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captainjamster · 6 months

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hihi!! I just seen your post about writing things for those who feel under represented in the community; and I was wondering... could you do one where Simon takes care of trans masc!reader on a really bad day of endometriosis pain?

Hey there anon, you're the very first request! Thank you so much for asking! This was originally going to be just 800 words, don't ask how we ended up at almost 3k lol. Sorry it took a few days, I hope you enjoy the fic! It's also on AO3 :)

Pairing(s): Ghost x transmasc!Reader w/ endometriosis (SFW) Warnings: Blood, menstruation, two off-handed mentions of sex Wordcount: 2.8k Summary: Simon takes care of your morning, despite your attempts to soldier on through a painful menstrual cycle. AO3 Link: Right here! <3

A/N: I hope this is enough "taking care" for you! Reader is indeed transmasc, but point of transition and upper anatomy is for you to decide. I might revise this one and upload an improved version, change the level of debilitation, add in HRT and increase how much Ghost does for you. But for now, here you go!! I think of Ghost as someone who conveys his love and affection through acts of service, and he'd die happy if you let him quietly manage every need you have. <3

Endometriosis currently affects around 10% - around 190 million – of women and girls of reproductive age. This statistic does not include the rate of endometriosis in non-women individuals with female reproductive genitals, which inflates the number even further. Despite the existing prevalence, endometriosis is underdiagnosed and overlooked within those who suffer from it, and this becomes even worse within trans individuals. I hope this fic can provide some love and representation for those struggling, especially my trans ppl <3

Full fic is under the cut <3

A dull throb in your stomach, pressed against the mattress is the first thing you register as consciousness slowly trickles through the thick fog of sleep. The sheets stick to your thighs as you try to roll over. Simon’s bulky, warm figure isn’t there to stop you from rotating flat on your back, encroaching onto his cold, empty spot.

You crack an eye open, looking at his vacancy in disappointment. The room is filled with an early, pale glow that peeks from around your curtains, brushing against the frame with each soft breeze from the open window. It’s not unusual for Simon to be up so early, but you miss the opportunity for morning cuddles.

A particularly sharp contraction in your stomach breaks the peaceful moment, your hand coming up to knead at the sore, bloated flesh. The last few days had left you in a pool of pain, the familiar ache creeping into your stomach and worming its way down your legs and up your back. Accompanied by the unsettling nausea and fatigue that wears you out even during a nap, you’ve resigned yourself to the fact that your least favourite friend would be making a visit this week.

Rolling back onto your stomach, you sit with the uncomfortable sensation throbbing through your midriff. It takes a moment for the damp, coldness beneath your pelvis to register, contrasted to the dry sheet your back was just resting on. Your eyes fly open, pushing yourself up and back onto your knees with a pained groan.

Even such a simple movement has a strong wave of pain flare through you, but your dismay at the mess staining your sheets is stronger. Your friend has arrived earlier and heavier than expected. The dark grey sheet is soaked in patches of black, tacky enough that you know it’s had more than plenty of time to steep into the fabric – thank god for the mattress protector Simon persuaded you into getting for other activities. Looking down, your skin is dappled with red, crusty and dried around the hairs scattering your stomach. The worst is pooled between your thighs, boxer-briefs drenched with a sharp iron scent that crinkles your nose.

Pushing through the wave of dizziness persuading you to the floor, you grab at the blankets frustratedly. You check them meticulously, scrutinizing them for even a speck of blood, but they’ve been far luckier in their escape of your mess. Throwing them haphazardly onto the floor, you set into action, working to hide the messy consequences of your cycle.

There’s no real need for the urgency that you move with, especially as every aching fibre in your body screams at you to slow down. Rationally, you know Simon wouldn’t react poorly to your calamity in the slightest, even if you asked him to change the sheets while you cleaned yourself up. He’s stayed with you during other cycles, never blinking an eye at anything menstruation throws at you. Yet he’s not here to help, and interrupting whatever he’s doing just to do something you feel capable of seems selfish. On another level, you don’t want Simon to see this right now. Frustration eats at you – for being stuck with this, for being surprised with an early cycle, and maybe just a little bit because you really wanted those goddamn cuddles. You’ve wrestled three of the four corners off when Simon catches you stripping the bed, a towel drapes around his neck, shirt damp with sweat that still drips from his hair.

“What’re y’doin’, handsome?” He rumbles, an eyebrow raised as he stands on the other side of the bed. His eyes flicker between the blankets clumped on the floor and the sheet you’re mid-tugging off the mattress.

Though his question is fair, the obviousness of your situation, and your irrational irritation makes it feel like he’s rubbing your misfortune in. Gritting your teeth, you wrench a little harder than needed at the fabric. “S’my fault, I’ll chuck it in the wash.” You grumble, pulling up the mattress to unhook the last corner, ignoring how your back groans with the motion. Simon makes a noise of protest, not unkind as he snatches the sheet you’re trying to bundle in your arms. “Don’t be daft, mate.”

His tone is flat and slightly exasperated as he pulls the sheet from you, looking at the myriad of stains on your front, glazing over the angry expression you’re giving him at his little quip. Before you can open your mouth to say something, he turns you by your shoulders, escorting you to the bathroom.

“What’re you doing?” You huff, taking your turn to ask an obvious question as you let him steer you to the ensuite. A grunt is your only response as he pushes you through the door, his warm hand leaving your shoulders to pull back the liner fully. You watch as Simon turns the taps, listening to the pipes creak as water begins to dribble from the head. He doesn’t make any move to pull off his sweaty athleisure, just fiddles with the tap, turning it much hotter than Simon would usually take his showers – oh.

Taking the hint, you pull off your boxers, wincing as the cold air hits your now-exposed, sticky skin. Simon’s hand is under the water, breaking the droplets’ fall as the water warms, but his attention is now focused on you. When you straighten up, tossing your briefs to the hamper, he meets your unhappy look with a question.

“Pancakes?”

You blink at him, indignance still plastered on your face in a grumpy scowl as your brain struggles through the pain fogging your thoughts, and Simon just raises an eyebrow.

“Eggs ‘n toast? Take-out?’

A moment of bemusement passes as you think for a second, until your mouth drops into a little o-shape, and guilt tints your cheeks red. “Oh.”

Simon huffs affectionately, echoing your “oh” as he pulls his hand back, waiting for you to answer.

“Pancakes?” You mumble, looking up at him through your lashes. The corner of his lips tug into what you’ve learnt is a forgiving smile, and he leans over your figure to press a soft, unexpected kiss to your forehead. His lips are soft – good, he’s had a drink after working out – and the appetising, musky smell of his BO fills your mouth as he leans in.

“Pancakes it is, darlin’,” he murmurs, pressing another kiss to the top of your head as he moves out the room, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him.

Before anything can drip from you and create an additional mess you can’t be bothered with, you climb into the showerbath, making sure the plug is hung up to avoid any water filling the tub. He’s perfected the temperature, and you feel like just lying down in the empty tub as your body goes boneless, feeling water drizzle down on you from the showerhead. It’s just enough to soothe the way your body aches, but not enough to make you feel any dizzier. By the time you’ve finished in the shower, your skin feels red and tender, but the heat has temporarily worked your muscles into a sleepy stupor. Though you swear the scent of metallic fetor lingers on your skin no matter how many scents you use, any visible remnant has been washed down the drain.

Pulling the liner back, a towel sits on the vanity, folded neatly with two painkillers resting atop the fabric’s surface and a half-full glass next to it. On the other side, a pair of your boxers and one of Simon’s shirts hangs from the edge. You didn’t even notice Simon slip in to leave them there – despite how long you’ve been with him, it’s still unnerving that such a big man can move without a sound.

Scooping the pills up, you take them with a mouthful of water, before unfurling the towel to dry yourself off. The ordeal is short, pausing to pull on your briefs and a sanitary product of choice before you finish drying your tender legs, hanging the towel to dry over the rail nailed to the wall.

A whiff of sweet, buttery batter permeates the bedroom as you step back into it, mentally bracing for a brutal war of ‘how many sides can I get on before one pops off’ with your goddamn super king sized bed. However, surprise stops you in your tracks, feet stuttering as you find the floor empty of blankets. They’ve returned to the bed, which has been made with a rehearsed, militarized perfection, corners tucked tightly in with barely a ripple across the taut fabric.

With one chore covered, you grab the hamper from the bathroom, walking out into the living room to the source of the smell. Simon is hidden in the kitchen, his back to the entrance as he stands over the stove, but the sound of your feet padding around the corner raises his head.

His hair is light and fluffy, the tips still damp as he puts down the spatula, walking over to take the hamper from you despite your objections. The musky sweat coating him earlier has been replaced with the artificial, clean scent of shampoo and soap - you have no clue how he’s managed to change the bed, wash himself in the spare bathroom, and make a start on breakfast before you finished your own shower.

Resigning, you move to the stove and take up the spatula, patting the pancake as bubbles rise to its surface. Barely a minute passes before Simon’s arms slip around you, taking the spatula back and letting it drop to the counter to interlock your fingers.

“Independent this morning, pet?” He murmurs, carefully placing his other hand over your stomach, feeling as it rises and dips with your laugh. The warmth that radiates from his palm is ridiculous, seeping into the sore muscles that are starting to ache again.

“C’mon, you’d call me feeding myself independent.” You tease, leaning back until your head meets his chest. It shakes as he huffs a quiet laugh, bouncing you slightly before answering.

“When I could be feedin’ you? Don’t reckon I’m wrong.” He grunts, wrapping your hand around the handle, his own still encompassing yours, smiling into your hair as he helps you flip the pancake with a flick of your wrist.

You give his retort an overly dramatic groan, but his attention is captured by an electronic beeping that sets off. The moment he pulls away, your body misses his heat, watching him open the microwave door to pull out a very familiar, tear-shaped heap of fabric. You step away from the stove, reaching out to take it from him as he extends it towards you. The cartoon-ish looking figure of a little ghost heatpack is hot to the touch, emitting the faintest smell of lavender and chamomile, and he gives you a small smile as you wrap your arms around it, holding it against your torso.

“You think of everything, huh?” You laugh, heart squeezing as he answers you with a lop-sided grin and turns back to the stove, pouring in the last of the batter.

“Not everythin’ – how ‘bout you make a cuppa and sit down, hm?” He rumbles, gesturing to near the fridge. Two cups are already coupled together on the counter, and you skip boiling the kettle again as lazy tendrils of steam already climb from its spout. Grabbing a couple of tea bags, you tuck the heating pack under your arm, filling up the mugs as you listen to the sizzling of the pan. Simon gives you a quiet “thanks, love” as you set down his mug next to the stove, but when you reach for a plate to start dishing out the cooked pancakes, you’re interrupted by a chiding “ah!” and large hands turning you around. “Go sit down love, I got this.”

The look you give Simon over your shoulder does nothing to sway his rejection of your help, big brown eyes staring back at you with an expectant look as he gently nudges you to the exit. Though it’s tempting to ignore him and stay, the effort of staying upright is slowly sapping any hint of energy you recovered in the shower.

Bringing your drink out and flopping yourself onto the couch, your legs scream in gratitude when your weight is finally shifted from them. The small ghost sits across your abdomen, radiating a relaxing warmth that soothes the muscles cramping violently underneath it.

Though it’s barely minutes that pass, Simon comes out to find you curled in the couch’s corner, wrapped up around the heating pad with a slight frown in your brow. The gentle clink of the ceramic against the coffee table stirs you from your light sleep, cracking your eyes open as Simon sinks into the couch next to you, his plate balanced on his thighs.

“Sorry love,” he murmurs apologetically, raising an arm to let you bury into him. You jump at the opportunity, shuffling yourself to press against his side, and a content relaxation falls upon you as his arm covers you protectively. Without moving you too much, Simon leans forwards to grab your plate, resting it on your lap and tucking a fork into your hand.

Looking at the pancakes, he’s given you an extra one in your stack, drizzled generously with your favourite toppings. Your chest squeezes at the sight, each carefully placed topping another homage to the tenderness that your lover struggles to verbalise.

“You’ve done so much for me this morning, Si.” You start remorsefully, eyes downcast to your stack of pancakes. With a grunt, Simon reaches for his fresh mug perched precariously on the couch’s arm, using a spare finger to hit the on button of the remote sitting next to it. “Not allowed to give my special boy some love when he’s roughed up?”

You give him a good-natured huff, digging into his side playfully. “Make it sound like I’m wounded, Si.” Simon snorts, pulling his eyes away from the TV to shoot you an amused look. “With the amount of blood, y’could’ve convince me.”

You laugh at the comment, letting the light warmth fill your chest until it’s dampened by the unspoken guilt still sitting miserably on your conscience. “Sorry for bein’ grumpy earlier,” you mumble.

Simon hums, pulling you tighter as he cuts into a pancake with his fork, raising it to your mouth. “Kinda figured you wouldn’t be top shape after seein’ the blood, s’alright pet. Y’ve told me that this shit hurts more than normal.”

Taking the mouthful, you give him a small, grateful smile, reaching for your own plate and cutlery to share a piece back. The pancakes are light and fluffy, not heavy enough to upset your stomach, but enough to be filling for how insatiable your appetite can get. “Thanks, Si. Still appreciate you’re patient with me, though.”

He hums thoughtfully as he chews, gently rubbing his thumb mindlessly against your thigh. “Patient? Nah. Johnny said y’deserve a ring for bein’ patient with my shit after deployment – he’d take the piss if I told him you’re thankin’ me for being patient.”

The way Simon drops the idea of marriage is so calm and casual, a significant contrast to how it makes your heart soars in your chest. Reigning in your excited response, you take another mouthful, giving him a grin that can’t quite hide how much you like the idea. “Hope you told him how useful this little guy has been,” you gesture to the ghost on your lap, “because it’s definitely my second favourite ghost since he bought it.”

The narrowed glare that Simon gives the plush heating pad has you giggling around a forkful of pancakes, looking at him with light-hearted exasperation. “Oh c’mon, I said second favourite!” You chuckle, watching him roll his eyes with a grumble.

“Yeah, yeah,” his tone is low and playfully grumpy, rumbling through you. “S’long as it’s me you’re cuddlin’ at night, ‘m not havin’ a toy steal my man.”

Mindful of your plates, you wrap an arm across his chest and ignore how your stomach complains at the movement, squeezing him lightly. “Never, Si. My favourite ghost.”

With a satisfied noise, he looks down at you, a mischievous half-grin on his face. “Good, that thing couldn’t fuck you half as well.”

The cheeky remark gets him a deeper dig in the side, enough to pry a grunt from him as he squirms, though he’s still careful with how much he jostles you. Silence quickly falls over you, Simon watching the news with a protective arm around you. He sips at his tea as you finish your plate, running a hand through your hair every now and then, placing a few kisses to your scalp.

When you’ve finished your meal, you put the plate on the coffee table, reaching for Simon’s to stack them together. Reaching forwards has you wincing, a pulsating pain in your core that makes your tailbone ache, and Simon swoops in to stop you in your tracks.

“Sit your ass down already,” he grouches, pushing you back into the couch as he scoops up your plate. “Told you, you’re bein’ dependent today.”

#jams asks #ghost x masc!reader #ghost x transmasc!reader #simon riley x masc!reader #simon 'ghost' riley x masc!reader #call of duty #call of duty fanfic #cod fanfic #jams writings #rep!reader writings

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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 3 months

Text

Sweet Dreams--Part 10

Calum and you have dance around reality for a few months now. But after Calum leaves and returns from a trip, the reality has to be confronted.

Weeks are passing and maybe more is blooming between you and Calum than might meet the eye.

Prince!Calum x Reader Insert.

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“You’re sure they’re not going to hate me?”

“No, Calum, they’re not going to hate you.”

“You promise?”

“I promise,” you answer, patting at his thigh.

Those are silly questions, even Calum knows it. But he can’t help the flutter of his heart, the bounce of his knees. The brief introduction back at Teagan’s birthday was just that, brief. He’s never had much sustained interaction with children. He volunteered occasionally at the children’s hospital. It was mostly reading stories, maybe coloring a page or two with them. It’s a group setting, multiple children trying to grab his attention. A lot of diversions that required him to bounce back and forth between the displays of toy trucks and the drawings of playgrounds and seesaws. But today’s not the same. Tonight it’s just the two of them. Tonight, it’s more than the prince visiting kids for a couple hours. It’s your siblings meeting him—your boyfriend. There’s a little calm that you’ll be there too. But he’ll be the main attraction, he’ll be trying to get along with the two most important people in your life. Another pat to his thigh brings Calum to reality—your car pulling them over the roads. The fading evening surrounding you. The minimal traffic in the way. There’s you too--you’re his saving grace.

The sun’s setting earlier, a sign that fall has fully descended. The evening sky is purple and orange through the windshield of your car. Your car smells a little different--not that it’s bad. There’s a bit more of the smell of grease underlying the musk of the car scent hanging from your rearview mirror. He assumes it’s from the grease needed for the house fries. It’s the same smell baked into your uniform with only a month on the job. There’s little complaints from you though. You call Calum on your breaks laughing most days. Occasionally when you’re locked into the dinner rush, you sound a little bit more clipped as you speak. But it makes sense. A lot of voices, moving parts--a high stress environment that Calum is sure grinds down anyone in the way. But Calum would be a liar if he doesn’t enjoy the smell of sweat on your skin when you come home to him right after a shift. You’re smiling more too, even when the two of you are sneaking down to the kitchen and you interact with your friends still on staff.

“Charlie and Teagan are kids. They’re just kids.”

“Yeah but they’re your siblings. They matter to you.”

“They do. And you matter too. You’re going to do fine if you don’t sweat yourself to death,” you tease. “Glovebox has napkins and a towel if you want to dry off your face.”

Calum knew about the sweat in his armpits: it was not a help to his current predicament. But reaching up, the sweat is clear at his hairline so he opens the compartment in front of him and grabs a few napkins. He eases the window down a hair, a whistle echoing around the two of you now. Worry has a loud fucking mouth, Calum realizes. Teagan and Charlie are just children. But they are your siblings. They matter to you. And by god, all he wants is to make a good impression with them. A giant unicorn is only one step. But dinner, dinner is a different beast. Calum’s got a lot more to juggle. He reclines his head into the headrest of the passenger seat. He tries to recall what you’ve told him about your siblings thus far.

“Charlie’s birthday is in February, right?” Calum asks.

“Yes.”

“Teagan’s is in July.”

“Correct,” you laugh

“Charlie’s into baseball, right?”

“He’s getting more interested in it yes.”

“And what’s Teagan into again? I’m sorry, I forgot.” It was unicorns and glitter and though she does love the unicorn according to your last update, he distinctly remembers that you said glitter was out. It’s frustrating that Calum can’t pull it from his memory. He swears it’s always dancing on the tip of his tongue but he’s never able to get the full grasps of it.

You pause at the question, hands slipping just a little from the wheel. Calum watches the blinks, like you’re seeing but not something he can see. He pushes up from his seat, forward ready to take the wheel if he needs to. But then your hands tighten back around, you sit up a little bit straighter.

“Baby, are you okay?” Another silly question, Calum knows. But still he finds himself needing to ask. You’re not one usually to get lost like that.

“I’m—” you start and then shake your head. “It’s about Teagan. She hasn’t mentioned any other issues since then. But I don’t know. I just have this gut feeling. I know you told me to stop feeding that voice in my head. This one, this voice is in my gut.”

“Tell me. Please.” Calum wants to help, wants to take on whatever it is. Because if that voice isn’t in your head, then there is something valid to the concern. He doesn’t have any reference of course. Only you. But it’s all he needs. He’s the match; you are the spark.

“I don’t know, love. I just-I don’t know. She mentioned that Diana didn’t read her bedtime stories for a few nights and that she overheard Diana and Melvin talking. She couldn’t hear what about because it sounded like someone was opening and closing cabinets. I swear to God, if she’s drinking again I’ll ruin her. Teagan and Charlie have a real shot to have something.” Your voice quakes on the sentence, a little choked but the car remains steady.

“I can take over driving if you need.” In another half a mile is a gas station exit. Calum thinks with your navigation he could get the two of you there as needed. News of either one of your parents drinking again would be fit to send anyone into a tizzy. Calum’s not immune. He’s hoping it’s not that, prays that Teagan’s just a child noticing one set of odd behaviors and not the start of a pattern.

“I’m okay.” The sentence sounds steadier.

“Offer’s on the table, even if we get into their neighborhood. And I hope it’s not that it sounds like. I hope it was just a conversation.”

“She-she was just so scared to tell me. She begged not to get into trouble. And I don’t want her to think I would. I want her to trust me, but I can’t sleep some nights thinking that while she’s at that house, Diana’s drinking, shitting on everything Teagan and Charlie have.”

“Is-is it just Diana? Has Charlie or Teagan mentioned Melvin acting odd?” There’s still better odds if it’s just one parent. But it’s not going to look good if both are. Losing one kid should’ve been enough, Calum thinks. But then again, he does want to be sensitive to the reality--addiction’s not easy. It’s not a habit that’s kicked once. It’s a habit that one has to keep kicking, a habit one has to keep giving a fight to overcome. He just hopes that Charlie and Teagan are motivation enough to keep fighting.

“No, no, just Diana.”

“Then maybe it’s just a one off. Maybe it’s just something else.”

You nod. “I’m hoping so. I just--what do I do? You know? That’s what I keep asking myself? I’ll fight like hell. I will. But I just don’t know what to do?”

Calum understands the fear that sounds like it’s clawing at your throat. He gets it, in the way that if it were his siblings, he’d want to do something too. But there’s only one incident. “We’ll move. Okay, the second Charlie or Teagan tell you something else that makes your gut lurch again. We’ll get them. I don’t care what time that happens. Just call me and I’ll be half way to the house. Send me their address okay. I’ll save it. There’s space at the palace if all three of you need a place. I’ll get you the best lawyers if you want me too of course. But you don’t have to do this alone, okay?”

Your nod is vigorous. “Yes, please. Thank you.”

Calum edges forward, as far as the seatbelt will allow him before turning to face you totally, body buzzing to wrap you into his embrace. But he knows he can’t. “Of course, baby. It’s us, okay? It’s us now. You don’t have to carry everything alone.”

“Starve that voice, right?”

He nods. “Yeah, starve that voice.” It’s rewarding to hear you say that. When Calum offered it up, when the words left his mouth, he worried. He meant it like he wanted you to start believing that you deserved the good things and they would last. Because they would. This will last. But it’s hard, he knows. When the cloud is so thick, there's no way to see the other side. When survival mode is on, and it’s been on for years, it’s not a switch to turn it off. There’s gradual progress, alongside slow and painstaking stumbles.

As you take the exit into the neighborhood, Calum wants to find something else to say, something that will make dinner a bit better for everyone. Sure he’s there to help. Sure, he’s more than happy to help. But this conversation shouldn’t paint the tone for the dinner you’re setting out on. You’d wanted to tell your siblings, though you addressed the risk of it getting back to your parents, about your relationship with Calum. It made his stomach lurch--a mixture of excitement and fear. Yet, he doesn’t want fear to be the first taste of this new phase. Charlie and Teagan deserve better than that. You deserve better than that too.

“I know you’re worried, baby,” Calum starts. “Why don’t we just focus on dinner for right now? One thing at a time, yeah? Dinner first, then whatever happens next happens next.”

“Dinner sounds good,” you laugh. “I can do that.”

“So, can you please remind me again what Teagan’s into again? I cannot make a fool out of myself.”

There’s a tilt to your head as the neighborhood starts to open up, Calum’s sure that you’re going to leave him out to dry. “She’s interested in medicine right now. And also horses.”

“Medicine and horses--quite the combination. Of which, I know nothing about in regards to either.”

Your laugh is soft. The house opens up in front of you two. It still sends a chill through Calum’s spine that you lived here. That’s still the same place that your voice was left abandoned. It’s a house that now fills with something lighter, warmer than what you described. Though, it’s still chilling for something that looks so idyllic to be sinister. Calum sometimes thinks if he stood in there long enough he might feel the draft, what lay there before. Do you feel that way? Walking back into the house every time, knowing that it means something totally different to your siblings than it means to you. He assumes so. Yet, it’s still a sensation he can’t shake, the way it chills down to his bones.

Calum takes your hand, watching the billowing of the curtains as you two ascend the stairs. The door swings open wide--to a beaming Teagan and Charlie. Charlie’s eyes go wide at the sight of Calum. He looks back between Calum and then to you, then back to Calum. “Hi, Teagan. Hi, Charlie,” Calum says. He uses his free hand to wave.

“The Prince?!” Charlie gapes. “You said you had someone for us to meet; I thought it was a friend. But it’s the prince! I’m not even wearing a suit!”

“Hey, no, Charlie. You don’t need a suit. I’m not wearing one.” Calum waves over the t-shirt, jeans, and leather jacket. He’d purposefully avoided any of the button ups he favored, opting instead for a plain black t-shirt.

“Kiddos, c’mon. Let ‘em get inside so you two can get jackets on, please,” Melvin calls out. He stands in the hallway with a jacket on each arm.

Teagan only grins as she waves the two of you inside. “What is this ruckus?” a softer voice calls out. Calum can only place it as maybe Diana. But it’s not confirmed until she rounds the corner from his left and jumps at the sight of him. “Your Highness, I’m--oh--” she sputters, nearly dropping the glass in her hands. She manages to recover it, though Calum does step forward just a little to keep the glass from hitting the floor.

Calum watches the way Diana pulls the glass a little closer to her body. Her brows furrow for a moment but then she laughs. “Sorry, I’m so sorry for the mess. The house is not in order in the slightest.”

It feels obvious to say that there’s children around and even with them, Calm is sure that there’s not a drop of dust in the place. Not that he can see. The foyer is brighter. No shoes are strewn about. There’s no pictures that Charlie or Teagan have drawn haphazardly tacked to the walls either.

“No need to worry, ma’am,” Calum reassures instead. “It’s nice to meet you finally. You can just call me Calum.”

Diana nods. “Are you sure? I’d hate to offend you.”

“Positive.” The word falls slow due to his distraction. Calum watches the way she guards the glass. It could be nerves. That’s the most logical explanation for the way she keeps it tight to her body. But Calum’s desperate to get a smell, take a deeper look into the clear liquid in the glass. Perhaps, after all, it’s a bias, the want to confirm something that he’s already suspecting so it feels more solid, but the behavior strikes Calum as odd.

“Pat down, kiddos,” Melvin laughs out. “Jackets?”

“Check,” Teagan and Charlie answer. Calum turns to watch the three of them.

“Your exit buddy?” Melvin asks, squatted down in front of Teagan and Charlie.

The two of them link arms. “Check.”

“Best behavior and good attitudes?”

“Check,” Charlie says as Teagan starts, “I have a good attitude.”

Melvin fails at biting back the grin. “I need a check to booth before you leave this house, sweetheart.”

She sighs. “Fine. Check to both.”

He presses a kiss to each of their foreheads. “Alright, enjoy your sibling and dinner. Tell me about all the good food when you get back okay?”

“We will. If there’s mac’n’cheese, I’ll bring you home some,” Charlie promises.

“Thanks, buddy.”

There as Melvin grins at the two children, Calum feels that warmth. Though Calum would never discredit you, he thinks with Melvin the change is real. Your father does care to make Teagan and Charlie’s early life better than yours. It can’t replace yours, won’t fix what your parents did to you. But he hopes you see the strides are genuine. Yet, just under the warmth in his chest, he gets the feeling he’s being watched. From the corner of his gaze, he spots Diana still watching you and him from the sip she’s taking of her glass. Her gaze is assessing him head to toe, like there’s a calculus behind her eyelids. Calum wonders if your perceptions were more than just a gut feeling.

Teagan and Charlie all but run over to you and him. Calum knows they’ve approached when your hand slips from his to take Teagan fully into your embrace. It’s the thing that pulls Calum’s attention fully back to the two youngest. Charlie pauses, a few steps back and extends his hands. “I’m Charlie, Mr. Hood.”

“Ouch,” Calum laughs, but he takes Charlie’s extended out hand. “Mr. Hood is my dad. Seriously, just Calum.”

Teagan waves to Calum. “Hi, Santa,” she teases.

“Enjoying the unicorn?”

She nods. “Yes. Though she does like to take up my whole bed. They said I should just get a bigger bed,” she starts pointing to you. “But then a new bed would just swallow me up so I don’t think I’m winning either way.”

“Should we get a bed for the unicorn?” Calum offers up.

Teagan pats at your leg. “He’s a freaking genius.”

The laughter bounces, even from Diana at the exchange. “Yeah, he is,” you agree. “C’mon. We’ve got dinner to eat. Who’s ready?”

The question earns a collective shout of approval from Teagan and Charlie. But just as you get to the door, Calum carrying up the rear of the group, your mother calls out for you. “Maybe we can have dinner here next week,” she questions with a shrug.

“Diana, I-I don’t even have my schedule for next week,” you return. Your brows are pinched. Calum watches the flicker of your eyes over your mother’s face, like you’re trying to figure out where the request is coming from.

“Just-just let us know. We could work around it,” she offers.

Teagan and Charlie are peering up at you, one of their hands in one of yours. Calum can see the hope. It’s bright on their faces. It’s not really his place. These are your parents; a battle you should probably take up alone. But Calum hates to see you cornered.

“Maybe a more advanced warning,” Calum suggests. “If you want to pick something more solid, then they can take the request back to their job and go from there.”

Surprise opens up Diana’s face. It doesn't look like total satisfaction, some of it Calum does place as shock settling onto her brows and mouth. “But they work--” Calum knows exactly where that’s about to head and he realizes that the news of your new job hadn’t reached them--or least not Diana.

Your voice interjects the rest of her sentence. “Diana, please give me a call and the two of us can discuss something more in depth. But you do need to give me more advance warning.”

She nods, burying again in that glass. If Calum were a betting man, he’d hazard a bet that Diana’s clenched grip around the glass is a smoke signal.

You lead Teagan and Charlie out; Calum behind you, shutting the front door behind him after giving his last bits of gratitude. Calum watches the way you carry yourself, the way you’re rushing to the car. That didn’t go like he planned. Maybe he gave too much hope, too much of an opening than you were ready for. “Baby,” he calls out to get your attention.

“Let me get them inside the car please,” you return.

He waits, as you let Teagan and Charlie into the backseats. You double check the seatbelts are in and Calum waits at the driver side door for you. The back passenger door closes to your car leaving you and Calum staring at each other over the roof of the car—on opposite sides. There’s a fire in your eyes. Calum thinks perhaps he should’ve actually paid attention to his parents when they told him to start working on a will.

“Are you crazy?” you hiss.

Definitely the wrong thing to say. “I’m sorry. I-I wanted to get her off your back that’s all. I swear that’s all I was trying to do. But I didn’t know. I overstepped. That’s my fault,” Calum pleads. It was an honest mistake, one he thought twice about interjecting into but even that wasn’t enough to stop him. Not with you. The thing he won’t do is leave you to fend for yourself.

“You let me handle Diana, okay? Please. Let me handle her. I’m not ready for that and I don’t want to hurt Teagan and Charlie either,” you whisper.

Charlie peers into the car through the window. They both look up at you two. Charlie looks worried, big eyes wider than usual. His bottom lip threatens to turn over. “Fuck,” Calum whispers to himself, head dropping to the roof of your car. “Baby, I’m so sorry,” he croaks out. He hadn’t considered that they might be affected. Surely they wanted their sibling around more than you were. Surely, they watched with some confusion about why you weren’t around much. The hopes he might’ve shattered right after getting them up make his chest ache.

Calum lifts his head and walks to the passenger side door where you’ve remained. “Really, I am sorry. I’ll stay out of it when it involves you and Diana directly. I just wanted to help. Swear I did. I just--I’m sorry.”

You melt in his embrace. Where Calum was prepared for you to push away, you drop your head into his shoulder and soften like warming chocolate into his hug. At least you’ll still let him in. “We have to be careful around them, okay? It matters what we say around Teagan and Charlie.”

Calum nods, resting his cheek on your head. “I understand. I’m sorry,” he states again.

“Apology accepted, Calum.” Oh, the inclusion of his name and the omission of his pet name stings. It hurts twofold right after you’d use the plural. You said we. The same sentiment Calum was using, you were using now. And it’s all cut down in one word.

“You know how to make a man bleed by not using his petname,” Calum huffs, squeezing at your body.

Your laughter is soft. “But I bet you won’t do it again.”

“Absolutely not. I need to be called love at least four times in a day to make it through.”

“I’ll remember that. But I need two forehead kisses before we can move on from this.”

Forehead kisses--an easy demand, one he’s happy to comply with. “That I can do,” Calum grins, guiding your head out from the crook of his neck. He plants one kiss, draws all the way back and then pushes in to plant the second kiss. Each kiss is accompanied by the redundant muah sound to seal the deal. But when you snort and kiss Calum gently, he knows it’s worth it.

“C’mon,” he offers gently, walking you back over to the driver side door. Calum opens it and makes sure you’re all the way in before shutting the door.

Calum jogs back around to the passenger side door, cracking it to catch your voice floating out of, “I love you both and we’ll figure something out that makes us both happy. Okay?”

Teagan and Charlie return with an affirmative. The apology creeps up his chest, but Calum dares not utter it. He wouldn’t really get the chance too before Charlie pipes up from the backseat, “My socks are the talk of my class!”

“Oh God,” Teagan mutters. “He won’t shut up about them. Everyone else has.”

“They’re very cool socks, Teagan. They should be talked about,” Charlie counters.

“Agree to disagree?” Teagan asks.

“Hmm, which part?”

“Talking about them.”

Charlie pauses for a moment. “Agree to disagree about that. But they are cool socks.”

“They are,” Teagan agrees.

Calum snorts at the exchange. “Who taught you two the meaning of agree to disagree?”

Your name is repeated in unison and you raise one hand. “It was me. I take full responsibility. But Charlie, I am glad you like the socks.”

“Thank you again for making them.”

“You’re welcome,” you return before the radio station switches over. Calum can’t immediately place the song. But Teagan and Charlie do. Their singing fills the car just over the artist on the radio. Though Calum is nervous, feels it in the bounce of his leg and fears it’ll creep up, he’s relieved that outside of the initial introduction, your siblings don’t seem super phased.

“Love,” you start in a soft voice. Teagan and Charlie are still distracted with the songs on the radio. But their voice doesn’t drown out yours. Calum hums, looking over to you. “I should’ve said that I do appreciate what you were trying to do. Diana and I--it’s really complicated. But I appreciate you trying to stick up for me.”

Calum is beyond willing to admit his own shortcomings. But it’s nice to hear you acknowledge what Calum wanted to do--even if he’d missed the mark. “Thank you,” he whispers in return.

The mom and pop style Italian restaurant doesn’t seem too busy. There’s a few cars in the parking lot, but it seems like the dinner crowd may not be out just yet. It’s a small bit of solace. When you asked Calum if he cared to join you and your siblings for dinner, he was ecstatic. But he immediately followed up his enthusiasm with concern--would the dinner be out in public or not? Though pictures of him are to be expected and you’d grown a bit more accepting of the reality that you’d be snapped as well, it didn’t settle well with Calum that your siblings could get in the cross hairs.

It was decided to pick somewhere not close to Calum’s normal routine and to try and find a good time so that the restaurant wouldn’t be too populated. So far, the plan is working out. Yet, Calum can’t help the glance over the parking lot. He double checks to make sure that he doesn’t see anyone trying to snap pictures, but so far initial scans don’t turn up anything noteworthy. He opens the backdoor for Charlie.

“Are you two dating?” Charlie asks, soft like he’s trying to keep it secret. His only problem is that Calum’s not sure Charlie really knows just yet how to whisper without it coming out in a soft shout.

Calum contains the laughter bubbling in his chest at the sight of Charlie’s intent narrowed gaze. “Do you approve of me?” Calum questions. It’s way too soon to ask that, he knows. But Calum’s cautious now, walking the line between an answer and avoidance.

“Hmmm, not sure yet. I am sure you are nice. You seem so from the photos and videos.”

“A very reasonable assessment. Let’s see if I can change your mind, yeah?”

“I’m a fair man,” Charlie notes and then scurries to your call for him. “I’m here!”

As you described them, Teagan would be the tough one to crack. Yet, it seems like maybe Calum shouldn’t have immediately counted Charlie out of this dynamic as a true opponent. Calum thinks a kid as happy and trusting as Charlie is, it may not be a long fight. Perhaps, Calum worried for nothing--a statement that feels like it’s growing closer and closer to coming true. Your siblings cling to you, happy to take your hand as you all cross the parking lot. But Teagan turns back right before you cross the lanes and reaches her hand back. “No man left behind,” she calls out.

It hadn’t even occurred to Calum that he was lagging behind. But he picks up the extra half a step and takes her hand. “Thank you. How’s school? Getting bored yet? You can tell me. I won’t tell.”

She laughs but shakes her head. “Not bored yet. I like school.”

“What’s your favorite subject?” Calum knows better than to assume and doesn’t rattle off any particular subjects. The open air is scary, but Calum’s learned to let the silences stretch. They usually end up working out in the end.

“Hmm, math is okay; it’s kind of too easy though. I think History for right now is my favorite.”

Calum lets out a whistle. “Did I just hear you say math is too easy? Sounds like a genius is among us.”

“Oh, you’re smarter than I am.”

“No, I actively hated math in school. You’ve got me beat.”

“Oh, it’s my favorite trio,” a voice bellows. An older man leans across the bar and waves. Teagan and Charlie call back, but Calum waits. The man’s smile lifts from the two kids to you, then to Calum and his eyes widen for a moment. “Oh, my apologies, it appears it’s a quartet today. Hello, Your Highness.”

“It’s just Calum, actually,” Charlie interjects.

“Oh, I am sure. Give me just a moment and we’ll get a table ready.”

There’s only a handful of people in the place--one couple at a booth near the main windows. Four people spread across the bar. One family at a table in the middle of the open area, two pizzas to split for the family of five. There’s not much to get ready. Calum worries that if he says more that it’ll make too much of a scene. Your hand brushes over his elbow and he looks back to you while Teagan and Charlie peer into the side display of the desserts prepped and ready to be consumed. They point out the cheesecake slices they want from in front of the glass.

“You doing okay over there?” you ask.

“I think so.”

You slip in a little closer, hand creeping around his bicep. Your fingers inch up as you speak, “I’ll check for sweaty pits if you need.”

Not what Calum imagined your response to be, but it’s just enough humor that it unarms him. He laughs, reaching up to pat at the hand on his arm and feels a small bit of relief. Your humor is his saving grace he needs as he reminds himself as the four of you walk over to the booth set up that it can’t really get any worse. This dinner won’t be that bad.

Teagan slips into the booth first and you slide in beside her. Charlie slips in first on the opposite side and Calum slides in beside him. “Can I get a soda?” Teagan asks looking up at you.

“You can have a little bit of mine,” you concede.

“Have you ever been here before, Calum?” Charlie asks. He still hesitates on Calum’s name, like he’s not sure if he really should be usually just the first name.

“No, it’s my first time, Charlie. What do you suggest I get? What’s good?”

“Okay, so,” Charlie starts pulling gingerly at the laminated menu. Calum eases it in Charlie’s direction and slips out of the leather jacket as the young boy speaks. “Depends on what you want, you know. Pizza is always good. Stay away from mushrooms though. They’re gross. Meatball sub is super good. There’s also chicken tenders if all else fails.”

“Chicken tenders are always a good option,” Calum agrees. “Is that what you normally get?”

“If we’re not splitting pizza.”

“So, should we split a pizza?” Calum asks, looking over to Teagan and you.

“Charlie doesn’t do mushrooms. Won’t even eat pizza if it looks like a mushroom has been near it,” Teagan warns.

“I think I’ll survive forfeiting mushrooms this one time,” Calum jokes.

“You had better,” you tease from across the table.

“No plans on dying early, promise,” Calum laughs. Your smile is easy as you nod and help Teagan out of her coat.

The waitress stops by to gather drink orders and it feels like the roll they’d been on will come to a stop. However, as bright as Teagan is, she has the kind of grace only children have; it’s a ripped off bandaid with no countdown. There’s very little regard for tact and it shows when she questions, “So, is Calum your boyfriend? Like officially now? I remember that day at the park and I need answers.”

Paused halfway to pouring a small batch of your drink into the spare cup, you snort and risk a glance up. Calum, helping Charlie with getting out of his jacket, looks across the table. It was a brief thought--how to break the news. Charlie seemed to already have suspicions but it wasn’t discussed who would break the news, if you’d broach it or if he should. But it seems like Teagan’s taking care of it for the both of you anyway. Though, Teagan did seem like the one between her and Charlie to be a bit more perceptive and capable of handling the information a bit more delicately.

“He is,” you answer simply and tip your glass a bit more so that the liquid slips over the lip.

“Finally,” she huffs, taking the cup from your grasp. “Thank you.”

“Oh, c’mon,” you laugh. “This is the first person I’ve introduced you to.”

That’s not information Calum had. He’s not sure what he assumed--part of him did have an assumption that you’d been in relationships previously though you never mentioned it. But still your revelation makes Calum pause. Certainly, he couldn’t be the first. Though your siblings were young when you discovered they existed, Calum had some small part of him that assumed at the very least there was someone else before him. Maybe it was a silly thing to assume. Even you said it yourself that you were boring. It hadn’t crossed Calum’s mind to ask if boring meant also no romantic life. Underneath the curiosity is a small flutter of pride, Calum’t can’t lie. He’d meant something to you, enough so that you wanted him to meet your siblings. A feat no other had done before. It feels good to be wanted, to hear the validation of your feelings.

“How long did you know, Teagan?” Charlie pouts. “Am I always the last one to know everything?”

“I was sworn to secrecy,” Teagan defends.

“She figured it out before now, Charlie. I wanted to tell you both when it was a good time,” you reassure, reaching across for his hand.

Charlie holds his arms crossed against his chest, but he watches you. “You swear she figured it out?”

“I swear I did, when he gave me the unicorn,” Teagan answers.

“You gave her the unicorn?” Charlie asks, eyes wide and turns to look up to Calum.

There’s a small blip of panic. Is there resentment that Charlie didn’t have anything yet? Calum nods at the question regardless, “I did.”

He hadn’t wanted to bribe either of your siblings, though he did ask you if it would still be appropriate to bring something small. You told Calum to do what he felt was best and Calum opted not to bring anything. Though, he would--if the opportunity presented itself--get Charlie something during the course of the outing.

“You’re Santa!” Charlie shouts.

There’s stifled laughter around the restaurant at the exclamation. He misses that, Calum does. He misses the freedom to be loud, take up space. It makes sense now, how protective you are over Teagan and Charlie. He wants them to stay like this too. Calum wants them to be able to enjoy the joys of having the world unravel to reveal that your sibling’s boyfriend is the secret Santa. There is much worse to discover.

“That’s a few months, a beard, and several pounds early on that title,” Calum snorts.

You laugh too at the comment. “I think you’d make a handsome Santa--eventually, when the hairs go gray.”

Calum’s heart leaps. Were you thinking about the future together? Did it dance behind your eyelids too when you’re doing mundane chores like it did for him? He hopes it does. He hopes you think about folding laundry together while the kitchen blossoms with the smell of the food in the oven. Calum likes to imagine that it’s a recipe tried, that you only coached through. But the thought is fleeting when Charlie’s voice floats in again.

“I mean, like you’re not the Santa that gets around with reindeer and stuff. But like our Santa,” Charlie clarifies with a sip to his juice to seal the sentiment. “Which,” Charlie heaves after his long and heavy sip, “is very cool. Thanks for getting her that.”

Even though it makes a small churn in Calum’s stomach, he does have to admit that your parents managed to raise Charlie and Teagan well. That is of course, not including Teagan’s incident. For what sounded like it was a pretty shaking encounter, she seems to be doing well. You and her work on the coloring sheet provided to Teagan. Though, your help is mostly resigned to picking colors for the various objects while she colors.

Calum nods at Charlie. “You’re welcome. I’ve heard--and please correct me if I’m wrong--your birthday is in February, right?”

“Yes,” Charlie nods. “February 1st.”

“That’s just a week after my birthday.”

“No way,” Charlie laughs. “Tell me do you like baseball too? Are you somehow a secret twin?”

The longer this goes, the more time he spends, the more Calum realizes he really didn’t have much to worry about. His laughter shakes him and Calum catches the red crayon from rolling off the end of the table as the table rearranges to prepare for the pizza the waitress holds on her shoulder. “No, not a secret twin. But I did play football.”

“What position? That’s just so much running.”

“There’s running in baseball too,” Calum points out. But the conversation carries easily as Calum describes his position. He doesn’t dare forget Teagan, who immediately gags at the idea of a sport.

“I’d like to try ballet though,” she offers.

“I’ve heard it’s tough,” Calum offers. Not to deter her, but it isn’t as easy as it always sounds or looks.

“Mom’s signing me up for classes when they open again. I’m tougher.”

“When did this come about?” you ask, sliding a slice into Teagan’s plate. Charlie gives a thumbs up at the slice Calum points too.

“She had me if I wanted to give it a try.” Teagan answers. “I asked her to show me some videos and it looks fun.”

“It is fun,” you answer. “But it is tough. I think you’ll be good at it.”

“Did you do ballet?”

“No, I didn’t. I knew some people that did it, that’s all. Am shocked to hear little miss Teagan talk about anything involving physical effort outside of the playground.”

“I’m complex,” Teagan returns easily. “How’s the new job?”

“It’s good.”

“What are you doing?” Charlie asks.

“Cooking still. Just in a restaurant instead of the palace.”

The mention of the palace makes both Charlie and Teagan look up in Calum’s direction. If not for the slice he has between his teeth, Calum would’ve laughed at their synchronous smiles. “Are you going to miss their cooking, Calum?” Charlie asks. “They make good food.”

Calum will miss many things--like the smell of your biscuits in the morning, or how the kitchen is always alive with orders from staff about what they want and how you’re happy to collect the demands. He’ll miss seeing you off in the night to your shift and being the first person to greet you after he’s slept. But he’s looking forward to more things. He looks forward to your voice floating through his phone on your breaks. He looks forward to the food you manage to take home--extra helpings of soups of the day, a slice here and there of dessert, a side of the house fries. It’s not your cooking, but it’s the little ways you think of him even when you don’t need to.

“I’ll miss how often I’ll get it,” Calum confesses. It’s the most kid friendly way to say that you won’t stop cooking in the palace. He’s convinced you more than once to go down to the kitchen at the witching hour for a snack as is. He always washes the dishes if you cook anything. It’s the deal.

“You don’t do too terrible yourself,” you return. The sly grin on your face makes Calum’s stomach flip. It’s a compliment only you could give--a touch of sarcasm painting the sincerity of your tone. The most Calum’s done is make a sandwich or pancakes. He’s done more for himself, yet somehow he’s always felt uneasy cooking more with you. It’s not exactly him being embarrassed, but he always worries that you’ll want something better.

Teagan fakes a gag. “May I never look like that when I’m in love,” she huffs.

“I think it’s cute,” Charlie defends.

Teagan’s comment earns her the wrath of your tickles. She curls around herself trying to stop your fingers, but all she can do is laugh. You laugh along with her and the sound warms Calum’s chest. “Say your sorry,” you whisper to her.

“No,” she laughs. “I’ll never admit it!”

“Then I won’t stop. Not until you say you’re sorry. Because it’ll be you next. You’ll be calling me about some boy, or girl, or whoever, and you’ll tell me how in love you are.”

Teagan only giggles, and giggles, and giggles at the flutter of your fingers. It doesn’t matter who can hear her. Doesn’t matter if the whole restaurant has turned to your table. All that matters right then and there is that there is laughter. The worry, all the fretting Calum did earlier feels ridiculous now as he watches, as Charlie asks him more about his football days and as Teagan huffs that no one saved her.

Where Calum suspects that drop off is going to be awkward and tense, he finds himself happily corrected. Melvin opens the door with a grin, noticing the boxes in Teagan’s and Charlie’s hands, he nods. “Oh, treasures, I see.”

“We have enough for the Dad tax,” Teagan huffs.

“Dad tax is waived today,” Melvin returns, letting them step inside. He watches you--Calum notices. As you give Teagan and Charlie their last hugs and they wave back to Calum with thanks falling from their lips, Melvin watches. Calum sees it; the flicker of something not quite crossing over into sadness, but dances close to the edge of it.

Though Melvin said he knew his kid and that he felt good about having someone looking after them, Calum can’t help but wonder if Melvin’s also hoping. Quietly in the wings, Melvin is waiting. Diana’s already got the part of overbearing covered. But Melvin watches with quiet recognition and he is only waiting for a signal--the word from you that you wanted more and he’d give it in a heartbeat, Calum is sure.

The kids move further into the house, into the kitchen based on Melvin’s directive and he looks over to you. The sadness melts into the half upturned smile of potential hope. “Still doing alright out there in the world?” Melvin asks.

You nod at Melvin’s question. “I’m okay.”

“Good. Thanks, again, for offering to take them today.”

“You’re welcome. Thanks, for letting me take them out for dinner tonight.”

“I’m sorry--about earlier. With your mother. You take your time to find the right day, okay?”

It doesn’t feel like it means just the right day for dinner. But Calum is sure you know that too. It feels like Melvin’s asking you to reach out whenever you’re ready for more--if you’re ever ready for more. Easing up one of the steps, Calum pulls his hands from his jacket pockets. Where it was clear that you wanted to handle Diana, Melvin wasn’t drawn in the sand. Calum won’t cross that line twice though. There’s only two more steps between you and Calum, shallow steps at that, that Calum knows he could take them in one stride to swoop you away if need be.

But Melvin doesn’t say anything else, just gives another half smile. You can only nod and then turn on your heel to start down the stairs towards Calum. Melvin waves in Calum’s direction but doesn’t stand in the door much longer before heading back into the house. Calum takes your hand--one that you stretch out to him. There’s tremors in the grip but he squeezes and you squeeze back. Was it a good tremor or a bad one?

Calum decides not to say anything until you’re both in the car as a small bit of privacy. “Do you need me to drive?” he asks from the passenger seat. The car’s yet to rumble to life. But the question is a spark. You turn the key over and slip the car into reverse.

“No. I got it.”

Calum pulls the seatbelt over his torso. “Offer’s still on the table whenever you need it.”

“Thank you, love.”

It’s not a convincing tone. He nearly asks again. The question pressing hot against the tip of his tongue and the back of his teeth. Yet, Calum’s not going to pick a fight. It’d be pointless. “How do you feel about interacting with Melvin? Better than or worse than Diana?”

“Better. He’s a million times better than Diana, not as pushy. He’s good at backing away when he sees it’s going nowhere. You have more free reign to step in if he’s around.”

Calum nods, still watching the shifts of your face. From the slight pinch of discomfort into something more focused. You’re probably sick of talking about your parents though. All this time you’d built a system that worked for you, you’re not always looking forward to rehatching it. “Charlie turned out to be a little tougher than I thought,” Calum offers.

The smile is bright, melts every ounce of tension from your face. “He’s a good baby brother, watching out for an old fart like me.”

“You’re not even thirty yet. You’re far from old.”

“Closer to it than you,” you laugh, patting at his knee.

This is Calum’s first relationship with someone older. But it hardly matters in the grand scheme of things. “Barely,” he huffs.

“But they like you. Charlie’s just sensitive because he hates being out of the loop. But he’s usually the last one we tell things to because he talks…a lot.”

“So I saw too,” Calum laughs. It’s not a bad thing. It made conversation easy as Charlie easily ran with whatever line of questioning was given. “He’s got a gift; I’ll say that much.”

The echo of your snort erupts over the soft ringing of your phone. Calum sees it shaking from the cup holder. House is the contact name but the parenthesis hold T&C. “Is that the house number?” Calum asks.

You risk a glance. “It is.”

“Do you want me to answer?”

“If you don’t mind.”

Calum picks up the phone and swipes to answer the call. “Calum speaking,” he answers.

“Oh, hi Calum. It’s Teagan.”

“Hi, Teagan. Is everything okay?”

“Yup, you’re actually who I wanted to speak with. Wanted to say thanks again for the pizza. You’ve passed.”

If it weren’t for the high lilt to her voice that makes Calum want to laugh, he thinks it would scare him more to hear the phrase, you’ve passed. “I’ve passed?” he asks for clarification.

“Yes. I hope we can hang out again soon. I’d love to see how well you do in an arcade.”

“Oh, is that a challenge?” Calum snorts. Though Teagan had been a bit shier in person, she certainly shines over the phone--all gas and very little brake. Not that Calum minds it one bit. It feels like step by step he’s being taken into the fold of your family. Piece by piece he’d find his place into the dynamic of you and your siblings. Even if it means absolutely embarrassing himself in an arcade to do it.

“Yes, it is. Do you accept it?”

“I do accept. We’ll find a day--on the weekend for us to face off in the arcade, okay?”

“I’ll talk to Mom and Dad. Charlie says thanks too. He’s scarfing down his cheesecake right now. But thanks, again. It was nice to meet you. Officially. Please tell my sibling I said get home safe, okay?”

“I will, Teagan. I will. Thanks for the call.”

Calum stares down at the phone, well after it’s ended, blinking as if that will tell him definitively that the call was real. “Your sister just challenged me to an arcade duel? I think?”

“Sounds like Teagan.”

“She also told me to tell you to get home safe.”

The relaying of the message makes Calum’s voice soft. It’d been less than ten minutes and probably no more than six since the two of you left the front door. Yet, Teagan was already calling. Clearly, she knew you’d answer. Or that at the very least someone would answer the phone. Maybe you always do. Not many calls involving you and siblings happened in front of Calum.

“I will. I always do.”

The words feel automatic, like you’ve practiced them a million times. “Is that what you tell her? When she calls?”

“Everytime.”

“And I’m sure she still calls.”

“Everytime,” you laugh. “The older they get, the more time they want with me. I guess it makes more sense. I don’t know. I’m glad they want me around.”

“They love you,” Calum returns. It’s like what he said about the friends you’d gathered from your time working in the palace kitchen. It’s family, however dysfunctional.

“I love them.” A nearly whispered confession from your lips. But the radio’s off. The windows are drawn up tight. The words have no place to go so Calum catches them, holds them softly because he knows those words don’t come easy for you. But you said it, no prompting, no prying.

“I’m taking your temperature when we get home. I need to make sure you’re not sick.”

“I probably am sick. Sick in the hand because I’m behind on that painting for the auction.”

“We just submitted the proposal two weeks ago. You’re not behind,” Calum laughs. “But if you need me to get anything tomorrow, I’ve got time to do it.”

The proposal submitted was a two part contribution: Calum’s volunteer time and your painting for the same charity. The proposal was detailed, so much so that Calum wasn’t sure how you’d manage to pull the thing off. Incorporating textures and fabrics into a painting doesn’t seem like an easy task. But he’ll do what he can to help, given that his end of the deal was the easiest.

“Can I crash at yours tonight? Because you need my help with final touches on the shed and it’ll be--”

“Of course,” Calum answers. He should’ve let you finish the statement, but the answer is always going to be yes. Sleeping’s not the same if you’re not around. The bed’s too big and too cold without you in it. The lack of snores has made falling asleep easier, but it doesn’t feel the same and that makes staying asleep harder. There’s no one to curl around him. No one for him to curl around.

“It’ll be easier to stay because I do need your library for a little bit of research too before my shift,” you conclude like you weren’t interrupted.

“What time are you going in?”

“One. I work until close.”

“It’s all yours,” Calum offers. It’s easy. But it’s true. Everything he’s got is yours. Every book, every cent, every fiber that he possesses he’d be happy to overturn in the blink of an eye for you. He knows it’s cliché. He finds himself remembering the faux gag of Teagan’s, but even he knows that the cliche’s still hold truth. He is utterly in love with you and even if it’s disgustingly obvious, he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

The hallways are empty when you and Calum return to the palace, though they do echo. Voices carry on around the two of you. But there’s you, right next to him. You are a tether, the buoy in a raging sea for Calum. You lean into his arm a little as you two are carried up in the elevator. Your inhales match-- a steady meeting of ribcages. “When you said I was the first one you introduced to your siblings,” Calum starts as the levels tick by, “did you mean that?”

“You are the first.”

It’s a sour thought, burns his tongue. But Calum has to ask. He has to know. “So, have you dated anymore before me?”

“Not to the same level that I’m dating you. Mostly flings.”

“Mostly?”

“I dated one other person. And I’d hardly count it as dating.” The doors open to the elevator.

“What would you call it?” Calum asks, following your lead out of the elevator. The walk to his room is shorter than Calum thinks he would like it to be. He’s not sure why, maybe because the hallways feel like they’ll have more space for the conversation that’s unraveling.

“We went on a few dates. Slept together on occasion. I wasn’t ready for more. I knew that, but I hadn’t been honest with them. It was clear they wanted more. I was making excuses to bail on dates. I had to admit to them I wasn’t looking for more.”

Calum reclines against the edge of his desk. You stop in front of him.“When was this? What changed your mind?”

“I was still in culinary school. I didn’t really have the time for dating then but I certainly wasn’t looking for a relationship. It was the first time in a long time I felt like I had some kind of control over my life. Dating felt like handing that control over again. Didn’t want to date.”

“But now do you want to date?” If Calum’s math is correct, that was at least seven years ago, if not more. But it’s a gnawing thought if you still thought dating was that kind of loss of control. He certainly doesn’t want you to feel that way about him.

You take Calum’s hands from where he’s folded his arms across his chest. “Tell me--are you worried?”

It feels like concern settling into his gut. It feels like Calum should know better but he still wants to know. What had changed? What made him different? “I don’t think so. I’m just curious, you know. I assumed you might’ve still had a dating history like me. I have a bad habit of that, making assumptions at times. I know your life is so much different than mine. I think I want you to have a normal experience so badly I convince myself you did. But you didn’t.”

You cup his cheeks, thumbs stroking over his flesh. The touch is grounding and warm. “No, it wasn’t normal. But that doesn’t mean it’s automatically a bad thing. What’s changed is me. What’s changed is that you’ve always treated me like a person. What’s changed is that nothing about this feels like it’s never been a choice. I mean a few things have been sort of this realization that either I make choices now when there’s less stakes involved or make choices when there’s more stakes. But I like choosing you.”

“I like choosing you too. Sometimes, it doesn’t even feel like choosing.”

___________________________

Sometimes it doesn’t even feel like choosing.

Calum had said it and his eyes looked misty, like he was on the verge of tears having witnessed something so beautiful the only thing he could do was just cry. You felt like maybe you should’ve cried, like the air that froze in your lungs should’ve just produced tears. He wanted you to live for him. And there--in just a single sentence--it comes crashing down that all you’ve ever wanted was someone to choose you. You’ve always wanted to be enough for someone.

If being seen means that you’d been a striped bare in less breath than two inhales, you don’t think you’d ask for it. But it’s a good thing you never did. One person. Just one is all you’ve ever wanted. Someone that would push back when you pushed them away. And people don’t do that. People will leave when they feel unwanted. You know they should. Yet, all ou wanted was to see just a little fight in someone. Someone who’d take the resistance as a challenge but nothing personally . And you got it. There is someone who thinks you’re enough--a bag of clubs on his back as you wait at the passenger side of the truck. David laughs from next to Calum at the front of the vehicle. David carries his own clubs as well over his shoulder.

“Sure you’re not going to get jealous of us out on the green?” David asks.

“I’m sure, Pops.”

Calum gives his father one last hug before walking over to you. His smile softens just a tad and he slips the bag from off his shoulder. “I hope these work for you. If they don’t, then you should be able to rent some too at the club.”

You’re careful as you take the bag of clubs. It’s a tad heavier than you anticipated but you readjust your grip and hoist it up. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Have fun.”

“I’ll try. I’ve never golfed before.”

“Dad’s a good teacher. You’re in good hands.”

Calum presses a kiss to your forehead. Sometimes it doesn’t even feel like choosing. The sentence rattles you, every time it resurfaces. Every touch feels a little bit different, a little bit heavier but warmer somehow. Like you can feel them more. They last a little bit longer. They settle into your bones and where you’re sure they’ll ache, they don’t.

You grip at Calum’s sleeve when he goes to take a step back. His brows furrow. You slid in closer, nose brushing along his jaw as you cocoon around him. “What if I make a fool of myself?”

“Baby, you won’t. I lost my grip once, on a swing. Both the ball and club flew across the rough.”

“God, you’re a terrible shot then, huh?” you snort, inhaling the scent off Calum’s clothes. No cologne this time. Just the detergent and his natural musk. A scent you know you could bathe in if it were possible at all. It’s in a few of your shirts, from the time they’ve spent in Calum’s drawers. A couple you’re sure he either put on or put onto his pillow. It’s just a whisper of his scent, but it is enough. The ghost of him will come when the breeze comes and it’s a comfort you embrace with open arms each time.

Calum tightens his arms around you, his lips pressing against your ear. “You can’t be worse than that, baby.”

“I will golf by myself, however sad that is,” David teases.

“C’mon,” Calum encourages. He helps get the clubs into the trunk. “You’ll do great. He’ll be on his best behavior.”

“Oh, I’m not that bad,” David laughs. But you catch it, the soft glint in his eyes of concern. Your interactions with David, and even Joy, have been severely limited. They’ve been out of town, gone for press partially. But outside of the dinner you had with Joy, and the time breakfast David and you shared words, the interactions were minimal; hellos at breakfast, occasionally asking how they were doing and them asking who you are. The kind of interactions that don’t need much behind them to sustain them. You’re lying if you’re not also a little worried. You know David means well, but you can’t help thinking that as a parent he’ll always have that tint on his world.

And as the child in the situation, you’ll always have that tint on your world.

Yet, sulking’s never solved problems. So you return a soft smile in David’s direction. “Shall we?”

“I think we shall,” David laughs.

The car is spacious--a tad larger than big as Calum’s personal vehicle and it holds the two of you easily. Calum falls from the rearview mirror’s view. There’s a bump as you two descend out into the roads, through the gates. It leaves you with just David. Part of you thinks you could understand how a good father like David might be crushed to not have his child in his life. Maybe David had always wanted kids. Being a parent might’ve been part of his life and purpose that he’d been ready to take on when the time came. It’s not a question you’d ask your own parents. It never felt like a question that really needed a verbal answer. Not when the actions spoke so loud.

The soft pluck of the guitar gets even quieter over the radio. “So, how’s Forest?” David asks.

You nod, and turn to look at him for a moment--cheeks pink and rosy as he smiles. You see where Calum gets his smile now-- a trait you hope is strong. “It’s good. Menu’s about to get a revamp in a couple weeks so it’ll be nice to cook something new.”

“Oh, that does sound nice. Your coworkers--are they nice? Any trouble at all?”

“Yeah, they’re nice,” you laugh.

Your coworkers are more than nice; yet, you only find yourself able to form just that singular sentence. They immediately brought you into the fold. PJ, who’d been shadowing under for the last month now, took you in like a sibling rather than a coworker. He helped show you the ropes in the kitchen, a lot of the start was working on preparing the kitchen, chopping, marinating. As painstaking as it was to make sure the fryers were up and to mix the spices even for the slowest of days, you knew it was all important. There was a system the kitchen ran on and you needed to know it before you could even think about grilling chicken or dropping fries.

After the holidays, Turner mentioned plans to get you into classes for bartending and getting you licensed to work the bar. You assume the downshift will be drastic that is until February, in which another wave undoubtedly hits. It excites you just a little that Turner wants to make you a bit more versatile. But you watch her with everyone, how she’s the kind of manager to get her hands dirty and run plates to tables. This isn’t just a job to her.

“Well,” you start after a small bout of silence. “So far it’s good. We haven’t hit the busy season yet so that’ll really show me what the crew is made out of--me included.”

“Foraged in fire,” David laughs, “it’s truly the one way.”

You look down to your arm, tracing the small scar. Grease got you in the first week of training. You’d watched it, like it was happening in slow motion but still weren’t quick enough to get your towel over your wrist. “I think I’m starting a collection.”

“A collection? Of what?” David asks. “Didn’t realize you were a collector.”

“Oh, no, uh, the first week I got hit by some grease. It’s sort of like tradition I think at each new job. Gotta take a cut or a burn to really be initiated.” You don’t tell him about the nick you acquired about three days into working in the palace. Or the bruise you gained when you started in the restaurant prior.

“Oh,” he laughs. “Pardon me. Didn’t realize how deep that phrase would go.”

“No, no need to apologize.”

There’s more silence. The whole trip can’t go like this. It’ll drive you mad. But you’re not sure what to say to David. Where Joy was warm, keen at the details of things just beneath the surface, you realize that won’t be the same for David. He’s got his own kind of perception. But you don’t really know what to say to him. What kind of conversation did normal people have with their partner’s parents? What were the sorts of things that people asked?

“Can I-” you start and then start the words falling back down your throat. The courage feels like it might slip back down too but you force a breath. “Can I just say I don’t hold what happened at breakfast against you?”

David exhales with a chuckle. His body falls back into the driver seat, like he’d be curling around the wheel to save himself. He too must’ve been worried about what to do next, how to cut through the tension. “Thanks for that. I know I’m not always, uh, the most tactful.”

“I know I’m not always the most forgiving either.”

“Aye, that’s where you’re wrong I think. It hurts, as a parent, to see a child push their own parents away. Makes me fear what I would do if it were me. But it’s also not fair to assume that children--adult or not--have to be the ones to forgive to mend the relationship either. You’re allowed to hurt. I think anyone would be in your position. People can change and I hope that you’re able to see if your parents’ have truly changed or not. But it’s not fair of me to tell you how to process that either or what you should feel. You need that space to grieve.”

You don’t know if it’s truly grief. The concept of that feels like it passed when you left for school. Like the years you’d spent in the system were the appropriate time to grieve. Yet, the only thing you can recall about that time is more pain--the hours you’d spent with your case worker or keeping your head down in class though you’d heard the whispers. The truth of it all is that the town gossiped. You’d heard it, saw it in the way the other parents always looked at you a little bit longer than before. Like they wanted to say something, but didn’t have the words for it.

Maybe all you’d been down for the last decade really was just putting more and more distance between you and the pain without really ever feeling it. Maybe all along all you had was a simmering pot--heat too low for it to ever really meet a rolling boil, but could still bubble all the same. What was grief supposed to look like for something like this? How does one grieve something they’ve put so much time into trying to forget?

Now’s not the time for those kinds of ruminations. You know, even as you start to look for an exit to the track of conversation, that the damage is already done. The questions will find you right before you sleep to nag you again and again.

“So,” you start, “how long have you been golfing?”

“Oh, I’d reckon twenty odd years now. I’ll have you in the pros in no time,” David grins.

“Are you a betting man?” You’re not terrible at sports, but they’re not a natural inclination of yours.

“No,” David laughs. “Fortunately I’m not. But if I were I’d put your homemade biscuit recipe on the line.”

“Oh, don’t you worry.”

“Now what does that mean? I know Calum’s head over heels for you and twice on Sunday. But what is that I hear from you?”

Your cheeks are warm, a flustered laugh leaving your throat. It’s not that David’s wrong. It’s that it’d been so easy to admit. You don’t want to hold it back, not now. “I-I’m keeping all options open,” you return instead.

“All of them?”

You nod. “All of them.”

“Well,” David laughs. “I think I should become a betting man then.”

It shouldn’t shock you when you slip out of the passenger seat and meet David at the truck for the clubs. Calum and his parents were royalty. But from the front where the valet comes to take the car and park it, you’re immediately reminded that this isn’t your world. Calum, David, and Joy were accepted. They took you in with ease. But the patch at the knee of your workout pants--because the style had gone out of stock and wouldn't be returning-- and well worn tennis shoes give you away. When you walk in through the doors, a fountain greets you at the entrance and around you are tennis skirts, and polos.

The smiles that fall on you feel practiced--not quite forced. But it’s clear you are not normally here. There’s an assessment in each look that crosses your body. It shouldn’t matter. In all honesty, it wouldn’t matter once you and David got outside. You two would be two bodies out in the green sea of the course. But inside, inside you are the sore thumb. The visor you managed to unearth helps a little. No one seems to think that’s out of place as you walk alongside David. But as your sneakers squeak against the pristine marble floors--or what look like marble floors--you can feel every eye on you.

David carries on to the front desk. His member card is already in his hands. If not for the spike in your anxiety, you’d find it funny. Did the King really need identification? You only keep up with the conversation between David and the man, possibly around your age, who’s working the counter long enough to pass along your name. The high ceilings and gold light fixtures draw your attention away from the matter at hand. Behind you are stairs, what they lead to you don’t know. For a place littered with bodies, there’s very little noise--mostly the soft voices and the music overhead. This is a kind of peace you are sure is tightly enforced.

You turn back to David just in enough time to see him holding out the guest card to you. You take it and slip it into the pocket of your pants. “Thanks,” you whisper.

The man assisting David and you smiles when your gazes catch. The navy blue suit jacket buttoned tightly around his torso. A gold name plate resting against his left breast reads Leo. He too looks perfectly placed here into the club as well, clean shaven without an ounce of stubble on his chin. His smile too feels practiced, but you catch it, the briefest blink of surprise before he looks back to David. “Will your son be joining you two later?”

“No, not today. Just us two.”

“Certainly. Just the cart then?”

“Tha and can we get a spare count on balls as well?”

“Of course, Your Royal Majesty.” The screen he works on makes no noise just lights up under the glass display a ghoulish blue bouncing off the white. “You’ll be met right on the asphalt here in just two minutes,” Leo states, waving over to the door to his left--yours and David’s right.

David gives a nod and then looks over to you. “Ready to go?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you return.

David starts for the door and you find it automatic to lift a small but well intended thanks to Leo for his assistance.

He blinks, perhaps stunned, before he smiles, “It’s my pleasure.”

As you walk behind David, you watch your steps, wondering if somehow you’ll leave a stain behind.

“Alright,” David says, a clap echoing in the crisp air around you. There’s just a little bit of dew still on the ground. You can feel it on your skin through the sleeves of your shirt. “We’ll start with the basics--grip and stance.”

“Is swinging the intermediate course?” you tease.

“Something like that,” David laughs, “it’s definitely lesson two.”

The corrections are gentle, getting your thumbs into the right place, how much of a bend you want in your knees and how much is too little. It’s a little awkward at first. How much you feel like you’re being watched even though the closest group to you is easily 100 yards out. Perhaps, it doesn’t help that a kid and his father pass by. The child, no older than ten, makes a quip about how in another ten years he’ll be just as good as his dad, how all he needs is a little bit more practice. It’s jarring. That’s a kid who’s grown up on this turf you’ve just walked on. But David’s kind, tells you that you’re picking up the game faster than Calum did. A tease you’re sworn to secrecy on, but it doesn’t fully help with the slight ache you feel in your chest that reminds you, like the card in your pocket, you are just a guest.

The wind rushes, your hips driving your body into the twist, the borrowed club of Calum’s clacking against the golf ball. It doesn't go as far as you’d hoped. It’s about twenty yards shy from where David’s landed. Still the hit earns you an impressed whistle from David. “You’re looking like quite the natural on this. You sure you’ve not been practicing before now?”

You laugh, “No, not even the Wii version either.”

The mention of the gaming system makes David laugh from his belly as joins you at the T. “God, it’s been years since anyone’s mentioned that. We nearly lost a TV during a round of Wii sports once.”

“Calum?” you question. It doesn’t seem too terribly far-fetched to imagine him getting overzealous during a game.

“No, me. I wasn’t a big believer in that strap, but that day I should’ve been. Nearly bowled perfectly.”

You’d only played a handful of times on the system thanks to some friends of yours, but didn’t have one yourself. Your parents weren’t believers in that--they managed to get you to some cool trips as a kid, just sober enough to ensure that you still were excelling in school and not missing on things that wouldn’t keep up appearances. But there wasn’t much they did together with you--family trips, game nights. Certainly no trips to golf.

“Did you lose any pixels in the TV?” you ask.

“No, nothing like that. It tipped for a second but Joy caught it.”

“A swing and a miss,” you quip.

“I wish I had missed,” David laughs.

The wet feeling of the morning fades quickly by the time you’re six holes deep. Fall is cool and crisp, but the sun hits noon and you start to realize the long sleeves might’ve been overkill. You pull them up to your elbows as David prepares for his swing on hole seven.

“So, tell me,” David practices a swing a few inches off the ball. A small clump of grass goes up with it. “Do you think you’ll be on the line cooking ultimately? Where do you want to go from there? If anywhere?”

You don’t have a good answer for that. Don’t have anything for David that might be what he wants to hear. You certainly don’t want to get into politics. You’d rather not get close to it, though your relationship with Calum will ultimately be that undoing you’re sure. “Looking for a predecessor already? I thought the job was filled.”

“No, hardly,” David’s laughter is short as he steps up to his ball. “The position is very much filled.” He swings. You clear the clack, and the ball soars. You watch it as much as you can, losing it briefly in the thick light of the sun. It lands with a distinct thud teetering on the rough. “But, given your formal training, I’m curious to know if Forest is where you want to go forever. Doesn’t even have a Michelin.”

“Doesn’t need a Michelin to be good food, or good for you. Cooking’s where I want to be.” It’s true. It’s where you’d rather be. Unseen but still important. “Management’s not my most ideal future, but I imagine I could be good at it.”

“You seem good with people. But management’s less about good at people and more about being good at leadership. Janet’s talked up a great storm about you when you first started on. You’re dedicated. You can pick up slack. You can do the hard work. You’re a fast learner. All good skills for leadership, but there’s an amount of delegation involved too.”

You shouldn’t assume, but you’re not too good at doing things the way they should be done. “Will any job title be good enough?” you ask. “Manger, owner, CEO--could they mean the same thing as Your Royal Highness?”

“Well,” David turns to face you now, “Manager, owner, cook, CEO don’t mean the same thing. And they shouldn’t.”

And they shouldn’t. The grip around the iron tightens. What is that supposed to mean? You don’t speak, afraid of the tick in your own jaw.

Yet, David continues on, with a smile and a shrug. “We don’t do the same things. But no job is less important than someone else. Hell, I think you’ll be glad I’m not in the kitchen. Best I can do is put frozen food in the oven and maybe a slow cooker recipe here and there. What I mean to ask is are you happy where you are? Can you see yourself doing that forever? That’s all I think matters to me is that you’re happy too.”

You exhale, dropping your shoulders. He just wants you to be happy in what you do, like parents ought to want. The guilt flares, at the assumption you’d made on David’s line of question. He doesn’t have the grace of Joy, but it’s clear that he still cares. There’s no reason for him to be Joy. It’s a reality you’re sure that you’ll have to remind yourself of again. But David’s clarifying words are a relief, allowing the alarm to quiet in your brain.

“If food’s involved and I’m involved in its making, I’m happy,” you answer.

Food is a space you can control, a space that no one’s threatened because you wouldn’t dare let them. You know food--inside and out. You know how it will react. You know how long to let it simmer. You know food well, can smell what’s wrong and what’s right. It’s a safe haven when you need a refuge. A breeze comes by and you swear you can smell the pie Mrs. Davis used to bake. Along with it, Mrs. Shirley’s work comes with it. All those people before you--who cared in their own way, shared a love with you that you carry now.

“Then it’s enough,” David grins. “C’mon, I think you can beat my distance now. You’re getting more confident in that follow through. I can see it.”

You get your thumbs into position, testing the bend and push of your knees and hips. Clack--and the ball soars. You watch it, and watch it, and watch it. It hits, bounces, arches up again for another bounce, then rolls. It bobbles for a moment and then stops. Hardly a foot past David’s ball. But still beyond.

“There we go!” David cheers with a hearty pat on your back. You feel the thumb in your chest, nearly in time with the beating of your heart. He squeezes your shoulder. “I’m telling you--golfing might be your future. You’d make a hell of a golfer if you ever grow tired of that kitchen.”

His smile is wide, taking up nearly his whole face. In the thumping of your heart, where you can still feel the residual thump of the firm pat, you think something on David’s face looks like pride. And it feels good--to have the small victories with David. You walk with your spine a little bit straightener back to take your next swing.

David checks in on hole 9, offering to call it quits where you are before heading back in for a late lunch. And you take him up on it, promising to finish the back half at a different time. “It’s not like the holes are going anywhere and neither am I,” you tease.

“Now that’s the spirit. We’ll get you set up with your own clubs if you want. Or you can keep borrowing Calum’s,” David grins, arm slung around your shoulders.

A nod’s all you can manage. It feels too dismissive to say that you don’t want your own clubs; that though you did well, only three over par, having your own clubs feels like too much of a commitment. That you don’t know if you’re that integrated yet, or that important yet, to earn the right of your own set of clubs. And yet, you know it’s David’s excitement to have a marginally more committed partner to return to the course. You can’t crush it. Part of it is fun, a slow paced game in the otherwise track race of your life. Golf is that little bit of solitude.

You nod, hoisting the bag of clubs up onto the cart. “We’ll see.”

The drive back up to the club is longer than you anticipated, but it passes with easy laughs. Leo’s gone when you return to the desk. Another employee--the tag looks like it could make out Marie- takes the keys with the same practiced and measured smile on her face. Unlike Leo she gives no indication of shock or surprise when she spots you.

David walks you to the cafeteria. The middle is a mix of tables and chairs while the edges hold coffee and tea stations, easy to grab snacks and the buffet. The menu above lists the main menu, the black lettering stenciled perfectly so the loops and swirls are almost dizzying. “Oh, as a heads up the menu’s limited in overall options. But you can get as much as you want if you’d like. At least for lunch it’s a bit more free for all. They serve breakfast and dinner in a more sit down style,” David warns and then makes for the line right at the start of the buffet.

You follow behind, slowly. The table cloths are white, plates and cups sparkling in the afternoon night. It’s a place that nearly begs not to be touched, but you take up a plate. You load it up, collect the silverware and settle down opposite of David at the table. Though your hands are clean, thanks to the glove you’ve had on, the fear from earlier turns into desire. If you’re going to be here, hanging like the item for the latest display, you at the very least want to leave a mark.

The pasta salad doesn’t look bad, though it does look a little thin--not quite as hardy as you’d make it. But it’s good when you get through the first bite.

“Calum tells me that you’re doing a painting for the holiday auction,” David comments around his sip of water. “How’s that going?”

“Slow,” you answer. “But I think it needs to be right now.” Slow is truly an understatement. With the last of the shed completed, shelves stocked with your normal art supplies and the last of the wall art up, you’re able to give the painting your fully undivided attention. But the longer and longer you stare at the blank canvas, the more you feel it swallowing you up. It’s nerves. You’ve never done anything at this scale with the potential for hundreds of thousands of dollars on the line either.

“You don’t look so confident about that,” David returns.

“Nervous, mostly. I know what I’d like to do but something about it feels incomplete. Don’t know what yet. And I know in three weeks they want progress updates, so it feels a little bit like the walls are closing in.”

“Life sort of feels like that doesn’t it? Like you’re always chasing something and not quite realizing you’re exactly where you wanted to be. I do think you’re right. You’re exactly where you need to be. You’ll still have another few weeks after the progress updates too. But if you think of anything you need, give me or Joy a shout and we’ll be happy to help too.”

“A rat race,” you return, taking a bite of the roll. “A stale race at that.”

“Well, I hope soon you get out of it. No use in competing with everyone else.”

David’s right. There is no winning, but it still feels a little too easy for him to say. You nod at his comment. Perhaps there’s even more no reason to even compare your situation to his either. Comparison is a thief; it will stop not just at joy but peace as well. It will take everything it can sink its claws into. Comparison is that voice, the one that crawls from the base of your skull and sends a chill down your spine, and tells you everything will fall apart in an instant anyway.

So far things had only worked out. You were in a new job. Calum was still around, still doting on you in ways that you’d forgotten you needed. David was taking you in. Joy’s smiles at you are still deep and bright. Charlie and Teagan grew closer and closer to you. Things were working themselves out. And they’d continue. Things would continue to work out--even if it means that you subject yourself to the occasional golf trips with David and you sit with Joy just to bask in the warmth of someone who cares. And even if it means that you take Charlie and Teagan out more often for dinners, and birthdays, and just because they ask and just because you want to, you’ll do it happily.

It’s all actually going to work out because so far it has.

The drive back is faster than the drive there--as it always goes. But the radio cuts in through the pauses in your conversation with David. You learn how him and Joy met back in the late 80’s, how David swears Joy lit up the dance floor. He makes sure to tell you that Joy swears she did nothing of the sort, if you were ever to ask her about it. It’s so incredibly normal, how David had been out, rebelling in his youth when his paths crossed with Joy’s that fated night at the dance hall. They got lunch a few days later after David mustered up the courage to call her. She’d initially been unsure of pursuing him, telling him rather directly that she was not looking to be made to fit into a box.

“It was a choice then I had to make. Show her that she wouldn’t be made into a box she’d never be happy in or force her into that box,” David states. “So I let her go. I told her I’d love the chance to prove to her that my intentions are not malicious, but only if she wanted to take it there.”

“The Hood men are charmers, I see.”

David’s laughter leaves him softly. “No, it’s the other people in our lives that makes us look as good as we do. Joy is soft to my edge. You’re the edge to Calum’s soft. We’re only a small portion of the game at large.”

“It worked in the end for you. You’re with Joy now.”

“I am. And I am thankful for that. But it’s all about choices. You’ve got to choose when you give a little bit and when you remain steadfast.”

“Compromise and communication, that’s what I’m hearing.”

“And you’d be correct. Compromise and communications, skills that’ll carry you through life that’s for sure.”

A hum falls from you--acknowledgement that you’ve heard his statement. The truck slows as he nears the turn for the entrance. David types in his code before pulling all the way through the gates. In the distance you notice someone at the doors as you close the distance you realize it’s Calum’s outside. He’s got his keys in his hand, looking opposite of the truck for a second before looking in your direction. Calum grins, slowing his gait as David backs into the spot next to Calum’s truck. When the truck eases to a stop, Calum opens the passenger side door for you. “How’d it go?”

“They’re a natural,” David calls out with a shout.

“I’ve still got a lot to learn from the old pro,” you state. “But it was more fun than I anticipated.”

“Well sounds like Dad might’ve found himself a regular golfing partner.”

“Something like that. Looks like you’re headed out,” you tease, tapping the fob hanging from his fingers. You don’t wait for the response and head to the trunk to grab the golf clubs.

“Was craving something sweet,” Calum answers when you approach from the rear his bag of clubs on your back. “Do you wanna come? I’d like for you to join, but understand if you can’t.”

“Oh, your phone,” David calls out from the front of the truck. The car beeps again as the doors unlock.

Calum ducks inside and grabs your phone from the console. You pat down your pockets to check for your wallet, and feel it in your right pocket. “Here, I got it.” The front screen of the device gleams in the sunlight from Calum’s waiting hand.

“Thanks. I’d be happy to join if you can spare me five minutes to pee.”

“I can spare ten minutes, fifteen, doesn’t matter.”

“Thanks,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to Calum’s cheek.

David waits at the door, holding it slightly ajar for you. It’s not a far trek, thankfully, to get the clubs up into storage. You settle the bag down next to David’s, flipping off the light switch to the closet. “Thanks, David, for today. I appreciate getting to know you better.”

“Thanks for actually saying yes. I don’t imagine it was an easy thing to say yes too.”

“It’ll be easier next time you ask.” Because you get David now. Better than you did before. You can give him grace and hope that in return he gives you the same in equal parts. So far, the two of you are equal in that exchange.

David smiles, a little soft but no less genuine. It reminds you of the sun peaking out from white clouds. “I’m glad to hear that.”

“Will you tell Joy I said hi? If I don’t run into her again before leaving today.”

“Absolutely I will.”

“Thanks.”

The two of you part ways. He carries himself deeper towards the elevators you think. You don’t stick around to find out definitively as you more towards the restrooms. The sink rushes, water pouring over your hands as you rinse away the soap when your phone rings. It vibrates in your pocket and you take the paper towel to dry your hands. “That better not be Calum,” you laugh mostly to yourself.

By the time your hands are dry, the phone stops ringing. Checking the phone, you notice the missed call--Diana. You had their cell phone numbers in case of emergencies. Though most of the communication was done through the house phone. The first thought is that something had happened--considering Diana or Melvin have never called from their cellphones. It shocks you a little that it wasn’t Melvin to reach out if it is involving Charlie and Teagan. But you can’t waste more seconds debating why Diana called and not Melvin. You take a deep inhale to stop the slight tremor of your hand. God, you hope that Charlie and Teagan are okay. Your thumb stills enough to tap on the call to redial.

The line rings only once before it connects. “Diana speaking,” she answers.

Her greeting stuns you. Could she have called you by mistake? Were you on the edge of a tizzy that didn’t need to happen?

“Hi Diana. I’m returning your call from just a minute ago or so.” That part should be obvious, but you state it anyway more of a lilt painting your words.

“Yes,” she hisses. The extra constants slur together for a moment but then she carries on, “I wanted to see if you’d like to come over tomorrow. Charlie and Teagan will be needing new winter coats before the weather breaks.”

Winter coats. A phone call for fucking winter coats. “Is there a reason why I need to be present for winter coats?”

“You-I-well, you did ask if they were all settled into school and the weather will be breaking soon.”

Winter is on the horizon. In another month and some change, November’s chill will grow colder and December will bring the first bouts of winter. The nights are already growing colder and colder. The coats make sense to get now if they’ve outgrown the ones from last year. And you do want them to settle into the school year nicely, but you ask Charlie and Teagan that. You make them the drivers of the conversation. But you know Charlie. He’ll talk and talk and go and go.

But you’re not going to argue that. There’s no need to bring them into this conversation further. You know Diana is already trying to prey on that relationship as it stands. “Are you and Melvin in financial binds? Is that what you need help with?”

“No, no, why would you think that?”

“Then why are you asking me over with the reason about winter coats?”

“Well, because they need coats.” Diana sips on something, the sound echoes even though she’s pulled the phone from your face just a little. The sound is distant but not quiet.

“You’re not--” The words are right there. You’re not making any sense. You better not be drinking. But you catch yourself. You hold that back. You don’t have proof. You don’t have fucking proof. You wish you did. You wish you could ask Teagan or Charlie, hell you’re considering confronting Melvin at this point.

“I’m working tomorrow,” you answer instead.

“You’re always fucking working,” she huffs. It’s clipped and bitter as it echoes through the receiver.

“You spring invitations at the last minute,” you snap.

“Diana!” the voice is further away. Melvin you assume.

Diana hisses into the receiver and it’s the last thing you catch before the dial tone swallows you up. You look back at the screen and the call’s ended. Where fear pumped under your skin, your veins are thrumming now with anger. Where the hell did her attitude come from?

“Baby!” Calum calls.

You can hear him getting closer, the keys clicking as he walks down the halls. You shouldn’t. But you tap her number again. You get sent to voicemail. “You’ve reached the voicemail box of Diana. I can’t answer your call right now. Please leave your name, number and a brief message and I will return your call.”

You better not be drinking. You better keep it together for Teagan and Charlie. You fucking better stay sober. You don’t say it. You hang up and try her number again.

“Baby!” Calum calls out again.

“You’ve reached the voicemail box of Diana.”

You hang up. She likely wouldn’t listen to you even if she did pick up. She wouldn’t listen even if you left the voicemail.

“Baby!” Calum calls out again.

“He-” you inhale, hearing the shakes in your own voice. “Here,” you call out, voice clearer now. Is it too rash now to do something? Should you call Melvin and talk to him about it?

You can’t do nothing. But right now you might be much too close to it. You’re always fucking working. And as much as you hate that voice in the back of your skull, you can feel it rising again, a shit eating grin dripping from its tone, told you so.

“You get lost?” Calum laughs as he approaches.

You can hear him. But the rectangle of your phone fills your vision. The floors beneath your feet blur just a little. “I got a call from Diana,” you answer.

“Oh, shit. What happened?”

Nothing really. It was hardly a conversation you think in retrospect, not a logical conversation in the slightest. “I don’t know,” you return.

“Do you still want to go out for cookies first or do you want to talk about this?”

You can’t bury this. You can’t plant it next to all the other things you’d rather forget--because that’ll only harm Teagan and Charlie in the long run. But you know that you can’t even fathom how to explain it either. But you can feel it--the desire to run away, even if momentarily. You’ll have to come back to this. You’ll have to figure out how to talk to Diana and Melvin too.

“Cookies, first please,” you exhale, looking up to Calum. He looks a hair skeptical--probably a mixture of trying to assess if a phone call from Diana is normal or not. But you hold his gaze and he nods eventually.

“I’m here when you’re ready to talk.”

“Thank you,” you return, slipping your phone back into your pocket. It’s not forever. You know that. That’s what you tell yourself. You’re not choosing this distraction forever. It’s all about choices. It’s a selfish choice right now to go with Calum. But god, all you want for the moment is just an ounce of peace. You hope Teagan and Charlie, should they ever find out about this, can forgive you.

You hope you can forgive yourself too.

#calum hood #calum hood fanfic #calum hood fic #calum hood imagine #calum hood series #calum hood x reader #calum hood x gender neutral reader #prince! calum #prince!calum #5 seconds of summer #5 seconds of summer fanfic #5 seconds of seconds fic #5 seconds of summer imagine #5sos #5sos fanfic #5sos fic #5sos imagine #h writes

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artficlly · 1 year

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face the music (chapter 11)

Music College Marvel AU - Chapter 11

!frat!musician!bucky x !frat!musician!steve x !musician!femreader

Warnings: some fluff, some angst, sinful thoughts, mentions of violence, general icky, lmk if i missed anything

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: aaaa sorry this took a couple days to get up. been crazy busy and tired with work stuff ugh. this isn't a super amazing chapter, but i wanted to get it out. i really struggled with this, the apartment scene got rewritten like 3 times lol. from here things really start rolling!! the song referenced in the revenge livestream is luxury problem by lunachicks!! not proof read - srry for any typos.

chapter masterlist | main masterlist

You had been out all day, class, practice and then filming with Scott, Clint and Loki. This had been the pattern for the last week, and frankly you were exhausted. Any spare time you had, you spent sorting through paperwork or editing down the interviews. It was Friday, you had finally called a wrap on the filming and were ready to crash into bed.

Loki hadn’t opted to stay out, something about going drinking with a ‘friend’ and probably being out for the night. You weren’t really one to pry into Loki’s private life, so you had tiredly bid him a goodnight. You knew Jane and Thor would be out, they had plans to visit Jane’s parents for the weekend. You had caught them packing up Thor’s truck early this morning when you departed for campus.

The idea of being alone in the apartment? That thought was the only thing that had kept you going this afternoon. You were ready to snuggle up in bed, maybe watch some Netflix with some takeout and call it a night. Though, those plans flew out the window the moment you walked through the door.

The sight of Bucky and Steve in your kitchen was not the cozy evening you had been anticipating

“Hey darling! Want a beer?” Steve had called you from the over side of the island. You had only given the two of them a tired, confused look and sighed with a shrug of acceptance.

“How did you get in?” You asked. More importantly, why were they here? Not that you were complaining, it was just unexpected. You had barely seen them all week, only at practices but even that was brief. You had heard Clint was doing his usual Friday rager, you had expected them to be there, not camping out in your kitchen.

“Thor told us where the spare key was.” Steve replied, popping open the cap of a beer for you. You don’t even want to ask when or why they spoke to Thor. Instead, you head into your room to dump your belongings. You can hear the two boys chattering away as you place the paperwork on your desk, along with your laptop and abandon your bag at the foot of your bed.

“What… what is this about?” You asked, approaching the kitchen cautiously. Bucky has his forearms braced against the island surface, skin bicep bulging against the short sleeve of his shirt. You turn your attention to your beer before they catch you staring too long.

“We knew you were super busy this week, so we wanted to do something nice for you! We ordered takeout, should be here soon.” Steve explains, shoulder bumping against Bucky’s.

They had wanted to do something nice for you? That made your stomach flutter a bit. This week had been a bit hellish, and other than Sharon doing some mercy missions to the coffee shop, no one had noticed your exhaustion. You had barely seen the boys, yet they had noticed. You suddenly felt a bit bad for not seeing them as much, when it was obvious they wer epaying attention and looking out for you.

“You’re not going to Clint’s party?” You ask, taking a swig of your beer. Clint had invited you earlier, but you had declined saying you were too tired. You were sure you’d get all the gossip from Sharon later. You still had to ask her about this… thing… between her and Clint. You had noticed them talking and laughing together. Scott had even mentioned that Sharon had visited him at the frat.

“Nah. Might be best to sit it out this time, considering how awful the last party was.” Steve replied, attention turned to his phone as he tracked the delivery driver who seemed to be pulling into the apartment complex.

You arched an eyebrow at his words, awful? You had thought - despite Sharon being punched and your meltdown - that it had gone well. Maybe only because you ended up cuddling with the both of them. Did he think that was what made it awful? Had you entirely misread that situation? He had been eager to flirt with you during revenge plan practices - even turning up at your apartment now. It all felt muddled up in your head. You’d blame it on the exhaustion.

As if Bucky can sense your worry, he pushes off the island to walk around to your side. You smile at him softly as he approaches. You didn’t know how he managed to pick up on the slightest changes of your mood so easily, but it was comforting to know that he cared.

“We’ll find a movie to watch while Steve gets the food.” Bucky says to you, a hand on your back to guide you into the lounge. You don’t protest, instead sitting onto the couch next to him. Bucky’s hand snakes around your shoulders, pulling you into him. You rest your head on his shoulder with a sigh, ready to debate movie choices.

Empty takeout boxes and beer bottles line your coffee table, the finished movie long forgotten. One beer had turned into two, which had quickly turned into a few more. The three of you sat around the lounge chatting and laughing. Any exhaustion or anxiety from earlier was long forgotten.

Steve sat on the other side of the couch from you, fiddling with a deck of cards. He had insisted on some drinking game which never came to be, instead showing off all his different shuffling techniques. Bucky was sitting on the floor, back to the TV. He had been digging through Thor and Jane’s movie and game collection, occasionally making judgemental comments on their taste. Thor and Jane were definitely the action-movie-romance type, whereas Bucky was more rom-com to fantasy-adventure style. You found it cute, Bucky Barnes, a softie at heart.

“Surely Thor has one of those stupid drinking card games? You know the one that’s like ‘who is the last person you kissed’ and you answer or take a shot.” Steve rambles, cards flying between his hands. You screw up your face, swallowing the mouthful of beer you had just taken.

“How sleazy do you think Thor is?” You laugh, Bucky seemingly sharing your sentiment as he laughs along with you.

“I dunno, I just heard he’s a big party guy.” Steve replies sheepishly. You could understand where that assumption came from. Thor was pretty notorious in your friend group for downing an unbelievable amount of alcohol and getting into mischief. He had mainly settled down since meeting Jane, but sometimes they got up to trouble together,

“Those games don’t work with three people, you need like, at least ten.” Bucky cuts in, placing the last movie back into the cabinet. You hum in agreement, tapping your fingernails against the glass of the bottle.

“Steve, who was the last person you kissed? Bucky? Wow, what a surprise.” You add sarcastically with a giggle, which makes Bucky chuckle and Steve groans in embarrassment.

“You’re never gonna guess who the last person I kissed was,” Bucky cuts in, laughing harder.

“Ha. Ha. You’re both soo funny.” Steve grumbles, you nudge his thigh lightly with your foot. He ignores you, still flicking the cards between his fingers. You examine the side of his face, the way his brows are drawn into a look of concentration.

“Who was the last person you kissed, Siren?” Bucky asks. You rip your eyes away from Steve, arching an eyebrow at Bucky, exhaling out of your nose sharply.

“I don’t know, probably my ex.” You say, tone suddenly less amused. You take a swig from your bottle to hide your reaction.

Bucky frowns a bit, Steve stiffening. You had never asked Bucky if he had told Steve about your story. Judging by the way Steve had clenched his jaw, hands stilling… he must know. You had never explicitly told Bucky to not tell Steve, nor did you mind. You just wondered how he reacted, what he thought of you. You hated that somehow, now and forever it was always drilled into your brain that you were weak for what had happened. You didn’t want Steve to perceive you that way. You doubt he would, Bucky never treated you differently.

“Not a fun answer, sorry.” You say with a nervous laugh, trying to break the tension. Bucky shifts uncomfortably, as if regretting his question. You open your mouth to comfort him - to tell him it’s fine. But Steve speaks up instead.

“You should kiss me instead.” Steve suddenly says. You turn, giving him a bewildered look.

“What?” You cough out. Was he trying to cover for the awkward tension? Make Bucky feel better by making himself the fool of the situation?

“So you have a fun answer, for drinking games.” He continues, looking up to meet your gaze with a cheeky smile. Oh. He was joking. Obviously. You try to cover the blush that has flooded your cheeks by taking another swig from your drink. Obviously he was joking. There's still a small prick of hurt in your chest, that he would joke about that. Maybe a part of you would’ve said yes, even if it was absurd. Your tipsy brain liked the attractive boys in your apartment, was that so much of a crime?

“How many drinks have you had?” You laugh, trying to hide your own embarrassment.

“Probably too many to be playing a drinking game.” Bucky teases, eyes focused directly on Steve. You wonder if Bucky was also upset by that comment, considering Steve was his boyfriend. They had discussed their poly nature with you before, but you never thought they looked at you in that way. They saw you as a friend, one they sometimes flirted with… and cuddled in bed with? God, you were confused.

Steve opens his mouth to continue to joke around, but Bucky’s phone starts ringing. He frowns at the screen, glancing up at Steve with an annoyed expression.

“It’s Clint, should we take bets on what’s gone wrong? I swear we can’t leave for one night.” He grumbles, picking up the call and walking into the kitchen. Steve hums as he thinks, you watching as he drums his fingers on his thigh.

“Some fresher has probably put a hole in the wall.” Steve says to you, while you shake your head.

“Why wouldn’t he just tell you when you got back? I think it’s going to be something to do with Sam and Wanda.” You suggest. You could imagine how the world would spiral if Sam and Wanda had a fight, the two of them clung to each other at parties. Even if they weren’t official, everyone knew.

“Oh, yeah? Maybe Natasha’s had another one of her meltdowns.” Steve chuckles, you roll your eyes.

“I swear she hates me.” You mutter, finishing the last of your bottle with a sigh.

“I wouldn’t take it personally, she hates everyone.” Steve laughs, neatly shuffling the cards back into a stack. You watch his fingers as he slides the cards back into the cardboard pack.

“Except for Yelena.” You cut in, Steve nods with a hum.

“Lets pray that Kate never breaks up with her, god could you imagine that?” Steve laughs, looking up at you.

“God, Kate would be dead, like, instantly.” You giggle.

The two of you pause when Bucky comes back into the room, a worried frown across his face. Something bad must have happened, Bucky didn’t often look as dressed as he did at that moment. You slide your empty bottle onto the table.

“What happened?” You ask, turning so you’re facing him. Bucky sighs, running his hand through his hair. You had noticed he did that when he was stressed about something, a nervous thing. You suddenly have the strong urge to reach out and comfort him.

“Walker. He turned up uninvited, started smashing shit. He was just looking for a fight.” Bucky sighs. You now understand why he was so on edge. John Walking, ruining everything per usual. You are suddenly glad you decided you were too tired for the party. Enduring him on campus was bad enough.

“Shit. Is everyone okay?” You ask, standing. Steve rubs his face, making a noise of disbelief.

“Apparently Natasha gave him hell. They managed to kick him out but he smashed up some of the stuff in the kitchen.” Bucky chuckles a bit, you can tell he’s trying to de-escalate any stress that might surface.

“We should probably head back then.” Steve sighs, standing. You glance between the two boys.

“Do you want me to come?” You offer, stepping closer to Bucky. He shakes his head, sending a long look at Steve who frowns. You’d learnt some of the silent looks they gave each other, and that was definitely a ‘we’ll talk later’ look.

“What?” You question, did something worse happen that they were hiding from you?

“I didn’t want to say anything… but he was looking for you. Sounds like he got drunk and decided to get revenge about the suspension shit. Probably best if you stayed home, just in case he comes back.” Bucky grumbles, you feel Steve move closer.

“Oh.” Is all you can manage. You feel numb. Exhausted. Too tired to spiral into the worry that information brought up. Steve reaches out, bundling you into his chest for a hug.

“Just a few more days until the revenge plan. It’s gonna be alright, darling.” He murmurs into your hair as you wrap your arms around him in return.

“I know…” You sigh. “Text me when you get back and stay safe, please.”

You unfurl yourself from Steve, but are quickly pulled into a hug by Bucky.

“We will.” He murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

Sneaking onto campus was easy, thanks to some of the buildings being open all hours. Security didn’t really question your small group as you slipped out of the 24 hour study areas, down the hall into the practice hallway.

You had stashed most of the instruments and gear you would need earlier in the day. You had decided that sneaking around campus with a bunch of live streaming equipment and instruments wouldn’t be super inconspicuous.

Nerves had been biting at you all day, squeezing your chest and making you feel sick. Some of the others shared your stress, while some like Scott and Clint seemed to be having a great time. Steve and Bucky would send you reassuring glances, as well as gentle touches to ground you when they sensed your anxiety got the better of you.

Everything was set up, Clint and Scott were fiddling with the last of the live stream setup. Sharon was warming up her voice, MJ and Peter muttering between each other, Steve and Bucky hanging by the drum set. Loki was guarding the door with his usual scowl.

You had laughed nervously when Clint and Scott had shoved a couch in front of the door, stacking a couple chairs on top as a barricade. It was almost guaranteed that the administration would see the stream as soon as it went live. The barricade would buy you a couple extra minutes before security barged in.

You let out a long exhale as Clint and Scott motioned that they were going live. Everyone quickly shifted into place as you tapped the microphone to make sure it was on and ready. A few words of encouragement were thrown around as Scott counted you down. One deep breath and you were speaking.

“We’re live streaming today because we need your help.” You start, looking past the microphone into the camera.

“In the description, comments and also in the title of this livestream you can find a link. This link will lead you to a video, as well as a petition. All we ask is that you watch the video and sign the petition. You can watch the video now, or you can keep watching the livestream and watch it afterwards.

The petition we are presenting is to have our fellow classmate John Walker suspended from campus and face repercussions for his actions. John has displayed a pattern of violent behavior which has been ignored by College Administration as well as the Board. It is also a high possibility that they have both been paid off to allow John to keep his spot in the College.

In the video we have interviewed a group of victims, all of which are asking for the College and John Walker to take accountability. This video also includes my own personal experience with not only John - who attacked me - but also with the College. Not only was I denied a spot to testify at John’s suspension meeting, but the Head of the College, Tony Stark, implied that I had invited the violence against me.

There are more details in the video, as well as documents detailing all of these experiences with John and the Board attached to the petition. Please check them both out, in the meantime we’re going to play you a song!”

You turn back to the group with a nervous smile, Bucky nodding as he taps his drumsticks together to count you down.

“This song is dedicated to John Walker, thank you.” You speak into the mic with a nervous smile.

The music starts around you, Steve taking the lead with the electric guitar and Bucky hitting on the drums. Sharon and you both start on vocals, MJ on the bass doing the backup vocals when needed. The song is an easy pace at the start, you know later it will become a lot faster as the punk rock elements come in. You had chosen this song specifically because it had a lot of energy to it, as well as having some pointed lyrics.

You’re thankful for the music, feeling some of the stress and anxiety drain from your body as your focus on the performance.

The music fades slightly as it is your turn to solo the lyrics. The section wasn’t super hard, just required you to belt a bit which Sharon wasn’t as good at. You had the breath work to propel your voice quite loudly, whereas Sharon leaned more soft-girl indie these days.

Isn’t it hard when you're spoiled rotten?

Got another luxury problem problem!

As you were belting, the music comes back in fast. Sharon and MJ come in helping with the vocals. As you’re singing, you catch Loki making worried gestures at Scott and Clint. You can see the seats and couches pressed up against the door rattling, like someone is trying to push inside the room.

You send a worried glance in Steve’s direction. Despite being concentrated on his guitar, he sends a nod of acknowledgement to you. The door could burst open at any moment, security pouring in and shutting it down before the song was finished. The song wasn’t super important, it was more to just keep the livestream running and grabbing as much traction as possible.

Even though I'm alright

I like to sit and pity myself because it hurts

As if on cue, as the vocal drop out for the instrumental section, the door finally pushes open. The chairs stacked on the couch clatter to the ground as the couch is shoved out of the way. Loki dodges out of the way of some security, ducking behind the camera with Scott and Clint.

Stark walks in, alongside a group of security. He sighs, motioning for the security to drag Scott, Clint and Loki out. They give the security some trouble, slipping out of their grasp and laughing at their serious faces.

“Ah, The Head of College has decided to join us!” You announce into the microphone, over the guitar and drums. You don’t know where you found this confidence, maybe it was just the music fueling your rage.

“Shut it down now, you’ve had your fun!” Stark shouts over the music, attempting to grab the camera. He’s shoved away by Scott, who is still running circles around security.

“Tell me, Mr. Stark. Are you also taking bribes like the Board?” You ask with a grin. Stark gives you an exasperated sigh, grabbing the camera. The tripod slips, knocking the camera sideways. You would still be in the footage, except from a low angle on the floor and sideways. The audio is still going through clearly, the instrumental coming to an end as Sharon takes over your singing section, seeing that you’re occupied.

What do you do when they're all after you?

What can you say? Your life is shit today!

“That’s enough!” Stark shouts, stepping onto the stage. He attempts to grab the guitar from Steve, but he just dodges, continuing to play. You stand in Stark’s way, blocking him from Peter and Bucky as he continues on his warpath. Sharon and MJ are still screaming into the mic, grinning as they enjoy the scene playing out.

“We tried discussing this with you in private, but I guess we had to get your attention another way.” You say in a singsong voice, laughing as he snatches the mic from you and marches off the stage.

“Turn it off!” He snaps at some of the security, who look between each other in confusion.

You idols idolize you, all you friends despise you

Your life is shit, cuz you’re living it!

Moving back to the main microphone, you continue singing with Sharon as the lyrical section comes to an end. The security guards have given up on trying to catch the boys, instead fighting to unplug the livestream from the power plugs.

As the song draws to a close, you snatch the mic from its stand, departing the stage to crouch in front of the toppled over camera.

“Remember to watch the video and sign the petition!” You say with a grin, before you’re roughly grabbed by security who haul you towards the door. Chaos ensues as the last of the livestream captures the shouting and scuffle as you are all thrown from the practice room. One of the security pulls a plug and the livestream goes dead.

“Sorry Peter, we’re definitely getting suspended.” You sigh to the boy, who just sheepishly smiles at you in return.

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absentcaryatid · 1 year

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Yeosang's Weekly Visit

An ATEEZ fanfic by AbsentCaryatid

Catering to the fixation of the niece under your temporary guardianship leads to making new friends, and the possibility of more with the one who caught your interest.

2.3K words, Content note: all ages, gender neutral reader, mention of military service, food

The routine had become a highlight of your week. Awake earlier than other days, you stood in the driveway clutching a cup of coffee as the little girl at your side bounced with excitement. She was the reason you were out of bed at this hour. Ever since her preschool had taken a field trip to the recycling center, she had been entranced by the vehicles. The first time you had offered to wake her in time to see the truck that serviced your street, she had eagerly accepted. Now the day was circled in green marker on the calendar, and surprisingly, it had become something you both looked forward to.

“I see Yeosang and San,” she squealed. Rumbling down the street, San waved from the driver's seat of the massive recycling truck as Yeosang jumped off the back to pick up batteries set out for collection next door. He was easy to spot in a vibrant orange jumpsuit with arms tied around the waist. Muscles flexed in the sleeveless shirt as his gloved hands wrangled the bins ensuring enough space between for the truck to pick them up.

Sometimes riding in the cab, other times arriving hanging off the back with toned arms on display, Yeosang had become the reason you were just as pleased as your niece to be out here. If not for her you would have continued to miss their pass down the street, woken by the clamor of the bins then back to sleep never knowing the people behind such an important job.

Even without your own benefit of watching the attractive man at work, accommodating the newly discovered special interest was worth it to see your niece so happy. It had been tough ever since she had been placed in your temporary care by your single parent brother. Seonghwa knew he could have been exempted from military service due to his circumstances, but reasoning the duration was short and the training helpful for the leadership skills he could put on a resume weighed in favor of going. When you had talked it over with him and volunteered to be the guardian for your beloved niece, his difficult decision was made far easier.

The past month since she arrived had been going as well as could be expected. You had previously babysat regularly for Seonghwa and the guest room was practically your niece's anyway as often as she had stayed over in the past. Now it was truly hers for the next year and a half. Crayon art on construction paper lined the walls and the recently installed shelves were already groaning under the weight of all her picture books and toys. Seonghwa managed to make weekly video calls, but there was nothing like a father's hugs and being together in everyday ways like breakfast or time playing at the park.

The new men in her life could hardly replace her father, but you were thrilled there was even one thing guaranteed to brighten her time with you. Pulling up to your bins, San called out, “Good morning,” and your names through the open passenger window. Yeosang's greeting was more subtle, a smile aimed at you both. As always, your heart leapt. You could not help but admire him and were completely smitten. How could you not be? Yeosang was strong, competent, and incredibly attractive. San was too, of course, but there was something extra special about the man with the birthmark resembling a flower below his temple.

Once it was clear waiting and watching was a pattern, on an earlier visit the pair had introduced themselves and gotten your names in return. As the weeks went on you apologized for holding up their work but San demurred, claiming the brief stop to talk was just the break they needed. You appreciated the way both Yeosang and San took your niece seriously and would answer her questions about their job. When they did not have an answer, such as the time she wanted to know the truck's weight and payload size, they returned the next time with the information.

A thoughtful child, one day your niece had picked out a floppy stuffed animal cat as a gift for San so he would not be lonely in the cab when Yeosang was working outside the truck. The present was appreciated and San christened the toy Byeol on the spot. From then on Byeol was always seen on the dashboard, often with a neck ribbon in colors that varied from week to week. When you mentioned it on another visit, San explained his own daughter liked to give him ribbons for Byeol which he dutifully tied on. “You know what is like being a parent. You want to indulge your child in everything.”

You nodded. “I feel exactly the same about my niece.”

At the word niece Yeosang had turned toward you with interest, blurting out, “I assumed you were her parent.”

“I don't even have a boyfriend,” you laughed, missing the smile San gave Yeosang as your orientation and single status was hinted at. “She's on loan. I am her guardian while her father Seonghwa is in the military.”

San smoothly took the opportunity to ask if your niece wanted to sit in the cab and see how the truck operated and she excitedly clambered up with assistance. Conveniently left alone with Yeosang, he asked for your permission to give your niece a gift he had picked up. Pleased to know he thought about your little household when apart, you agreed.

Dashing back to the cab, Yeosang plucked a toy from behind the seat and offered it to the child. It was a recycling truck playset complete with bins and matching the logo of the sanitary district. Your niece was ecstatic and immediately asked to be helped down, then got to work loading gravel and leaves into the bins and emptying them into the truck.

“Yeosang, San, that was incredibly kind of you both to buy her that. You knew how meaningful it would be.” In a bit of wishful thinking that panned out beyond your wildest dreams, you made an offer. “May I invite you to a homemade dinner sometime as thanks?”

Acting as wingman to the friend he had heard go on dreamily about you, San corrected that the present was from Yeosang alone. “Besides, my partner expects me home at night for family meals, but he is always free,” San added while gesturing to his workmate. “Yeosang lives the lonely life of a single man.”

“San!” Yeosang was mortified and hung his head, but San could see by the way you lit up it was welcome news. Food preferences were briefly discussed and a date set before the guys had to continue their rounds.

The evening of Yeosang coming to dinner was added to the calendar with stars drawn around the date and a substantial number of favorite stickers from your niece's collection. It felt like a celebrity would be visiting the way both of you anticipated the event, for completely different reasons, of course.

Too excited to wait, your niece passed the time making a thank you card for Yeosang. The drawing on the front was a pretty close approximation of their recycling truck, at least for what a four-year-old could manage. While her toy came close, she wanted all the details so had worked from a photo brought up online from the sanitary district's website. While looking for the picture you needed, you had encountered an article showcasing Yeosang receiving an award for exemplary service. Impressed with his hard work and dedication, it only made you fall for him all the more as you repeatedly watched the accompanying video where he expressed pride in the important work he did.

When the day finally arrived, your niece met Yeosang with a hug and showed off the orange jumpsuit you had recently found for her. He admired the outfit. “I didn't know I was having dinner with an astronaut tonight.” It was a reasonable enough assessment, in fact that is what the clothes were sold for, plus you had not gotten around to removing the patches on it yet.

Her correction was cheerful and informed him she was in fact dressed to work on his recycling truck. Unperturbed by Yeosang's misidentification, she skipped toward the dining room to get the thank you card from the place set for him.

Smiling as you led Yeosang down the hall, you confided, “She wants to be just like you when she grows up.”

He paused. “I'm sorry. As much as I enjoy my work, there is probably so much more your niece could be than a trash collector.”

“No, not at all.” With complete honesty you announced, “I'd be proud if she went into your line of work, Yeosang. Your necessary career makes the world a better place, and you bring us both a smile every week. I have been so grateful for her interest in your truck and the way you and San have made time for her. She doesn’t have much since my brother Seonghwa has been away, and she now has to make do with me at my small place.”

It was now his turn to reassure you. “She appears very content in your care. From what I see, you are an excellent guardian.” He then became somber. “And thank you for speaking so highly of my work. Not everyone is that generous.”

“It is all true. I have a lot of admiration for you.” You wisely stopped there. It was best he did not hear that the admiration included his looks and physique.

Yeosang glowed from the unexpected praise. You could tell he was not used to his job being spoken of with such respect. It was clear his good mood continued throughout dinner as he interacted with your niece, listening to all the things she wanted to talk about interspersed with a barrage of new recycling questions.

By the time the late dinner was consumed your niece was already beginning to yawn. Her plea to have Yeosang read her a bedtime story was cut short. “Our guest was here to eat as a thank you for your present, not to help with bedtime, sweetie.” Looking to Yeosang, you realized he had done a favor more for you than himself tonight with all the entertainment he had provided. It made you even fonder of the kind man.

“I don't mind at all, if you don't.” Yeosang's warm smile was a genuine one. On your approval, he asked if she wanted to get in her pajamas or brush teeth first. Being given the choice was magical and she complied without complaint. Yeosang must have caught your impressed look. “San taught me that one,” he admitted. “It always works on his kids when I watch them from time to time.”

When your niece was ready, you moved to her bedroom and sat on either side on the bed. Yeosang seemed pleased by the picture book choice. He too had grown up on Tana Hoban's Dig, Drill, Dump, Fill and eagerly discussed the construction site photographs in the wordless book. The book was overly familiar from regular readings so your eyes watched Yeosang instead. Again you were struck at how easily he talked with a child and that ability went straight to your heart. Little put you off a person faster than someone who was dismissive of children, but you had known of Yeosang's patience from the very first interactions at the curb.

When her eyes could stay open no longer, Yeosang prematurely closed the book while you tucked her under the covers then snuck out. With the bedroom door now closed, you could mention the last plan for the evening. “If you have time for dessert, there is an espresso cake and I can put on coffee.”

You had feared this evening had already been too long for Yeosang, but he was openly favorable to the offer. “It would be a pleasure to spend more time in your company. We have never really had the chance to get to know each other.” He joined you in the kitchen as the coffee brewed. While not intending to, talk lasted for hours because it came so easily. You learned about his family, and he yours, and there were plenty of anecdotes that led to shared laughter. It was easy to see you could fall hard for Yeosang if he was open to that.

Still not ready for the evening to end, you finally remembered the espresso cake. Much to your surprise and delight, Yeosang expressed continued interest. Taking dessert to the living room, you made space for the plates on the coffee table, brushing aside tiny scraps of paper and dried Play-Doh to be loaded in toy bins of the recycling truck nearby. Seated side-by-side on the couch, you tried to think of anything but how close your crush was. “It was so sweet of you to buy her that truck, she loves it like nothing else. And then all your attention tonight...you spoil her, Yeosang.”

His eyes looked distant, as if lost in thought. Reaching for your hand, he confessed, “If it is not too forward, I’d like to spoil you too, if you would let me.”

Swooning at the news, you rushed to reassure Yeosang his approach was welcome, sealing the deal with the first kiss of many. Dates followed, and soon the decision was happily made to consider yourselves a couple, much to matchmaker San's delight.

Your niece was also thrilled by the change which led to Yeosang over regularly. By the time Seonghwa had finished his duties and could resume life at home with his child, she was already calling your partner Uncle Yeosang. Not much later the title was made official as she fulfilled her role as flower girl for your wedding. Seonghwa stood by your side, wholly enthusiastic about his new brother-in-law. The other best man was San, who by now had become an honorary uncle. His kids were frequent playmates of your niece whenever she visited. You had a lot to thank both San and your niece for after those early mornings at the curb unexpectedly led to such a joyful life with Yeosang.

Yeosang Masterlist

General Masterlist

#ATEEZ Fanfic #ATEEZ Fluff #Kpop Fanfic #Kpop Fluff #diverseinsertknet #gender neutral reader #Yeosang x reader #Yeosang x you #It was a rare day off #cross posted on ao3 #Yeosang #Kang Yeosang #ATEEZ Yeosang #ATEEZ

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mike-wachowski · 2 years

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you can tell a whole story with a taste- chapter 4 sneak peak

okay im gonna drop you like right in the middle of chapter 4, this isnt the beginning, but its the scene i thought people might be happiest seeing in full

“Everyone, be quiet.”

“Shut up, Sam, you’re louder than all of us over there.”

“I’m trying to move these balloons out of the way, Andrea, so I dont pop any of them when-”

Quiet!” Lena hisses, peeking through the blinds. The view she has is unfamiliar to her—Lena is so used to sneaking glances outside of Luxe’s windows at the familiar, brownstone restaurant, she hardly recognizes the look of her own restaurant across the street when she’s looking from inside of Zor-El’s. She makes a mental note to have Luxe Luthor’s windows cleaned soon—dust is starting to gather around the edges—and the sun is slowly pulling the color out of the umbrellas on her patio.

Lena reminds herself she isn’t concerned about her restaurant right now. She’s more concerned with the group of adults making their way to Zor-El’s doors, led, of course, by Kara.

“They’re coming!” She shouts to her staff. “Everyone get in position!”

Lena spins around and takes one final look at all of their hard work. Earlier, at three, Lena had snuck into Zor-El’s with their spare key (she had quietly nabbed it last night after a visit to Kara at closing) and brought her whole team along, and they had gotten to work: hanging streamers, blowing up balloons, and most importantly, cooking. Laid out amongst the confetti scattered on one of Zor-El’s longest dining tables are a wide array of buffet style platters: small tasting dishes like warm flatbreads, fresh hummus, sandwiches, fresh fruits, imported meats and cheeses, and specifically for Kara: potstickers, and margherita and homemade meatball pizzas. It’s a feast of epic proportions, one that Lena has spent the better part of the afternoon toiling over so everything for the party would be perfect.

All of this, because today is the one year anniversary of Zor-El’s opening to the public.

Lena still remembers when Kara had first moved into the ever-changing spot across from her own restaurant. Back then, she had had little interest in anything to do with fledgling chef Kara Danvers or her food. Back then, Lena had thought Kara would be gone within the next six months like every other restaurant that had come through.

But Kara had lasted. Kara stayed.

And everything had changed in that span of a year.

Lena pulls herself away from her errant thoughts as she watches Kara and the rest of Zor-El’s crew walk up to the front door. Kara pulls out her set of keys.

“Places, places!” Lena shouts. “They’re here!”

Lena pulls the curtain shut and then rushes to turn off all the lights. As the whole restaurant plunges into darkness, she hears the front doors open as Kara steps inside.

“Lena?” Kara calls out, confusion evident in her voice. “Are you here? I brought the crew, what’s the emergency-”

“Surprise!”

Lena quickly switches on all the lights, triggering the rest of her crew to pop out from their hiding spots and release a torrent of balloons, airhorns, and party poppers. The entire Luxe Luthor crew all shouts the “surprise” in unison, and as the Zor-El’s crew all flinches back in sudden shock, Lena watches in real time as Kara’s expression shifts from brief fear, to confusion, then recognition, and then pure, uncontrollable joy. Her eyes scan across the group, past Andrea, Eve, Sam, Jess and Jack, until they finally land on Lena.

“Did you do this?” She asks, eyes shining, voice filled with awe.

Lena chuckles. “Well, it was a group effort, of course.”

Sam won’t let her get away with that, though. She butts in, “Lena planned everything.”

“She’s been planning the surprise for weeks, truthfully.” Jack tacks on, unnecessarily.

Kara turns to her, and Lena expects to read skepticism, or confusion, but instead, Kara regards her with nothing but love on her face. “Is that true?”

Lena ducks her head down to avoid Kara’s gaze. “I—we wanted you all to have a proper celebration for your one year anniversary.”

In mere seconds, Kara has crossed the floor to step into Lena’s space and pull her into a tight-wrapped hug. Lena feels a brush of lips on her temple as Kara presses a soft kiss to her forehead, accentuated by an even softer squeeze to her sides.

“Thank you,” Kara whispers to her. “You didn’t have to do this.”

Lena pulls back slightly so she can look Kara in the eyes. “I’m so proud of you,” she tells her. “You and the rest of Zor-El’s work so hard. I wanted to recognize that.”

“Thank you,” Kara presses another feather light kiss to Lena’s forehead before she leans back to survey not only the decorations that have completely overtaken the dining room, but also the wide spread of food on display. As her eyes trace the covered tables, Lena watches as they grow exponentially with each passing dish.

The rest of Zor-El’s crew have also noticed the food, gravitating towards it as they are greeted by Jack, Sam, Andrea and Jess. As they all begin to grab plates and bowls, Alex walks over to her and Lena extricates herself from Kara’s grip to shake her hand as she stands to meet her. Truthfully, Lena isn’t exactly sure where she still stands with Kara’s sister—the first and only real interaction she’s ever had with her, other than the occasional greeting or small talk on the way to Kara, was that night in the restaurant when Lena nearly stabbed Kara and resulted in the firing of one of her chefs. So she figures a professional, confident approach is probably best in this situation.

“Chef Danvers-” she greets, hand outstretched. Alex immediately swats her arm away and pulls her in for another hug. Lena lets out a small meep in surprise.

“Not bad, Luthor,” Alex chuckles before pulling away, clapping her tenderly on the shoulder. “The crew of Zor-El’s appreciates it. Now I was perusing your drinks selection, and I failed to notice any whiskey-”

“I have a sixteen-year aged Lagavulin in the back with your name on it,” Lena assures her. She came prepared for this exact moment. She looks at Kara, gesturing to the arms still around her waist. “If you’ll allow me to go and grab it, Kara?”

Kara looks down at where she still hasn’t released her grip on Lena, then blushes slightly as she retracts her hands. “Sorry,” she mutters, slightly embarrassed, and it makes Lena smile.

She places a hand on Kara’s arm and squeezes in its place. “Don’t worry,” she promises. “I’ll be right back.”

Lena gestures for Alex to follow her past the small party and into the kitchen where the Lagavulin is hidden. Lena had to hide it specifically from Jack and Sam, who had nearly jumped her for it when they saw it in Lena’s bag earlier. She goes to grab the bottle from the proving drawer where it's been stashed, then brings it out to the counter, pulling down two whiskey glasses as well. Lena cracks the seal on the bottle and pours out a generous splash for both Alex and herself.

“To Zor-El’s success,” Lena toasts, tapping her glass against Alex’s.

“And to yours as well,” Alex toasts, dipping her head to Lena before speaking again. “And to good friends.”

Lena hides her smile with a well placed sip. The Lagavulin is smokey and strong, and warms Lena’s throat and tongue as she sips it down. She mentally claps herself on the back as Alex finishes her sip and nods to herself in appreciation.

“So when are you going to tell my sister you’re in love with her?”

Lena nearly spits out her whiskey.

“What—what the fuck—” she stammers, choking down the last of her drink at Alex’s sudden outburst. “I’m not—I’m definitely not in love with your sister, I—”

Alex raises her hand. “Don’t bother. I already talked to Sam.”

Of course. Lena sighs. “Fucking Sam.”

“Yep.” Alex eyes her over the rim of her glass as she takes another drink. “So what’s the deal with you and Kara?”

Lena stares into her whiskey glass, hoping the last ounces of her drink might contain the answer to that question. They don’t, which forces her to come up with one on her own.

“Kara’s my best friend,” she settles on, even though the sentiment feels like a hollow reflection of what Kara truly is to her. “She’s funny, and stubborn, and so, so genuinely kind, and I’ve only truly known her for a year.” She shakes her head. “I hated her, you know? Truthfully, I didn’t think you all would last longer than six months, no offense. So I thought, why get attached? But she kept inviting me to things, she sent me food, and even after that she was so persistent about being friends with me.”

Lena frowns into her glass. “I just keep wondering, why me? What could she possibly want from me, and if she doesn’t want anything, then—is it too much to hope that maybe she… she feels the same way I do?”

Alex studies Lena for a moment, contemplating her words. She takes a slow sip of her whiskey before speaking again.

“Did Kara ever tell you how she learned to cook?”

Lena pauses. “She told me she was helping Ms. Grant with a show abroad and she was enamored with the way one of the chefs showed the crew how she made potstickers,” she tells Alex, remembering the story Kara told her at the farmers market when they went so long ago. “She said after that, she basically went door to door to all the places they had visited and begged the chefs there to teach her.”

Alex nods along, a slight smile forming as Lena tells the story to the best of her recollection.

“That’s the thing about Kara,” Alex replies, her voice provoking in a way that strangely reminds Lena of when Kara is goading her into a joke. “When Kara loves something, she goes after it. She never gives up.”

Alex raises her eyebrows at Lena.

She shakes her head. “I’m not following.”

“Damn, you two are idiots,” Alex groans. “Lena, when Kara first set up Zor-El’s here, what did she do?”

Lena hates this, truthfully. She knows the answer Alex is digging for. “She sent us an invitation to her grand opening.”

Alex rolls her eyes. “Not ‘us’, Lena, you. That invite was addressed specifically to you.”

Lena’s grip on her glass tightens.

“And when you came into the restaurant that one time, unannounced, and Kara sent you out with that matcha pudding—Lena, that's not even a menu item.”

Lena’s breath hastens, and she rubs a nervous finger along the grooved engraving of her glass. “But she doesn’t--that doesn’t mean she-”

“Lena,” Alex cuts her off, stern older-sister voice stopping Lena in a way she didn’t think was possible. “You threatened her with a knife, and still she forgave you. She wouldn’t do that for just anyone. She chased after you. She didn't give up. ”

“Oh,” Lena mutters. She doesn’t get it. Alex is hammering the puzzle pieces into place for her, she knows, but it still feels so hard to believe. The idea that Kara could love her, maybe has, for a very long time, is so unthinkable, so incredible, and yet—

“Could she really?”

“She can, Lena,” Alex assures her, placing a hand on her shoulder and squeezing tight. It’s warm, in a gentle, familial way that Lena realizes is so unfamiliar to her, so wanted; it warms Lena’s chest and draws tears to her eyes.

“I love her, Alex.”

“We all know, you big dumbass,” the woman across from her laughs, and then she looks at Lena with something softer than the rough teasing. “So go get her.”

Alex stands up from the counter, grabbing the Lagavulin to take with her, and then Lena is alone in the kitchen with just the lingering buzz of the whiskey, and Alex’s advice, to keep her company.

She rejoins the party, eventually. Sam sends her a questioning look when she exits the kitchen, and when Lena just nods in the direction of Alex and Kara, who are chatting with more of their friends, Sam nearly squeals in excitement.

“Did Alex finally talk to you?” Sam immediately asks, pulling up next to Lena.

“Finally?” Lena sputters. “How long have you two been going behind my back about this?”

“You don’t want to know!” Sam sings, before wandering back to the group. She’s loud enough to draw attention back to Lena, and Kara catches her eye as she makes her way back to the group.

“Hey,” Kara greets her, breaking away from her conversation to meet her halfway. “You okay? You were talking to Alex for a while in there.”

Go get her. Go get her. Go get her.

“Everything’s alright,” Lena reassures her. Alex’s words ring loudly in her head, and running off of the confidence Kara’s sister has magically instilled in her, Lena takes a page out of Kara’s book. Just this once, she knocks. “Actually, I was thinking about getting some air. Care to join me?”

Kara looks surprised at the sudden proposition, for likely a dozen reasons—the whole party was Lena’s idea in the first place, and they’ve truly only been here for a few minutes. Kara turns and looks back towards Alex, trying to catch her attention to see if it’s okay to leave. Lena catches Alex flashing Kara a thumbs up even before she can call out to her to ask.

“I’m all good to get out of here,” Kara says. “Where to, Ms. Luthor?”

Lena takes Kara’s hand.

“I know just the place.”

#mike writes #supercorp #supercorp fic #rival chefs au #okay okay okay sneak peak time #i promise its coming I SWEAR im just juggling so much stuff rn #so until then :D

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hereathemoment · 1 year

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Better Man pt. 2

After the war, Nesta had slowly begun building upon the limited magic advice Amren had given her by studying ancient texts shelved within the pit of the House of Wind’s library. But reading could only take her so far in her practice before she had to admit she needed someone more experienced to guide her during her training, which led to her striking up an agreement with Eris during one of his mutinous visits to the Court of Nightmares. In exchange that Nesta be the one to defeat Beron should Rhysand manage to weasel out of their bargain, Eris had agreed to give Nesta magic lessons on taming her silver flames. “An insurance policy,” Eris had said. By now, Beron has been long in his grave and her and Eris’s relationship has since shifted from one of political strategy to one with enduring affection. Although she has surpassed the limits of Eris’s magical abilities too far now for them to train together, Nesta still enjoys dancing amongst the heat of his flames when they celebrate Autumn holidays together. There would certainly be no celebration for today’s milestone, though. She doubts it will be acknowledged at all.

Today marks five years since the day she first met Cassian. She wonders if he’s noticed; if the significance of today is imprinted on his heart the way it is imprinted on hers. If he awoke with more affection for the day, with more happiness in his step, as she has. The delightfully bitter scent of black coffee wafts beneath her nose as she pours herself a cup before walking to the large window facing her kitchen. Her fancy apartment is so deep into the mountains, it’s hard not to feel romance in the seclusion, not to feel calm watching brightness enter the night sky. It’s always during these pockets of happiness that Nesta remembers her desire for Cassian to be beside her, for them to share these moment of peace together. But these moments are fleeting, and his love proved too fickle to endure. Still, although the shadows hum in her presence and her magic sings throughout her blood, Nesta can recall one moment beyond herself where she felt truly safe. I will stand on that battlefield again, Nesta Archeron, to protect his house—your people. I can think of no better way to end my existence than to defend those who need it most. That was another promise Cassian made to her all those years ago. But that house had been turned to rubble and when she needed him most, he stood by and watched as she crumbled too. Even so… he’s Cassian. Cassian, who fought unconscious and near-death to reach for her when she was forced into hell. Cassian, who checked on her day after day when she was first Made despite her best attempts to push him away. She wonders whether she’ll ever stop caring for who he once was to her, for who they could’ve been together.

Although her frequent therapy sessions had dwindled to where she only meets with Ms. Shellwood once each month, her recurrent nightmare of darkness smothering her bones until they turn to dust had made Nesta book a session earlier than scheduled. Nesta confided in Ms. Shellwood brief glimpses of her trauma from Tomas and the Cauldron, and in return her therapist suggested she train her body in addition to her mind. “You’ve mastered the magic thrumming in your veins, but now you must take back possession of your body. Your body is yours to wield Nesta, hone it until your bones are shielded by your muscles.” Several more restless nights passed before Nesta finally yielded and decided to incorporate self-defense lessons into her weekly routine. Opting for privacy from Azriel’s shadows, she had little choice but to reach out to Cassian about being her instructor. His eagerness at her suggestion rattled the tender part of her heart that cared for him still. She goes into the city for private studio time at a local dance club a few times during the week, and Cassian agreed to train her after her Tuesday sessions. They hadn’t spoken in months-- Is it fate that they would meet face-to-face for the first time in forever, today of all days? Nesta quickly shoos the thought from her mind and prepares for the day as she would any other.

#nesta archeron

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tryan-a-bex · 1 year

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Pottery; or, Function, Purpose, and Heart

Why is Destruction called Joe?

Read on ao3

It was a quaint little town, between the mountains and the ocean, the kind of well-preserved quaint you see in towns that mostly run off tourist money. Hob, Dream, and Joe had arrived a couple weeks earlier and settled into a little two bedroom above a convenient pub, the kind with lots of local character and a friendly landlord. Hob and Dream explored the area, Hob chatting up the locals while Dream listened to their stories with that amused twitch to his lips that wasn’t quite a smile but also wasn’t quite not, either. Joe proudly shared his latest mediocre painting with them at the end of every day. They were a far better audience than Barnabas, though he wasn’t sure if that was because his painting had improved, because they liked him better, or just because they were so in love everything took on a rosy glow, even his amateurish painting.

Hob had joined him not long after Dream. Joe was happy to have him; maybe not quite as ecstatic as he’d been when Dream appeared, having finally found his way out of the knot of “change or die” he’d been trapped in; but Hob made Dream content and that was enough for Joe to welcome him wholeheartedly. As Dream always called him Brother, the issue of a name hadn’t come up before Hob arrived. But when asked, he found that the name Delirium gave him last time they were together suited him just fine. Dream talked about taking a new name as well, but in the end Hob was going to call him Dream, as a pet name if nothing else, and Joe called him Brother, so he just used Tom on the rare occasion it was necessary with strangers and left it at that. Hob had arrived with the personally delivered greetings of their sister, not the youngest but the elder. After joining them in his dreams for some time, he had finally asked her if joining them permanently was an option for his afterlife, and upon receiving a positive answer, he finally took her hand. It had been a lovely family reunion, if brief, and she went home with permission for Delirium to visit them occasionally as well.

Today, Joe painted through the fading afternoon light, putting the final touches on the streetscape with urban tree he was working on. He was fascinated with the interplay of nature and humanity’s creations, the unavoidable growth and decay juxtaposed with the incessant variety of human life. It never came out how he wanted it, but well, that was art, wasn’t it?

A clatter on the stairs jolted him from his work, the door bursting open just as he put down his brush, Hob and Dream shattering the quiet with laughter and talk. He truly never had seen his brother so happy.

“C’mon, Joe!” Hob grabbed his arm. “Time to take a break and come get some dinner with us!”

“Ah, is that what you’ve been painting today?” Dream put in. “It looks familiar, like something I’ve seen in a dream.”

“No, silly! It’s the road outside the window! You saw it today!” guffawed Joe.

“Brilliant!” said Hob, looking out the window and back and forth to the painting. “I see what you’ve done!”

“No,” Joe complained, “it’s missing something. My art is always missing something, and I don’t know what.” His mouth turned down, but seeing his roommates’ attention on him he realized he was making the mood sombre and gave them a hearty smile.

“How about that dinner, then?”

That night as Joe cleaned his brushes and prepared his canvas for the next day, he heard Dream and Hob talking in the next room. They sounded more scheme-y and less lovey-dovey than usual, but surely that was none of his business. As he settled in for the night, he once again began turning around in his head his own knotty problem. What was wrong with his art? Why was his life unsatisfying? What was he missing, that would fill that ache?

The next day, Joe was up early, packing his brushes, paint and canvas for a short walk to some scenic location nearby, which he would know when he saw it. Hob stumbled into the kitchenette, grasping for the coffeemaker, as he began to put everything into his pack. He was about ready to head out when Hob, finally partially caffeinated, stopped him.

“Hey, Joe, we were wondering if you’d hang with us today. Hold on while I bring Dream his coffee.”

Joe considered the request as Hob slid into the bedroom, greeting his lover cheerfully yet softly as Dream groaned and reached for his coffee. Joe really did love these two, but sometimes he felt like a third wheel. And surely, his art would only improve with practice and maybe today would be the day he found his spark.

“I’m all ready to go, why don’t you two just enjoy your day again today,” he responded, loudly, toward the bedroom.

“Brother,” he heard, and then Dream’s head poked around the door, “we have a plan. It involves you. Wait.”

Fine, then he was going to make some more toast while he waited. Soon Hob and Dream appeared, somewhat more presentable and awake than previously. They joined him for the toast and a few eggs Hob said he fried up “for strength for new adventures.” That didn’t sound ominous at all, Joe thought darkly. What were these two up to now?

Feeling bare without his backpack, which they’d persuaded him to leave behind, Dream and Hob led him downstairs and up the street. Joe had spent enough time wandering aimlessly that he didn’t bother asking where they were going. It was enough to enjoy the beautiful day. So it was a bit grey and rainy (not the real rain, the kind you can stop with an umbrella, but the kind these sea coast areas seemed to get so much, the kind that hangs in the air and you breathe it). Every kind of weather is necessary and therefore beautiful, and the play of light and water is art, in all its many forms, Joe maintained. Though he would also be okay with going inside and getting dry.

Finally Hob pulled him to the right as Dream held a door open. The small shop they had entered was full of shelves of little clay figurines and cups and bowls, and some fantastic vases, in many colours but also, many of them, in no colour at all. In one corner, a potter turned a vase on a wheel, and at the back a door led to a large and mysterious workspace. The centre of the room was filled with tables where a couple customers molded or glazed little objects.

“I’ve tried a lot of things in my day” Hob explained earnestly, “and we were talking about you last night” (ah, so they had been scheming, Joe concluded) “and Dream remembered this little place we walked by, and apparently they do classes, and let people work on their own, if you want, and they provide the clay and fire it for you.” (For a reasonable price, it is a tourist town, after all, Joe thought, seeing the pricing list.)

“We just thought.” Dream stated, his deep, slow voice drawing stares from the few customers present, “that you might be happier. Did your art contain. More of your element.”

Joe looked around in confusion, not seeing any sign of “his element” in this lovely, well organized shop. Then, as his eyes drifted past, the vase on the potter’s wheel started to wobble, and without any warning, she smacked it down. Scraping it off the wheel, she took it to a nearby table and started to violently pound it. Suddenly noticing his attention, she looked up and smiled.

“When it goes wonky, there’s nothing for it but to start over with wedging it. It gets all the bubbles out so you can work it again,” she explained.

“But, it’ll work next time, right?” Joe asked, finding it hard to believe how cheerfully she’d started over from scratch.

“Oh no, it may take dozens of tries to get a nice piece. And it won’t necessarily be the one I’m aiming for! If you can’t deal with starting over, there are other forms of pottery that you may enjoy, but the wheel will be frustrating.”

“Not all at,” Joe replied, feeling something loosen in his chest. “I think the pottery wheel might be just the thing I’m looking for.”

A couple weeks later, Joe returned from his latest pottery class feeling still somewhat effervescent. He entered the apartment to a scene of utter chaos.

“Oh, hi, Joe!” exclaimed Hob from the pile of magazines and newspapers he was sitting beside, and on, and maybe a little under.

“I apologize for the disorder,” Dream intoned, looking around at the leaves and twigs and, was that glitter?!? surrounding him.

“You’d better apologize, if that’s glitter I see!” Joe knew about glitter. It was the devil’s art supply. Once was enough!

“It’s okay!” Hob laughed, “it’s glitter glue! The craft supply store lady said it’s much easier to clean up than actual glitter!”

“What in the hells are you doing?” Joe really, really wanted to know.

“Well, we walked past a school, you know,” Hob began.

“The children were collecting bits of nature,” Dream continued. (They were starting to do that, Joe realized. Finish each other’s sentences. It was a good thing.)

“We were so curious, so we asked the teacher,” Hob explained.

“They are making collage, she said” Dream went on.

“And so she ran inside to get her example from last year to show us—“

“The children. Shared their dreams. For their creations.”

“We decided it would be fun to try it! The library had discarded magazines for free! But we may have spent some money at the craft store—“

“Don’t tell him how much.”

“And we found some neat leaves and twigs and things in the park, it was so much fun!”

“The passersby were amused.”

“Would you like to join us?” Hob finished, with a rush, handing him a pair of scissors.

It looked like they were using a stiff paper for a canvas, and cutting shapes out of the magazines. The newspapers were for putting underneath while they glued bits and pieces, both of magazine and of nature, onto the canvas.

“Hmmm” Joe pondered. And then waded into the mess and started flipping through magazines.

Inspiration struck, and three hours later Joe added the finishing touches to a three foot high face which strangely resembled his youngest sister. As he turned around, in utter satisfaction both from the creating and the cutting that had come before, the scraps of paper and various materials left all over the floor began to swirl and rise in a spiral to take form—as Delirium.

“You called, my Brother?!” she asked, practically dancing up and down.

“Would you like some tea?” he asked, enveloping her in a hug as big as the sky.

Next: Tom, Dick and Harry

Notes : The three foot high collage face was made by a classmate of mine once and it was astounding.

This was inspired by reading the comics, fanfics by so many awesome writers on Tumblr*, and my brother’s visit from Korea.

*including but not limited to: @softest-punk (softestpunk on ao3), @themirokai (mirokai on ao3), @avelera, @cuubism, @qqueenofhades

Thank you to @greebledrat (discord) and AnneMcSommers (ao3) for beta reading!

#dreamling #the sandman #dream of the endless #hob gadling #destruction of the endless #delirium of the endless #pottery #collage #the wake #endless nights #the sandman comics spoilers #the sandman fanfic #tryana find it back

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jade-escobar · 1 year

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When We Weren’t Looking | Para

Featuring: Jade Clark with mentions of @rodrigo-esc , Clover Wilson & Jeanette Shapiro Location: San Francisco, CA Time Frame: Sun. to Mon. April 23/24, 2023 Notes: Some Jadrigo cuteness! And Jeanette. 🙄

Jade had been her happiest she could recall feeling over the past month. Her professional and personal lives were both in marvelous places. Not only had Fresh Start Catering been thriving and nearing the debut of its food truck, but she had a solid, reliable and talented crew supporting her and the business. Adding to that, the pure bliss of her being in love for the first time and Jade was moving a bit lighter, smiling more genuinely and enjoying her days more.

When it came to her happiness and her being in love, it didn’t take long for her crew to pick up on it. She’d been a bit coy and evasive during the first week of their relationship. The next week, however, during Spring Break when Rodrigo spent the week at her apartment and the two of them had been texting each other often, her discretion had gone out of the window. Rodrigo’s visit toward the end of her work day on one of the days just added to it with Andrea giving a playfully sung, “Ooooooo” with the heart eyes the new couple was giving each other. Of course she was actually happy for the two of them.

With Hamilton now closed, Jade enjoyed the overnight stay at her boyfriend’s place. She hadn’t really been there before, but she knew from a previous photo in their texts that she loved Rodrigo’s bedroom. She’d talked to him some more about the many books he had shelved. At some point, she noticed a few cat accessories stored a little bit away with no cat, which led to a brief mention of Julia. Gleaning it was a bit of a sore subject, Jade moved away from it and asked him to show her the rest of his place within the home.

It’d been late by the time they were done walking around Rodrigo’s part of the home. They were both a bit wired from the show when they’d arrived, but both of them had to be up early and had to get ready for bed. Jade went through her nighttime routine and with her phone charging for the night on a portable power bank, she’d pulled up a playlist of some easygoing R&B and soul songs. Cuddled face-to-face in Rodrigo’s bed, she lightly traced her fingers along his hairline and the shell of his ear, all while sharing some tender pecks on the lips with him until sleep overtook affection.

- - - - -

By the next morning, Jade had quietly gotten up and ready for the day, trying not to wake Rodrigo. Her work days almost always started earlier than his. But she’d had herself fully dressed in her typical catering attire with her box braids pulled back in a low ponytail. Her make-up was done in natural tones across her face and a pale pink shade of gloss on her lips. Once she had her belongings collected in her bag, she bent over Rodrigo on his side of the bed and whispered, “I love you. I’ll call you later.” She kissed him on his temple and turned to go, only to gasp and feel herself being tugged backward by the hem of her jacket. Jade recovered from the surprise and let out a small squeal at Rodrigo’s arm snaking around her and pulling into the bed.

Jade laughed a bit when he lazily kissed at her cheek and neck. “I have to go to work!” she lightly whined, not even fighting him. In fact, she’d been grinning and let out a happy sigh at first, but eventually, after a few returned kisses that left some lip gloss-stained impressions on Rodrigo’s face, Jade had to insist that he let her get going. “I’ll see you later, sweetheart.” And with that, she’d left with smile on her whole face.

Her work day ended up being busy, working with her crew on existing orders, taking in new ones, and scheduling interviews to hire two more employees for the addition of the food truck. She took a break to call Rodrigo during his prep period, keeping the call as brief as possible so not to disrupt his work day too much. At that time, she’d also made sure to drink plenty of water and consumed a granola bar and a small garden salad in the tiny office space where she handled the logistical side of the business. Towards the end of the day, Jade frosted and decorated a sheet cake for a company celebrating an employee’s retirement. She and Andrea were the last to leave for the day, locking up and bidding each other goodbye with promises to see the other the next day.

Upon arriving to her apartment complex, Jade brought her overnight bag and a brown paper bag with some extra pineapple coconut scones for Rodrigo and Clover. Before she reached the stairs leading to hers and Clover’s unit, however, she saw Rodrigo was there and her smile returned immediately. While she knew she would be seeing him after work, him being there ahead of her had been a pleasant surprise. And the fact that he’d been waiting outside of the complex told her that Clover wasn’t there to let him in. That, or he was simply waiting for her.

The butterflies started up inside of her again at the thought of the latter.

Jade walked right up to him, letting her tote bag drop to the ground as soon as they were in front of each other. As soon as Rodrigo bent to accommodate her petite height, she stood on her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck--one hand still gripping the bag of scones. She kissed him full on the lips and then let him know that she had some leftovers for him and Clover. She’d started to reach for her tote that held her overnight items but Rodrigo picked it up before her and gave her an affectionate bop on her ass once she led the way up the stairs. Jade giggled a little and shook her head at him, all the while wondering how much she loved this man.

- - - - -

Throughout the entire exchange at the bottom landing of Jade and Clover’s apartment, it seemed that both Jade and Rodrigo were blissfully unaware that they were being watched. In fact, a few minutes prior to Jade’s arrival, Rodrigo was being watched but was of little concern until Jade showed up and walked right into his arms. It was at that point that several bells and alarms went off, photos were snapped from a distance, and a phone call was made.

“I didn’t really know what you were wanting me to watch for but did you know that she’s seeing someone now?”

On the other end of the line, there was a beat of silence, followed by the sharp, single response of Jeanette Shapiro reacting, “What!?”

“It’s unmistakable. She and this man had their arms around each other and were kissing each other. And then they went up to her apartment together.”

“Who is he?”

“I don’t know. He doesn’t look like anyone whom you or I would know. Jade certainly seems comfortable with him.”

Another beat of silence. This one seemed to stretch on longer than the last before Jeanette asked, “What, exactly, does he look like?”

“I’d say somewhere between five-ten and six feet, Latino, short black hair, close-trimmed facial hair. Ears stick out a little but not much. Not like Will Smith. I have a picture but I don’t think it would be enough to identify him.”

Jeanette remained silent for a little while longer, but it seemed that she was waiting to receive the photo. Once she spoke up again, her voice seemed tighter, icier. “I know exactly who it is. Who he is.”

“You do? Okay...so... do I need to do some digging on him or something? Do you want me to continue watching Jade’s apartment?”

“No, don’t waste your time. Now that I know who she’s seeing, I can take care of things from here. She will not embarrass me.”

#When We Weren't Looking para

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slowtravelingcat · 5 months

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New toys, new cats, new year

Monday, December 28th, 2020

CAL - It’s Sunday afternoon and the large, bald one and I are lounging on the couch. This week started out like any other week; Michele worked on her laptop most of the day, while I naped and occasionally patrolled the windows for invading cats. So far, I have only encountered one invader, which was easily scared off with a few low pitched meows.

Later in the week, however, things took a strange turn. The large, bald one started to leave the house for unusually long periods of time; in fact, on Thursday and Friday, she was gone for most of the day. At first, I took it personally. I wondered what I had done wrong, but then, as time progressed, I started to learn to enjoy my own company. After all, I am a pretty cool cat.

Late on Friday night, Michele finally returned and I was pleasantly surprised to see that she was bearing gifts! She handed me 2 new toys, effectively doubling my earthly possessions.

I was so excited, I didn’t know where to start. One toy is soft, lightweight, and fluffy. The other one is denser but smells of the sweetest combination of grass and flowers that I have ever experienced. I wanted to be consumed by the smell and rubbed my head against the new toy until we started to merge as one. That night I snuggled next to my new, favorite toy and slept like a kitten.

This morning, however, something unexpected happened. Michele brought 2 large, bald cats into our tiny house. This was the first time that she had ever brought other living beings into our space, so I immediately felt worried.

I sat on the top shelf of the bookcase to observe. The first thing I noticed, was that they both smelled the same as Michele. At a closer glance, they even looked similar. I deduced they must be friendly cats, but still needed time to solidify my stance. It took a while, but eventually, I climbed down to investigate. My interaction with the newcomers was brief, but I could already tell they would fit in well.

As the sun started to set, the newcomers left and Michele and I settled onto the couch for some evening TV. It seems as though things are almost back to normal.

MICHELE - It’s the Sunday after Christmas and we are already halfway through the holidays. I can’t believe how fast time flies! I spent most of Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with my parents. The days were filled with amazing food, good wine, and conversation.

A few gifts were exchanged and both Cal and I got exactly what we wanted. After hearing me talk non-stop about my best friend and travel companion, my parents came to visit me and Cal at the tiny house earlier today. The visit was brief, but I could tell that Cal had an affinity for them both.

Just as 2020 comes to an end, our time in Austin is starting to dwindle. We are already planning our next move… who knows what new adventures await in 2021!

#cats #digital nomad #slow travel #travel

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calamityandme · 10 months

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Dear diary (lol),

Today has been very good. I got to sleep in finally. I woke up at 11:15 and had a brief moment of, “oh shit, can I do that?” but snapped out of it.

I made coffee and showed Danny how I like my coffee so he can make me some hahaha. After drinking a cup of strong café bustelo I started working on the house. Sundays are my cleaning days.

I started with arguably one of the hardest chores today, something I’ve been wanting to do for a while since I’m preparing for our families to visit the house later this month; vacuuming out the air conditioner grates.

It hadn’t been cleaned probably since we’ve moved here, over four years ago. Some people would be mortified by me saying that, others would probably question why I’m cleaning a rental that hardcore. I’m doing it now, that’s what matters. Not that Danny’s parents are going to come over and immediately look at my grates. I worry that little things like that are secretly making the house smell bad.

While cleaning the grates i had to empty the shop vac out multiple times because it kept getting stuck with thick wads of dark gray dust and fibers. I also found what I think was a molded McDonald’s French fry. I was actually amazed because I’ve never seen a molded McDonald’s fry before. I wondered how fucking long that fry had been in that grate before fate decided I would obsess over cleaning something long enough to eventually do it.

After the grates I vacuumed the inside of the couch, vacuumed the living room twice as well as the kitchen, bathroom and second bedroom. I mopped the kitchen, bathroom and second bedroom. I didn’t want to bother with our room this time (trying to convince myself that’s fine). Then I tidied the living room and kitchen, gathered all the trash, did two loads of laundry, cleaned the bathroom and filled the essential oil diffusers. Changed both litter boxes and replaced with fresh litter. Danny did some more dishes also which I appreciate.

It’s a small thing, but I also moved a succulent onto our coffee table in the living room. I think it makes the house look nice. We have a lot of plants but most of them are on the porch during the summer and the rest are next to the best windows in the house for light.

I’m trying really hard to make the house smell alright. Not that I think it reeks right now. I just know people become smell blind when they live in a home for a while. I don’t want my mom to come over and think, “smells like weed and old produce,” y’know?

Now that I’m pretty much done with cleaning for the day I’m kind of not sure what to do. I’m trying to remember desires that are not productive/cleaning related.

I thought about baking earlier but now my energy is running out. It’s almost 7 PM and my body is slowing down. I might sort laundry, maybe watch a show and play the Switch. Take a bath. I don’t know.

I finished my Graveyard Book. It was a really good book. I really enjoyed listening to Neil Gaiman’s narration. I wish Bod and Scarlet could have stayed friends, but I imagine that after Nobody traveled out of the cemetery he found a good life with people to spend time with.

Now I’m starting a new audiobook. The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller. So far I’m hooked. I started listening to it today and I’m already 25% done with it (almost listened to three hours just while cleaning). I like the storytelling in this book, the gay tension and the Greek influences.

Tomorrow I’m going to try to not do much. That’s what I try to do when I don’t work on Mondays anyway. I have to schedule down days often for myself, otherwise I will keep going until I breakdown. My fuse is so much shorter than it used to be, I used to tolerate so much more. I just have to have time to lay in bed or stare at the wall and exist. It recharges me so I can do what I need to throughout the week.

I hope anyone reading this has had a good weekend 🩵

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heliads · 3 years

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Crows

Everyone has a symbol on their palm that somehow relates to your soulmate. You have a crow, which led to you joining the Dregs in Ketterdam. Every Dreg has a soulmate symbol that in no way relates to you- except Kaz Brekker, as no one has seen his palm at all.

masterlist

You stare at the crow inked into your palm. It stares back at you.

You hesitate for a second longer, then snap your hand shut, letting the unblinking eyes of the black bird disappear back behind your fingers. This is the price of a soulmate, of wandering too far from your home and never finding the one person you were meant to belong to. This is the price of being a canal rat, a Grisha, of being anybody still foolish enough to believe in a soulmate in the midst of all this darkness.

Soulmates may technically be real, but people only believe in them as much as they do Inej’s Saints, or anybody else’s long-held dreams. Between the wars and Shadow Folds springing up across the world, it’s getting pretty hard for anyone to find their soulmate at all. It’s supposed to be simple- one mark on each person’s palm to designate their soulmate, a mark that will disappear at the first touch of their hand on yours. Sometimes, you wonder what mark would be on your soulmate’s skin: a flame or sparking coal, maybe, for your branch of the Small Science, or a skull, for all the death that seems to shadow your path.

The crow has been on your palm for as long as you can remember, as long as anyone has ever had a soulmate. It was there when you were born, but judging by your trend in luck, it’ll probably be there until the day you die. Soulmates aren’t for girls like you, girls who flee their homes to trade a life amongst the Grisha for a death in the gray-streaked streets of Ketterdam.

You were born an Inferni, that much is true. You witnessed the Ravkan civil war, and you were there to flee it for safer tides. You weren’t sure what cruel twist of fate landed you in Ketterdam, one of the worst places for a Grisha, but you were at least able to keep your identity a secret. You’d seen what happened to the luckless Grisha trapped inside neverending indentures, and you know what tortures would await you if word of your firestarting habit got out. So, you never spoke a word, and pretended you were just another otkazat’sya traveler in need of safe harbors.

You hadn’t been wandering the canals long before your path turned into the Barrel. It wasn’t an intentional choice, just an eventual fate that you would end up in the worst part of the twisting sidestreets. There was no escaping the Barrel, not unless you were a wealthy mercher or some other lucky sap who the Saints blessed with the ability to avoid getting dragged down into the muck like everyone else. You learned the names and locations of all the gangs like everyone else: Black Tips, Dime Lions, and most notably, the Dregs.

Your breath had caught in your chest when you heard of them. They frequented the Crow Club, some were called the crows themselves, their leader had a crow on his cane. Everything seemed to point in a glaringly obvious arrow towards your soulmate mark: a crow for a crow. Where else could you have ended up?

You knew better now. You had met Kaz Brekker, the boy with the crow cane, and you knew that any chance of finding a soulmate among his crew was near impossible. You had been walking home after dark one night when you found yourself set upon by a duo of thugs. Not Dregs, possibly Dime Lions with a bone to pick, angry that the Dregs had such control over the pigeons of Fifth Harbor. They had been expecting an easy mark, somebody they could thunk over the head with a pair of brass knuckles and walk away without a scratch. They weren’t expecting you to beat them into the dust in a matter of seconds.

No matter your status or location, you were still a Grisha, and you’d been trained by Botkin long enough to be able to defend yourself. When the goons were finally laid at your feet, unconscious, you had allowed yourself a moment to smile. It was easy to feel low, a gutter rat in the canals of Ketterdam, but being able to use your fists again almost reminded you of the training halls at the Little Palace.

Enjoying this one brief memory, though, was a slip that you shouldn’t have made. When you looked up, you weren’t alone- a boy stood before you, gloved hands clasped over a crow’s head cane. You didn’t particularly know who he was, or make the connection between him and the Dregs, and moved to get out of the alleyway before he decided to make the same mistake as the thugs. He had slid his cane in front of you, fast as lightning, stopping you in your place. “I think we should speak about your future in Ketterdam.”

You were annoyed at this sudden interruption. “I think you should leave me alone.” You had retorted, using your hand to move his cane back in front of him. You had also been irritated, both by the fight and this boy’s brashness, and slipped your hand into his pocket for just a second to retrieve a newly shined pocketwatch. No one could have possibly seen it, this tiny movement, and the boy certainly didn’t, as he let you pass without another word.

You were still grumbling when you got back to the ramshackle building you called an apartment complex, and your landlady had raised an eyebrow when she saw you. “What, have you finally realized that it was a fool’s errand to come here?” She asked, and you shook your head. “No, just bothered by some guy with a crow’s head cane. Weird prop to carry around.” The woman had blanched, face suddenly seeming to age a decade in a second.

She had bustled over to you, voice low as if terrified that the boy might be able to hear her. “That’s Kaz Brekker, you fool. He runs the Dregs. Saints, he might even run this city.” She had hurried away from you then, forcing herself back to her work. Even then, you had known she was wrong. There was nothing the Saints could know about Kaz Brekker, nothing they could even hope to involve themselves in.

You had shaken the experience away, climbing up the stairs to your apartment. When you pushed open the door, however, you saw that you were not alone. The boy from earlier was back, this time leaning against the far wall. He gestured for you to close the door, which you did, albeit hesitantly. You had no idea how he got in- you had changed the locks when you first arrived at the apartment all those weeks ago, barred the windows, made it impossible for anyone except you to make their way inside. Yet here he stood, with knowledge of both where you lived and how to get there before you. It was impossible. Well, impossible for anyone except Kaz. The Barrel was his home, after all, and you doubt Dirtyhands had ever bothered to knock.

His fingers tapped the crow’s head of his cane. “I don’t think we quite finished our conversation. You could do more than just wash dishes, you know. The Dregs could always use a new member. That, and I’d like you to return what you stole from me. I’m impressed, actually. No one is that good at pickpocketing except me, and no one would try something that daring except for, well, me. I think you’d fit in nicely with my gang.”

You had folded your arms across your chest. “And I’m meant to believe that my pickpocketing was impressive enough to warrant a visit from Dirtyhands himself?” Kaz had shrugged, the movement stiff in the darkness. “You can believe whatever you want. I just want to see if you’ll take a good offer when you see one.” After a while, you had accepted, and Kaz had left, but not before whispering something in your ear. “If you steal from me again, I will cut off both of your hands. I don’t tolerate theft, not from me.”

You had heard enough threats to know that he meant good on this one. As it turned out, however, Kaz would not have to fear theft from you again. You found a home amongst the Dregs, a home you weren’t likely to give up due to the thrill of pickpocketing Kaz Brekker. You had a room at the Slat, a place at the table, a voice in the masses. It was something you weren’t willing to trade away.

Even amongst the many crows of Kaz Brekker’s gang, however, you still couldn’t let the issue of your soulmate go. You can remember one night, late into the night’s bells when you, Inej, Jesper, Matthias, and Nina had all made the journey up to Kaz’s office, slumped against chairs and floorboards and chatting the night away. Kaz was sitting at his desk, apparently doing paperwork, but you did notice that he kept coincidentally chiming into conversations even when he said he wasn’t paying attention.

At some point, Nina steered the conversation to soulmates. She held up her now blank palm, proclaiming that at some point it had held a wolf’s head. She had been terrified, she said, terrified that she would have a drüskelle or some other weirdo for a soulmate. Matthias had acted affronted at that, but if he was feeling particularly charitable he might relent and tell the gathered Crows about how he’d had a heart on his hand, and how frustrated he’d been when it had disappeared the second he’d locked Nina away on that slaver’s ship.

Nina had turned to Kaz then, intent on poking the bear and having some sort of fun that night. “So, Brekker, what’s your soulmate mark? Or do you not do that sort of zealot human thing we call soulmates?” Kaz had raised his eyebrows, looking distinctly bored. Of everyone in the room, you’re pretty sure that only you and Inej would be able to tell that he was holding back a smile.

“I’m not entirely a monster, Zenik. I do have a soulmate.” Nina had leaned forward, intent on clarification. “Then what’s the mark? We can’t just take a gander at your palm, remember? They’re hidden by your gloves.” Kaz had let his papers fall back to the desk with a thunk, turning to her with an expression laced with both exasperation and studied disinterest. “It’s a fire. A small flame. Happy?”

Nina had looked fascinated. “Beatific. I wonder what that means. An Inferni, maybe?” She wiggled her eyebrows at Kaz. “Maybe it’s supposed to show that they’re devilishly attractive. Really hot, get it?” Kaz had made a sound that was either a dry cough or his best attempt at a laugh. “Hilarious, Nina. I see why you’re a Heartrender- you could make a person want to die based on your jokes alone.”

Nina had acted affronted, making sure everybody knew that her jokes were hilarious, thank you very much, but you couldn’t help but think about the repercussions of this. What if Nina’s first guess was right, and Kaz’s soulmate was an Inferni, like you? If your tattoo was of a crow, and Kaz’s was of flames, then surely it was too much to just be a coincidence. You’d never know, anyway, because soulmate marks only disappeared on flesh to flesh contact. Kaz always wore gloves, so you’d never find out the truth. Besides, you remind yourself, the chances of this were superbly unlikely. A crow could mean anything, so could a flame. You need to stop getting your hopes up.

Despite the possibilities and impossibilities, you’ve still been running with the canal rats long enough to know that you can’t dwell forever on what might have been. You’re a Dreg now and you need to focus on that instead. When Kaz announces an upcoming settlement with the Razorgulls, yet another one of the gangs that roam the streets of Ketterdam, you’re eager for a chance at something entertaining after a long while of nothing. Kaz will meet with the leader to negotiate their way through a claim on the various pigeons coming and going from the harbors, and that will be that.

However, this is the Barrel. Negotiations are rarely easy. This is why, when Jesper arrives as Kaz’s second, he’s shunted aside to a separate room to stay out the duration of the meeting. Kaz and the leader of the Razorgulls are on the opposite side of the street in an empty courtyard, far away from any help should they need it. Kaz was prepared for this, as always, and set up a plan. Inej will shadow Jesper, making sure that he’ll have a way out if he needs it, and you’ll be shadowing Kaz himself. You’re not sure why Kaz chose you instead of his faithful Wraith, only that he rarely makes decisions based on nothing and you would do best to follow his judgement. The times he’s let you down are few and far between.

You and Inej split up, staying amongst the rooftops to avoid detection. She follows Jesper and the Razorgulls’ second into a crowded tavern, and you head towards the abandoned courtyard. Ahead of you, Kaz’s cane taps against the crooked cobblestones as he wends through desiccated hedges and marble statues severely lashed by time. The Razorgulls’ leader is waiting for him there, but you can’t follow now. Instead, you stick to the edges, climbing stairs and making your way into the empty buildings that watch over the courtyard like silent sentries.

You’re not sure what trouble you’ll be walking into, only that it will exist in some crooked form. There’s no logical reason the Razorgulls would want the seconds in another building unless they were planning something, and no reason Kaz would agree to this at all if he wasn’t sure you could have his back when he needed it. As you creep along the buildings, keeping a careful eye on the proceedings through the few broken windows, you notice that the two gang leaders have begun to speak. You can’t quite hear what they’re saying, only a few whispers here and there.

You’re just rounding a corner, ready to make your way into a neighbouring building, when the lights flash off, landing you in darkness. Instantly, you panic. Lighting is scarce here, only the moonbeams and a couple of oil lamps, but there’s no reason they should have shut down this quickly. You hear footsteps on the stairs, along with two pairs of voices: Razorgulls, discussing how important it is to stick to the shadows so Brekker can’t see them.

Your heartbeat thuds in the dark as you realize they haven’t spotted you yet. In fact, they have no idea you’re there at all. When Kaz was giving directions for the negotiations, he specifically told you to make sure that you weren’t seen, even if rival gang members showed up. If you want to go along with his plan and make sure he lives to see the end of this shoddy deal, you’ll have to stay in hiding.

This, however, is easier said than done. If the lights were on, you would be able to see the wooden beams of the floor and tell which ones would creak and which wouldn’t, which large shapes of furniture to avoid and which holes in the floorboards you should step over. A chill washes over you as you realize what you’ll have to do. You move your fingers together, quick as scraping flint against steel, and a small flame materializes at the pad of your index finger. It’s small, barely visible to anyone except you, but it’s enough to help you get out of the room before the Razorgulls notice you.

Even as the thrill of using your Grisha power after so long sends a charge of energy through your veins, you can’t help but feel uneasy. The only reason you’ve been able to survive in the Barrel and avoid unwholesome indentures is because you never used your power, not once. Even if it was necessary, this still feels bad.

You’ve found a new hiding place in the corner of the room and move to extinguish your flame now that it’s no longer useful. However, it’s been too long since you last used your powers as an Inferni, and your concentration wavers. The flame grows brighter and you start to panic, eventually clamping down your mind and forcing the fire to disappear.

The disappearance comes too late. The Razorgulls have seen some light in the shadow that wasn’t supposed to be there and are now edging your way, careful not to let you out of their sight. You have no choice but to take them down, standing over their unconscious bodies and feeling a wave of nerves crest over you. Kaz specifically said not to mess with the gangs, but you had no choice. You can only hope that this won’t ruin his plan too much.

Quietly, you step through the room and unlock a window, letting the panes move open in the wind. Now, you can hear the voices echoing up from the courtyard, and your heart sinks as you realize that things aren’t going well. The leader of the Razorgulls has revealed his ace in the hole, that he’s got guns trained on Kaz right now. Kaz just laughs, the sound as cold as rocks scraping against a ship’s hull, ready to damn a hundred men to the depths of the ocean.

“Do you, though? Who are the men you sent up- Dirk Struik and Niels ter Avest? Your coffers may be deep, but mine are more extensive. Gentlemen, take down this man, if you please.” Your stomach twists as you realize Kaz was counting on the men you just knocked out. Without them, he’s alone with a man pointing a gun at his skull. There’s no way around this- you’re going to have to break your most cherished rule again.

You thrust your palms out in front of you, letting tendrils of flame arc out of your hands and cascade onto the leader of the Razorgulls. He twists in agony, burns appearing on his skin. He only suffers for a moment or two, however, until he becomes unconscious due to the pain. Kaz’s head jerks up, staring at you. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Kaz Brekker truly surprised, but he most certainly was not expecting this.

You don’t think there’s anything you can do except try to explain yourself. You jump down from the open window, letting your heels land lightly on the stones of the courtyard. Kaz seems frozen in place for a second, then moves forward until you’re standing only a few feet apart. Your breath comes wild in your chest. Kaz speaks after the longest of moments. “Where were the guards?”

You hold up your hands uselessly. “They saw me. I had to take them out.” Kaz’s eyes dart to your palms, faster than a sharpshooter pulling the trigger. He takes in the smoke still curling around your fingers, then the crow mark in the middle of your hand. When he speaks again, his voice has lost its icy edge. He just sounds like a boy again, young and confused.

“You never told me you were an Inferni.” You sigh. “It was a secret I needed to keep. You know what happens in the Barrel, the indentures and the tortures. If I used my powers, I would have died a long time ago.” Kaz jerks his head in a harsh nod. “I don’t blame you for surviving. We have all committed worse crimes to live” Your voice gains a confidence it didn’t have before. “Then what do you blame me for? You’re upset, anyone could tell that. If it’s not with me keeping my Grisha abilities a secret, then what is it?”

Kaz hesitates, as if pulling himself back from a yawning chasm. “Me.” You stare at him, at the indecision wracking his brow, then at the way he’s pulling at the glove at his palm. His hands almost seem to shake, like he’s still not sure that he’s doing the right thing. He pulls the glove off, inch by inch, seeming to dread every second that his hands aren’t covered by the black leather. At last, you see it- the mark on his palm, the flame sparking into being right there on his hand.

He reaches out tentatively. “I need to know.” He manages, and at last you understand. You move your own hand slowly, stopping when it’s only a few inches away from his. Kaz squares his shoulders, as if preparing to jump from another broken building, then closes the distance and lets his hand rest lightly on yours. As you watch, your soulmate tattoos shimmer for a second and then vanish, erasing from your skin as if they’d never been there at all.

Kaz lets his gaze linger on the empty skin of your palm, and then he seems to come back into himself, snatching his hand away like he’s flinching from a blow. You can see it in his eyes that he regrets this, that he can’t keep his hand there, but you understand. You can understand quite a lot from him.

Kaz’s voice is like the grating of metal. “I’m not somebody you want as a soulmate. It won’t be easy. It won’t be good.” You laugh quietly in the night. “If I wanted something easy, I would have never come to Ketterdam.” Kaz nods at this, something almost like relief in his eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.” You manage. Something almost like a smile flits across Kaz’s face. “Good. We have much to discuss.”

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theforgottenmcrmy · 2 years

Text

After All (Part 8/?)

Pairing: Riff X OC Jet Girl

Warnings: Explicit Language, Mild Sexism, Racism (Schrank should be his own warning, really), Violence

Summary: They were supposed to be playing a couple, after all.

Word Count: 8200 ish.

DISCLAIMER

Please note that this is a reimagining of the film West Side Story (2021) and as a result is slightly AU.

Masterlist /// Part 1 /// Part 7 /// Part 8 /// Part 9

A/N: Thank you all so much for your support on the previous part, and for your patience while I worked to get this one out. It really means a lot, and I’m sorry this one took some extra time. I hope this part, which is the longest to date, makes up for the wait. I feel a bit iffy about this part too, but the more I write this story, the more I’m realizing two things: 1- when I’m stuck, it’s easier for me to go into the POV of one of the side characters, and 2- I’m struggling between not rushing the story while still making sure the plot doesn’t drag out. If you guys have any specific feedback about either of those notes, I’d love to hear your thoughts, and please feel free to let me know.

I also wanted to note that, although it’s probably been noticed, I’ve taken some liberty with the characters’ SO pairings and appearances, namely Velma and Diesel. When I first started this story, I wasn’t able to find a whole lot of the 2021 character pairing references, so I used what I could find on the internet from various productions of WSS and their character descriptions. Some had Velma paired with Diesel, some paired her with Ice, and I even saw one production had omitted Graziella entirely and paired Velma with Riff(?). Obviously, I know now that Velma is with Mouthpiece in the 2021 WSS film, but I hope this isn’t too confusing for anyone. Any time there is a divergence from the 2021 film, I’ll try to make it obvious what it is, like I’ve tried to do with Velma and Diesel. If I can clear anything up for anyone, please feel free to let me know.

I’ll stop rambling now. I hope you enjoy! :)

Part Eight: Something Nefarious

“So, tell me more about your friends.”

Velma and Roxie were walking through the neighborhood the following Sunday morning. She had called Roxie earlier in the morning and asked if she wanted to spend some more time catching up. Neither had gone to church on Sunday mornings since they were each a lot younger, so it was an easy request for Roxie to accept.

It was a nice enough day, but the longer the morning went on, the hotter it became. Since it was in the middle of the morning, neither of them were particularly concerned with running into any trouble, either.

The pair strolled past Doc’s, and as they did, Roxie spared a forlorn glance through the shop’s front window. The bars were pulled across the storefront, blocking most of the view inside. The store was closed, as Doc’s had always been on Sundays. Still, Roxie held a brief hope that it would be open just this once.

She remembered the look Valentina had given her last week when she saw her with Riff. While she knew she wouldn’t be able to tell Valentina the truth about what she had seen, she was hopeful that she could come up with something in order to ease the woman’s mind.

“Roxie?”

“Yeah?” she asked, her eyes still focused on the store window.

Velma tugged on her arm lightly, encouraging her along. Roxie finally tore her eyes away from the window, and allowed herself to be led down the sidewalk. “These friends of yours- the ones visiting next week,” Velma continued, “tell me about them.”

Roxie sighed thoughtfully.. “Well… there’s David, and his girlfriend Carol.”

Roxie had had a composition course with David her first semester. The two had assigned seats next to each other. Although Roxie was glad to be given the opportunity to be in a new part of the city and make some friends, she had been very nervous about it. If David noticed that, he paid it no mind. She swore that his jokes would make even a corpse laugh.

Carol was David’s girlfriend. She was sweet and polite, but very reserved. She was almost the opposite of David, but their demeanors complimented each other. Still, Most of Roxie’s previous friends had rather boisterous personalities, so it had been quite an adjustment at first.

“Is that everyone?” Velma asked.

No. Roxie hesitated for another moment before continuing. “There’s also Carol’s brother, Michael.”

Velma smiled to herself, noting Roxie’s obvious pause. “I see… I’m guessing Carol introduced the two of you?”

Roxie nodded wordlessly.

Velma could tell there was more that Roxie was not sharing. “So you became friends with Michael as well?” she pried, smiling knowingly.

“He took me out on a few dates,” Roxie admitted reluctantly, sensing that Velma wouldn’t drop the subject. She internally cursed the fact that the other young woman was so observant. “But when the summer came around, and I knew I was headed back here,” she vaguely gestured to the surrounding area, “we mutually agreed that we should just be friends.”

“That’s a shame,” Velma commented. “Was it serious?”

Roxie laughed once. “No.”

“Did you have any classes with him?” Velma asked, her curiosity unrelenting.

Roxie shook her head. “He’s an assistant professor for a few literature courses.”

“You don’t say…” Velma mused whimsically. “Roxie, seeing an older fella. Who would’ve guessed?”

Roxie half-smiled. “He’s nice,” she pointed out. “And he’s really not that old… but it was a bit hard to find some things in common at first.”

It was true; Michael was just a few years older than the rest of them, but there were additional circumstances to consider as well. Michael and Carol’s family were in a whole other social class than Roxie and her mother had ever been in. They were raised to be prim and proper, and they spoke eloquently. An explicit word would never be heard coming from either of their mouths. Roxie remembered the one time she had accidentally let a curse slip in front of them- David thought it was a bit funny, Carol frowned at her disapprovingly, and Michael acted uncomfortable throughout dinner and the rest of the evening.

Velma merely chuckled at Roxie’s description. “Well, I’d like to meet them at some point this summer, if that’s alright with you.”

Roxie wasn’t quite sure about that idea. On one hand, Michael and Carol weren’t likely to hold Velma in very high regard, even though Roxie and her had come from nearly identical backgrounds. They wouldn’t say anything outright about it- they’d never said a bad word about Roxie before- but Roxie would be lying if she said that she hadn’t ever felt embarrassed around them. On the other hand, Roxie wasn’t sure Velma deserved to be subjected to such scrutiny at all- even if it was silent.

“We’ll see,” Roxie replied after a moment of thought.

Velma sighed thoughtfully. “Can I ask you something?”

Roxie nodded, eager to change the subject.

“Did you ever get around to talking to Riff?”

Although Roxie was eager to change the subject, she was not super willing to discuss that subject with Velma instead.

She knew she couldn’t tell Velma the truth. Even back in the day, the only person who knew what Riff and Roxie were up to on the nights they went to gambling houses was Tony. Maybe some of the other guys had started to form their own ideas about it, but to her knowledge, Riff never told them the truth. Likewise, Roxie had never told Velma, or the other girls, exactly what they had been up to. Maybe part of her had been embarrassed of it, but another part of her enjoyed having some secrecy between her and Riff. The Jets were a family, and they spent so much time together that it was hard to keep some things private, let alone have some guaranteed alone time with Riff. On some days, Roxie would do just about anything Riff suggested they do in just to get a few minutes of alone time with him.

Velma was looking at her, waiting on an answer.

“I ran into him a few days ago,” Roxie lied. “We talked some things out.” That part wasn’t so much a lie, but it wasn’t the entire truth.

Velma seemed surprised, but pleased. “Really? I’m glad to hear that.”

“Why do you ask?” Roxie questioned then, starting to grow a bit suspicious of her motives.

“There’s this dance next month,” Velma began. “Some local person or other organized it for the neighborhood, but I doubt any of the older folks will go. They’re calling it the Midsummer’s Dance, you see,” she informed her. “Me, Grazi, and the girls were planning to go dress shopping soon. If things aren’t awkward with you and Riff anymore, I was hoping you would feel up to coming with us when we do.”

Velma seemed thrilled by the idea, but Roxie wasn’t convinced. Roxie wasn’t so sure Riff would want her hanging around the Jets or their girls after their personal business with Asim was settled. Though Velma would insist on maintaining her friendship with Roxie regardless, she had no idea if any of the other girls had any interest in rekindling their friendship with her at all.

There was also the fact that Roxie hadn’t given much thought to how she felt about Grazi and Riff. She avoided thinking about them at all when it was possible, but it still crossed her mind more times than she cared to admit. If they were seeing each other, even if it was casual, they were likely to go to the dance together. Roxie could keep her composure in public, but seeing them together would undoubtedly stir up the complicated feelings that she’d been trying to ignore for a few weeks.

“Come on, Roxie,” Velma begged.

“I don’t exactly have the extra funds to be spending on dresses,” Roxie reminded her patiently.

“I know, but life’s too short,” Velma insisted. “What difference is the cost of a dress going to matter in the long run? I think the other girls would be happy to see you, I really do.”

Roxie looked at Velma’s eager expression, and as much as she knew it probably wasn’t a wise idea, she was in no rush to dash her hopes. “We’ll see.”

“Just think about it,” Velma pleaded. “That’s all I ask. I think going dancing would do you some good; you ought to give yourself a break.” She thought for a moment before adding, “You could even ask that fella of yours to take you when he visits next week.”

Roxie snickered to herself. She had loved going to dances in the past, but the thought of the ever-so-serious Michael escorting her to a dance and actually dancing seemed so far out of the realm of possibility that it was downright humorous.

The two had been so engrossed in their conversation, Roxie hadn’t realized that they had made their way around the block, and were already approaching her apartment complex.

Velma stopped, looked across the street towards the park, and seemingly spotted someone. Without a word, she glanced both ways down the street, and pulled Roxie along with her as she crossed the street.

“Velma!” Roxie gasped, having no choice but to allow Velma to lead her across the street as she noticed a cab coming down the block. Once they reached the other side of the street, Velma released her grip on her wrist. “What’s wrong?” Roxie demanded.

“Wrong?” Velma repeated blankly, her eyes still focused on something inside the park. “Nothing’s wrong.”

Roxie followed her gaze across the park. She immediately spotted a group of Jets playing a game on the basketball court and a few more who were lingering beyond the court in front of the large wall.

“Diesel!” Velma called across the park cheerfully. Since it was a Sunday morning, the people in the park were sparse, save for the Jets, and Velma’s voice had no problem carrying across the space.

Diesel stood up straight from his spot on the basketball court, and turned to look at the pair of them. As soon as he did, Big Deal swiped the ball he had been dribbling. Diesel didn’t seem to mind as he waved back at his girlfriend with a dopey smile on his face.

Velma looked at Roxie curiously, unable to hide her own smile.

Roxie frowned at her, knowing with absolute certainty that Velma must have planned this.

“Shall we go say hello?” Velma suggested, though she was already on the move before Roxie could respond.

————————————————————————————

Riff leaned back against the large wall in the park, watching as some of the guys enjoyed a game of basketball.

Most of the PRs were dutifully religious, and their attendance at Sunday morning mass all but guaranteed a Shark-free park for a few hours every week. While Riff wasn’t too concerned about the Jets holding their own if trouble arose, even the Jets deserved to have a rest day, too.

Action had yet to show up, and if Riff had to guess, he was still dead to the world. Hopefully, he had found a decent place to crash. Riff knew Action had been having some trouble with his father lately, and he wondered just how long it would be until Action came to him and asked for a place to stay. His apartment was always open to him, and the other Jets, if needed. Although, Riff had given some thought to how nice it would be to not be woken up by Diesel’s snoring or Gee-Tar’s middle of the night rummaging through the fridge, which was already poorly stocked.

Riff heard a call across the park, and his eyes curiously wandered over to the entrance, where he immediately spotted Velma, along with a second girl. A moment later, Velma made her way across the park towards them, all but dragging the second girl along with her.

It was Roxie.

Riff watched intriguingly as the two finally approached the group. Diesel immediately abandoned his position in the ongoing game, leaving a few of the guys to mumble angrily for a moment before the guys on the other team took the ball into their possession. Velma met him halfway, twirling a strand of her hair around her finger as the two began to converse.

Roxie stood a bit aways from them. The look on her face was one of frustration, and Riff could hardly blame her. He pushed off the large wall, and Ice, who was beside him, watched him curiously as he made his way over to her.

“Mornin’,” Riff greeted her with his trademark smile.

Roxie spared him a quick glance. Although she still looked a bit irritated, Riff noticed her composure slip, even if it was for a moment. “Hi,” she replied shortly, her eyes still focused on Velma and Diesel nearby. Eventually, she tore her eyes away from the couple, and looked up at him. “Is the shop not open today?”

Riff shook his head. “Nah… it’s the Lord’s day, after all,” he added playfully.

This earned a laugh from Roxie, who knew he had never been particularly religious. “Right,” she replied, a small smile on her lips.

Her eyes trailed back over to the rest of the playground, and she and Riff noticed at the same time just how many of the Jets’ eyes were on them. Most of them, upon realizing they had been caught, went back to their business, but a few of them, like Ice, continued to watch, and exchanged knowing glances with one another.

Riff knew the word about how Roxie swung by the auto shop the previous week had spread like wildfire. None of the guys had mustered up the courage to talk about it in front of him, but he could only imagine what their conversations entailed when he wasn’t around.

“Word travels fast, huh?” Roxie commented.

Riff nodded sheepishly. “Can’t blame ‘em- they’re just curious.”

Roxie frowned, and looked up at him once again. “You still haven’t told any of them, right?”

“Besides Action and Ice? No,” Riff confirmed quickly. “But, you did come barging into the garage last week. They don’t know why. They’re probably just tryin’ to figure it out.”

Roxie merely hummed in response. Then, a thought struck her. “You know,” she began, her tone suddenly conspiratorial, “I could give them an actual reason to talk.”

He smirked, humoring her. “Oh, yeah?” he challenged playfully.

“I could wring my hands around your neck,” she proposed as she looked back towards the guys in the distance, the smile she wore never leaving her face. “Just for good measure.”

Riff smiled to himself, shaking his head once in slight surprise. “Ya know, Roxie,” he replied, “I’m glad all those textbooks didn’t dull your sense of humor.”

“Makes two of us.”

Riff sighed, and looked over at Velma and Diesel, who were still engrossed in their conversation. It was clear that they would be busy for some time still.

“Ready for tomorrow night?” Riff asked Roxie then, lowering his voice.

The previous Thursday, the two of them had gone to the second of the three gambling houses they planned to hit. They weren’t nearly as successful as they had been at the first one- although that was to be expected. On the first night, the over four hundred dollars they’d brought back had been the most they had won in a single night. They managed to win two hundred dollars in total last Thursday.

After they split the winnings evenly, Riff still needed almost another two hundred dollars of his own in order to pay off Asim in full, which meant the pair had to win almost four hundred dollars again the next night, on Monday. Riff was still supposed to meet with Asim on Wednesday, so they wouldn’t have another opportunity. It was Monday night, or nothing.

Roxie nodded in response, though Riff noted the look of worry that crossed her face.

“It’ll be fine,” he assured her. He kept a straight face, almost painfully aware of how many eyes were on them at that particular moment. “One more night, and we’ll never have to go again.”

“Good,” Roxie quipped, finally speaking. “I’m getting more nervous the longer this goes on,” she admitted.

“Don’t worry about it,” Riff dismissed her concerns, as he had several times already over the past week or so. When she frowned at him, he added, “No one’s caught on yet, and at this point, they never will.”

————————————————————————————

Lieutenant Schrank had pulled the short end of the stick in terms of shifts for the month.

Why he, a lieutenant, could not be spared from Sunday patrol duty was beyond his understanding. Did rank really mean nothing in the department anymore? Maybe if he got promoted to captain he’d be able to have some of the scheduling administrators actually listen to his requests for once. His wife was really starting to grind on his nerves, and was always insisting that he was going to a dark place for repeatedly missing church, like it had been his choice.

His usual partner, Sergeant Davis, had called off sick earlier in the morning. ‘Sick’. As if Schrank hadn’t been going drink for drink with him in the fancy new downtown bar the previous night. He himself was still nursing a hangover, but he wouldn’t have taken back those few glasses of top shelf whiskey for anything in the world.

Today, he was riding with Sergeant Krupke. Schrank and Krupke had been in the same precinct for years. Sergeant Krupke was a good officer, and always followed the command of the organization’s big brass without a second thought. But the more time Schrank spent with him, the more he realized that Krupke’s view on the world was tinted a bit differently than his own.

Krupke failed to realize the connection between the increasing number of immigrants in the neighborhood and the rise in local crime. At least they were both on the same page when it came to the Jets.

The police cruiser came to a stop on the street just before the playground entrance.

Sergeant Krupke killed the engine. He looked past Schrank, out the passenger side window and across the playground. “It’s just like ya said,'' he acknowledged, eyeing the Jets playing on the basketball court and lingering by the large concrete wall covered by graffiti with narrow eyes.

Schrank knew the Jets would be here. Since he had been assigned Sunday patrol for the past few weeks, he had put his shifts to good use, and tried to scope out any patterns. The Jets had been populating the park on Sunday mornings more frequently recently. If Schrank had to guess, it was due to the fact that Bernardo and the rest of the Sharks made themselves sparse, choosing to appease their God in the local Catholic churches instead.

“They don’t seem like they're up to anythin’, though,'' Sergeant Krupke added after Schrank said nothing after a few moments.

“Not yet,” Schrank agreed. “But ya know what it’s like with these boys, only a matter of time before they get up to somethin’.”

Schrank was counting on it. He knew the likelihood of the Jets leaving the Sharks and other Puerto Ricans alone were slim to none, despite the fact that even if they came out on top, there soon would be no terrain left for them to claim. The Jets were almost like caged dogs in a way- barking and snarling at anything that dared to get close to the cage, all the while failing to realize that regardless of what they did, they’d always be trapped in the cage. The freedom beyond it was quickly slipping away.

He’d have felt sorry for them, if Schrank hadn’t faced similar obstacles himself. He overcame the shitty life he was born into and made a better one for himself. What was it about this lot of hooligans that failed to understand that? Maybe they had mothers who dropped them on their heads one too many times.

If the Jets wanted to continue to cause trouble until the New York Committee on Slum Clearance was done with the West Side, and they would, Schrank would capitalize on their stupidity. They wanted to cause trouble? Fine, he’d lock them up. He’d get a good ol’ pat on the back for keeping the peace from the Police Commissioner and if he was lucky, another promotion. And if he got to lock up a few of the Puerto Ricans too along the way, that would be just icing on the cake.

Watch out world- Captain Schrank is comin’ for ya.

“Doubt they’ll act up in front of the ladies, Lieutenant,” Sergeant Krupke asserted.

Schrank’s pleasant daydream was dissolved quickly at his fellow officer’s observation. His brows furrowed as his eyes rapidly scanned the far end of the park, soon noting the two figures in dresses he’d somehow missed a few moments before. There was a redhead by the basketball court who was talking to who appeared to be Diesel. Must be his girl.

The brunette had her back turned to him. She was in the middle of a deep conversation with another Jet, who was also facing away from him. However, Schrank knew the back of that head- he had put it in a police cruiser once, and had thrown it into the precinct holding cell more times than he cared to count.

Once Schrank realized that it was Riff, he only needed another moment to realize who he must’ve been talking to.

“Well, well, Ms. Thomas…” he trailed off. “Catchin’ up with old friends, are we?” Hadn’t he advised her against that when he ran into her last week?

Well, if she wanted to get caught up in trouble, again, so be it. The next promotion was practically dangling right in front of him if he was brave enough to take the chance to grab it.

“Those two,” he said, this time to Krupke directly, “They’re up to somethin’, I can feel it.”

————————————————————————————

The third gambling house was located underneath the backroom of a butcher shop.

Even though Riff was by her side, Roxie had a bad feeling as they approached the shop. It was almost sunset, and the street lamps had already come on for the night. The shop was dimly lit, but she could still see the corpse of a pig hanging on the other side of the storefront window.

Riff didn’t notice her hesitation as he held the door open for her. She entered the store quickly, ignoring her nagging feelings and the goosebumps that were adorning her arms. She let Riff do the talking to the clerk behind the service desk, as he had mostly done the past two times.

Just a minute later, they’d been shown the back room and entered the basement. The two took a moment to take in the surroundings. The room was pretty similar to the past two gambling houses- it was filled with patrons, smoke, and the rustling of chips along the playing tables.

Roxie knew that they had to come up with another decent win that night- another four hundred or so. That fact only served to worsen her nerves, which were already acting up.

She tried her best to put on the facade, forcing herself to smile at and make small, flirtatious talk with the other patrons at the table Riff was playing at. But after an hour or so, Riff excused himself from the table, and pulled her aside.

“What’s goin’ on?” he demanded once they were out of anyone nearby’s earshot, obviously confused by her nervous behavior. She didn’t blame him, she’d been able to make it through the past two nights with a cool composure.

Roxie but her lip. “I’m sorry,” she began. “I think my nerves about this whole thing are finally getting to me.”

Riff, to her surprise, seemed receptive to her admission. The frustrated look on his face fell, and it was quickly replaced with a look of concern. “Oh,” he replied quietly.

Roxie wasn’t sure what to make of his sudden change in attitude, and as a result, her eyes fell to the floor. She flinched ever so slightly as he placed his hands on her upper arms lightly, forcing her to look him in the eyes once again.

“Just… just try to keep cool, yeah?” Riff requested, a hopeful look in his eyes. “Don’t worry about talkin’. Let me focus on building up the pot, then I’ll let you take over.”

Roxie nodded in agreement, and his arms fell back to his sides.

“Just a few more hours,” he told her then, his tone surprisingly soothing. “Then we’ll be golden.”

Riff held out a hand to her. Surprised again, she glanced up at him for a moment, and waited for him to crack some joke or withdraw his hand. He didn’t.

Roxie sighed, and tried to will herself to calm down as she placed her hand in his and allowed him to lead her back over to one of the tables. Business, this is just business, she reminded herself several times, ignoring the butterflies that were quickly replacing the nerves in her stomach.

They were supposed to be playing a couple, after all.

————————————————————————————

Roxie took Riff’s advice. She kept quiet, and he won many hands on his own. She had to admit that he’d always been good at poker, with or without her by his side.

She watched Riff contentedly for the next few hours; watching him strategize and bluff his way through a card game had always been entertaining to her. His brows furrowed as he contemplated his hand and potential odds. A small smile, apparently unnoticeable to the other players, threatened to crack his calm composure whenever he had a particularly good hand.

Eventually, an unsuspecting victim with a large stack of chips joined the table. Upon seeing this, all the other players but Riff left once they folded their hands.

Roxie finally felt calm, and it was a hell of a timing. She gave the signal to Riff by placing a hand on his shoulder and tapping her four fingers lightly in quick succession.

Riff seemed to have read her mind. As the dealer dealt their next hand of cards, he made small talk with the man in an effort to lower his guard. It worked like a charm.

The two played a few hands, and as they did, Roxie made a point to make her presence particularly obvious. She basically leaned over Riff’s shoulder, occasionally allowing her fingers to dance across his back playfully. When the other man gave her a curious look, she smiled warmly at him, sheepishly explaining how fascinating the game was to her, despite how confusing it all seemed.

It wasn’t but a few hands later that the man requested Riff to allow “his lady” to play a hand on his behalf. Riff put on a show of uncertainty for some time before ultimately relenting, allowing Roxie to take his seat.

Roxie lost the first hand, but she wasn’t too concerned. She only placed a small bet, wanting to test the waters.

Besides, her immediate failure seemed to further convince the other player that he was about to take candy from a baby, so to speak. The man smiled smugly to himself as he gathered his winnings from the middle of the table, and Roxie had to remind herself that the disappointed look that would soon cross his face would be worth biting her tongue in the meantime.

Her next hand proved to be a straight flush. She raised the bet by a large amount, feeling a great sense of satisfaction when the other player called her bet. Hook. Line. Sinker.

When the pair revealed their cards, she smiled to herself. As she watched the man throw his hands up in anger, and felt Riff clap her on the shoulder approvingly, she realized that it was the happiest she had felt in a long, long time.

————————————————————————————

“Did we do it?” Roxie hopefully asked Riff as they waited in line to exchange their chips for cash at the table near the exit.

Riff looked at the piles of chips in his hands. He wanted to count them on the spot, but he felt pretty confident about his answer regardless. “Think so,” he answered her, not being able to contain the smile on his face.

Roxie smiled back at him.

Riff stepped up to the table when it was their turn, and set the chips down to be counted. As he did so, Roxie took a final glance around the room, feeling an odd sense of contentment. They had played the game, and won. Gambling may have been a vice, but it was hard to condemn it when the feeling of walking away with more money than they had brought felt so damn good.

Riff watched as the woman on the opposite side of the table finished counting the chips and began to count out stacks of cash in exchange. He felt pretty satisfied himself, and his eyes glazed over a bit as the pile of bills grew right before his eyes.

A harsh tug at his arm shattered his daze.

Riff’s head snapped up towards Roxie, who was looking at him with wide, fearful eyes. Suddenly feeling alert, he watched as she pointed across the room.

Who he saw made his blood run cold. What are the odds?

The man Roxie had beaten on the last hand was engrossed in a conversation with a man whose face Riff would never forget so long as he lived. He had a wide set jaw, and oily, combed over hair that laid precisely upon his head. Small, beady eyes watched the two of them from underneath his fedora as he sat in a seat at a table across the far end of the room. As the man who had played at their table just a few minutes before continued to speak to him, the man in the chair nodded along. His narrowed eyes never left Riff and Roxie.

The last time Riff had seen the man was well over a year ago. It was the same night Schrank had caught him and Roxie on their way back from that other gambling house. The memories were nearly entrained in his mind, and they would have been even without the occasional nightmare he still experienced.

That night, the pair had made it outside and were feeling understandably giddy about their winnings. Once they had made it out of the building, Roxie had leaned in for a kiss, which quickly got heated. Riff blindly directed them into the nearby alleyway for a moment of privacy. Once he did, they both heard voices on the opposite end of the alley. Riff and Roxie had mostly been hidden by the poor lighting, but the moonlight breaking through the cloud cover illuminated two figures at the opposite end of the alleyway. The pair had watched in silence as the two figures got into an argument. The details were a bit murky, but it had likely been over money.

At some point, one of the figures in the alleyway had pulled out something shiny and metallic from his back pocket. The sudden bang of the gun caused both Riff and Roxie to jump. When one of the bodies collapsed to the ground, Roxie had involuntarily gasped, and although Riff had put a hand over her mouth to stifle the noise, it had been too late. The man holding the fun spotted them, and when he did, they each got a good look at him.

It was the same man staring at Riff and Roxie in that particular moment. It was clear by the expression on his face that he had gotten a good look at the both of them that night, too.

“Here you go.”

The woman at the table behind them broke Riff’s racing thoughts. He turned quickly and wordlessly took their winnings from her.

Roxie was still staring at the man across the room, most likely in a bit of shock. Riff grabbed her by the arm as gently as he could, but still firmly, and began walking her past the table and towards the exit.

“Put this in your purse,” Riff instructed, determined to keep his focus. He handed her the money, and watched as she quickly put the money away. Once she was done, she looked up at him, waiting for his next move. “We’re gonna head out, now,” he informed her, forcing his voice to be steady. “Go slowly.”

Roxie nodded, and turned to head up the stairs towards the exit. Riff was right on her heels.

————————————————————————————

Just a few more hours, Schrank told himself as Krupke drove the squad car through the neighborhood.

It was early morning, and while Schrank had nursed several cups of coffee throughout the night to keep himself awake, Krupke’s method of choice was to whistle songs as he drove. If Schrank heard one more note, he contemplated ‘accidentally’ spilling some of the cup the coffee he was currently drinking on the other man.

Schrank knew that wouldn’t be entirely professional, so he quickly chose to focus on something else. The entire shift had been relatively uneventful. They’d broken up one drunken quarrel outside a bar a few hours beforehand, but other than that, they had been patrolling around the neighborhood for what felt like hours.

Although, the scene Schrank witnessed in the park the previous morning was intriguing. He had decided that Riff and Ms. Thomas were up to something, again, and this time, he was determined to figure out exactly what that was.

His mind wandered to possible theories as Krupke continued to whistle.

————————————————————————————

Roxie walked stiffly beside Riff as they briskly made their way down the dimly lit sidewalk. Her hands were wrapped tightly around her purse in an effort to secure their winnings.

“Is he still back there?” she asked him under her breath.

Riff looked over his shoulder, noting that the man Roxie had played the hand against was still behind them. He was grateful it wasn’t the man wearing the fedora, considering he was the one they had seen shoot a man a year and a half ago, but it was clear that this man was connected to that man in some way, shape, or form. If Riff had to guess, the man in the fedora gave him the order to follow them after he learned what they had done and remembered who they were.

The man had been following them for quite some time, even going so far as to stalk them across neighborhoods. Riff and Roxie were re-entering the West Side, and he still hadn’t given up.

Riff looked forward once more and nodded a single time.

Roxie cursed under her breath. “I don’t understand,” she said, flustered. “If he’s going to do something, why doesn’t he just do it?”

Riff wasn’t sure what the man’s motivations were, either. If he had wanted to, the man could have easily shot them both by now. But he hadn’t. “Maybe he doesn’t think we know,” Riff suggested. The man had been making an effort to linger quite a bit behind them- keeping a distance of about a block or so.

“If he’s not going to hurt us, why follow us at all?” Roxie wondered out loud. “Unless…”

Riff spared another glance over his shoulder as his mind went through all of the possibilities.

He’s followin’ us to see where we live.

Roxie realized the man’s plan at the same as Riff. “We can’t go back to my apartment.”

That much was clear- even if she made it inside alright, what was to stop them from sending someone over to her apartment another day? The building wasn’t exactly Fort Knox. Someone up to no good could easily charm their way inside and have the run of the place.

“Can’t go back to the shop, either,” Riff added.

If the man followed them back to the auto shop, he’d know where to find Riff. Riff couldn’t guarantee that the Jets would limit their trips to and from the shop, especially if he couldn’t give them a reason why. They’d be making themselves easy targets and they wouldn’t even have a clue.

“Riff, what’re we supposed to do?” Roxie asked. She wasn’t outright panicked, but she was pretty far from calm. He watched her out of the corner of her eyes, noting the way she firmly focused on the sidewalk up ahead. “We can’t just walk around the West Side for the rest of the night!”

“I know, I know,” Riff acknowledged. His concern was growing more and more by the minute as well, but allowing Roxie to see that would most likely do more harm than good. “Just keep walking; let’s give ourselves a few minutes to figure somethin’ out.”

If the guy wasn’t going to jump to violence, they had time to think things through. Maybe if Riff took the money from Roxie, and told her to split off, the guy would just follow him, and Roxie would be free to head home without being tailed.

But Ice and Action had to be nearby, Riff remembered. How could he have forgotten that he had asked them both to stake out the way back from the gamlbing houses? He’d asked them just in case something exactly like this happened.

If Ice and Action were smart, they were lingering in the alleyways, staying out of sight. No doubt they had noticed the man following them by now. Though they wouldn’t know why Riff and Roxie were being followed, he knew they’d infer that it wasn’t for any good reason. If Riff spotted Ice and Action, he wondered if he could subtly communicate with them. Whether the man following them had a gun or not, Riff liked his odds of three versus one a lot better than the idea of trying to take down the guy himself if push came to shove.

Headlights coming towards them pulled Riff from his thoughts. The car passed them quickly, and as it did, Riff noted that it was a police cruiser.

————————————————————————————

As the cruiser barreled down the empty street, Krupke’s whistling continued.

Suddenly, Schrank noticed a pair of figures on the sidewalk up ahead. He glanced at his watch, noting that it was nearly three in the morning.

“Who in their right mind would be up and about at this hour?” Sergeant Krupke asked, noting the figures as well.

Folks up to no good, that’s who.

Schrank took a gander at the figures, who were facing him, as the car passed them. When he realized who they were, his jaw hit the floor. “I knew it!” he exclaimed suddenly, causing Krupke to flinch beside him. “Did ya see that, Sergeant?”

Krupke nodded, but then his brows furrowed. “Wait… who’s that?” he asked, as pointing over the steering wheel.

Schrank’s eyes followed Krupke’s gesture further down the road where he spotted a third figure walking down the sidewalk. Schrank glanced back at Krupke, who was looking at the third figure with narrow eyes as the car passed him.

“That face…” Krupke began, “I know him from somewhere.”

“Turn the car around, Sergeant,” Schrank instructed.

Riff and Ms. Thomas were up to something nefarious, he was sure of it. The scene in the park must’ve been a meet up to hash out details- now they were in the thick of it… whatever it was.

He was going to get to the bottom of it, and as soon as he did, that next promotion would be calling his name.

————————————————————————————

“That’s the second time that cruiser has passed us,” Roxie noted.

“It’s not like we can flag ‘em down,” Riff told her firmly, having a feeling what she was about to suggest. They couldn’t exactly ask the officers inside the cruiser for help, not without explaining what they were doing out so late, why they were being followed, or why Roxie was gripping her purse like it was a life preserver and she was drowning in the middle of the ocean.

Riff looked up the block, and sighed in relief when he noticed a familiar silhouette suddenly walking down the sidewalk towards them.

As Action took long strides, he shoved his hands in the front pockets of his jacket and kept his head down low. Despite this, he managed to lock eyes with Riff, who watched him silently as he waited for Action to give him some kind of sign.

As Action passed the pair, he told Riff under his breath, “Ice is up ahead.”

Riff wasn’t sure what Action meant by his statement, and judging by the look on her face, Roxie didn’t either.

Nevertheless, they continued down the sidewalk. Roxie was right beside him, matching his pace step for step. He wrapped his hand lightly around her arm just in case they needed to make a quick move. She allowed him to do so, and didn’t move away.

When Roxie was suddenly pulled into the next alleyway they passed, Riff went along with her.

————————————————————————————

Sergeant Krupke drove the police cruiser around the block for a third time. He was thankful for the shift’s sudden change in pace- whistling to himself to stay awake only tended to do so much.

He’d had to have to be blind for him to miss that Lieutenant Schrank was determined to bust Riff and Ms. Thomas for something. Schrank’s nose was nearly pressed up against the glass of the window as his eyes were glued to the passing sidewalks.

Krupke wasn’t so sure that Schrank’s hunch was worth the effort. Riff was a troublemaker, sure, and he remembered the girl, Ms. Thomas, used to run with Riff and the Jets a few years ago. Maybe they were up to no good at this hour.

But what exactly was Schrank planning to do? Throw the two of them in a cell just for being out in the middle of the night? Neither of them had any proof. Krupke didn’t doubt Schrank’s ability to craft some though, if he so desired.

Personally, he was far more concerned with the third figure they’d seen. He was heading the same direction as the other two, but seemed to be hanging back a bit. That face… he’d seen that face somewhere, but where?

Krupke was still racking his brain as Lieutenant Schrank suddenly cursed beside him after he turned the cruiser back onto the same street for the third time. “What?” he asked him then.

“They’re gone!” Schrank exclaimed, and Krupke knew who he was referring to. Sure enough, when Krupke looked down the sidewalk up ahead, both Riff and the girl were gone, and had seemingly disappeared without a trace.

Schrank groaned frustratedly. “Where’d they go?”

Krupke pulled the cruiser over and put the vehicle in park. Schrank could get out and look for the two on foot if he wanted to, but Krupke wasn’t going to waste any more of the department’s gasoline budget trying to appease Schrank.

Krupke ignored the Lieutenant’s fuming mumblings as he looked down the street once more, looking at the third figure once again. He could tell it was most likely a man, but the guy must have known what he was doing- he lingered close by the buildings as he made his way down the sidewalk, allowing the shadows casted by the street lamps to cloak him. Every now and then, Krupke caught brief flashes of his face, but they never lasted long enough for him to confidently identify him.

Krupke had been so focused on the man, he failed to notice a fourth figure walking towards him on the sidewalk.

“Now who the hell is that?” Schrank questioned, echoing Krupke’s own thoughts.

The two officers watched in silence as the fourth man shoulder checked the other man as he passed him on the sidewalk. As a result, the other man was bumped underneath the streetlight. That's when Krupke finally got a good look at his face.

“Lieutenant!” he exclaimed, “That’s him!”

Schrank raised an eyebrow at him. “Who?”

“I recognize him from the BOLO posters the commissioner’s office sent over last week,” Krupke informed him.

A sketch nearly identical to the man in front of them had been sent over to their precinct the previous week. Per protocol, all the local officers were expected to go through any new BOLOs that the commissioner's office sent over before they even began their shifts, just in case they happened to come across any of the individuals being sought. Krupke decided to give Lieutenant Schrank the benefit of the doubt and assume he must have just forgotten what the man looked like from the sketch.

But Krupke was sure it was him. That very man had been spotted in the area the previous month around the time someone had discovered a deceased John Doe crammed into a dumpster downtown.

On the other hand, Schrank didn’t seem convinced. He frowned as Krupke turned on the flashing lights and shifted the cruiser back into drive. “What are ya doin’?”

Krupke didn’t spare him a glance. “With all due respect Lieutenant, if we keep lookin’ for those kids who may or may not be up to somethin’, we’ll lose this lead. Wouldn’t you rather bring in someone with ties to an active investigation?”

Lieutenant Schrank huffed, not bothering to answer Sergeant Krupke’s rhetorical question. As Krupke drove the cruiser down the street once again, he placed his hand on his holster as a precaution.

Krupke won the battle, he decided, albeit a bit bitterly. But when he finally figured out what the Riff-raff was up to, Schrank would win the war.

————————————————————————————

Roxie’s heart was still racing as her back was pressed up against the brick wall, but she was determined not to let it show. It was already bad enough that Riff had probably noticed how worried, let alone scared, she was feeling. She’d be damned if Ice caught on too.

Ice, who had yanked them both into the alleyway just a few moments before, was the closest to the sidewalk, though he was mostly up against the wall as well. He slowly leaned around the corner of the building and peered out onto the street.

Riff was between them. His back was turned to her, but she could only imagine the concentration on his face as he watched Ice with baited breath. “Do ya think he saw?” Riff asked him, his voice so quiet Roxie wasn’t sure she would have heard him if she hadn’t been completely still.

Ice didn’t answer for a moment, his eyes still focused down the street.

Roxie felt another wave of panic rush over her as blue and red flashing lights lit up nearby, their reflections temporarily blinding the group. She instinctively gripped the purse in her arms tighter.

Ice remained still, watching. “Jeez,” he whistled quietly after a moment, finally looking back over his shoulder to glance at them. “Who’d you two piss off?” he asked, half-jokingly.

Riff said nothing, instead giving Ice a look that silenced him. Ice looked back around the corner, and continued, “Looks like he’s got the boys’ in blue attention for somethin’.”

“Better him than us,” Riff declared. “Where’d Action go?”

“He slipped into another alleyway about a block down after he distracted him,” Ice informed Riff, apparently having seen the whole thing. “Cops seem too focused on your guy right now to worry about him.”

Riff nodded wordlessly. After a moment, he slowly turned around to face Roxie, though Ice’s eyes remained focused on the scene unfolding around the corner.

“I told ya there was nothing to worry ‘bout,” Riff told her matter of factly, giving her a confident smile.

Roxie’s first instinct was to slap him for his cockiness, but through the darkness of the alleyway, and with the assistance of the flashing blue and red lights in the distance, she caught the glimpse of fear that lingered in Riff’s cool blue eyes that betrayed his words.

They weren’t out of the clear- the man in the fedora who they had witnessed murder another man over a year and a half ago was still at large. He would still recognize them if they ever crossed paths again. At least for that night, his goon would be taken away to the local precinct, and Riff and Roxie would finally be able to go home safely. But what were the chances of even seeing the man in the fedora again anyways, especially if their days of visiting the gambling houses were over?

Roxie had never considered herself a particularly lucky person, but she heavily debated changing her view on the subject. It was nothing but sheer, dumb luck that they had managed to escape impending doom and a bleak fate not once, but twice. So long as she lived, Roxie wouldn’t allow herself, or Riff, to be placed in such a position ever again.

Roxie was still trying to make a life for herself that was worth living for, but her mother hadn’t raised her to be a quitter.

As Riff turned to Ice once again and clapped him on the shoulder as a way of saying thanks, she realized that he had plenty to live for too, whether or not he chose to see it.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed, and please feel free to interact if you feel so inclined. :) If you want to be added to the taglist, please send me a message, comment, or otherwise let me know.

After All Taglist: @whisperofsong @disguisedbassethound @lingerasthesmokeoncedid

Part 9

Masterlist

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misscarolineshelby · 3 years

Text

A New Life

Part Nine: First Night Away

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Words: 3,605

Warning: Angst, Smut

Original Blogger: @queenshelby

The long weekend trip to Kerry was fast approaching and you hired a car to drive there with Max with the view to visit your cousin on the way.

You were the first one to arrive at Cillian’s holiday house on Thursday afternoon and were thankful for the GPS and the fact that Max slept the whole way through.

The house was not far from many beautiful walking tracks and was even somewhat secluded. It was a large house, but somewhat dated and it was obvious to you that Cillian liked to keep the old charm of the house rather than turn into something modern.

‘Are these your sheep?’ you said as you stepped out of the car and Cillian greeted you after having heard your car pull up.

‘No, they belong to the neighbours’ Cillian said and you looked around somewhat confused. There was no other house nearby.

‘Neighbours?’ you chuckled and Cillian nodded.

‘Yes, they live a kilometre up this way’ he said, pointing north, before asking you to come inside.

The house was beautiful and featured a new but rustic kitchen and three bathrooms. The living room contained a large stone fire place and there were five bedrooms.

‘I am sorry that you have to bunk with Laura’ Cillian said as he carried your bag to one of the rooms after having shown Max where he will be sleeping with his two cousins and a friend’s young son named Connor.

‘Well, I thought that you would be sharing a room with her after the rumours I have heard’ you winked and Cillian couldn’t help but laugh.

‘Rumours, eh? What have you heard?’ he then asked and, whilst you knew that you should have kept this to yourself, you couldn’t.

This was all you had been thinking about for the past two days and you were seriously bothered by the fact that Cillian and Laura had shared an intimate moment together.

‘I’ve heard that you and Laura shared a kiss’ you said, pretending not to be bothered by it.

‘If, by sharing a kiss, you mean that she forced herself on me when she had too much to drink then yes, the rumours are true’ Cillian laughed rather amused.

‘That’s not how I heard it. Apparently, you guys had a moment’ you said surprised but Cillian shook his head.

‘The kiss wasn’t mutual Y/N. She was drunk and I am actually quite surprised that she remembered it at all. I had to take her back to her hotel room and help her lie down. That’s how wasted she was’ Cillian said somewhat amused and you couldn’t help but start laughing as well.

‘Well, I think she might actually like you Cillian. It was more than a stupid drunk moment for her’ you explained somewhat concerned but Cillian still didn’t take you serious.

‘I am not interested in her Y/N’ Cillian then confirmed.

‘I don’t care if you are’ you then said with blushing cheeks which is when you heard Cian’s car pull up as well.

***

The afternoon went fast and, while Cillian, Cian and their mutual friend Liam prepared dinner, Laura, Evelyn and you played a boardgame with the children in front of the fire place.

After dinner and after all of the children went to bed, you opened two bottles of wine and enjoyed some time just between adults, talking and joking together before your big day tomorrow.

Laura tried her best to get closer to Cillian throughout the evening, sitting next to him whenever she could and teaming up with him during a game of trivia.

You tried not to let this bother you while Cillian behaved just as he would normally without letting her get too close after what you had told him.

But Laura didn’t give up and would, occasionally, brush her hand over Cillian’s arms or otherwise try to make physical contact with him.

You couldn’t help but cringe every time you noticed it and Cillian had become almost oblivious to her actions as the night went on and she had a few glasses of wine to drink yet again.

Eventually, Evelyn and Laura decided that they drank enough. They both wanted to be ready for the hike tomorrow and decided to go to bed at around 10 o’clock that evening, leaving you to sit in front of the fire place with Cian, Liam and Cillian.

‘I might just quickly change into my pyjamas so that I don’t wake you when I come in’ you suggested to Laura who, surprisingly, you had been getting on with perfectly fine that day.

‘Sure, thanks’ Laura said as you followed her into the bedroom. You knew that, sharing a bad with her would be awkward, but you knew that space was limited.

***

‘Where did everyone go?’ you asked surprised when you returned to the living room after you got changed and saw that only Cillian was left sitting there with his glass of wine.

‘To bed’ he chuckled before topping up your glass and handing it to you. It was obvious that he wasn’t tired yet.

‘Wow, alright…old farts’ you joked while, the truth was, that you didn’t really mind at all. You enjoyed spending time with Cillian on your own and you quickly got talking again, about literature, art and theatre which were all the things you couldn’t talk about when Cian or the others were around.

Then, eventually, the topic of past relationships came up again and you talked about that for at least twenty minutes until you decided that it was enough. It had become too depressing and Cillian wanted to put an end to the conversation.

‘You know, just fuck him Y/N. I think you just have to enjoy life without thinking too much about it and ignore the people who want to interfere with it’ Cillian said after you told him about the latest stunt your ex-boyfriend had pulled back home, alleging that you had cheated on him which was far from the truth.

‘I love your no fucks given attitude; you know that?’ you then smiled. Of course, you knew that he was right about it. You couldn’t let this sort of behaviour bother you. But somehow, it did. It annoyed you and made you angry.

‘This kind of attitude comes with age’ Cillian grinned before looking up at the sky featuring a cloud-free star-scape overhead through one of the large skylight windows in the living room.

‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’ you said, looking up as well, and Cillian agreed with your observations.

‘You know, I really enjoyed the night we shared with each other last week’ you then said to break the silence in the room, causing Cillian to look at you with his piercing blue eyes.

‘Me too’ he responded, smiling and waiting for you to say something else. It was almost like he was lost for words.

‘I was thinking that…perhaps…we should do this again some time’ you then said, unable to take your eyes of him.

‘Y/N, I think that would be a bad idea. As I said earlier, I don’t want to be in a relationship right now’ he explained and you told him again that you didn’t want to be in a relationship either.

‘I am going back home in six weeks Cillian. It would just be sex, occasionally, now and then, whenever we feel like it. No strings attached’ you explained, causing him to cock an eyebrow and sigh.

‘Well, you just said to me before that, sometimes, you just have to enjoy life without thinking too much about it’ you reminded him with a wicked smile, causing Cillian to laugh.

‘Whilst this was not what I had in mind when I told you to enjoy life, I think that I may be open to your proposal’ Cillian then smirked and, just as he did, you got up from your seat and stood in front of him, leaning down slightly and cupping his face.

‘Would you just?’ you teased, biting your lips seductively before pressing them onto Cillian’s lips who, without hesitation, gave into the kiss.

‘I would. In fact, sleeping with you again had been on my mind’ Cillian admitted after your lips drifted apart and, as soon as Cillian put his wine glass down, you crawled onto his lap which is where you could feel his erection poke eagerly against the fabric of his jeans.

‘Clearly you have. You are so hard for me already’ you breathed out teasingly in between sensual kisses all the while you were grinding yourself against him, allowing your own core to get some friction.

‘We can’t risk doing this out here Y/N’ Cillian said eventually as he felt himself getting even more aroused than he already was. You talking dirty to him was the icing on the cake and there was no turning back now.

‘Let’s take it to your bedroom then’ you suggested while getting off Cillian’s lap and straightening up your clothes but, to your surprise, Cillian shook his head.

‘I think we should wait until we get back to Dublin’ Cillian said, causing you to pout.

‘Why?’ you asked, running your hand over his crotch seductively, teasing his hard cock through the fabric of his jeans.

‘Because your brother could hear us and I am very keen to live another day’ Cillian chuckled, but you wouldn’t let down.

‘I need you to fuck me tonight, Cillian. I am serious. I am all horny now. Feel that’ you demanded while taking hold of his hand and pushing it beneath your cotton pyjama pants and inside your panties.

‘Jesus Y/N. You are soaking’ Cillian said in a low groan while pushing his finger inside you slightly.

‘That’s just what you do to me Cillian. Now take me to your bedroom and fuck me’ you demanded while grinding yourself against his hand.

‘Alright, but you need to be a good girl for me and stay quiet. Can you do that?’ Cillian then asked before taking your hand and, of course, you nodded eagerly.

***

Within minutes, you found yourself in Cillian’s bed with his bedroom door locked from the inside.

You were both almost completely naked, facing each other and sharing playful kisses.

As you were kissing, you pressed your hand against Cillian’s chest, then running your fingers over his back and then back down over his stomach until your fingertips were just tracing under the waistband of his Calvin Klein briefs.

‘You know how often I’ve been thinking about you over the past week?’ Cillian then asked as he took you by surprise, suddenly kissing you back hard, leaning into you, and thrusting the hardness of his erection between your thighs, which opened in an instinctive response.

‘Me too. In fact, I’ve been fantasising about you fucking me while I am masturbating’ you moaned as your head went back and you groaned softly as he kissed up down your neck with an insistence that was completely irresistible. You threw your leg over his hips and pulled him into you.

You could hear Cillian’s breath becoming harder and more ragged now as you ran your hand down into his underwear to free his glorious, throbbing cock from its restrictions.

You pulled your hips back so you could run your hand up and down his thick shaft, and play with the drop of precum that was oozing from the head with the tip of your finger and, without even thinking, you brought the finger up to your lips so that you could taste him.

‘Jesus Y/N, that’s so fucking sexy’ Cillian groaned in approval.

He had one arm under your neck and the other cupping your ass under your panties, pulling you into him, before you felt him reach down the back of your thigh beneath the stretching elastic.

He then slid his fingers up the front of your eagerly parting legs, teasingly fingering your outer folds where you knew he could feel how your pussy was suddenly flooded with warmth and wetness.

‘So, fucking wet for me…I can’t wait to slide my cock inside you’ Cillian whispered as you tried to stifle your delighted moan as he breathed into your ear.

‘I need it so badly Cillian. I need your cock inside me’ you moaned in response and, with one motion, he pulled your panties down to your knees, where they were easy for you to wriggle out of. More clumsily, but no less hungrily, you pulled at the elastic and cotton that still covered the base of Cillian’s straining cock and his balls, until he took pity on you and pulled off his underwear.

For a moment, the feel of Cillian’s naked body pressed against yours took your breath away, and you could hear that he had the same reaction. His lips found yours in the middle of your intake of breath, kissing you passionately.

You gasped as he broke away and gave you another quick kiss on your neck while rolling you over onto your back. Cillian’s body was protective on top of you and his hips were pressing into yours while the head of his cock flirtatiously and teasingly brushed against your outer folds.

‘Please, I need you inside me’ you begged again as, breathlessly, you reached down and pulled him towards you, one hand pulling at his hips, the other desperately, thirstily trying to guide the head of his cock into the wetness of your screaming, impatient, painfully empty pussy.

Cillian resisted one more second while he covered your mouth with his and then, finally, after what seemed like eternity, plunged all the way into you.

‘Oh god yes’ you moaned loudly into Cillian’s mouth which was a completely involuntary response to the feeling of him thrusting so deeply and forcefully inside you.

But your moaning didn’t stop there. Instead, you continued to moan loudly as Cillian began to move inside you.

‘Shh’ he whispered past your lips after he pulled away from the kiss and he quickly covered your mouth with his hand instead.

You nodded in response as he started moving very slowly but deeply in and out of you, holding each stroke at its deepest point, filling you up entirely.

You smiled, and kissed the palm of his hand that was pressing across your lips to show him that you remembered that Cian and Evelyn were in the next room.

When Cillian saw that you got control of yourself, he moved his hand caressingly down your neck, to your breast, and down to play with your clit.

The other hand grabbed your leg up onto his shoulder, pulling you up onto his cock as he thrusted downward, over and over, establishing that perfect rhythm that was at once too rapid for your sensory overload, and too slow for your insatiable, hungry need for him.

As you looked up at Cillian you could see his eyes burning down into yours, turning you on even more.

Within no time, you clenched down on him hard with your muscles mid-stroke, your pussy pulling him back into you just as he was pulling out, and this time it was your turn to reach your fingers up to his lips to hastily and tenderly stifle the resounding groan that was nearly wrenched from him in response.

‘You feel so fucking wet and tight around my cock’ Cillian whispered before he leaned down to kiss you.

As you shared a passionate kiss, Cillian suddenly thrusted hard and unyieldingly into you once more, and again, and again, cutting off your moans with a gasp of overwhelming pleasure.

‘Oh god yes yes yes’ you moaned as quietly as you could as he continued this new pace unrelenting, driving into you with forceful, fierce, inexorable, remorseless, incredibly deep and increasingly intense, insistent thrusts.

When Cillian was sure that you were not going to cry out in spite of the mind-blowing pleasure, he slowly sat back upright. His hands were holding you down on his cock as he shifted positions, and then spreading both your legs wide so he could go even deeper.

Fucking you hard and deep, you watched from above as you arched your back and bit your lip in mute ecstasy, gazing back up at him as your hand strayed down to work your swollen, pulsing clit. The feeling was so incredible it took literally all your self-control to not scream as you rode closer and closer to orgasm on the grinding girth of Cillian’s cock.

‘I am so close Cillian’ you moaned quietly and, just when you thought you couldn’t take too much more, you saw Cillian’s jaw clench and heard him draw a deep breath.

‘So am I’ Cillian groaned just as you felt his body shudder and his cock swell inside you, which is when you let go.

Your head was thrown back and your eyes were tightly shut as you started to cum. Your lips were also pressed shut as you concentrated on not making a sound, feeling wave after wave of pleasure roll down your body and ring through your pussy, until you felt Cillian reach down, his fingers at the back of your neck and his thumb against your mouth, compelling your eyes to snap open and meet his as he surged into you, flooding you with his warm cum as quietly as he possibly could.

Coming in sync like this with him was surreal and, whilst you didn’t let yourself go completely to avoid being too loud, it was intense. Seeing the fire in each other’s eyes and feeling the passion build up between your bodies was all you needed.

‘I needed this so fucking bad’ you huffed out, relieved, when Cillian collapsed onto you and you wrapped your arms and legs around him, pulling him close and kissing his ear, his cheek, his forehead and then his lips as your bodies trembled and you both gasped for breath.

‘I am sorry for not being more experimental tonight but I don’t like the fact that your brother is right next door’ Cillian whispered as he stayed there on top of you for a minute, breathing hard into the hair just behind your ear and absently kissing your neck.

‘It was perfect Cillian’ you said rather satisfied by what you had achieved within 45 minutes while Cillian carefully pulled out of you, causing some of his cum to leak onto the sheets beneath you.

You both rolled to your sides, facing each other before you resolved into an uncontrollable flood of silent kisses and caresses. Cillian was still holding you close to him and you felt at ease and ready to fall asleep in his arms once again. But, you knew that you had to get up and get into your own bed instead so that you wouldn’t raise any suspicions.

‘I better go and sneak back to my room’ you eventually said but Cillian wasn’t quite ready to let you go despite the fact that it was already 2 o’clock in the morning and you were scheduled to get up for your hike at 7am.

‘Not yet, stay just a little longer’ Cillian said before kissing you again gently and you continued like this for another ten minutes before calling it a night.

After you said goodnight to each other, you tippy toed back into your room where Laura was sleeping deeply.

You climbed into the bed beside her, not sure whether you could fall asleep after what you had just been doing. You also felt a sense of shame, being there right next to her after having been with the man she desired. But this sense of shame you were feeling was quickly taken over by more lust for Cillian as, after you pulled the doona over your body, you could feel another gush of Cillian’s cum leak from your core and into your cotton panties. The thought of his cum being inside you made you all excited again. You wanted more, so much more. You knew that you were in for more wet dreams and regretted not having demanded a second round from Cillian before you left his room, knowing that he was very much capable of going again.

***

The following morning, when your alarm went off at 7 o’clock, you stumbled into the kitchen, yawning and with dark circles beneath your eyes.

Cillian was already sitting on the kitchen table in his pyjamas, drinking his coffee and trying to maintain a conversation with Cian who appeared rather lively. Cillian, on the other hand, did not. He was clearly still tired and even a little exhausted.

‘Good Morning, Sister’ Cian said, smiling and handing you a cup of coffee which you gladly accepted.

‘You obviously stayed up late. You look tired’ he then said while Cillian gave you an innocent wink when Cian looked the other way to grab some sugar for Evelyn’s coffee.

‘Yes, I had a few more glasses of wine by the fireplace’ you said, cheeks blushing as you watched Laura sit down next to Cillian and trying her luck again, flirting with him and trying to get his attention.

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