”

    “I’ll have to come better prepared next time,” you say, and Roger hums, leaning in to give you a kiss.

    Next time. Next time. You said ‘next time’. Talk about presumptuous. Christ! What is wrong with you?

    You break away. “Not that I think there’ll be a next time,” you say quickly. No. Bad phrasing. “I don’t want to assume there’ll be a next time.” Still bad. “I don’t want you to think that I think there has to be a next time.” Even worse. “I don’t want you to feel obliged to have a next time if you don’t want there to be.” Better. Not great, but passable.

    “I want a next time,” Roger says. “If you want one.”

    “I do,” you say, God, far too eager. “I’d really like there to be a next time.”

    “Me too,” Roger says.

    You press into him for another kiss, and then, finally, the two of you make it to bed.

    Once you’re under the covers, you almost fall asleep immediately. You didn’t realise how exhausted you are. Roger reaches over and switches off the light, and then wraps an arm around your stomach, his front against your spine. You allow yourself to smile freely in the dark, even as your eyes close and you drift off to sleep.

                                                      ~~~

    “I’m… I’m going to send you the rest of the payment,” Roger says. He’s dressed for work, just in a white dress shirt and black slacks, and you’d been admiring him and enjoying the coffee he’d made you after you’d gotten out of the shower. It’s early – too early, for both of you.

    But now your stomach drops, and you lower your mug of coffee from your lips. “You are?”

    “Yes,” Roger says.

    “You don’t have to,” you say. “I said it last night, I don’t care about the money.”

    “I know,” Roger says. “But it’s still right. You started this whole thing to help pay the bills, and it’s not your fault that there was that whole mix-up. You don’t deserve to miss out on getting the money you’ve rightfully earned.”

    “You don’t deserve to fork out that much money because of that whole mix-up,” you say. “You’ve already paid half of it. And it’s– it’s quite a fair bit, Roger.”

    “I can afford to pay it,” Roger says. “I’m living more than comfortably. Giving you the money you’ve earned would just mean that I can’t, I don’t know, travel overseas this year.” He raises his eyebrows a touch. “Well, now that I might not have to be paying for three kids as well, maybe I’ll still be able to afford to go.” He shakes his head. “That’s beside the… My point is, I can afford it. And you deserve it.”

    You don’t know what to say. “Roger…”

    “Just let me,” he says earnestly. “Please. I want to.”

    You open and close your mouth a few times. God, you’d be mad to turn down the money. But it doesn’t feel right. Does it? You don’t even know what to think.

    You glance down at your mug. “All right,” you say quietly, so much so that you’re not even sure if he can hear you. But you can’t bring yourself to speak any louder. “Thank you, Roger.”

    “Hey.”

    You look up at him, and he smiles. “You can pay me back by letting me take you out to dinner.”

    Your face immediately grows hot. “Suave motherfucker,” you say, and he laughs.

    “I still have a few tricks up my sleeve,” he says playfully.

    Your stomach squeezes. “Sure,” you say. “But I’m paying.”

    Roger snorts. “Not bloody likely.”

    “I’ll fight you for the cheque, don’t think I won’t.”

    “Maybe I’ll just sneakily pay for it before you’ve even realised.”

    You narrow your eyes at him. “Can we settle on going Dutch?”

    Roger sips his coffee. “All right,” he says eventually.

    “Good.”

    He takes out his phone, holding it out to you. “Text me some time during this week,” he says. “About where you want to go. Or just text me if you want to say hi. Or call me. Y’know, whatever.”

    You tilt your head to the side as you take his phone. “That wasn’t quite as suave, I have admit.”

    Roger sighs. “Damn.”

    You laugh, and send a quick text to yourself, then slide the phone back to him.

    He seems extremely pleased, but he takes a casual drink from his coffee like he’s trying to hide it, and you can’t help but think it’s horribly cute.

    He shoots a glance at you, and sees you grinning at him, and his cheeks turn pink, and he clears his throat, turning away to the sink to rinse his mug out.

                                                      ~~~

    You’re at uni, half-asleep, shuffling back to the bus stop after your never-ending lecture, when Justine barrels into you, grabbing your elbow so tightly that you yelp. “What the fuck happened last night?” she exclaims.

    You don’t know why it hadn’t been awkward this morning. Apart from the money conversation. There had still been some nervousness, on your part anyway, but Roger had been too focused on getting ready for work to let any uncomfortable silences hang. You have to admit that it had been nice to wake up with someone’s arm around you, and you had been quietly delighted to see Roger fussing over the faint bruises on his neck, pulling up his shirt collar and adjusting his tie to try to cover them. After you’d both gotten ready for the day, he’d dropped you at the nearest bus stop. “And I will text you,” he’d said seriously. “Don’t think I won’t.”

    “Good,” you’d said. “I’ll be waiting for it. Three days is the general rule, right?”

    Roger had groaned. “Don’t make me wait three days.”

    You had chuckled. “I’m not making you do anything.” You’d hesitated, and then said, “Is it weird if I kiss you before I go?”

    Roger had taken a breath. “I… wouldn’t say so, no.”

    So you’d leant in and kissed him, and he’d kissed you back, and you’d wanted to keep kissing him, but a car had pulled up behind you and honked, so you’d drawn back, whispered, “Bye,” and gotten out of the car.

    Once you’d figured out how to get home, you’d crashed, sleeping until your alarm had woken you up again for your lecture.

    “Stuff,” you say to Justine.

    “Stuff?” Justine squawks. “Don’t give me that shit. You have to tell me literally everything, or I’m going to kill you. Come on.” She loops her arm through yours, and starts towing you towards the bus stop.

    Your phone buzzes, and you pull it out of your pocket.

    I know it hasn’t been three days, but it’s been more than three hours. Is that enough time, do you think?

    You smile, reply, I think so, yeah, then quickly pocket the phone before Justine can sneak a glance as Amazonian butterflies flutter around in your stomach.

[haljathefangirlcat]

MOR mozalieri angst and galadred jb 👀

OH MY GOD ARE YOU TELLING ME YOU’RE INTO MOR TOO SDFGHJKLSDFGHJKLK

... ahem. These are both really short because I jotted them down as a spur of the moment thing  and I have absolutely no idea when or if I’ll actually make something out of them. So I’m just gonna post everything I wrote for them since it counts as “a little snippet” anyway, lol.

The first one is angsty af and entirely the fault of that part of L'Assasymphonie where Salieri is playing with the knife while ranting about his impostor syndrome and his inferiority complex. Uh, and Le Bien Qui Fait Mal, too, but that goes without saying. If it ever went anywhere, it would probably include very pained love/professional admiration confessions, a idiots in love/mutual pining “wait, no, I’m pining for you but you wouldn’t even look at me!” “are you kidding me, I’m the one pining but I thought you hated me!” moment, and PLENTY of hurt/comfort. I have absolutely no idea about anything else, though, because I don’t even know where or when even the scene I came up with is set... which would be a pretty important thing to know, from a practical standpoint, tbh.

TW FOR SELF-HARM AND VIOLENT IMAGERY

He’d only ever thought of what it was like to love like that. To feel the bright-bladed knife plunge and twist and dig inside his chest, tenderly cut through quivering flesh and sinew, saw his ribcage open to open up his heart to the burning beauty and white-hot light streaming in from above. To seek that pain and hide away from that pleasure, and curse the man who was the cause of both while cursing himself for letting him hold such power over him, for loving him and for hating him, for always failing to live up to him, to be like him.

He’d never spared one thought to consider what it might be like to be loved like that. To be made aware that your very existence was a spring of endless suffering for one who claimed to feel an ever-growing affection for you, to be made into an obsession in the black of night and an ivory idol bathed in golden sunrises, to become an inescapable curse. To have that much power, and not rejoice in it or even want it. To not be cruel enough to stomach it.

Mozart didn’t need to mock him with his brash laugh or hurl cold words at him. It was the softness in his voice that made guilt well up in his gut like pouring venom into a bowl until it overflowed; it was the sadness in his gaze that cooled his heart until he shivered. It was his own shame at himself, washing over him once again in new, sudden, crashing waves for new, sudden, piercing reasons, that brought him down on his knees, brought his head in his hands.

And Mozart, he came down to him. He lowered himself and crouched on the floor to reach him. Put his arms around his shoulders for a moment, then drew back and took Salieri’s wrists in his hands, holding them gently, gingerly. Scared, or disgusted, or perhaps just careful not to stain himself with his blood. It was starting to cool. It felt sticky, dirty.

«Come with me,» Mozart said, and drew Salieri’s hands away from his face. Some distant part of Salieri’s mind felt he should not allow that so easily, but the rest of him just felt tired, so he did. How strange that even though he was the one shaking, his breath ragged and hitching, it should be Mozart to cry. He wanted to laugh at the sight, but found he couldn’t. He could only let himself be dragged up to his feet, and then into a chair when he started feeling lightheaded.

He even obediently raised his hand and stayed put as Mozart ran to fetch warm water, soap, and clean cloth.

The second one is, once again, inspired by one of your fics. ;) Remember when you wrote that artist!Jaime/tattoo artist!Brienne fic where they bonded over Arthurian characters and I was like, “someone should introduce both of them to the concept of Galahad/Mordred because they’d love it so much for their own different reasons?” Ideally, this should be the fic where they actually get introduced to it... if it ever went somewhere.

The basic plot would be: “Jaime was overjoyed when he found out he could pour his old love for all things Arthurian AND his passion for drawing into fandom. His first fanart were all very dramatic, very romantic Mists of Avalon -inspired Arthur/Morgana pieces because he identified with that due to his ‘fated’ relationship with C., but as that started to go sour, he branched out into edgy, purposefully badwrong Arthur/Morgause stuff. Eventually, he found out about Galahad/Mordred and got really into the whole ‘doomed man on the path to making all the wrong choices finds redemption through connecting with another misfit with a high moral drive and noble nature who may have his own issues but believes there’s something good in him for some reason’ aspect of it. That’s when Brienne, budding fanwriter mostly into gen stuff due to romance bringing back bad memories, found his art and unexpectedly got hooked to the whole ‘noble-hearted and justice-loving misfit can’t really connect with anyone on a deeper level until he meets snarky, sad not-so-doomed man who actually sees HIM beyond both the brave knight thing and the ‘will never fit in anyway’ thing’ aspect. Now, they regularly chat through comments and tags and the occasional message. But things get more complicated when Jaime, who actually lost a hand in an incident years ago and had to relearn to draw after that while suffering the ableism of the usual suspects, finds the courage to post selfies on his blog both with and without his prosthetic hand to show the world and himself that the hardships he had to overcome don’t mean he’s less of a person or less of an artist or less in any way. That’s when Brienne goes from finding him interesting and funny and actually pretty charming to finding him HOT. Which scares her a whole lot due to her past experiences. But that’s okay because they’ll never see each other irl anyway, right? Unless they find out they actually live in the same city and Jaime asks her to meet to work on a collaboration they’ve been thinking of for a while but never really got to work on until now...”

And here’s what I currently have:

But then Mordred is staring at him again with those too-green eyes of his, except that this time there’s no mockery or coldness in them, and Galahad’s been warned again and again not to get too close to him and he’s been told over and over that he can’t trust him, but now he thinks that maybe, maybe he really does understand –

 Brienne stares at her screen. She actually described Mordred’s eyes as gray. Didn’t she? Usually, she picks dark gray, or dark brown, or dark. And yet, in this one story, they’re suddenly green.

Okay, time to take a break from revising. She gets up from her chair, rolls back her shoulders, and goes to grab a snack and a glass of water. She tries not to wonder what’s gotten into her – but she doesn’t really need to anyway, because she has a feeling she already knows.

Not that there’s anything bad about it. In a way, it only makes sense. He’s the artist who got her into the ship in the first place, and they’ve had a few pleasant conversations in the notes to his posts and, eventually, in the comments to her fics. So, it’s not that big of a deal if she associates him with these characters. And… well, recently he’s started posting selfies on his tumblr. And fine, she might have some sort of pathetic little celebrity crush – is that even the right term? Is he a Tumblr celebrity? – on him. Truth to be told, it’s not even as pathetic as the crushes she’s had when she was still in school, because at least he’s never insulted her or made fun of her looks, and she’s reasonably sure he wouldn’t even if he ever had the chance to. Which he won’t get, but anyway…

Anyway.

Apparently, the lines might blur when she’s distracted. Big deal.

[omgrachwrites]

Schooled (Bucky Barnes)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OC

Summary: After the passing of Ava’s father she starts acting out which drives her right into the arms of one gorgeous Professor Barnes.

Warnings: fluff, angst, suggestive themes, swearing, main characters are 20+

Words: 2269

A/N: So, this is very very loosely based on an old fic that I wrote on my old blog so I thought I’d revamp it a bit lot! I’m gonna be tagging the people that were tagged in the original version of this so I hope you guys don’t mind! Also, sorry that they haven’t met in this first part, they meet in the next part, I promise! Please let me know if you would like to be tagged and let me know what you think, I love you all! xxx

Part One - the beginning

It was a beautiful late summer’s day, the birds were chirping and the leaves were starting to turn that burnt orange colour just in time for fall. Everything seemed right with the world, but Ava’s world had seemed to crash and burn and there had been noting she could have done to halt the plan that fate had set in motion. She was a firm believer in everything happening for a reason but why did it have to be her dad? Although his send-off was a nice one, just like he deserved but she still hadn’t been ready to say goodbye to him.

Ava sighed at her reflection in her mirror before making her way downstairs, as she walked into the living room her little sister Morgan looked up from her drawing and gasped, “you look like a princess!”

Ava smiled and smoothed her fingers through her newly dyed blonde hair, “we can both be princesses together then,” she grinned, Morgan giggled and went back to her drawing, she didn’t fully understand what was going on.

Ava looked over at her stepmom who gave her a sad smile, “every time I looked in the mirror I saw him. I needed to make a change,” Ava explained, fiddling with the ends of her hair.

Without a word Pepper pulled her into a huge hug, after a moment she said, “you don’t have to explain, you look beautiful and I’m so glad your back in New York.”

Ava smiled as they pulled away from each other, “dad would have wanted us all to be together, besides I’m definitely not a Californian girl, some of those girls were horrible,” she chuckled, she was so excited to be attending NYU with her old friends and she was even more excited to be staying in the dorms, “and, there was a clear reason why my dad got full custody of me when he and my mom got divorced,” she said, rolling her eyes making Pepper laugh.

“So,” she continued, pouring herself a cup of tea, adding a touch of cinnamon and ginger to it, “which of dad’s things need sorting through? I want to help,” she added as it looked like Pepper was about to argue.

Pepper sighed and nodded, “Rhodey is sorting through the lab, there’s so much shit in there that he’ll probably need a hand.”

Ava nodded and made her way back out of the room and towards the lab, ruffling Morgan’s hair as she went. As she walked into the lab she smirked as she saw Rhodey’s head stuffed into a tall storage box, muffled swearing was coming from the inside of it. She giggled and leaned against the doorway of the lab as Rhodey wrenched his head out of the box, spilling packaging peanuts everywhere.

“Need a hand Uncle Rhodey?” she giggled behind her hand as Rhodey grimaced, brushing peanuts off of his clothes.

“I’d be grateful for the help kiddo,” he nodded, “nice hair by the way.”

Pepper was right, the lab was just full of shit – Tony really had been a hoarder – he probably had never used any of the stuff they found. They found loads of interesting stuff though like an old newspaper article about Ava’s grandfather from the 40’s. Rhodey and Ava had a good old laugh about the photographs they found from Tony’s old college days. Ava unearthed an old jersey that had to be the softest material that she’d ever felt and it somehow still smelled like Tony. She made a mental note to take it off to college with her.

She was sorting through her dad’s desk when she came across a memory stick along with a cutting from a newspaper article.

“Rhodey…” Ava asked slowly, “what’s this?” she asked, upon further inspection she saw that there was a note attached to the back that read, ‘for Ava.’

Rhodey chewed his lip and walked over to her, placing a hand on her shoulder, “you should watch it, your dad would have wanted you to.”

Ava nodded without a word and she quickly set up the laptop to plug the memory stick into. Straight away she saw a younger Tony Stark sitting on a couch; he looked up at the camera, flashing that signature grin. Ava felt tears brewing in her eyes.

“Hey kid, you’re actually having your first nap of the day right now, I can’t believe that you’re a week old already. I wanted to make this video for you to watch after I’m gone which will hopefully not be for a long time. So, if you’re watching this I’m dead, I’m hoping that I had a good run,” he chuckled, “just wanted to tell you kid that no matter where you choose to go or what you choose to do I will always be the proudest of you. You will always be the best thing that happened to me. Whenever you feel sad or alone just watch this video and know that I’m with you till the end. I love you baby girl,” with those final words Tony flipped the camera off.

“You alright kiddo?” Rhodey asked, Ava sniffled and nodded, wiping her tears away, unplugging the memory stick and slipping it into her back pocket.

“I’m fine, I just didn’t know he had it in him to be so serious that’s all,” she chuckled, trying to make light of the situation. She looked further through the desk and picked up the newspaper cutting that she’d seen earlier. Ava frowned as she read the title, ‘Tony and Natalie Stark welcome miracle baby, Avaline.’

There they were right on the front page and in her dad’s arms pink and tiny, with jet black hair was her, “why was I a miracle baby Uncle Rhodey?” she asked and Rhodey smiled weakly.

“Your mom was told by the doctors that there was only about a 20% chance that she’d be able to get pregnant. When you were born without a hitch your dad swore that it was a miracle and he rushed to announce it to the world.”

“Oh,” Ava lamely finished, blinking back tears as an awkward silence settled in the lab, “I should um start packing for Greece, I leave on Friday and I haven’t even started yet.”

“Okay,” Rhodey nodded understandingly, “I’ll see you later.”

Ava nodded and smiled, thanking god that Rhodey was so understanding, “bye Uncle Rhodey,” she escaped to her room and sighed, she hadn’t exactly lied to get away from the awkward situation. She really did need to pack for Greece. She was so not organised.

About an hour into packing she huffed, feeling extremely bored and started scrolling through her phone. She noticed that her friend Wanda had put a message on the group chat that they had with their other friend MJ.

“Hey ladies! Are we all ready for Greece?! I’m actually so excited; we all deserve the sun, the sea and some excellent food if you ask me! Just got an email from college administration saying that the dorms are co-ed this year! We could be rooming with some hot guys! Ava, you chose the right time to enroll in NYU darling, I wish it was under better circumstances though! Ciao for now xxx”

Ava giggled as she read the message; Wanda had just split up with her boyfriend so it would be great for her if she got roomed with a cute guy. In fact, it’d probably be great for Ava too. It was in that moment that she was determined to stop moping around and make a fresh new start. It was what her dad would have wanted for her. She placed the newspaper cutting about her birth on her desk so she’d remember to pack it for college; she kissed her fingers before touching her dad’s photograph.

“Miss you dad.”

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

Bucky smirked and laid back on the bed, resting his arms behind his head as Natasha walked out of the bathroom, rubbing a towel against her damp red hair. She was so beautiful; she was everything that Bucky had ever dreamed of. Nat looked at Bucky and saw the look on his face and his lust filled eyes.

She rolled her eyes at him playfully, “what are you smirking at gorgeous?” she asked, a smirk to match Bucky’s spread across her face.

“You,” he said simply, “come here,” he chewed his lip, almost whining and Nat huffed with a grin.

“No,” she giggled, backing away from both him and the bed, “you’re gonna get me all dirty again,” she casually flicked her wet her hair over one shoulder and fluttered her eyelashes, knowing what it did to him.

Bucky pouted like a moody teenager, sticking his plump bottom lip out and giving her his best puppy dog eyes, “but we can get clean together again,”

Nat giggled and relented, getting back into the bed with him again, leaning over him to kiss his lips, “god, you are actually beautiful,” Bucky flushed scarlet at her words and tried his best to play it off like it was nothing and he tried to act like her words had no effect whatsoever on him.

“Bucky Barnes, are you blushing?” she teased, nudging his shoulder, making Bucky flush an even deeper colour.

“No!” he said completely unconvincingly, trying to hide his bright red face in the pillow, “leave me alone,” he grumbled, making Nat laugh.

They both heard the distinct sound of a car door slamming and footsteps walking up the gravel path. It didn’t really bother Bucky that much because Nat had told him in the past that she had a roommate. Nat on the other hand, jumped up instantly and padded over to the bay window, discreetly peering out of it as she checked her watch.

“Fuck, shit! Oh my god! Bucky you need to go, like right now!” she spoke frantically, pushing her hair off of her forehead.

Bucky frowned; he couldn’t see why she was so worried, “why? I really want to meet your roommate.”

“Bucky, jesus! I don’t have a roommate, it’s my boyfriend!” he didn’t have time to be so shocked because Nat was urging him to get out of the bed and get dressed. She had to be joking.

“I can’t believe that you didn’t tell me that you’ve got a boyfriend!” he hissed as he pulled his jeans on, “we’ve been sleeping together for months!”

“Never mind that now! Out the window!” she whispered and Bucky’s eyes almost bugged out of his head.

“Out the window?!” he repeated, making sure that he’d heard her right, he was so pissed off beyond belief.

“Yes!” Nat whisper shouted, obviously getting impatient which Bucky thought was rich, “do you want to get beaten up? If you do then by all means stay!” she hissed, flinging his shirt at him.

“For fucks sake!” Bucky grumbled as he climbed out of the window and almost literally shimmied down the drainpipe, “I’m getting far too old for this.”

Steve and Sam both started over the table at Bucky with identical dumbfounded looks on their faces as Bucky finished his crazy story, “I know right,” he chuckled – he could see the humour in it now – as he took a sip of his beer.

“God, I haven’t climbed out of a window since our own college days,” Sam chuckled, shaking his head at Bucky, “and you’re doing it as an actual adult,” he slapped his knee as he laughed about it, obviously finding it really hilarious. Bucky glared at his friend, his pride was still hurting days after climbing out of that window.

“Where the hell do you go to meet these crazy women?” Steve asked, half in awe and half in astonishment.

“Crazy but hot Stevie, that’s the best thing,” Bucky smirked as Steve rolled his eyes and Sam looked kind of proud, “just in bars and stuff man, the usual places where you’d go to meet women,” Bucky shrugged, draining the last of his beer.

“Yeah, well I don’t think that’s working out great for you is it Buck?” Sam chuckled.

“I agree with Sam Bucky and I seriously think that you need to take a holiday or something,” Steve muttered as he got up and went to get the next round of beers.

Bucky shuddered, he couldn’t think of anything worse, he loved going on holiday – like most people but he was terrified of flying. He was bad enough when he was with other people, never mind flying on his own. He hated that it was one of his biggest fears, he really needed to conquer it but it was easier said than done. Sam watched his friend, knowing that he was worried. When Bucky realised that Sam was looking at him he laughed Steve’s comment off casually.

“Is he crazy? Going on an airplane on my own? No thanks.”

“He’s right man; you seriously need a break before you start your new job. And, it would help you forget about what happened last year.”

Bucky’s blood ran cold at Sam’s words, “mate, please do me a favour and don’t talk to me about last year. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay, okay,” Sam relented, holding his hands up, “but if you figure that you do want to talk about it then I’m here for you.”

“Thanks man,” Bucky grinned, clinking his empty bottle against Sam’s, thanking for his best friends.

Maybe Steve was right, maybe he needed to let himself go a little bit more. He was looking forward to what the future had in store for him.

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

next part >

Taglist (open): @theonelittleone @void-imaginations @allthingswildareshy @mswinterfalcon @mikariell95 @charles11700 @thejemersoninferno @writingkeepsmewhole @panic-naran @lovely-geek @white-wolf-buckaroo @yoinks-i-dont-feel-so-good​

[amplesalty]

Halloween 2020 - Day 1 - The Stand (1994) - Episode 1 The Plague

Gee, an epic post-apocalyptic story about an out of control pandemic. Never heard that one before.

Much as we like to tie the Halloween season to the Christmas one by opening up with a festive horror movie, why not link back to the TV binging that provided some content to this blog earlier in the year by partaking in this mini series? We’re only covering part one here today as this is like four feature length episodes. In a worst case scenario, the rest will serve as backups that I can plug in if I’m having an off day so to help me from falling behind. But ideally they’ll go up once a week on the same day as a standard movie post. You manage to go back to actually doing 31 entries for the first time in donkeys years and it all goes to your head and you suddenly think you can do 34!

This has actually been on my list for quite a while now, we do love a good (or bad) Stephen King adaptation around here and I have a distinct memory of seeing this on TV when I was a kid. I’m guessing it must have played over a few nights over here at some point or maybe over a bank holiday or something? Not that I really remember much in the way of details, just the cornfields and a creepy face which we’ll get on to.

It’s something that’s stuck with me over all these years, I actually got a copy of the book at one point in what must have been the early to mid 2000’s. Still have it actually, I dug it out for the sake of this entry. Seems it’s a version from 1980 from it’s first run as a paperback in the UK. Seems to have a page or two missing near the start in amongst all the copywright business but otherwise it’s in okay shape.

Even has some writing on the first page that I can only make out in parts, one section seems to read ‘an old man beats a mule’. Or perhaps, more pertinently to this story, a mute...

Cover seems a bit dull and non descript compared to the various other ones that have come out over the years. There’s something interesting to this original version with the two figures fighting, very much a literal take on the good versus evil nature of the story with one figure dressed in light colours and the other dark. The dark figure is wielding a scythe which is obviously closely associated with the Grim Reaper. Seems to have some form of beak sticking out of its hood too and the robes and shoes seem to be almost harlequin or jester type clothes?

I wasn’t really expecting much going into it, especially based on the 1990 mini-series of It. I think because of the nature of It being partly set in the 60’s, as well the contemporary portion which just looks very 80’s, gives it this image in my head of being very dated. Outside of a few actors like Tim Curry, John Ritter and Seth Green, there’s not really any notable stars in it either and even though, Green’s notably arguably came much later on. The Stand though? This thing has some names, even if the bigger ones are just small cameos. Amongst the main cast you’ve got Gary Sinise, Molly Ringwald and Rob Lowe. Obviously Ringwald isn’t a massive star or anything and is only really known for that string of John Hughes movies in the 80’s but around this time was peak Sinise. He’s not long removed from starring in Of Mice and Men (...and men....and men...) and would have roles in Forrest Gump, Apollo 13 and Ransom in the following years. Plus that big stretch in CSI:NY in the 00’s. But then you’ve got people like Ed Harris and Kathy Bates showing up, albeit briefly but these guys have some clout. I mean, Bates had just won the Academy Award a few years prior for her role in Misery so maybe she felt compelled to do more work under the King umbrella. Even the more minor roles seem like a roll call of ‘hey, it’s you!’ with Ken Jenkins (AKA Bob Kelso from Scrubs), Kareem Abdul-Jabbar and the proprietor of Joe Bob’s Drive In, Joe Bob Briggs.

The landscape of TV feels very different today with actors much more willing to work in the field as it’s taken on much more artistic integrity. The greater availability of shows after they’ve aired, be it through DVR, home media or streaming, has enabled people to watch in far greater numbers. There was a time when the big break was deemed to be making it to Hollywood and starring in motion picture epics but it seems more and more that story tellers are moving away from the relatively cramped 2 hour-ish format of the silver screen to having their vision play out over a long form story and the big name actors are following suit. I feel like things would have been very different back in the early 90’s so to have these names attached.

Seems for a long time there were plans to turn this into a movie, it’s even referred to during a ‘making of’ feature on the blu-ray (pretty much the only feature on there I might add) as a ‘motion picture epic’ but this must have been done way into production so either they were confused or trying to mislead viewers for some reason? Apparently in the early 80’s the idea was for the success of Creepshow to finance production of The Stand but took until the early 90’s for everyone to finally settle on the miniseries.

Very much a big budget affair too for a TV Show, $6m per episode. And it’s needed given the scale of the story, taking place in all these different locations, the special effetcs and with so many characters involved with over 125 speaking roles across the series. It’s definitely a jump up from It, even though that had the two different time periods, it only had a budget of $12m across its two parts compared to the $24m here across four parts.

But to finally address the massive elephant in the room, this story centers around an outbreak of a strain of influenza seemingly created in some shadowy government facility. After something goes awry in the lab, a doomed insider pleads with the guy watching the main gate to seal the facility but he instead piss bolts for his nearby house and hurriedly bundles his wife and child into their car as they make their escape. Everyone else is not nearly as fortunate though as the camera pans the facility, lifeless corpses strewn throughout that have seemingly dropped dead in the middle of their everyday activities, there’s even one guy doubled over on a ping pong table. All of this is set to the sounds of BOC’s Don’t Fear the Reaper and culminates with the image of a crow picking at a doll dropped by the child in the rush out of the front gate. The crow features prominently on the front cover of the blu-ray I have, perched atop of a skull. Though, I know they’re going for the whole post-apocalyptic vibe but what about the superflu is causing the road to burn up and crack like that? The bird also shows up a fair bit throughout the episode, I was going to talk about it being a raven and how such birds are linked with ill omen and death but it’s a crow apparently. Who knew? Not me, I’m no ornithologist. It also seems to be very closely linked with a mysterious figure that is alluded to throughout, a ‘dark man’ or monster.

When the original carrier of the disease makes his way into Arnette, Texas, and crashes into the gas station that Sinise’s character Stu Redman is working at, his dying words are of his efforts to escape from a dark man that was chasing him and that no one can out run him. Maybe in that moment you’d think this is just a state of delirium and he’s speaking oddly poetically about trying to outrun Death himself but as the show goes on, more and more people speak of this dark man, almost as if everyone in the grip of this disease comes to share this vision.

And speaking of visions, we can’t forget Mother Abigail and her cornfields. Both Lowe and Sinise’s characters are whisked away in their dreams to the middle of nowhere where a centurion on her porch warns of them of an ominous future. Think Mama Murphy from Fallout 4 only with much less chem addiction. The only thing Mama Abigail needs is her bread. What is it with King and fields anyway? You’ve got In the Tall Grass, plus the corn fields here and in Children of the Corn. There’s probably more I’m forgetting too. It’s either cornfields, writers in distress or killer ‘whatever I can see in front of me whilst I’m pitching this story’ with this guy.

In a way though it’s good that the show takes this supernatural turn because otherwise this would be a little too on the nose to be watching in this current climate. It’s very eerie to see such similar events play out on screen, starting with the widespread rumours and misinformation. It starts out innocently enough with talk of this so called superflu being downplayed, covered up by the government as an anthrax attack or outbreak of swineflu. I remember back to those more innocent times at the start of the year when COVID was naively dismissed as little more than another flavour of the month disease like the swineflu, sars or ebola that would be here today and gone tomorrow. But then you’ve got things like the sense of paranoia suddenly surrounding a simple cough or sneeze, talks of quarantines, social distancing, the implementation of masks (which one reporter describes as not being able to stop a flu germ with a hangover) to the more disturbing scene of lethal force being used against a TV news crew who refuse to surrender footage they’ve shot of army troops disposing of bodies. Granted, we never got anywhere near that level, I think the worst we had was that guy from CNN getting arrested or that Aussie reporter being pushed over.

They even managed to mirror how universal a pandemic like this is, from the common man to the height of celebrity. One of the characters we’re introduced to is a singer who, whilst he seems to be one of the few lucky to have some immunity, still sees his mother succumb to the virus. Just like we saw with the likes of BoJo or Tom Hanks, it really is a great leveller and, as a wise man once said, ‘You might be a King or a little street sweeper but sooner or later you dance with the Reaper!’. I guess we can take solice that we haven’t quite had the societal collapse that this show manages to pull off in less than a week, with Times Square on fire and a guy running around shooting people like he’s in Falling Down. That’s not to say we wont get there, we seem to be hovering more around general civil disobedience right now with the growing frustration of lockdown and PPE spilling out into protests.

It makes for compelling viewing to see how quickly things break down from simply a man having the sniffles to people being rounded up from their homes and ushered into army vehicles. There’s a lot to take in as the show has to establish the events taking place and introducing it’s multitude of characters so there’s not really much room to breathe. Hopefully episode 2 can relax a little now and give the cast some time to grow. There’s still some standout performances though such as Redman’s growing frustration at being cooped up in a test facility, lashing out at the doctors and nurses coming in in their hazmat suits, prodding and poking him. It would have been nice to see more scenes with him and Dr. Dietz. They have one argument where they nearly come to blows before having a big showdown by the end, with the Doc being one of the last staff members left alive, seemingly crazed by their inability to find any answers in Redman’s tests and he threatens to take his frustrations out on Redman by shooting him. He might be immune to the virus but I bet he’s not immune to a bullet. Dietz starts out with this complete lack of empathy, almost to the point of having a rather cheery deposition considering the circumstances, as he finds some fascination in the speed at which the virus causes death. But he becomes more and more short tempered and threatening as the days wear on and it would have been good to see a more gradual descent.

The aforementioned Ed Harris plays General Starkey overseeing the initial bioweapon project and the fallout of it’s outbreak, perhaps overseeing to a fault as it becomes pretty clear from his ever increasing five o’clock shadow, dishevelled clothing and massive bags under his eyes that he’s slept very sparingly since the initial breach in containment. I think for the entire time we see him, his screen never changes from a shot of one of the cooks at the base of the initial outbreak slumped over, face down in the meal he was preparing. It makes a bit of a change to go from the quite verbal exchanges of Redman and Dietz to Starkey’s physical appearance and facial expressions putting across his mood.