#i should make you fucks refund me for the whole fucking car

[eloise-t-g]

long post ahead. i wanted to respond to some of the things i've seen people saying about the watcher situation. i honestly just needed to get some of this stuff off my chest lmao.

"sorry, the bridge has been burnt and i can no longer support watcher" - valid.

"i'm happy with this compromise and will continue to watch their content" - valid.

"oh so they apologise, change nothing, and now people are happy to give them money?" - things have changed. they compromised and completely changed their plan for the new website. did you not watch the update video? they're also issuing refunds to anyone who wants one.

"i bet people who over-reacted feel real stupid now!" - some people over-reacted, but a lot of people had valid criticisms and concerns. they shouldn't feel stupid if they expressed it in a non-abusive way.

"yay, we successfully bullied them into changing their minds!" - you're ... you're proud that you bullied someone? this isn't fucking elon musk or jeff bezos. these guys aren't multibillionaires exploiting their employees. these are three youtubers who want to pay themselves and their employees a living wage, while making content they're proud of, and they made a simple fucking mistake. stop throwing around the term 'eat the rich' as though it applies here.

"the apology video is clearly PR!" - yes, watcher is a business. this is how a business responds to situations like this. they had abuse hurled at them for 48 hours straight, they shouldn't feel bad for wanting to make sure everything said in the video was 100% agreed upon and analysed beforehand.

"steven was clearly the one behind this, he should be fired or step down!" - was he? do you know that for a fact? cause from what i saw, all three of them got in front of the camera and made the announcement video together. i agree that he should step down as CEO, but only because they clearly need someone who has actual business experience leading them (if you remember, ryan and shane stepped down a while ago because they didn't want to deal with that side of the company anymore - in the same video, they thanked steven for being the sole reason watcher was still going).

"they shouldn't have been silent the whole weekend" - maybe so, but it's clear they went into lockdown/crisis mode. also, businesses aren't open on weekends. i think it's fair that they waited until monday and took their time with it. maybe they should have tweeted something like "we're sorry and we're working on an explanation", but that just would have given people another place to attack them.

"you're all being parasocial" - i've seen this used against both people who are supporting/giving the team the benefit of the doubt, and people who are against everything. a lot of people (myself included) have used this experience to realise they were developing/had developed a parasocial relationship with these men. this is a good thing - it allows us to recognise these things and make changes within ourselves.

i think generally people are more parasocial towards youtubers than celebrities in films and tv shows. YT feels like there is a barrier removed between the creators and us; it makes us feel like we know these people in a way that we don't know actors who are always playing different roles. YT makes it easier to believe we're seeing the real people, when we really don't know them at all.

"why should i pay someone who owns a tesla?" - you don't have to. also, steven has been working consistently for years. it doesn't surprise me that he has enough savings for an expensive car. people are allowed to own things that you and i can't afford.

"they're embarrassed to be youtubers" - might be true, who knows. but for me it feels more like they want to be taken seriously as filmmakers/television producers, and don't feel like they can do that on YT.

"there's clearly money mismanagement going on" - i think this is likely. i personally don't know what it's like to run a business like this, which is why i've been watching videos from other youtubers who do. since they're saying they don't know where the funds are going, i'm inclined to believe watcher's budget is way off what it should be.

"why didn't they initially say they were having money troubles and might close doors?" - i can see both sides of this. i believe they should have recognised that their audience would have been more receptive to this kind of honesty. however, if you're asking people to give you money, while also saying the venture might not work out, it doesn't engender a great deal of trust. why should i pay for a 12 month sub if it's possible watcher will fold in 6? who will be around to issue me a refund then?

"we were happy with blue and yellow text on a screen!" - valid, but it's clear that they weren't. they clearly want to push themselves further creatively. on the other hand, it definitely feels like they got impatient and wanted that future creation to start now, when they don't have the funds for it. they shouldn't have tried to force their loyal audience to pay for content the audience didn't ask for.

"i don't want to fund steven, andrew, and adam flying around the world eating expensive food." - very valid. i wonder how different things would have been if this 'Worth It' revival had come around 6 months earlier. it still would have been tone deaf in a global living crisis, but i don't think people would have been this upset. what i don't understand is them doing this show if they genuinely couldn't afford it, which is the implication i got from them announcing it just before announcing the paywall.

"why don't they move their office out of LA?" - that would be incredibly expensive, especially for a company that is struggling financially. they would have to uproot their entire lives, and would probably lose a great number of their staff who don't want to/can't move. they would have to completely start over, which is something i imagine they're desperately trying to avoid.

i think the cancel culture that has grown in popularity over the internet over the last few years has led people to believe that:

they can say whatever they want online with no consequences.

people aren't allowed to make a single mistake, and should understand that when they do, it's okay to for others to spew hate and awfulness towards them.

part of me doesn't even know why i made this post, i think i just got sick of seeing the same complaints and questions lmao.

#watcher #steven lim #ryan bergara #shane madej #watcher entertainment

[maryellencarter]

yo tunglr how goest it

so! things keep Happening. i am like "i should make a post" and then things happen and i would need a whole additional post

so uh. where to start. i was in minnesota. i did not like minnesota. the social services are pretty damn solid but i did not know anybody except john and it was looking like a three year wait to get into housing, and i had to park a mile and a half away from the shelter because clearly letting homeless people park their cars next to the homeless shelter encourages them to remain homeless or something :P

and i have been trying for ten years to get back to the east coast, to the only place where i know more than one person in meatspace in the entire world. and then my tax refund came out to be Enough that i could afford to go to there. so i was like fuck it i will go to there

(can i afford to exist on the east coast? probably not. but i can't afford to exist anywhere that allows trans people. may as well be not affording to exist in a place where i have some sort of a network.)

so first i went to leia's and got a bunch of my stuff. mainly electronics and knitting. and then i came to here. i had arranged with a friend to use her address to receive mail and do laundry and shower and all those fun things you cannot do in a car. also i acquired some car-camping gadgets that plug into my car's cigarette lighter, such as an electric blanket.

(i even found out that my car has a 15amp cigarette lighter circuit like a semi truck, instead of a 10amp circuit like most passenger cars, so i can use a trucker's cookbox to heat up food! very exciting. still don't have an electric kettle but i saw a hopeful looking one at a truckstop, i'm just trying to pinch my pennies.)

anyway SO! got to friend's house. things went well for 2 nights. i successfully tested riding the metro and did not get the motion sickness. this was excellent news as i had to quit my last job in this area due to inability to arrive on time as i kept having to hop off metro and let my tummy settle

then friend's husband decided actually the plan that we thought had been cleared with him was Not okay, because he had managed to hear a totally different plan that only existed inside his head. (he does this. he has not managed to grasp that friend is against the palestinian genocide. they are both jewish so this is. a topic of regular conversation let us say)

so. i have been put up in a hotel for a week. very cozy. i just figured out how to use the coffee maker to make hot water for instant mashed potatoes. the week is running out but i have been looking into options.

so yesterday of course my phone had to go and fucking brick itself. (i think it was yesterday. time has been. somewhat. look i don't have a phone okay i can't exactly look at the date every five seconds as normal)

phone repair place gave me a free diagnosis, which was, the battery swoll up just enough to pop the back slightly open (it is not a phone that is supposed to open) and let water in and now the motherboard is ruined. it cannot be fixed

thank fuck i had picked up my electronics at leia's, thus i was able to communicate via ipad and laptop that this Had Happened. navigation is being *really goddamn hard* because i have to memorize directions from my wifi-only ipad before going out, and then somehow correlate them with very bad interstate signage (the only way i survived getting back from the phone repair place is that i'd been to an aldi in the same shopping center while my phone still worked)

i mean i could take transit but have you ever tried to take transit without a phone when transit maps are digital only

any fucking way. so then i went to the department of food stamps and all that stuff, to ask about assistance. the department told me i would have to be a resident in the county for nine months before i could even get into a shelter. also i got shuffled between several desks that were supposed to help me applicate for food stamps and medicaid before my name just... fell off the big monitor that showed all the people waiting and where they should go.

so my friend mara who is well connected in the local activism community began making Noises and we emailed a bunch of people. there is a place (nondenominational even! in minnesota you had your choice of the catholics, the "union gospel mission", or the sally army) that does free hot meals and helping applicate for shit and sometimes has charities come to give away free phones and so forth. sounds very much like the big central shelter and help center i was at in minnesota, except crucially not catholic.

(the catholics are better to deal with than the folks who require you to attend services in order to receive help. but they're still very... catholic about it.)

anyway that place says i can park there and not get towed, which is my largest concern. i have not actually gone to there yet because i did not feel like driving that far from my hotel with no gmaps until i have to. but it sounds extremely promising. i have some other emails to follow up on too but today i went and got one of my roughly-annual migraines so i was flat on my back in a dark room all day.

(at least the migraine had the decency to hit while i have a room and a bed and darkness all available. very polite of it. this has not been the case any time in the past six months and it has been a worry)

anyway i can't friggin get my lifeline provider (aka free government phone service for teh poors) to log me in on their website to look for a new phone without them being able to text my old phone, even though they offer me email verification and then just don't load the next page, so there is a solid nonzero chance i may lose this phone number. my contacts *should* be backed up to my gmail if i can get another android phone though.

so. uh. let's see. a new smartphone and service would run me close to $200 minimum. (i've been checking on a cheap service i had before becoming eligible for lifeline, which i was happy with. their very cheapest smartphone is like $114 on sale and their cheapest from a brand i've ever heard of, which i would strongly prefer, is a motorola running about $140 on sale. it's giant and clunky with a badly placed fingerprint reader but "able to get cellular service and run google maps therefrom" is my main priority right now.)

i have about $200 of my tax refund left in the bank. also i still need to buy gas. and some more food soon, i'm about down to canned chili (very edible cold in tortillas) and instant mashed potatoes (can make with cold water but they are significantly less delicious that way). and probably some other things i'm forgetting, and i haven't even started looking into the emissions test or my maryland ID and license plates. which i also wanted to budget about $200 for in case i have to pay excise tax for moving states like i did in minnesota (i don't know if i was supposed to or if the dmv fucked up). i forgot to ask if the one place does gas cards but i need to.

anyway i have to be out of my hotel room saturday morning so i am planning to spend tomorrow packing my shit back up and hauling it mostly down to my car. also i need another bath at some point. too much has been happening

sleeping in a bed has been very nice though. hadn't done that since august. i can sleep in my car and it's mostly comfortable but i'm fat and my steering wheel does not respect that

anyway. um. until more things explode i guess that is my update? jesus murphy. it's holy week and you can friggin tell. really bringing my catholic out. tomorrow is good friday and i definitely expect something more to explode. hell, my micro sd card was making noises about being corrupted and i was going to transfer stuff off it onto a new one via my computer and i haven't even started that yet because i've been so frazzled. it better not die along with jesus tomorrow, it's got all my music on it

#homelessness tw #uh i guess #who the fuck knows anymore #i haven't actually typed on a keyboard in over six months either so there's that #at least i still have my touch typing skills

[madiisixx]

The Torricelli Secret: Chapter 2

| ALORA |

"good evening"

"will somebody tell me what happened here yesterday? I expected a refund together with an interest at 5 percent"

This whole conversation is bullshit, None of my coworkers have no idea what happened.

My boss spoke once again, "My question is how the fuck did it come about?!"

Ronald, my touchy coworker spoke after.

"please forgive my language but fucks are given for this job and I believe Miss. Schmidt is the one to blame"

I sat with my mouth gaped open staring at him. Who the fuck does he think he is blaming me?

Scoffing a his rude remark I finally spoke, "First of all it's not my fault-"

"But it most certainly-"

I glared at him, "I'm not finished yet"

He rolled his eyes and sat back down in his seat amidst of him getting up to argue back at me.

I resumed my conversation, "you should explain to all of us why there were only two guards in the whole entire building"

"thanks to yesterday's incident we were shown by the media from Germany to Japan. You made us a laughing stock in front of the world"

Crossing his arms he looked almost taken back that I said something on the matter.

"We know how the media and the stock market will react when it's released publicly, Due to this we have occupancy for the next four weekends"

Everyone at the table was silent. It was an unusual thing because almost everyone always has something to say when I speak.

"but it is thanks to my strategy, age and gender had nothing to do with it", and then I stood up and left the office being over the meeting that wasn't even necessary.

✧★✧

Just a great way to start off my birthday weekend. After the meeting that was held I had went back to my apartment to gather and make sure I had everything packed correctly.

It's not really an important birthday but you only turn 25 once so I guess it's a milestone.

My bestfriend and I planned a trip on going back to Germany to visit my family and spend the weekend with them. I haven't been back to Germany since I last left to come to America.

That's where we are now. At the airport waiting for our layover to end.

We've been sitting here for over an hour because they said they are having some traffic issues.

"this is ridiculous I mean if I would've known they were having traffic problems we could've booked tomorrow's flight"

I smiled slightly at my bestfriend's comment, Always been the problem solver of us two.

"it's okay really Ellie I don't mind the wait besides I want to go get some sun so let's wait outside"

She nodded and we both stood up and headed outside to get some warmth.

Laughing she spoke again, "I'm not sure why it's so fucking cold in there but it feels so nice out here"

Agreeing with her I put my sunglasses on as to not get blinded by the piercing bright sun rays.

"it's nice out here but I can see what they mean when they said they're having traffic problems"

We both giggled and started conversing about our plans for the weekend.

✧★✧

A half an hour had passed and we're still sitting out here in the sun. I don't mind it because I like to be warm but Ellie on the other hand hates being warm for a while.

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms.

"can we go back inside now? It's fucking hot out here I can only take so much"

Snickering I spoke after her, "That's what she said"

It went silent for a few moments but then we both burst out laughing at my dirty joke. She wiped her tears away and smiled at me, "You're an idiot you know that?"

I nodded and smiled watching the view in front of me. I've always liked the beauty of the little things i'm not sure why. I just like simplicity

I must've been too much in my head because I was pulled out of my trance when a car had passed by us. It seems like the people in the car were doing the same thing I was because we had both locked eyes.

'Heilige schiebe'

Translation: "Holy Fuck"

Staring back at me was the most mesmerising man i've ever seen. He looked like a Greek god and had such beautiful eyes.

It didn't last as long as I wanted it to because they had driven past just as fast as they had stopped.

Pulling my arm Ellie held my hand and we both had went back inside to catch our plane.

On a second note, maybe the start of my birthday weekend isn't so bad after all.

A/N: new chapter! this is only just the beginning just you wait :) don't forget to vote ♡

#massimotorricellixoc #italianmafia #massimo torricelli fanfic #michelemarrone #massimo #madskaban #365daysfanfic

[wind-becomes-lightning]

Fool for Love

(Cover art by @kankuroplease)

I’M OFFERING FANFICS IN EXCHANGE FOR A DONATION THAT HELPS THE PEOPLE IN UKRAINE. MORE INFO HERE

Kris ( @butter--peanut) donated money for me to continue the prompt I wrote for her last weekend! Here we go! :) 5k words of pining and bi panic only for you.

Currently having requests open for stories, even if you don’t want to donate. If you want to know more, click here.

Modern AU - Dance Academy

Pairing: Hatake Kakashi x Uchiha Obito

 5185 words.

There really is only swearing in this so no warnings needed.

Ao3 link [x]

Obito accidentally signs up for a dancing crash course as follow instead of lead. He is very annoyed at his mistake until he meets his partner.

Obito walked up and down a little backstreet, shadows falling over him from the high rise buildings around. He wasn’t far from the city centre, the studio just around the tram station, but somewhere in the back. He wasn’t someone who got lost easily, so he’d known he would find it quickly, but he had still come early. Just that after arriving early he had taken too long to decide which exact road to take and on his way he had also met an old lady that needed help packing her things in her car and he had stopped along the way to help out as usual. Now he was fashionably late, only five minutes to the beginning of his dance class and he still hadn’t decided if he even wanted to take part.

Weeks ago, when he’d held the thick paper invitation in his hand, saw the name written on it and knew that it should be, must be, for a wedding, this whole ordeal had seemed like such a clever idea. Rin, his ex, was getting married in summer and she had invited him as a sense of obligation, as a part of their old university friend group. They had “remained friends” after breaking up, and hung out a few times, but still. A wedding invitation? To him? What a joke. He’d gotten very drunk that evening, playing a drinking game with himself, and decided: If he needed to go to a wedding against his will, he might as well be a good dancer. Somehow that had appeared logical in his mind.

Dance classes were expensive, he realised it when he looked them up on his laptop. They took months if done well and were pricey, but drunk Obito felt that was worth the money. The face that Rin would be making when he asked her onto the dancefloor. That moment of “Oh, this is what could have been” would be the most delicious thing he’d ever experienced. It was not like Obito still loved her, he just didn’t want her to win. Winning a breakup was a really real thing that existed for sure, he thought, and the title needed to be his. Even if that meant spending a lot of money.

When he had come to himself the next day and realised what he had signed up to, his first thought was a cancellation. It wasn’t too late, it had just been 10h since he booked and he could still skip out with a full refund. But then he had waited, forgotten about it, waited some more and in the end he had decided that fuck it, he already signed up so he might as well go. Might as well learn to dance to impress some new people at the wedding, maybe meet someone cute. Maybe turn some heads. So he had left to go to his first class in the course, but he still felt kinda reluctant about the whole ordeal.

He sighed and finally pressed the door open to the dance studio. There were two minutes left for him to change into something more comfortable and different shoes and he knew he’d be late to class on day one, he also knew what impression that gave out. When he finally entered the large dance hall it was 10 after meeting time. The floors were shiny and polished, light from the big windows on the backside of the room flooding in and reflecting in them. There was a big mirror on one side, probably for ballet classes and about 15 or so people were roaming the room, most of them already in pairs. Of course they had all been assigned already, Obito had come late. 

A nicely dressed woman walked over and waved at him. She had dark red hair and a clipboard that she tapped on carefully. “Hello, welcome!” she smiled wide and Obito could see the freckles on her skin. “My name is Sora, I’m leading this class. You are our last lost sheep I assume?” She grinned at him and Obito could feel the embarrassment at his neck. “Obito- Uchiha, Obito”, he said as if he was James Bond and waved mechanically back to her. Sora checked his name off on the list full of checked off names and nodded. “Your partner is already here.” She paused for a moment. “It’s interesting really, not many men sign up as follows.” 

Obito blinked. “Eh, what?” She looked up, tapping with her finger to her board again. “Usually men want to learn how to lead, unless they come with their partner or husband, but you signed up as a follow. That’s very cool actually.” She smiled to show him just how supportive of this she was. Obito sighed in disbelief. Did he really accidentally sign up for the wrong position? It wasn’t as unlikely as he might have wanted to delude himself. He had been very drunk when he filled out the application and could not remember much from that night. “I guess, I just thought it would be fun, yeah” he said, pulling his mouth into a fake smile to mask the embarrassment. “Yolo, you know.” Sora cringed visibly at his words, but caught herself instantly.

“Anyway”, she continued, turning to lead him away. “Your partner is a very handsome gentleman, so you should be happy.” Obito took a step back: “What? A man?” He frowned a little insecure. Sora tapped her finger to the board again, probably to the name of his partner. “Well, yes, you signed up as a follow. The lead is, as I said, usually a man.” Obito flashed back to the morning after, when he’d seen his booking of the class and decided not to cancel. Oh to be at that time right now and just- just do it. He sighed again. Too damn late now. So there was nothing else to do, but to follow Sora to his partner and hope it wouldn’t be too weird.

“This is Kakashi Hatake”, she said after stopping in front of a tall, white haired man, with a square jaw and a beauty mark below his lips. He was clearly muscular, but not bulky, not in the way Obito could be when he went to the gym too much. His hair was long and he held it out of his face with a hairband. “This is your partner,” Sora said, gesturing to Obito. “Obito Uchiha.” They shook hands awkwardly, Obito unable to take his eyes off Kakashi’s grey ones. “Yo”, Kakashi said, smiling. “I didn’t know I’d have a male partner, so this is quite the surprise.” The other man’s voice was low, echoing warm from his chest when he talked. Obito felt himself freeze in place and it took him several breaths to rip himself out of his trance. “Yeah,” Obito said, finally remembering the words. “I, uhm, thought it would be fun to be a follow.” Kakashi chuckled and it was clear he knew it was a lie.

“Well I don’t mind”, he continued, shrugging his shoulders and going back to the slouched position he’d been in before, his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants. “I’m just doing this because a friend told me it's a good way to meet people,” Kakashi explained and Obito laughed, throwing his head back a little. “Oh, well, I’m sorry that failed for you.” Kakashi put his head to the side. “How did it fail?” he asked, sounding genuinely curious. To respond Obito gestured to himself. “You got me as a partner. Not someone, you know, to meet.” Kakashi grinned a bit bigger now, eyes falling over the other couples standing and chatting. “I’m still good though.” The little birthmark danced on his cheek. Obito felt strangely warm.

“Everybody, please gather around”, Sora said then, clapping loudly into her hands. “Welcome to our little Sarutobi Dancing Academy! I’m so glad all of you have decided to learn the basics of dancing, I think it is a skill everybody should at least know a little about. It can be so much fun!” Sora smiled widely. “This is my partner, Yamato, who will assist me in teaching you some things.” She gestured to a brown haired boy, maybe a little younger than Obito was himself. Yamato had his eyes locked on her every movement, like he was contractually obligated to stare at her all the time. Clearly those two were partners outside the dance class too, Obito thought. 

Sora continued talking about the structure of the class, and then went over to talk about the importance of listening and working with your partner. Obito took the ample time of standing around to watch his opposite. Kakashi was about his height, a little slimmer, but clearly not a twig. He was maybe his age, maybe younger. He had this aura about him that made him feel like an old soul, like someone who had lived through a lot, but had come out stronger. By all accounts he was very beautiful and Obito had never thought of this word in relation to a man before. Kakashi caught him staring and smiled, pointing with his finger back to Sora, probably to get Obito to pay attention.

At the front Sora now demonstrated the right posture for dancing, The hand on shoulder, other person’s hand on the hip, both hands clasped at the front. It looked unnatural, but she was adamant that it would feel good and easy while dancing. Then she clapped her hands again happily and told the attendees to try with their partners. Obito swallowed and turned to Kakashi, who looked directly into his eyes. “It is easier to dance with someone your height I have heard”, Kakashi said, holding out his hand for Obito to take. “I-I guess so”, Obito replied, putting himself into position, one hand on Kakashi’s shoulder, one in his hand. They were so close to each other now. Kakashi smelled somehow familiar, a nice, earthy smell and Obito sniffed a little, and drank it in. “Oh, I’m sorry if I smell like a dog,” Kakashi said quickly. 

“Oh no no, no, no, no, I- no I wasn’t-” Obito’s nonsensical rambling was interrupted by Yamato who had come by to kindly correct their posture. “Why are you doing this class, by the way”, Kakashi asked friendly, trying to elevate some of the tension of this close, unfamiliar situation. “I’ve told you my friend put me up to it, was it the same for you?” Obito sighed a little. “Uhm, my ex-girlfriend is getting married soon and… uh” Kakashi winked: “You want to show off a little?” Obito nodded. Kakashi threw his head back, white hair tickling in his neck. “Well, I guess then we should do our best right?” Kakashi pressed the hand that was holding Obito’s. It was a mystery to Obito how this guy was just so alright with everything happening. “Eh, yeah, I guess, thank you.”

Sora had returned to her spot and was now praising the good posture of all the candidates. She continued explaining that she’d now demonstrate some easy steps for both lead and follow, for the walz, that afterwards she’d play music and there was time to test it out. “Try not to step too much on each other’s toes”, she joked with a wink and Obito felt a headache incoming. “You alright?” Kakashi whispered, his head leaning a bit forward so he could be closer to Obito’s ear. “Y-Yeah”, Obito lied, his knees feeling weak all of a sudden. “Good, it’s stuffy in here, I would understand if you felt faint.” Kakashi was smiling kindly again and the thought was in Obito’s mind once more: He was beautiful. This was a beautiful man. 

The music set in and Obito had been completely distracted about the necessary steps. Clearly, it was easier for Kakashi to keep his attention in class, as he moved his feet forward with ease. Letting Obito fall backward and then again pull Obito forward, so he could step backward. It was actually kind of easy to follow him, as his tucks on Obito’s hand were clear leads. Maybe there was a reason the positions were called this way, Obito couldn’t help but think. His eyes locked onto his feet to not fall over them, Obito swayed with Kakashi, back and forth, just back and forth. Lulling himself into a trance state in which he forgot where he was. But when the music ended he looked up and his heart somehow stopped beating for a moment when his eyes met his opposite.

“Do you want to switch?” Kakashi asked friendly, letting go of Obito’s hand. “Switch?” Obito asked, confused. “Oh yeah, you know, I’m not preferential. I could do either position.” He waved with a hand. “So if you want to learn it for a wedding, you should probably learn the lead, but you signed up as a follow, so…” Kakashi’s voice trailed off, the suggestion didn’t need repeating. “That is very nice of you”, Obito said quietly. “So you knew I lied when I said I signed up as follow on purpose.” Kakashi laughed and it sounded good. “I mean really, you looked so embarrassed when you said that. Of course you lied. No big deal though, man, I’m sure we will enjoy each other’s company these next few weeks.” Obito flushed. He couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop it. “I’ll be in your care” he said, bowing his head just a little and Kakashi replied: “And I in yours.”

“It’s Bi-panic”, Obito’s cousin Itachi said, legs up on his couch table, leaning leisurely against the back of it. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Obito snapped back, walking in circles through his living room too restless to sit down. “Is this some fancy-sounding word you young people use that us old people do not understand?” Itachi sighed, long hair framing his face. “No, it just means that you’ve probably always been Bi, but you didn’t know, and now that you found out you are stressing about it.” Obito stopped and stared at the younger man. “What-?” Itachi deep sighed once more, as if he was talking to a stupid little child. “Cleary,” he said, looking up and nodding at his cousin, “you have a crush on the guy.” Obito scoffed a “no way” under his breath, but Itachi wasn’t done. “And now you are panicking about it.” He shrugged his shoulders: “I’d say just go for it man, see where it leads.” Obito took a sharp breath. Obviously Itachi was wrong in his assessment. Surley, he must be…

They learned how to spin around together in the second lesson, Obito’s hand clasped tightly into Kakashi’s. Today, he was wearing all black, which suited him even with his paler skin and grey eyes. Kakashi had put his hair back in a hairband, essentially wearing a small ponytail and Obito felt a light jump of his insides when he saw it. “Did you have a nice weekend”, Kakashi asked friendly when they started taking positions and Obito said: “My cousin came by. He’s a bit younger and - “ He stopped when he remembered what Itachi had said. “And he is an idiot”, Obito concluded. Kakashi smiled again and then he talked about his 9 (yes 9!) dogs and how they’d spend most of Sunday outside. “I might smell like a dog again, apologies” he concluded, putting his eyes in a half moon smile. “I don’t think you smell bad at all, I like the way you smell”, Obito blabbered out before he could stop himself. “Is that so? Good then”, Kakashi chuckled.

Just like he had suggested, Obito and Kakashi switched positions frequently to give Obito the chance to learn to lead as well. It was clear to anyone with eyes that Kakashi was better at leading and that he also didn’t fall over his feet quite as often as a follow. “Did you do this before?” Obito asked towards the end of the session, a little breathless from stepping on his own toes so much. He kept forgetting to move backward when Kakashi went forward, kept forgetting that he was meant to, well, lead the dance and not hurt himself in the process. “There was a dance teacher at school at some point, we had a few lessons”, Kakashi frowned a little at the memory. “Though, I don’t think I kept much apart from the very basics.” Obito wanted to call him a liar considering the ease he was picking up the instructions, but maybe he was just a fast learner.

The morning of the third lesson Obito woke up from an especially steamy dream in which he’d been dancing and then as a follow up made out with the person he danced with. He could not quite remember who exactly the partner had been, but when he saw Kakashi later in the dance studio, hands again hiding in the pockets of his sweatpants, he felt his head becoming hot at the memory. Bi-panic, Itachi had said. When you suddenly realise you were bi the entire time. They were speeding up the process now, adding spins where need be and now that the basic steps had somehow edged itself into Obito’s mind, dancing became a little more fun. Especially when the hand of his partner felt so good in his, the other hand so good on his hip. When he looked up his eyes usually met Kakashi’s and he could feel a heat in his neck each time.

In week four they moved on from the traditional walz to a faster dance and once again Kakashi had no trouble nailing the necessary steps immediately. His hair was not bound back this time, hanging all over his face and cheeks and Obito couldn’t help but stare. He really was very handsome, especially when he was talking about his dogs, who, as far as Obito could gather, were all of different breeds and a real rowdy bunch. “How did you end up with so many?” Obito asked, honestly interested. There was suddenly a blush visible on Kakashi’s cheeks: “I just have to adopt one when I see one. I - I have a problem, I think.” Obito resisted the strong urge to touch the coloured cheek. No matter which way Kakashi moved his face, he always looked beautiful. Obito let out a sharp breath and Kakashi swirled him under his hand, just like Sora had told them to.

“Who are you going to take to the wedding by the way?” Kakashi asked so carefully casually by week five, that Obito’s ears perked up immediately. Was that an underhanded offer? Was he trying to say “take me”? “Nobody”, Obito said truthfully and then stumbled over his own feet because he had once again forgotten to take the lead. Kakashi caught him, their faces now very close to each other. “Careful”, he smiled and put Obito back on his feet. Obito’s heart was racing, face tingling from where Kakashi’s breath had been. He took a deep breath and another and then forced his normal smile on his face. “I mean, I just don’t have anybody who would go with me, plus most of my university friends will be there”, he babbled very quickly to move on from just another awkward situation. “I see,” Kakashi nodded. “Maybe you will still find someone.” Obito nodded mechanically: “Maybe I will.”

Obito’s dreams were full of footsteps and clasped hands and steamy kisses, just that now he could definitely see who he was dancing with. In his imagination Kakashi was usually leading him, dressed in gorgeous greys or blacks and then they would fall over each other eventually like hungry animals. Obito would usually wake up with a wet spot in his pants and a dangerously high pulse. Not good, not good at all. Often it took him hours to get the pictures out of his mind, banned to the back of his head, so he could go back to sleep without being haunted by them. But then sometimes during the day he would find them unpacked, unbanned, playing in front of his open eyes like a movie. All of this made Obito very insecure, more insecure than he’d ever been. Maybe Itachi, for all his faults and idiocy, had been onto something? Obito was definitely panicking now.

Week six rolled around and they had become a very good couple to dance with each other. Even Obito could lead fairly well now, not nearly as good as Kakashi, but good enough to not embarrass himself at Rin's wedding. They picked up the pace, eyes often locked onto each other instead of their feet and they talked a lot. The dogs, the work, the weather. Kakashi was an orphan, who had lived most of his life in and out of foster families. He loved reading books, his dogs and had been an overachiever at school which did not pan out that well for him in his adult life. He was kind, taking care of some other orphans that were still teenagers, and hardworking, as he was still considered a valuable asset for his company, even if he was getting burned out by it. “Take it slower please,” Obito said, pressing Kakashi’s hand gently. “Your heart might give out and we can’t have that.” Kakashi smiled and moved his head to the side: “Really? Well I guess I have to listen to you then.” 

By then Obito was entirely unable to mask his embarrassment around the man anymore. He’d never been especially good at hiding his feelings, but now he constantly felt the heat and embarrassment on his neck and cheeks at each smile Kakashi threw at him. He was half expecting the other man to say something, address the sweaty hands and stuttered words, but Kakashi stayed as cordial as ever, praising Obito when he did well, inquiring about his health, his grandmother, and his job. Occasionally there would be a compliment in there too. “That sweater looks good on you” or “Oh you got a haircut! It suits you very well” accompanied by a smile that made Obito weak in his knees. Spending time with Kakashi was amazing and terrible at the same time. In the following days he would dream of him everyday.

“Can’t believe next week is already our last session”, Kakashi said, packing up his sports shoes into a little bag at the end of their session in week 7. “It went by so fast”, he smiled again, the birthmark so cute on his cheek that Obito had to look away. “R-right,” Obito mumbled, his feet very interesting to him,“I learned a lot though.” Kakashi squirmed a little to get into his shoes: “Oh for sure! I am glad I also got to be follow, I think it's valuable to know both sides of the coin.” Obito put his hand behind his head: “Well thanks to you I won’t look like an idiot when I go to Rin’s wedding.” Kakashi lightly knocked his fist into Obito's shoulder. “I’m sure you will wow them all when you are there”, he said, grinning, “I’m really glad you were my partner. I absolutely loved dancing with you these past weeks.” Loved. Obito’s mouth felt dried out as if he hadn’t had water in days. His guts turned. The word echoed in his mind. This was bad. But before he could say anything else Kakashi had already waved goodbye and left the studio.

Itachi threw a little ball in the air, leaning into the pillows of Obito’s couch again. Sasuke was there too, his little brother, typing away on his phone. They came to visit their older cousin when their father was annoying them. Instead of taking it up with their father they went around and annoyed Obito in return. “I told you to go for it”, Itachi said, yawning, continuously throwing the ball up and down. “That was after the first week. You could have steadily gone on dates together by now, but instead you just swoon after him.” Obito took the ball from him: “I’m not swooning.” Itachi laughed: “You just spent an hour talking about the guy. I feel like I have a really good picture of what he looks like because you described him so well to me.” Obito felt red on his cheeks. “You do not know what you are talking about.” Itachi waved with his hand: “Just ask him out, problem solved.” Grinding his teeth together, Obito turned around, ready to walk out of the conversation. “Obito-nii”, Sasuke said suddenly, still staring at his phone screen. “You are an idiot.” He did not elaborate further.

The day of the last lesson was fast approaching and Obito’s mind was revolving around Kakashi only. He had a hard time focusing on work, his grandmother mentioned how quiet he was during dinner time. “Are you in love with someone?” she asked, her usual kind smile on her face. Obito hated how well she knew him. “So-so”, he replied, not willing to lie to her, but not quite ready to face the truth. “Well, I’m sure if you’d asked them out, they’d love you”, she said, continuing to put pudding into her mouth. Obito watched her eat it, too absent minded to eat his own. So everybody was telling him to go for it? But what if Kakashi was not interested? What if he had only been nice? What if he would be offended by the offer even? It was not like Obito really understood what was happening either. He knew, however, that he had to decide quickly, as he had only one more chance to talk to Kakashi before they’d go their separate ways again.

Lesson 8 arrived and Sora welcomed them with her usual wide friendly smile and open arms. She had a little speech about how far they’d all come, how proud she was of this course specifically for doing so well. “I’m sure she tells that to all of them”, Kakashi whispered under hand and Obito nodded even though he wasn’t really listening. His mind was still revolving around one question and one question only: Would it make sense to ask Kakashi out or not? Sora ended her speech and clapped into her hands again. She declared the lesson to be a free dance, and said that they had the choice to dance as long as they wanted in the way they wanted. Then she turned on the music. Kakashi turned to Obito: “Shall I start with leading?” He was wearing this friendly smile again that had Obito weak in his knees. “Yes, please”, he replied as if his mother had just offered him an especially tasty treat.

They danced, lost in music and each other again. Obito let Kakashi talk about the weekend, how he’d been out in the mud with 3 of his dogs because the others didn’t like it as much. How he’d come home and had to throw away one of his favourite sweaters because it had been too dirty to save. “My grandmother can clean anything”, Obito heard himself say, his feet moving without him having to think too much about it. “Hm, maybe I should come by your place next time I have these issues then,” Kakashi said kindly and Obito felt red in the face. “Y-yeah, maybe.” He wasn’t sure how to read the possible implication of this, so he didn’t say anything. Kakashi continued talking about this and that and work, his hands holding Obitos tight and warm. It could have been so easy to ask him out right then, but Obito had chickened out. That was the first chance he let slip by.

Time is never kind to you when you want it to go slow and so the two hours flew by quicker than Obito had expected. Soon Sora clapped again, her hair now a little messy from spinning around herself. “That concludes the Crash Course! I invite all of you wonderful people to sign up for the follow up course or any other course at our dance academy. We’d love to see you again.” Obito watched Kakashi out of the corner of his eye. The other man stretched his neck and looked sternly forward, seemingly not noticing Obito’s eyes on him. Ah, he truly was so beautiful. The sudden applause for whatever Sora had mentioned ripped Obito out of his thoughts and he awkwardly joined in the clapping. “I had fun with this,” Kakashi said when they turned around to change their shoes into outdoor ones. “I could see myself signing up for another class.” Obito tied his sneakers together: “Oh, yeah it was fun, but I’m not sure really-” Kakashi smiled silently to himself and the conversation died. That was the second chance he let slip by.

Obito followed Kakashi's heels out of the studio. They had done a big round of goodbyes with the other attendees and the teachers and then left almost together. He still hadn’t asked Kakashi out, his mind revolving around the two perfect opportunities he hadn’t identified as such and he was swaying a little. They silently walked to the tram stop, through the back alley that Obito now knew so well. Obito fiddled with his fingers in his pockets. He needed to make a choice, now, now. He had no phone number or address of Kakashi, so if they’d part now they’d never see each other again and Obito wanted to see him again. His heart was hammering hard against his chest. They reached the tram stop and Kakashi said “I have to go in this direction” . It was the opposite direction in which Obito had to go. “That’s goodbye then” Kakashi smiled as beautifully as he always had.

“I-I guess,” Obito heard himself say but the fingers in his sweater were shaking. He felt the panic creep up his neck, the idea never to see Kakashi again, the fact that it would have been his own fault. “Just go for it”, Itachi had told him twice. Obito hated when Itachi was right, he hated when anyone felt like they knew better than he did. Kakashi waved a little and turned around, Obito let out a sharp breath. It had to be now. Now or never. Suddenly he could hear Sasuke’s words in his mind again: “Obito-nii, you are an idiot.” It was true, he was an idiot. “Wait”, Obito said, a little louder than necessary. A few people turned around with Kakashi, looking interested in who had suddenly started screaming. Obito lowered his voice so that only Kakashi could hear: “Wait, please, I- I want to ask you something.” Kakashi put his head to the side: “What is it?” Obito took a sharp breath in: “I might be- might be completely out of it here, but-but, uh..” He tried to keep his courage. “..would you want to go for dinner with me maybe?”

Kakashi laughed, the beautiful sound ringing in Obito’s heart. “Thank god, I thought you’d never ask.”

#obkk #kakaobi #hatake kakashi #uchiha obito #hatake kakashi/uchiha obito #naruto shippuuden #fanfiction things

[bitchesgetriches]

hey bitches!! i've been feeling a bit unstable financially due to having been convinced to use some of my emergency savings to help my parents cover a larger purchase they were gifting me, as well as having to take nearly a month off of work , but i recently got a refund from my college scholarship and it's nearly five times as much as I would have made during then! i'm super grateful, and currently deciding whether to use the majority of it to knock out a vehicle loan i only recently got, leave it in emergency savings, or put it in my acorns account... i have used small portions for the loan AND acorns so far while i consider tho :)

Oh puggle, this is fucking fantastic!!! We're so relieved for you. There's nothing like feeling steady financially to improve your whole outlook.

Here's some advice for making that big decision:

Season 3, Episode 2: "I Inherited Money. Should I Pay Off Debt, Invest It, or Blow It All on a Car?"

[starryevermore]

A Gift For a Gift

I’m sorry this is so long and if you see any grammatical errors, no you don’t <3 lol anyway I just wanted to write something for you since you write so much for us! Thanks so much Kayla, we love you! (I also cannot for the life of me figure out the read more thing, so I am sorry again lol) (Kayla here! I added a read more for you 🥰)

Colby fucking hated Valentine’s Day. For most of his teenage life, if he saw those stupid hearts and those goddamn teddy bears, he was instantly in a worse mood. Most years, it made sense why he hated the holiday. He’d been single a long time, and even when he had a girlfriend, he hadn’t had the money to give his girl a proper date. He always tried, but it never seemed good enough. His mind would always go back to one year in particular where he’d tried to set up a picnic for a girl in the living room of his house. He was 15 so he had no car or money, and it was Kansas, so there was a foot of snow on the ground anyway. He’d gone all out. He asked his mom to bring home some balloons and flowers and all that gross shit just so the aesthetic was perfect. He then tried to actually cook food. Himself. At fifteen years old. For the first time. When he tells this story and says Mama Brock came running with the fire extinguisher, he’s not kidding. His mom made the meal. 

At the cost of his whole day (and nearly his home), his girlfriend came over and laughed. Not in a cute way or in disbelief, but laughed in his face over his efforts. She picked apart every inch of the room he had decorated and told him it was ugly. Apparently he had used the wrong shade of red? He hadn’t realized that it mattered, but “barnyard red” was not right. She said the balloons were tacky and the flowers were meaningless because they weren’t roses. She refused to eat the meal because it was cold (since she’d shown up an hour late), and then broke up with him on the spot. 

So yeah. Colby fucking hated Valentine’s Day most of the time. This year was different, though. He had met the love of his life. He was convinced you were the one he was supposed to be with all this time. He’d waited and it was worth it. And you loved Valentine’s Day. The pinks and reds made you happier than anything else. He’d never seen someone get so giddy over seeing a pink bear with a heart on it’s foot until he’d met her. Every trip to Target was punctuated with a visit to the dreaded candy section. But he saw you smile at every silly pun on the backs of the card boxes. You laughed at the ridiculous couples games. You hugged at least one bear every time and forced it to hug him too. You were happy. This time of year and celebration made you happy. And damn it that was enough to put aside his petty hatred for this capitalist cash-grab of a holiday and come up with the most kickass Valentine’s Day date he ever could. 

He hadn’t realized how hard that would be. He was a hopeless romantic, but he was also hopelessly self-destructive. He would come up with an idea and every scenario started beautifully in his imagination, but every time each scenario ended with something awful. He thought you two could go to the beach, but then he imagined you falling into the water and getting salt in your eyes. Maybe you two could go to the movies, but then you could get stuck in front of two teenagers who weren’t aware that just because a room is dark, the sounds they were making weren’t audible. 

This cycle went on for a long time. It took so long, he actually forgot what day it was. He’d begun planning the second February hit. He checked the calendar and realized he only had a week until The Day. Fuck. Had it really been a week? He felt like his head was swimming. His final brain cell was short circuiting and his head literally had no thoughts left in it, only fuzz. His head hadn’t felt this empty while still spinning since he’d learned about imaginary numbers in Algebra II. And he’d never actually learned imaginary numbers. Sam took that test for him. Suddenly, he had one thought. 

“I gotta ask Sam.”

Sam Golbach, per usual, had about a million suggestions. Colby reasoned that since he’d had more experience having an actual girlfriend on The Day, Sam should have more ideas than himself. The only issue is that the brain cell Colby had frazzled trying to come up with a date was usually shared between him and Sam, so Sam had all of the same ideas Colby did. He suggested the beach and the movie and the dinner and blah blah blah, so Colby was literally at square one. Sam was supposed to fix all of these issues. He had the brain and the longer relationship, so what the fuck? Why had he picked this time to not have any original idea?

“Colby.” Sam shook Colby’s arm.

“Jesus dude, you scared me. What?”

“You’ve been staring at the carpet for like 30 seconds. I know what it looks like when you’re mentally drifting. That’s the only kind you can do, if our video had anything to prove.” Sam smirked, knowing full well that Colby had taken second place in that challenge. 

“Shut up, dude. You had more time driving manual. I just learned there.” Colby knew his defense was weak, but it was a defense nonetheless.

“And you did well.”

“Don’t patronize me. I killed that car like twelve times. It feels like I’m going to end up doing the same with this relationship.” Colby sighed and rubbed his face. He held his hands there, flush against his cheeks. He could feel himself heating up and the cool metal of his rings, one of which you gave him, always helped keep him grounded. Sam grabbed his shoulder and shook him again.

“Would you shut the fuck up?” 

Colby removed his hands from his face, side-eyeing Sam, surprised “What the hell, Sam?” 

“Someone needed to say it. You’re talking yourself down again. Yeah, you killed the car. But you learned. You’ll do the same thing here. If you mess up, who cares? You tried! You need to realize that perfection isn’t attainable, so stop trying to attain it. You don’t have anything to be afraid of. Anything you do will make her happy. Because it’s you. She loves you. Any situation or plan can go wrong. We of all people should fucking know that. But don’t let fear stop you. You never have before. So what is your problem?” Sam asked, softening the harshness of some of his words by rubbing comforting circles into Colby’s shoulder. 

Sam knew Colby. He knew Colby was afraid. He’d been hurt so many times, and sadly many of those times, the hurt was self-inflicted. Colby held himself to an insane standard that he’d never expect anyone else to live up to, but this was Colby and Colby deserved harsh critique apparently. He refused to let his friend scare himself into doing nothing and then letting that nothing ruin what he had going. (Y/N) and Colby were made for each other. Anything Colby did made your heart swell and just knowing he put in effort would be more than enough. But Colby didn’t know that, or rather, refused to acknowledge that. Sam was getting tired of it. 

“You know her. Just do something she’ll like. Not whatever anyone tells you you should do. She loves you” Sam said, squeezing Colby’s shoulder one more time before dropping his hand to the arm of the chair. Colby smiled and looked at him. 

“Thanks Sam. You’re right, once again. I don’t know how you always know what to say. I love you, dude.”

“Hold up, I’m not your valentine. I said she loved you, not me. Save all that mushy shit for her. You’re wasting your soft energy.” Sam laughed, standing to leave.

“Oh shit, you’re right. Us emo boys can only express positive emotions twice a week and I’ve wasted once on you. How could I be so dumb?” Colby shot sardonically back, returning to his computer to look up restaurants. 

Sam laughed again and walked to the door. He went through and closed it behind him, but Colby knew he was still on the other side, hand on the handle. Colby turned just as Sam quickly stuck his back into the room, quickly whispering “I love you too” before slamming the door again and audibly running down the hall to his room. Colby laughed out loud that time. His friend was an idiot, but they’d be so lost without each other. 

Time to plan the date Colby knew you would like, not the date that was in the movies. He still hated Valentine’s Day. 

——————————————————————————————————————————-

Well everything was going to shit, just as Colby had feared. He had been so proud of himself. He thought of an amazing night. First, you two were going to go to your favorite restaurant and have the meal you’d been saying you craved for two weeks. He’d even called the place ahead of time, asking if they could play your song at a certain time, since they had a live band. He may have had to use some of that influencer clout to get that request, but it was okay. Did he feel like an absolute rat that just ran through the New York City sewer system for doing it? Absolutely. Would he ever do it again? If you asked him to, probably. But not for a long time. 

However, what had failed to happen was a valid reservation. It was Valentine’s Day in Los Angeles, after all. There would be no place in the whole city that wasn’t booked to full capacity. Colby knew that. That’s why he made the reservation directly after his talk with Sam. A week ago. The restaurant accidentally double booked your table. And the other couple had come before you two. Directly before you. As in they were the ones in front of you in line. 

“Well, is there anything we can do?” Colby asked

“Not really, the whole place is booked all night. I’m so sorry. You’ll get a full refund?” The hostess looked down and cringed, seemingly preparing for the Karen reaction. You and Colby just looked at each other and looked back at her apologetically. It must be hell to work here on The Day and deal with all of these rich assholes with an elitist complex. Which is exactly what you said to her. She just laughed lightly and brushed it off, but you and Colby saw the look of acknowledgement in her eyes. You both said your thank yous and goodbye while walking towards the main sidewalk where you’d parked. That had gone right, at least. You both were ecstatic that you’d actually found reasonable, legal parking close to the restaurant in downtown LA. That was a feat.  

Or at least, Colby thought the spot was legal. The ticket on his windshield begged to differ.

“What the hell? We were gone for like ten minutes!” Colby exclaimed, annoyed but impressed at the dedication of the PEO in the area. 

You laughed heartily. Colby’s little cloud of poor luck seemingly didn’t take a holiday. Just one of the nuances you loved about him. You’d always have a story. You could see the doubt creeping into his face and you were about to reprimand it, but you faintly heard your favorite song playing in the distance. The band inside had taste! You gasped and smacked his arm, flapping your other hand excitedly.

“Listen!” You said, pulling him back from the car and taking his hands.

Colby looked down and checked his watch.

“7:45. That’s right.” He flicked his eyes up to your face, coughing awkwardly as he rubbed his neck.

“You planned that?” You smiled, taking his hand back again and pulling him a little closer.

“Yeah… I tried anyway. I planned to be able to hear it a little better, but this is a lesson in using Instagram followers for special treatment I guess.” 

You laughed again and wrapped your arms around his waist, pulling him close to you. 

“Well, don’t ever do that again obviously, but let’s dance like we did that one time the bouncer wasn’t convinced we were old enough to get into the club.” He giggled at that, remembering the look of bewilderment you two shared when Sam and Kat walked in with no issue. Of course you’d both forgotten your IDs that night. You decided to dance right outside anyway. 

“Okay, but aren’t I supposed to be the one taking the lead?” 

“Fuck gender roles.” You smiled, pulling him even closer and tucking your head beneath his chin, swaying him to the song playing from inside. He laughed again and let you move him around. He wasn’t good at dancing on his own anyway, so maybe you leading was the better decision. He was just letting things happen, slowly allowing himself to just let go and enjoy dancing with you. He felt silly and like he’d failed already, but he was keeping it together. There was still more planned. Where he couldn’t keep his poker face was when you -attempted- to spin him but actually just smacked his face with his own arm. You both giggled lightly and you decided to seal the deal with a sorry attempt at a dip. You forgot that he was taller than you, so gravity decided to join the forces against you two that night. Thankfully you were both near the car still, because Colby was able to keep both of you from the pavement by hitting his back against the door and grabbing onto the handle. You both were laughing hysterically at this point, unable to really form coherent sentences. 

“Just get in the car,” You got out eventually, wiping the tears from your eyes. “And never tell anyone.”

“I don’t plan on it.” Colby said, opening the door for you.

“This is one of the chivalrous acts that I will accept, so don’t ever stop doing that.” You joked, kissing his cheek lightly as you got in.

“Note taken.” Colby laughed, closing the door behind you.

“So Romeo, now that the masquerade is bust, where are we headed?” You asked once he got in and started driving.

“I know that was supposed to be a reference, but I haven’t thought about that play since I was twelve,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “Anyway, we’re going somewhere I think of when I think of you.”

You smiled softly at him with that. This boy was a big ol’ softie and he really pretends he’s not. You never bought it. He was incredibly sentimental and sweet, so you knew that wherever you all were going was going to mean a lot to him. Therefore, it would mean a lot to you too. 

You were driving for a long time. You were no longer anywhere close to downtown and you couldn’t help but ask a million questions. Where are we going? Are we there yet? Why are we going here? Where are we going?

“You’ve already asked that.” Colby smiled, endeared by your only-child behavior but slightly annoyed nonetheless. 

“You got me there, Brock. But where are we going?” Colby groaned, leaning forward into the wheel. He reached to his phone and handed it to you with the Aux cord. 

“Please, pick something and stop asking!” 

You smirked and went to his music. Usually, you would go straight to the songs you wanted, but you were being nosy. You decided to go to his playlists and see what he had saved. You were scrolling past the expected “editing” list or the “late night” playlists, but stopped when you saw it. The most recently added list was one simply titled, “Her” with a small heart next to it, the black one of course. You cocked your eyebrow and clicked it. You started looking through the songs and saw all of the songs you’ve recommended to him over your relationship, along with some outliers. You glanced over at him, seeing if he was paying attention. 

He wasn’t. His brain was going at a million miles an hour. He felt like a comeplete fuck up. How was he the one table that was double booked? How had they managed to hit intense traffic at eight and made this drive take half an hour? How were you not bored out of your mind? There’s no way you were having any fun. He continued to stew in these intense thoughts when he’s snapped back to reality by the opening chords of Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol.

Shit. She found it. He thought. He risked a glance at you, blushing bright red. Please don’t…

You were smiling widely at him. “You have a playlist for me?” 

“Oh god.”

The rest of the drive flew by, you two screaming lyrics at the top of your lungs once Colby’s embarrassment faded. It reminded you of the first time you had hung out, just you two. You’d discovered a mutual love for early 2000’s emo music, so you two screamed your voices away to the sweet dynamics of My Chemical Romance and Fall Out Boy until two that morning. You smiled quietly, remembering the fun of that day. You knew this was one special dumbass that day, especially after figuring out he had misheard “down in an earlier round” from Sugar, We’re Going Down as “down on a merry-go-round” for literal years. You had scream-laughed at that and corrected him, laughing even harder as the realization spread across his face. 

“Holy shit.” He’d whispered. “It’s been years…” 

“Hey, we’re here.” Colby startled you out of your daydream. You smiled at him as he climbed out of the car and sprinted to open your door. You laughed, remembering your comments at the restaurant. He opened the door and let you out, beginning the walk towards the location. You recognized this location. It was the neighborhood of the chandelier tree from one of his earliest vlogs. You had seen it and begged for him to take you there. It seemed so cute. You smiled widely at him, placing your hand in his. You swung his hand lightly as you walked, knowing it drove him crazy.

“Would you stop that?” he playfully asked, feigning annoyance. You responded by swinging his arm as far back as you could, saying,

“Careful Brock. Watch the tone or I’ll try and dip you again.”

“I thought we weren’t supposed to talk about that?” He asked cheekily, taking the piss. 

You laughed again and smacked his arm as you turned the corner to the tree. Or the location of the tree, as there were no chandeliers. 

“What?” Colby asked, mostly to himself. You both looked at each other, confused. You got closer, deciding to let go of each other’s hands as Colby went ahead, trying to see if it was just around another corner or if he was on the wrong block. You pulled out your phone and asked Google.

“Oh, baby. They took this down last month!” You frowned, calling out to him.

“Seriously?” Colby asked, clearly disappointed. Another fuck up. He hadn’t even thought to look up if it was still here or not “Shit.”

You could see the wheels in his head turning, trying to figure out what to say. You were about to reassure him when he lights up, turning to you and exclaiming,

“The park! That pretty lookout Sam and I used to go to all the time! It’s like ten minutes from here, we could go there. I’m sure it’s awesome right now.”

You smiled and were nodding in agreement when a loud bang made the two of you jump ten feet. You looked quizzically at each other when your mutual question was answered by a sudden downpour of rain and flash of lightning. A thunderstorm, of fucking course. Colby removed his jacket, holding it above your head as you both made a break for the car. 

After your dead sprint, you both sat in your seat, heaving breaths and looking out in pure wonder. You looked over to Colby, ready to laugh at the absurdity of the whole night when you saw him slumped forward on the wheel, refusing to look at you, shoulders shaking slightly. 

“Colby, baby, are you okay?” you asked lightly, grabbing his arm. He turned even farther away, opting to lean his head against his window to cool his heating face. He refused to let you see the single tear that was leaving his eye. 

“I’m sorry.” was all he muttered.

You were shocked. “Baby, you don’t control the weather. If you did, I’d be pissed you haven’t fixed global warming yet.” You attempted to joke. He didn’t laugh.

“I failed again. I just wanted to make something special for you. I know you love Valentine’s Day and it means a lot to you. I hate this fucking holiday but I wanted to make you happy. But I fucked it up. Just like I do everything. I mean, it’s raining! In L.A.! What the fuck! There’s nowhere open that’s not booked and it’s already nine and I haven’t even gotten you food and you probably have never had a worse valentine’s-” he tried to rant, but you covered his mouth with your hand. His eyes darted to you, surprised. 

You were beyond hurt. You couldn’t believe he didn’t see how much fun you were having or how much pressure he’d put on himself to make everything perfect. You should’ve guessed as much. You reached your other hand around the back of his neck, moving the one from his mouth to his cheek, kissing him. 

“Would you shut the fuck up?” you said, pulling back. He barked a short laugh out, surprised.

“You know, you’re not the first one to tell me that about this whole thing.”

“You talked to Sam about this date?”

“How’d you know?” He looked at you again, fully flabbergasted. You laughed.

“Do you talk to anyone else about stuff important to you?” He shrugged, clearly thinking it through. 

“Other than you, no, not really.”

“Anyway, he’s right. I don’t care that stuff didn’t work out. You put more thought into this night than anyone else has ever put into any date I’ve ever been on. You poured your heart into it. You thought every little thing through. You tried. And even when things didn’t work out, we had fun. We reminisced on our relationship so far. We danced, screamed songs, and ran through the rain. You tried to give me a super involved date. You gave me a damn movie instead.” 

Colby scoffed at the irony in that. He did exactly what he was trying not to do. Fairly typical. You swiped your thumb across his cheek, getting his attention again.

“You’re drifting, stay with me.” Colby laughed and rolled his eyes. You stilled your thumb, confused.

“You and Sam are literally on the same wavelength.” 

“Or we are the ones who know you best. I think I’ve got him beat on the loving you, though,” you paused. “Maybe.” 

You both chuckled again.

“But seriously, Colbs, if you’re here, I’m happy. You make anything fun. That’s why I’m in love with you. I know you think about everything and try your fucking hardest. You are the sweetest man I know. That’s why I picked you. Remember, I had a line of suitors waiting,” you winked, knowing Colby knew that all too well.

“God, don’t remind me.” He groaned. He leaned his cheek into your hand, allowing you to hold him. That’s how you knew he loved you. He let his guard down and let you love him. He doesn’t do that for many, and you knew that. You loved that he let you in. He lightly kissed the hand that was still caressing his cheek, smiling when you pulled him close again. You two stayed like that for a while, kissing softly while the rain pattered against your windows. It really was like a movie. The gray, swirling clouds and soft wisps of the wind lulled you both into a serene sense of young love. You belong here. This was you two. Shit was going to go wrong. And you were going to love each other through it. That’s what made you two special. You don’t want perfection. You want each other. 

“So,” Colby said softly as he pulled back. “How’s about we pick up some In-And-Out and binge watch Attack on Titan in the big theatre?” You smiled again, squeezing the back of his neck one more time.

“Fuck yeah.”

So, that’s what you all did. And it was the best night ever, just you two being goofy and in love. And okay, Colby may be coming around to Valentine’s Day. Or maybe it’s just you. He thinks it’s just you. Either way, he can’t wait to spend the rest of them just like this.

#hold on #wait #holy fuck #im crying #it's not even 9am and im fucking crying #thank you so much for this #ily #holy fuck i love this #im so soft 🥺🥺🥺 #oh my god #im at a loss for words #submission #*written by: kraken45 #starrybrock #colby brock #colby brock imagine #colby brock x reader #colby brock fanfic #colby brock fanfiction #colby brock fluff #colby brock fic #colby brock fan fiction #sam and colby #snc #xplr #traphouse #traphouse 2.0 #trap house #trap house 2.0

[ackerslut]

Two Bisexuals Are Your Co-Captains

ao3

“I solved racism,” Mariner says, kicking open the ready room door. This should not be physically possible, as doors have progressed past the need to be opened, and are, in fact, automatic.

Boimler, whose face is currently one with the synthetic wooden desk, gives her a thumbs up but doesn’t move beyond that.

“Okay, I lied, I didn’t solve racism,” Mariner admits. “It’s still a problem in our galaxy. But, I did solve our captain problem!” she tries. This does get Boimler to remove his face from it’s fixture on the desk.

“You did?” he blinks up at her, creases in his face from where it had been smooshed against the hard surface.

Mariner dumps an honest-to-god paper file on his desk. “Check it out, twink.”

Boimler swipes the file, frowning as nothing happens when he taps it. Mariner helps him out, flipping the cover over. “So there’s this really nifty rule back from like 2039 that allows for two acting captains to co-pilot the ship simultaneously.”

“Are you serious?” Boimler groans.

“As Legato Infection,” Mariner confirms. “It was apparently instated for missions where the crew is like. Separated or some shit and need more than one captain coordinating. Because Starfleet was also part of the air force for a while, co-captains were basically just co-pilots. Like this was a whole thing. But it got overwritten with the First Officer Act of 2048 that instated First Officers as a fill in instead of a co-captain, able to make decisions and delegate, but it was never technically outlawed. Meaning…”

“We could technically take advantage of the loophole and-”

“Co-Captains!” Mariner punches the air. “You know what this means?”

Boimler blinks at her blankly. Beckett applauds herself over the alliteration, as she throws an arm over his shoulder. “It’s our ship,” she whispers dramatically, already envisioning the communist flags with selfies of her and Boimler printed on them.

“Or it could just be your ship,” Boimler says, fear in his eyes.

Beckett grabs his collar, dragging him up to eye level. “Our ship.”

________

“Beckett no,” Freeman says flatly. Ever since The Incident--the one where the ship was overrun with the Pakleds that took out the entirety of senior command--she’s been in medbay, wrapped up in so many bandages she looks like a mummy from one of those really old movies Boimler is obsessed with.

“Beckett yes ,” Mariner says, taking a slurp of her cherry limeade slurpee. “You named me First Officer!”

“Then why does Boimler-”

“Ransom also named him First Officer!”

“So your brain jumped to Co-Captains ?” Mariner can’t see her mom’s expression, but from her squinty eyes she’s pretty sure it’s disapproving. “That is the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever heard of.”

“You can’t call your daughter dumb!” Mariner throws her hands up in the air.

“Mariner, you’re dumb.”

“That’s against parent rules! Everything I do is supposed to be a fucking delight!”

Freeman turns her judgy eyes to Boimler, who had been staring off into the middle distance, probably traumatized by all of the shrieking the mother and daughter duo had been doing since they entered medbay. Whatever, it’s not Mariner’s fault that her mom’s kneejerk reaction to her daughter charging into medbay with a bat'leth and no shirt on was to shriek like a goddamn banshee.

“You know what,” Freeman says, eyes locked on Boimler. “I’m already having a bad fucking week. Go ahead, make it worse I dare you .”

“Uhm-”

“We absolutely will do that,” Beckett promises, crossing her heart.

_____

“ ATTENTION ALL PERSONAL ,” Mariner says, over the ship’s speakers. D’Vana, from her position at the First Officer’s station, gives her a Disappointed Look. Mariner gives her a thumbs up back.

“ DUE TO OUR EXCRUCIATING CIRCUMSTANCES AND THE LACK OF COMMUNICATION BETWEEN YOUR FORMER CAPTAIN AND HER FIRST OFFICER, ENSIGN BOIMLER AND I WILL BE YOUR CO-CAPTAINS TONIGHT. OR FOREVER, WE HAVEN’T DECIDED YET.”

“Mariner, what are you doing?” Boimler says, storming onto the Bridge. Mariner, who had hacked the Bridge speakers to play Demi Lovato’s Confident every time Boimler entered, is pleased to note that nobody had figured out how to turn that off yet. Unfortunately for her, however, Boimler didn’t recognize his girlboss powers, and had been yelling at her every time it happened.

“I’m letting the ship know about our change in command, oh Co-Captain of mine,” Mariner says over the booming bass and Demi Lovato’s dulcet tones. In the corner of her eye, the vulcan side character that everyone thought was a Cool Guy, bopped his head to the music.

Boimler sighs, pressing his palms into his eyes. “So we’re actually doing this?”

“Dude, I already made us friendship jackets. That shit had a no refunds policy.” She pulls a leather jacket that had been draped over their helmsman's head--bad for ship navigation, but good for dramatic effect--and throws it at Boimler. Boimler unfolds the pink monstrosity, sighing deeply at the neon-yellow glitter words Gatekeep Girlboss Gaslight emblazoned on the back.

“Is this really necessary?”

“It’s ABSOLUTELY necessary,” Mariner says, standing up. She turns around, showing Boimler her purple jacket which says Malewife Mansplain Manipulate in snot-green glitter.

“HOW DOES THAT MATCH.”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN HOW DOES THAT MATCH.” Her voice echoes strangely, alerting her to the fact that the shipwide comms are still in use. She reaches over, flicking the switch off and turns back to Boimler, hands on her hips. “Is this an anxiety thing again? Do you need to go back on medication?”

“I don’t need to be on meds!”

“Then why won’t you wear our super secret special jackets!”

“Because mine is hot pink and says girlboss on the back!”

Mariner lets out a gasp. “Are you saying... Boimler are you adhering to GENDER ROLES?”

“No-no stop it -”

“You! You of ALL PEOPLE-”

“Mariner, cut it out!”

“LET IT BE KNOWN THAT BRAD BOIMLER IS A-”

Boimler pulls the jacket on so violently that he somehow elbows himself in the eye. The pink really does go with his hair-which Mariner knows for a fact he dyes himself every three weeks. “There! Happy?”

“So so happy.” Mariner hands him a martini from the tray she had brought in and nailed to the arm of the captain’s chair. The one she hands to Boimler has a rainbow umbrella in it. “So, first order of business. I think we need car seats for short people.”

“Excuse me.”

Mariner picks up her own martini glass and takes a chug, choking on the strawberry chunks she had grinded into it a few minutes before Boimler got here. “You know, car seats? That shit you put babies in because cars are a danger to humanity but we keep buying them? I think the shorties on this ship deserve some protection.”

Boimler drains his glass. “Fine, whatever, I don’t even care anymore.”

______

Mariner is commissioning the previously mentioned communist flags with hers and Boimler’s faces printed on them, when Tendi comes into the ready room. She is wearing the face of complete and utter defeat that everyone else had been wearing since the Co-Captains had been instated. Mariner insists it’s because they’re sad that she and Boimler wouldn’t get to be captains forever. Boimler says it’s because everyone’s writing their suicide notes to their familes.

“Mariner, we need to talk,” Tendi says, using the opening line to every break up Mariner’s been a part of and seen on tv. Which is really weird because she didn’t think she and Tendi were in a relationship.

“I’m all ears,” Mariner says, which is a dumb fucking line because clearly she isn’t , but people say that all the time.

“I don’t want to be your First Officer,” Tendi says, crossing her arms. “It was fun for the first week, but after you made it mandatory to do the Macarena during the first ten minutes of each hour, morale has been down.”

“Hmm,” Mariner pets Boimler’s therapy cat, Dishwasher, thoughtfully. “Okay, I’ll make that one optional. Any other requests?”

Tendi sighs. “No,” she admits. “To be honest, the ship is running at 98%, which is the highest any ship in Starfleet has ever run. I think Brad orgasmed when he heard about that.”

“You call him Brad ?” Mariner stares up at her friend, aghast.

“That’s his name?”

“Yeah, and his cat’s name is Dishwasher , but that doesn’t mean it’s a good idea to call her that!” Dishwasher growls at her name. Mariner shushes her, hands clamped over her ears. “She turns into a murder-rage machine when you call her by her given name! How do we know Boimler isn’t the same?”

“Because I call him Brad all the time!” Tendi hisses back, throwing her hands up in the air.

“Oh my god, he’s probably serial killing as we speak. I hope you’re ready to talk to the victim’s families and let them know that their loved one’s died because you couldn’t help yourself.”

Tendi stares at Mariner for a full minute. “Resignation,” she reiterates, pointing at Mariner. “I want to be a gross ensign scrubbing the deck again. Nepotism sucks .”

“Fine, you’re demoted. Go enjoy mediocrity.”

“I will.” Tendi storms out, kicking the door shut. Which again, is completely, 100% impossible because it’s the 23rd century or whatever-Mariner’s not keeping count-and automatic doors are now a Thing.

Mariner hacks their speaker systems to play the Wii Shop Channel Music-a reliac of the past only alluded to on private groupchats and servers- to play whenever Tendi entered a room. It’s the least she could do.

______

“As your First Officer,” a reluctant Rutherford says reluctantly, “I am here to remind you that that would be a very bad idea .”

“Rutherford, who’s the boss around here?” Mariner asks, hands on her hips.

Rutherford sighs. “You.”

“And as the boss, who makes all the decisions around here?”

Another sigh. “ You .”

“Then why are you being a killjoy over my decision to get down and dirty with my Co-Captain?”

Rutherford makes a shriek-y noise, like those boys who got their testicles cut off in the old days so they could sing opera. “Mariner, I’m serious, don’t do it .”

“Is it against regulation?”

“No,” Rutherford groans. “You’re both the same rank-”

“So what’s the problem?”

“You can’t sleep with Boimler just because you can!”

“That’s not why I’m going to sleep with Boimler,” Mariner waves him off. “I was sitting on his lap the other day-”

“Oh my god -”

“-in the Captain's chair--ooh we should look into getting another one of those, TWO chairs are better than one--”

“Mariner, to the point please.”

“Oh, yeah, so I’m in his lap and I maay have backed up a little too far and bumped up against-”

“Stop literally stop .”

“Yeah, so turns out Boimler is PACKING and I gotta hop on that train, so to speak.”

“Okay, you know what?” Rutherford shoves his padd at Mariner. “I quit, I can’t do this. I want to be a lower decks ensign again.”

“Wow, you’re like, the seventeenth person this week to quit. Which, coincidentally, is exactly how long I’ve been captain.”

“Yeah, weird coincidence,” Rutherford deadpans.

_____

“I may have fucked up, Mom,” Mariner shrieks, waltzing into medbay with all the grace of a duck pulling off a white bread heist. “I think you should take captaincy back.”

Freeman, who had fully recovered two days ago, but refused to engage in the chaos Mariner was purposely causing on her ship, looks up from where she’s reclining with her long island ice tea and swimwear magazines. “Really now?”

“ Yes . All of my friends hate me and I found out Boimler has purple pubs.”

Freeman almost drops her drink. “ What .”

“Tell me about it. Don’t get me wrong, we’re still fucking, but like. Wow, I thought he dyed everything. Turns out that shit is natural.”

Freeman covers her face with one hand. “No.”

“What?”

“No, you’re keeping the ship.”

“WHAT.”

“I already spoke to your father,” Freeman gives her daughter a shark-like smile. ���We agreed that this position of authority has been good for you. And, considering, the ship is running better than any ship in Starfleet since the inception of the Federation, the Admiralty wants you and Boimler to stay on.”

“ WHAT .”

“They think it’s an interesting social experiment that merits more research. Congratulations, you and your fuck-buddy are now ginnypigs.”

___

“I think, as a sign of protest, we should rename the ship,” Mariner says, draped across the desk in the ready room. Boimler, sprawled out all over the desk chair, snorts. The room has been completely revamped in pride flags and the previously mentioned communist flags. Mariner thinks it’s her best interior design work, but Boimler claims it’s an eyesore.

“What would we name it?” he asks, humoring her.

Mariner considers it, taking a swig of vodka. “Okay, hear me out. Q and Picard’s Loveboat.”

Boimler grabs the bottle out of her hand, taking a chug. “You know what? This might as well happen.”

They submit the formal request on Boimler’s padd a few minutes later and are both pleasantly-at least in Mariner’s case-surprised that it goes through. It’s likely that the guy in charge of filtering these requests is either very very bored or very very underpaid and either way Mariner likes his energy.

A few days later, they have Q AND PICARD’S LOVEBOAT stamped across the side of the ship in comic sans-a truly underappreciated font from ye olden days that Mariner dug up one night on the wayback machine.

It takes exactly four weeks for the Admiralty to catch wind of it-by then she and Boimler had been Co-Captains for almost two months-and, well, there isn’t much they can do about it.

She does receive a rather long voicemail from her dad that she promptly deletes. She’s not about that energy.

_____

“Boims, Boims, Boims,” Mariner chants, crawling into his bed. Boimler lets out a shriek as her ice cold toes slide up against his bare thigh.

“So you know how our ship got renamed so easily?” she says, once Boimler had stopped screaming. “Well, I found the dude who approved it. Nice kid, I want his gender. Anyway, looks like my dad is getting a new ship and they're getting someone to christen it.”

“Oh my god,” Boimler says faintly, turning his face into his pillow.

“I may have gotten us on the list of possible people to christen it. As in, the kid hacked the server for me and we're the only people on that list.”

Boimler looks like he's regretting everything ever. He also looks like he's kind of in love with her. Mariner inspires that kind of duality in people. “What are we going to name it?” his voice has a tinge of fear in it that both of them get off on. The kink is strong with this couple.

Mariner grins.

_______

THE DADMIRAL: ACT OF REBELLION OR GENIUS?

Ash H. Beiggs

Many of you may remember the highly criticized decision Starfleet made when instating “Co-Captains” on the starship Q and Picard’s Loveboat ( formally known as the USS CERRITOS). Well, Captains Bradward P. Boimler and Beckett E. Mariner are back with bigger and bolder headlines to make.

The chaotic young duo are renowned Federation-wide not only for running the tightest ship in Starfleet, but for their unorthodox methods. Captain Mariner in particular has been praised for her innovating thinking and usual personality. When asked about her decision to name Admiral Mariner’s ship The Dadmiral she simply claimed that “Mohammad had his mountain, Jesus had his followers and [she] had a molotov cocktail and nothing to lose.” Captain Boimler declined to comment.

The actual christening of The Dadmiral was reported as a “spectacle to behold” by many onlookers. Captain Mariner was seen streaking through the aforementioned ship, with a bottle of vodka in one hand. Her Co-Captain was not far behind her, but was reportably more restrained. The actual christening was completed by Captain Mariner who “yeeted the vodka” into the ships warp core, shouting “ One of us. One of us,” in rapid succession until she was removed by security.

Neither Admiral Mariner or Captain Freeman are available to comment at this time.

#i hate this fic but also it was The Most Fun To Write #stld crack #stld fanfic #my fic #marinler #brad boimler #beckett mariner #carol freeman #d'vana tendi #sam rutherford #star trek lower decks #star trek lower decks fanfic

[rpf-bat]

We Float Among The Wreckage

Pairing: Mikey Way x Reader

Genre: Drama, Romance

Summary: Written for Gothtober 2020, Day 10.  Prompt: “Sirena”. 

Mikey makes big plans to take his girlfriend on a cruise vacation...but, she breaks up with him, the day before the ship is supposed to set sail. Heartbroken, he asks you, if you would like to accompany him, instead. 

You woke up, feeling excited. Today was the day, that your best friend, would finally return from a months-long tour with his band. You’d missed Mikey so much. You couldn’t wait to see him again. 

You dressed quickly, humming one of their songs to yourself, as you wondered, if you should call him, and ask what time he wanted to meet up. You’d bought so many comic books while he was away, that you wanted to loan him, to read. You were looking forward to hearing stories about his travels, too. 

You had just finished brewing a pot of coffee, when you heard a knock at the door. You answered - and found just the face, that you were hoping for. 

“Mikey!” you grinned, pulling your friend into a hug immediately. “Welcome back!” 

“Hey, Y/N,” Mikey smiled weakly. “It’s great to be back in New Jersey. How have you been?” 

“I’ve been great!” you replied brightly, releasing him. The excitement in your eyes began to fade, when you realized that Mikey was frowning at you. 

“What’s wrong?” you asked, realizing something was up. “You look really sad…” 

“I stopped by my girlfriend’s house, before I came here,” Mikey explained. 

“Oh, yeah?” you replied, raising an eyebrow. “How’s she doing? I bet she was even more excited to see you again, than I was.” 

“...Not really,” Mikey sighed deeply. 

“Huh?” you blinked. 

“I don’t want to have this conversation in your doorway,” Mikey said sullenly. “Can I come in?”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” you nodded. “You want a cup of coffee?” 

“Oh, yes, please,” Mikey said gratefully. He sat down at your kitchen table, and you poured him a steaming mug.

“You like it with two sugars, right?” you asked, handing him the packets. 

“Yeah! Good memory,” Mikey nodded. 

Of course I remember what he likes, you thought to yourself. He’s one of the most special people in the world to me. 

You sat down, across from him, and watched him pour the sugar into the mug, and stir the coffee around with his spoon. Satisfied, he took a sip. 

“So,” you asked softly, “are you going to tell me what happened?” 

“I went over there, thinking she’d be happy to see me, after three months, right?” Mikey groaned. “Instead...she told me, that she thinks we should see other people.” 

“She broke up with you?!” you gasped. 

“Yeah,” Mikey said, burying his head in his hands. “I…I can’t believe it.” 

“Mikey, I’m so sorry,” you said sympathetically. 

“I’m like, in shock,” he confessed. “She said that I’m never home, because of the band, and that she doesn’t want to be in a long-distance relationship.” 

“I’m really shocked, too,” you admitted. Sure, it hurt a little, having Mikey gone so often. But, that just made the days when he was home, even more special. 

“The worst part,” Mikey revealed, “is that I had just bought tickets, for a cruise, to surprise her.” 

“Really?” you gaped. 

“Yeah,” Mikey said sadly. “I was going to make it up to her, for my long absence, by taking her on a four-night cruise to Bermuda. It’s a really cool ship, called the SS Sirena. They’re supposed to set sail, from New York Harbor, tomorrow afternoon.” 

“Oh, no,” you grimaced. “Is it too late, to get your money back?” 

“Yeah, I already called the cruise line,” Mikey confirmed. “They said that the tickets are non-refundable.” 

“Fuck,” you swore. “What are you going to do with them, then? There’s not enough time, to try and sell them.” 

“Exactly,” Mikey nodded, seemingly at a loss. “I mean, I guess I could take the one ticket, and go to Bermuda by myself. But that sounds….really depressing.” 

He was right - no matter how sunny the beach might be, traveling alone, would probably suck. 

“Well,” you offered, “what if I went with you?” 

“Are you serious?” Mikey asked, eyes widening. 

“Yeah,” you nodded. “I mean, Bermuda sounds really nice, this time of year. We could just have fun, hanging out as friends. Hopefully, it will take your mind off her.”  

“That actually sounds really nice,” Mikey agreed. “Will your boss let you take off, though, on such short notice?” 

“Yeah, I have a bunch of unused vacation days, so it should be fine,” you assured him. “I’ll start packing tonight.” 

“Thank you, Y/N,” Mikey smiled softly. “I was really bummed out when I got here. But, the idea of taking a trip with my best pal, makes me feel a bit better.” 

“No, thank you!” you chuckled. “I’m really looking forward to it!” 

You only hoped, that the vacation, would be able to help him get over his heartbreak. 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

He picked you up the next day, and quietly helped you load your luggage, into the trunk of his car. You could tell, by the absence of his usual chatter, that he was still feeling down. 

“What time does the Sirena leave port?” you asked, trying to distract him, from his thoughts of her. 

“Three o’clock,” Mikey replied listlessly, getting in, and buckling his seat belt. “But, they start boarding people, at one.” 

“Ok, it’s noon now,” you calculated, checking your watch, as you climbed into the passenger seat. “It only takes about half an hour, to get from here, to the Port of New York. But, there might be some traffic, when we go through the Turnpike. So, it’s probably smart, to go ahead and leave now.” 

“....Yeah,” Mikey said. His eyes, seemed a thousand miles away. 

“Mikey,” you said seriously, putting a hand on his shoulder, “listen...are you sure you want to do this?” 

“What do you mean?” Mikey asked, looking over at you. 

“I know I invited myself along,” you frowned, “but, if you’re really not feeling up to this, and you want to just stay home, I get it. It’s not too late to call the whole trip off.” 

“No, I don’t want to do that,” Mikey insisted. “If I go home now, I’ll just sit around my house, and cry about her. Besides, it’d be a waste of nine hundred dollars.” 

“That’s how much you spent on her?” you gaped. “And she just ditched you, like yesterday’s trash…”

“Her loss,” Mikey said defiantly. “Screw her….let’s go have a good time.” 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

You arrived at the port, with time to spare, and completed the check-in process, without any issues. Now, you were officially on the ship. 

You looked down at the card in your hand, that the cruise liner staff had given you. 

“That’s your room key,” Mikey explained, “and also, like, a credit card, that you can use to pay for food and drinks.” 

“Oh, okay,” you nodded. You had never been on a cruise before, so this was all new to you. 

“We’re gonna be on the lower decks,” Mikey added, directing you towards the elevator. You followed him quickly. 

The elevator took you one floor down, and Mikey led you to a door, at the end of the hall. 

“This should be it,” he decided, using his card, to unlock the door. 

You entered the room, apprehensively. It wasn’t much different, you found, from a hotel room on land. But, you noticed one glaring problem, immediately. 

“Mikey,” you pointed out, reddening, “there’s only one bed.” 

“....Oh,” Mikey blushed. “Fuck, Y/N, I didn’t even think about it.” 

He originally booked this room, for him, and his girlfriend, you realized. So, of course he planned on them sleeping in the same bed. 

Bringing you instead, had been a last minute decision. So, even if it had occurred to him, he probably wouldn’t have been able, to swap the one-bed cabin, for a two-bed one.

He’s already having a really rough time, you considered, so I’m not going to pitch a fit about it. 

“There’s no couch, or anything,” Mikey noticed, looking around the room. 

“It’s fine,” you decided. “You paid for this whole trip, so, you take the bed. I’ll sleep on the floor.” 

“What?” Mikey protested. “No way - my grandma raised me to be a gentleman. If I told her I made a girl sleep on the floor for four days, she’d never forgive me! You can have the bed.” 

“I don’t want to make you sleep on a cold, hard floor for four days, either,” you argued. 

“Well, what other choice do we have?” Mikey shrugged. 

“Look,” you sighed, “how about we just decide this later? I’m hungry. I think we should go have lunch.”

“Alright, fine,” Mikey acquiesced. “I heard that the ship restaurant is actually pretty good. Let’s go.”

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

As soon as the hostess seated you at your table, Mikey started looking over the drinks menu. 

“It’s a little early for that, isn’t it?” you frowned. 

“It’s five o’clock somewhere,” Mikey shrugged. “We’re going somewhere tropical, so why not order one of those fruity little tiki drinks, with the paper umbrella and stuff?” 

“Yeah, why not, I guess,” you agreed. You had a feeling, that he was still depressed about his ex. But, who were you, to tell him he wasn’t allowed to drown his sorrows? 

“What can I get for you guys?” asked a smiling server. 

“Two Bahama Mamas, please,” Mikey said quickly. 

“....And we’ll try the coconut shrimp, too,” you added. You didn’t want him drinking on an empty stomach. 

“No problem,” the waitress smiled. “Coming right up! By the way, Karaoke Hour starts at four o’clock!” 

“Good to know,” Mikey said absently. 

After the woman walked away, you turned to him. 

“Would you want to try the karaoke thing?” you asked. “It sounds like it could be kind of fun.” 

“I don’t know,” Mikey hesitated. “I’ve been playing music every day, for the last few months in a row.” 

“Yeah, you’ve been playing bass,” you reminded him. “Not singing.” 

“Bass is what I’m, like, actually good at,” Mikey said nervously. “All the singing talent in the family went to Gerard.” 

“Nobody’s expecting you to be perfect at it,” you pointed out. “It’s just for fun. But, if it would make you feel better, I could do it with you.”

“Like, a duet?” Mikey asked, seemingly comforted by the idea. 

“Yeah!”, you grinned. “I think it would be fun!”

“I need a couple more drinks in me, before I get up on that stage, even if you’re gonna go with me,” Mikey insisted, reddening. 

“Alright,” you laughed. “Let’s make this night interesting.” 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

After the Bahama Mama, Mikey downed a pina colada, and a Blue Hawaiian. He became more chatty, and less sad-looking, as the empty cups piled up beside him. 

“Alright, what song do you wanna do, Y/N?” Mikey grinned, flipping through the karaoke booklet, that the waitress had given to him. “We need somethin’, with a guy part, and a girl part…” 

“What about ‘Interlude’?”, you suggested. 

“You mean, the song that Morissey did with Siouxsie Sioux, back in ‘94?” Mikey guessed. 

“Yeah! That one!”

You knew that Morissey was one of Mikey’s all-time favorite musicians, so, you were hoping, that singing one of his songs, would cheer him up. 

“Yeah, let’s do it!” Mikey agreed. He swayed slightly, as he stood up, to walk over, to the karaoke stage. You took his hand, to keep him from stumbling. 

“Hey, are you sure you’re okay?” you asked, biting your lip. 

“I’m awesome,” Mikey slurred, swinging his hand in yours. “C’mon….please sing with me, Y/N?” 

You found that you couldn’t resist, his puppy dog eyes. 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

You stood on the stage, clutching your mic nervously. There were a few curious people, milling about, watching you. It wasn’t a huge crowd - then again, the trip had just started. 

“You ready?” you asked, looking over at Mikey. 

“Born ready,” he said, with liquid confidence. “Let’s go.” 

The staff member, who was running the event, queued up the music for you. You began to sing Siouxsie’s part: 

Time is like a dream

And now for a time you are mine

Let's hold fast to the dream

That tastes and sparkles like wine

Mikey stepped closer to you, as his voice joined yours, singing Morisssey’s verse:

Who knows if it's real

Or just something we're both dreaming of

What seems like an interlude now

Could be the beginning of love….

Something about the way he looked at you, when he sang the last line, made your heart race. You wondered what the hell you were thinking. He had, after all, just gotten out of a two year relationship yesterday. 

You told yourself to focus on the song. Your voice harmonized with Mikey’s, as the chorus kicked in:

Loving you is a world that's strange

So much more than my heart can hold

Loving you makes the whole world change

Loving you I could not grow old

You chanced a look at Mikey again. You realized, with a start, that something in his expression, seemed off. Was he….crying? 

“N-no,” Mikey stammered, choking up, as he sang the next line, “Nobody knows, when love will end….” 

He stopped suddenly. The background instrumentals went on without him, as he failed to sing the next lyric. 

“....Shit,” Mikey swore loudly. The onlookers all stared at up at him, confused. “Shit, I’m sorry….I can’t do this….”

He dropped the mic, and suddenly ran off the stage. 

“Whoa, Mikey!” you gasped. “Where are you going?!”

You motioned for the staff member, to kill the audio track.

“....Uh, sorry, everybody,” you said awkwardly, into the microphone. “I think this performance is over….”

Without further adieu, you took off running, after your friend. 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

You found him in the cabin, sitting on the bed, sobbing. 

“Mikey, what happened back there?” you demanded. 

“I didn’t know that my love was gonna end, so suddenly,” Mikey said, sniffling. 

“Oh,” you realized, feeling guilty. “The song just made you start thinking about her again, didn’t it?” 

“I...I don’t wanna think about her,” Mikey slurred. “But, I can’t stop, Y/N. It hurts.” 

“Hey,” you said gently, sitting down on the bed beside him. “It’s gonna be okay.” 

“No, it’s not,” Mikey sobbed. He dove into your arms, and pressed his face, into your shoulder. His frames poked against your collarbone. 

“Sssh,” you soothed him, stroking his hair. “Mikey, c’mon, you’re gonna bend your glasses up.”

He picked his head up, for a moment. You gently pulled the glasses off his face, and set them on the bedside table. 

“Now, you can put your head back down, if you want,” you told him softly. 

“O-Okay,” he stammered, and lay his head against you again. With the barrier of the glasses removed, you could feel his tears, wet against your collar. 

“....Why doesn’t she love me anymore, Y/N?” Mikey asked, his voice muffled, by your shirt. 

“I don’t know,” you confessed, stroking the back of his head again. “I think you’re a really lovable person.” 

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better,” Mikey wept. 

“I’m not,” you insisted. 

“How am I lovable to you?!” Mikey demanded, picking his head up. “I made you babysit me all night….I got drunk, and emotional, and I ruined your karaoke song. Everybody was staring at us, when I just took off like that. I know they were…” 

“I don’t care what they think,” you shook your head. “I care much more about you, Mikey. I just want you to be okay. I thought taking this cruise would make you feel better. But, it doesn’t seem, to be helping you at all.” 

“Nothing’s gonna help me,” Mikey said dejectedly, flopping backwards onto the pillows. “I’m hopeless, now. Nobody is ever gonna love me, ever again.” 

“That’s not true!”, you told him. “I know you loved your ex, but she’s not the only girl in the world!” 

“There’s no girl on Earth,” Mikey said, staring up at the ceiling miserably, “who would want to date a guy, who is on the road, all the time. How do you love somebody, that you never even see?” 

“I love you, Mikey,” you said emotionally. ”I’ll take whatever time I can get with you. Even if it’s short, it’s special to me.” 

“You love me, as a friend,” Mikey spat. “That’s not the same.”

“No,” you shook your head. “Mikey...I’m being serious. I love you, in the same way, that you loved her. I have, for a long time.” 

“....What?” Mikey gasped, picking his head up, and staring at you in open shock. “Y/N, what are you saying?!”

“You were with her,” you confessed, surprised to find yourself, speaking these feelings aloud. “You were taken, so I kept my feelings quiet. But….the truth is, I always wanted you for myself. I don’t care, that you tour a lot. Four days with you, is better to me, than four months, with anyone else!” 

“You...really mean that?” Mikey asked, eyes wide.  

“....From the bottom of my heart,” you vowed. 

Suddenly, Mikey grabbed your hand, pulling you forward, on top of him. 

“Wh-What are you doing?” you breathed. 

He cupped your cheek with his hand. 

“Kiss me,” he breathed. 

“I shouldn’t,” you hesitated. “You’re drunk, and you’re emotionally vulnerable, and…”

“And I want you,” Mikey insisted. “Y/N, I should have chosen you from the beginning. I’m sorry, that I never realized how you felt about me. You’re more loyal to me, than she ever was.” 

He raised his lips, to meet yours. He tasted like rum and coconut, and maybe it was wrong, but you kissed him back, savoring his sweetness. 

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you tighter against him, and kissed you again, with greater ferocity. Your hands roamed each other as the kiss deepened. How far was this going to go?

“....There’s nowhere else, for you to sleep tonight,” Mikey panted, “so, please, please, Y/N, stay with me all night.” 

You pressed him down harder, into the bed, that you no longer had any problem sharing. 

“There’s nowhere else, that I’d rather be.” 

#mikey way x reader #mikey way imagine #alcohol abuse tw #gothtober #i took all night to write this and now I'm posting it at 2:30 AM....smh

[debbiechanclub]

Best Two Out of Three, Part 21

Y’all.

That’s it. That’s the preface.

(Oh, also @what-does-mine-say is responsible for soft Matt in this so don’t look at me, I swear to baby Jesus.)

Best Two Out of Three

Part: 21/26

Pairing: Kenny Omega x OFC x Cash Wheeler and Adam Page x OFC x Matt Jackson

Word count: 7.6k

Warnings: Language; angst to the nth degree.

Tag squad: @freshlysqueezedmox @gabbynorth98 @librathepheonix13 @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @exe-sadboi-exe

Catch up on previous parts here.

Callie only stayed one extra night at the hotel in Jacksonville. She’d booked the room through Thursday; it was non-refundable. But she couldn’t stay there another day. She was tired of washing and wearing the same five outfits she’d packed when she walked out more than two weeks ago. She was tired of living in limbo. So, before the sun had even come up Monday morning, she checked out, got in her car, and set out for Virginia.

It was just under an eight-hour drive, which meant she had an awful lot of time to think about what she would say to Adam. And the more she thought, the more solid she became in her decision.  The longer she drove, the more every sad country song streaming through the radio seemed to tell her what she needed to do—no matter how bad it would hurt. She refused to sit around and wait any longer. As far as she was concerned, they were only delaying the inevitable.

It was almost four o’clock when she pulled into Adam’s driveway. She parked next to his truck and cut the ignition. She was exhausted from the drive, and despite all the time she’d had to prepare herself she still wasn’t ready to confront him, not mentally or emotionally. But she didn’t drive all day to turn around. She had to do it, ready or not.

The world was quiet as she walked up to the front door. It was unlocked. She went inside. It wasn’t long before she heard the sound of someone coming quickly down the stairs. Adam’s blue eyes looked confused at the sight of her. Not relieved. Not happy. Not hopeful. Just confused. It broke Callie all over again.

“Hey,” he said.

She let out a rueful breath. “Hey? I’ve been gone more than two weeks and that’s all you have to say to me?”

He frowned. “I’m sorry, Cal. But I wasn’t expecting to see you. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming back?”

She picked up her hand and let it fall back down in frustration, her keys dangling from her first two fingers. “What would’ve been the point?”

It hit him when she said that. It was written all over his face, clear as day. “You’re not staying.”

Callie’s nose burned. She shook her head, a bubble in her throat. “No. I’m not.”

She crossed into the kitchen and pulled a glass out of a cabinet to get herself some water. Her hand shook as she carried it to the fridge and filled it up. She took a drink. Adam watched the entire time, mute.

Callie walked to the kitchen island and set the glass down. She drew in a shaky breath—and then she told him what she’d been thinking, over and over, for the last eight-plus hours.

“I can’t go on like this anymore, Adam. I can’t sit around waiting anymore. It’s been more than two weeks, and the only time I heard from you was when you burst into my hotel room with Alex demanding to know why I’d been out with Cash. Do you know how that’s made me feel? It feels like you don’t care about us enough to even try. To even pick up the phone and send a text that says you’re thinking of me, or you’re sorry, or something. Anything.” She shook her head. “You can’t even look at me right now.”

Adam’s eyes flicked up to meet hers. They were so sad. Ashamed. “How can I, Cal?” he asked. “I know what I’ve done. I know how bad I’ve hurt you.”

“Do you?”

“Yes!”

“Then why haven’t you tried to fix it?”

Tears filled her eyes and the room went hazy. Adam looked away again. He didn’t have an answer for her. He didn’t have an answer for anything anymore.

Callie’s voice wavered as she spoke. “I have no choice but to be selfish now. I have to look out for myself, and I can’t sit around in limbo while you figure out if you even want to be with me anymore. What sort of self-respecting woman just waits for her boyfriend to decide if he still loves her?”

“I do still love you,” he quietly said.

She shook her head, tears spilling over. “But not enough. It’s not enough, Adam, and I don’t just want to stay in this because it’s what’s convenient.”

She wiped her tears away. Adam looked back at her, mute. She couldn’t stand there and listen to the silence a second longer.

“I’ll go get what I can.” She walked past him and up the stairs to their bedroom. His bedroom. It was just his bedroom now. She pulled her spare set of luggage from the closet and started packing, clothes, shoes, toiletries, everything she needed and anything that would fit. Adam appeared in the bedroom, a dejected look on his face.

“You don’t have to do this now. I’ll sleep in the guest room.”

“No, I do have to do it now,” she insisted.

More silence. And then, “Do you have somewhere to go?”

She stiffened. “Yes,” she returned, but she didn’t tell him where. She didn’t think it would be fair to tell him where. Thankfully, he didn’t ask.

“Alright,” he breathed. And then that was that. He turned and left the room without so much as another word. It only proved to Callie that she wasn’t the one he was fighting for.

She made quick work of filling up the luggage, desperate to get out of the house that she’d once called home. She lugged it all down the stairs and to the front door. Adam stood in the kitchen, a glass of whiskey already in his hand. His eyes were glassy and red.

“I’m sorry, Cal,” he breathed.

She frowned. “Me too,” she said, and she walked out the door for the last time.

She didn’t cry as she pulled her bags to her car and threw them in her trunk. She didn’t have any tears left. She got behind the steering wheel and started the ignition, and as she pulled out of Adam’s driveway and back onto the road, she made a phone call. It rang once, twice. And then Matt’s voice floated through the speakers of her car.

“Hey. How’d it go?”

“It went,” she answered. Translation: I don’t want to talk about it. “I’m on my way to the airport now.”

“Alright,” he said. “Please drive safe. You’ve driven a lot today.”

“It’s only another hour-fifteen. I’ll be fine.” She chewed on her lip, anxious. “Are you sure your offer still stands?” It was a little late to back out now—she’d already bought the ticket. But she couldn’t help but feel guilty that it was Matt who she was turning to.

“Of course,” he assured. “What time is your flight?”

“9:05.”

She could almost see him nod on the other end. “Alright. Then I’ll see you around 11:30 pacific.”

* * * * * * * * * *

Typically, Alex was the type of person who liked to figure out her shit on her own. But this time, she needed to talk to someone about what she was going through. Maybe if she talked it out, it would help her figure out what the hell she was thinking and feeling. Obviously, she couldn’t talk to Callie or Adam, and she didn’t want to talk to Chuck or Trent (and Jim was completely out of the question). Which left just one person for her to call on: Kris.

“Alright, I need to make sure I have everything straight, because you just hit me with a lot,” Kris said through their FaceTime call. Alex had just spent the previous thirty minutes downloading her on everything that had happened since her injury. She didn’t blame her for needing a recap.

“So you ended things with Kenny the day I got injured so that you could be with Cash,” she started.

“Correct,” Alex confirmed.

“And then Cash ended things with you because Kenny gave you a locket and told you he loved you and got you all confused about how you feel.”

“More or less.”

“And then Adam apparently admitted that he has feelings for you, too?”

“Apparently,” Alex breathed.

Kris shook her head. “Your life is a certifiable soap opera, dude.”

“I know,” Alex agreed with a roll of her eyes. “I wish whoever the hell is writing it would hurry up and tell me the fucking ending.”

Kris gave her a sympathetic frown. “Well, despite everything you’ve told me—and like I said, it was a lot—there’s still one thing you haven’t.”

Alex’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What?”

“How you’re feeling.”

The compassion in Kris’s tone caused Alex’s sinuses to burn and tears to stab at the back of her eyes. No one had asked her that. Not one person, since this whole ordeal had started. And now that someone had, she couldn’t help but unload.

“I feel empty. Emptier than I’ve ever felt in my entire life. I went from falling in love with Cash, to realizing that I might still love Kenny while falling in love with Cash, and it tore me apart. And now… I don’t know what I feel. All those feelings are still there, but I don’t know if I wish that Cash and I were still together or if I want to move forward with Kenny. And I’m mad. I’m so fucking mad at myself for the things I’ve done; for hurting people I care about for no good reason. And I’m fucking furious at Adam for being so goddamn selfish. He knows what I’m going through. He’s known the whole fucking time and on Saturday he acted like all he cared about were his feelings.”

Her voice broke, and the tears that she’d been fighting to hold back finally spilled over, streaming down her face, hot and angry. “I’m sorry—”

“No,” Kris firmly returned. “Don’t you dare apologize. You needed to get that out.”

Alex tried to wipe her cheeks dry, but more tears kept falling. “I’m tired of feeling like this,” she choked. “But I have no idea what I’m supposed to do to fix it.”

Kris’s brow puckered in thought. It was clear even through Alex’s tears that she was debating saying something. “What?” she pressed.

“I was just thinking,” Kris started. “I read somewhere once that if you fall in love with two people you should choose the second, because if you truly loved the first then you wouldn’t have fallen in love with the second. So… that would be Cash, right?”

Alex bit the inside of her lip in contemplation. “I don’t know.”

Kris looked confused. “What? What do you mean you don’t know?”

“Because,” she breathed in frustration. “If you include last year, then yeah, Cash is second. But if you’re only talking about the last couple months, then wouldn’t Kenny technically be second?”

“But you’ve already been down this road with Kenny.”

“But still,” she quietly returned. She closed her eyes. Her head was starting to hurt.

“Do you want my honest advice?”

Alex reopened her eyes. “Of course,” she said.

“Alright, well here it is: if you’re this confused and you really don’t know what you want, then I think you need to just step back from the entire situation. You need to take care of you, Alex. That’s what’s most important. And after that… the things that are meant to be will work themselves out.”

Alex stared at the screen, her vision going distant and blurry as Kris’s words sunk in. They were hard to hear, but the truth was never easy to digest. All these weeks she’d contended with guilt and hurt and confusion and regret—and her own happiness had gotten lost in the process. She needed to find it again, and the only way to do it was to focus on herself.

“You’re probably right,” she admitted.

“I know it sucks,” Kris said. “But you deserve to be happy. And none of this is making you happy.”

“No shit.”

Kris pouted. “I wish I could actually be there for you. I’d go smack all three of them.”

Alex gave a watery laugh. “It’s the thought that counts.” She checked the time; it was a little after 5:00 p.m. “Well, I should probably go feed myself. I haven’t had anything to eat today except a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch this morning.”

Kris’s eyebrows arched. “Yes, please go eat. And don’t have Cinnamon Toast Crunch for dinner, too!”

“Yes, mom.”

They said goodbye, and Alex felt a little bit lighter; less burdened. Her heart still felt broken. But, for the first time in weeks, she had hope that it wouldn’t stay that way.

* * * * * * * * * *

Just as Matt had predicted, Callie’s plane touched down at Los Angeles International Airport just before 11:45 p.m. pacific time. She’d slept nearly the entire five-and-a-half-hour flight, and as she walked through the terminal to baggage claim, she couldn’t help but notice that she felt more energized than she had in weeks. The hustle and bustle of LAX was welcoming and familiar; the warm West Coast air filled her with a sense of nostalgia and comfort. And when she saw Matt waiting for her at arrivals, a smile on his face, she couldn’t help but propel herself forward and jump into his arms. Relieved.

“How was your flight?” he asked as he embraced her. “Not too bad, I guess?”

“It was perfect.” She stepped back from him and smiled. “Left right on time and I slept almost the whole way.”

He nodded. “Well then I guess you don’t need this.”

He gestured with the Starbucks cup in his hand. Callie had been so happy to see him that she hadn’t even noticed. “You got me coffee? You didn’t have to do that!”

He shrugged a shoulder. “I only got you one because I wanted one.”

Callie playfully rolled her eyes. The smirk on his face said otherwise.

“Decaf caramel macchiato, right?”

She nodded as she took the cup from him. “You remembered my order?”

“Yeah. It’s not like it’s anything crazy. Well, except the decaf part.”

Callie smiled and took a sip, hoping the cup would block the blush that had crept into her cheeks.

“Alright, well let’s get out of here,” Matt said as he grabbed the handle of one of her suitcases. “It’s over an hour drive back to my place.”

* * * * * * * * * *

Callie had worried that the drive to Matt’s house would be awkward. Even more, she worried he would ask her about what had happened at Adam’s house. But it turned out she didn’t need to worry at all. They’d just listened to music and talked about whatever; anything other than the current circumstances. How it felt to be back in California. What she’d missed most about it. Things they’d done together when she’d still lived there. It was light; comfortable. Part of her had worried that she would instantly regret flying out to stay with Matt. But the only thing she regretted was that it had taken her breaking up with Adam to finally come back home.

It was after one in the morning when they arrived. Matt carried both her suitcases through the front door and led her back to the guest room. It looked like it had been recently cleaned. She wondered if he’d done that for her.

“I’ll let you get settled,” he said as he put her suitcases next to the bed. “If you need anything, I’m just at the top of the stairs to the left.”

She smiled warmly at him. “Thank you, Matt. I really appreciate this.”

He shook his head. “It’s nothing. You can stay as long as you want.”

He started for the door—but then Callie had a thought. “Hey.” Matt turned back around, an expectant look on his face. “Um, I know it’s late, but between my five-hour sleep on the flight and the sugar in the coffee I’m not exactly tired. So, I don’t know… do you maybe want to watch a movie, or something?”

Callie immediately felt silly for asking. It was after one in the morning and Matt had just driven nearly three hours round-trip to pick her up from the airport. He probably just wanted to go to bed.

But then he gave her a crooked grin. “Yeah. We can watch a movie.”

She blushed again, and she was thankful for the dim light in the room.

Matt disappeared out the door, and Callie tossed open her suitcases and dug around for her pajama shorts and a comfy t-shirt, eager to get out of the clothes she’d been wearing for almost a full twenty-four hours across God knows how many states. As she finished changing, she noticed one of Matt’s hoodies hanging from the doorknob of the closet. It looked comfortable. She took it off the doorknob and pulled it on. It felt just as comfortable as it looked. Content, she threw her hair into a high messy ponytail and met Matt in the great room. He sat on the couch, his phone in his hand. A corner of his mouth quirked up when he saw her.

“Is that my hoodie?”

She smirked. “Yeah. It looked comfy. Is it alright if I wear it?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

Something about the look in his eyes told her that Matt thought it was more than just “alright” that she was wearing his hoodie. Callie fidgeted and changed the subject. “So, what do you want to watch?”

He nodded toward the media cabinet. “See if there’s anything you like over there. If not, there’s always Netflix.”

Callie walked over to the media cabinet. It didn’t take long for her to find something that piqued her interest. She pulled a pink DVD box from the cabinet and held it up. “This,” she happily decided.

Matt’s brow furrowed. “Mean Girls? You’re gonna make me sit through that?”

“It’s in your collection,” she flatly pointed out.

He cleared his throat. “It’s, uh, Nick’s.”

She smirked again as she walked over and handed it to him. “Uh huh. Sure.”

He didn’t make any arguments as he took it from her and stood to put the DVD in the player. Callie sat down on the couch and made herself comfortable underneath a throw blanket, pulling her legs up. She grinned at Matt as he made his way back over and sat down next to her.

“Wanna hear something funny?” she asked.

“What?”

“So, after Kenny and Alex split up, she told Adam that the Elite were like the Plastics.”

She giggled as she watched him, awaiting his reaction. His face screwed up as he pressed play on the remote. “Please tell me you’re not being serious.”

“Deadly,” she confirmed. “She said that Kenny is Gretchen and Nick is Karen… and you’re Regina George.”

“What?” he shot. “Well, if that’s the case then Alex is Janis and Chuck, Trent, and Orange are collectively Damian.”

Callie let out a loud burst of laughter and covered her mouth with her hand. “So you are a fan of the movie,” she teased.

He pursed his lips. “Just shut up and watch it.”

She gently kicked him with her foot, but he caught her ankle and pulled her feet onto his lap. Callie adjusted so that she laid on the couch, her legs draped across him under the blanket and his hand on her shin, slowly rubbing his thumb back and forth across her skin. And it didn’t feel strange, watching the movie with Matt like that. It shocked her that she didn’t miss it being Adam. And even though she’d said she wasn’t tired, it wasn’t long before she closed her eyes and was lulled into sleep by the comfort of his touch.

“Callie.”

She heard Matt’s voice as if in a dream, half awake. The movie still played in the background. “Hm?”

“Come on, let’s go to bed.”

She felt him gently take her hand, and she let him pull her up and off the couch and lead her back to the guest room. He helped her into bed, and as he pulled the covers up and over her, she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him into a hug. She pressed a half-conscious kiss to his cheek, the stubble of his beard rough against her lips.

“Goodnight,” he said, and Callie rolled over and slept.

* * * * * * * * * *

Callie didn’t wake until almost 10:30 the next morning. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept in that late. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept that well. She pushed back the covers and stretched, and she realized that she was still wearing Matt’s hoodie; she’d slept through the night in it. She remembered him helping her to bed, her pressing a kiss to his cheek as he said goodnight. Her stomach did a little flip. She tried not to dwell on it as she climbed out of bed, grabbed her phone, and walked into the great room. Matt was in the kitchen.

“Morning,” he greeted with a smile. He was already dressed, his hair tied back in its usual bun at the nape of his neck. “How’d you sleep?”

“Really good, actually,” Callie answered as she took a seat at the kitchen table. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

He shrugged. “I thought about it, but you had a long day yesterday. I figured you needed the rest.”

She didn’t say anything in return. She knew he was right.

“I have some bacon and toast ready here for you,” he said. “Do you want eggs? I didn’t want them to get cold, so I held off making any.”

She shook her head. “The bacon and toast are fine. But I will take some tea if you have any?”

Matt smiled. “I actually went and bought some because I know you like it.”

He set to work making her up a cup, and Callie felt that flutter in her gut again. But then her phone chirped. It was a text from Britt.

How’s hotel living?

She stared blankly at the screen until it went black. Britt thought she was still in Jacksonville. Callie wasn’t sure if she wanted to tell her the truth.

“Everything alright?”

She looked up at Matt and nodded. “Yeah, just Britt checking in with me.”

She left it at that and opened the text. On second thought, she didn’t want to lie to Britt. If she did, it would only make it seem like her staying with Matt was more than it was. I’m actually in California.

“Does she know you’re here?” Matt asked as she pressed “send.”

“She does now.”

He nodded. “Does Adam know you’re here?”

Britt texted her back. With Big Brother Buck???

Callie internally rolled her eyes as she responded to her. Yes, she sent back. And then to Matt, “No.” She looked down at her lap. “I just thought it would be better not to tell him.”

He carried over a plate of crispy bacon and buttered toast and a steaming hot mug of tea. “I get it,” he said as he set them down in front of her. “Adam and I haven’t exactly been the best of friends lately.”

“Thanks,” Callie said as she picked up the tea. She blew on it and took a sip, relishing in the taste and warming comfort of it. He’d made it just right.

“So, do you want to talk about what happened yesterday?” he cautiously asked. “I understand if you don’t… but it might be good to just get it off your chest.”

Callie’s phone chirped again, but she silenced it and placed it screen-down on the table. She didn’t feel like dealing with Britt’s probing questions at the moment, and Matt was right. It would be good if she got it off her chest.

“He barely said a word to me when I showed up yesterday. He didn’t even try to stop me from leaving, and I don’t want to be with someone who doesn’t even try to fight for me.” She wrapped her hands around the mug, feeling its warmth radiate through her skin. “The only thing he did say was that he still loved me.”

Matt looked back at her. “Do you still love him?”

She let out a sigh. “I do. But sometimes being in love isn’t enough. Just saying it isn’t enough. I need to feel it, too. I need you to show me that you want me.” She blushed, suddenly realizing what she was saying. “God, that sounds super clingy, doesn’t it?” she said as picked up a piece of bacon and took a bite.

But Matt shook his head. “No. It makes perfect sense to me. And if Adam doesn’t want to show you, then it’s his loss. There are other guys out there who will.”

Callie’s chewing slowed to a stop as she looked into Matt’s eyes. Their dark brown color was so warm, so different than Adam’s bright blue. But their color wasn’t the only thing about them that set them apart from Adam’s. She saw emotion and truth in Matt’s eyes, two things that she hadn’t seen in Adam’s eyes in weeks.

And suddenly Callie thought—maybe she shouldn’t have told Britt where she was.

* * * * * * * * * *

“So, what’s the verdict, doc?”

Alex looked hopefully up at the trainer as he finished examining her ankle. She’d come to see him as soon as she could after arriving at Daily’s Place, eager to learn her prognosis. As much as she’d rested her ankle over the last two weeks, she expected to get the all-clear.

“I think you’re good,” he said. “But I want you to rest it one more week just to be sure.”

Alex wilted a bit, but she nodded. “Alright. It’s not like I’ve got anything going on anyway.”

She climbed down from the exam table, pulled on her sneaker, and went out the door with a wave. Now that that was done, she was headed straight back to the Best Friends locker room—and that was exactly where she intended to stay for the rest of the show. She would not go to catering, she would not accompany Chuck and Trent for the tag team gauntlet match, she would not pass “Go” or collect $200. There were far too many people she didn’t care to run into lurking around the halls of the arena.

Like Cash, for instance, who had just stepped out of FTR’s locker room into the hall. Because of course he had.

“Hey,” he said. Just to say something. It would have been rude not to say something.

“Hey,” Alex returned. They were only a few feet apart, but it felt like there was a massive, impassable ocean between them. She hated it. She couldn’t bear to be around it a second longer. “Um, I was just headed back from the trainer, so…” she awkwardly trailed off, unsure what to say next. So, she said the only thing she could think of to get herself out of there. “Well, good luck in the gauntlet match.”

She started to walk past him; but then Cash spoke up.

“How’s your ankle?”

Alex blinked, somewhat surprised that he’d asked. That he seemingly cared to ask. “Oh, it’s good. I feel fine, but he wants me to rest it another week just to be sure.”

He nodded. “That’s good,” he said, and Alex’s gaze went distant as she realized the sad irony of her choice of words. Ankle aside, she didn’t feel fine.

“Will you be out there for the gauntlet match? With Chuck and Trent.”

She focused back in on him. “Um, no,” she answered. She glanced down at her hands, anxiously picking at her nails. “So, you don’t have to worry about that.”

She looked back up at him. His face fell. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

She chewed on the inside of her mouth. How had he meant it, then? Had he hoped she would be out there? No, she couldn’t think that; she couldn’t hope that. It would probably only leave her disappointed. “Well, like I said… good luck tonight.”

She tried to leave again, but he said something that made her stop.

“Do you really mean that?”

Alex looked back at him. It didn’t seem like he thought she was being insincere in wishing him good luck. Instead, it looked like he genuinely wanted to know if she meant it. And the truth was, she did.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “I do. I mean, of course I want Chuck and Trent to win; I want them to be the champions. But you and Dax deserve it, too. I know how hard you’ve worked to get here.”

Cash looked into her eyes. He gave her a sad, grateful smile. “Thank you, Alex,” he genuinely returned. “That means a lot.”

She nodded. She really needed to go now. “Just do me a favor: if Chuck and Trent don’t beat the Bucks, kick their ass extra hard for me, alright?”

He smiled again, more lighthearted that time. “Will do.”

Alex gave him one final grin, and then she turned and continued down the hall. That interaction hadn’t been as painful as she’d thought it would be at the start, but it still left a part of her wanting. She thought back to the conversation she’d had with Kris on Monday, to that thing she’d told her she’d read somewhere. If you fall in love with two people you should choose the second, because if you truly loved the first then you wouldn’t have fallen in love with the second. Then there was that other thing she’d told her: You’ve already been down this road with Kenny. Maybe she was right. Maybe Cash was the second.

But she didn’t have a chance to think about it. The Best Friends locker room was just a few yards ahead. The door opened—and Adam walked out. He stopped when he saw her.

“Oh, hey.”

Alex slowed to a stop. She was nervous to see him; and yes, a little bit angry, too. They hadn’t spoken since that night at the bar, when he’d sat across from her and so selfishly admitted his feelings. But then she noticed his eyes. They were bloodshot and glassy. He didn’t look sober.

“Hey,” she cautiously returned. “What’s going on?”

He took a few steps closer. “Um, I was just looking for you,” he explained as he pointed his thumb back at the locker room door. “Trent said you’d gone to see the trainer.”

She frowned up at him. “I don’t want to talk, Ad—”

“Callie ended it.”

Alex stopped. She felt for him, she really did. But she wasn’t surprised. She didn’t know what to say.

Adam swallowed. “She, um. She showed up at the house on Monday and told me it was over. She packed everything she could and left.”

Alex’s brow furrowed. “Is she still staying with Britt?”

He let out a soft, wry laugh. “That’s the thing. I didn’t know where she was going. She didn’t say. But uh, I was just walking back from catering to my locker room. I passed by hair and makeup and… I overheard Britt tell Penelope that she’s staying with Matt.”

The bottom dropped out of Alex’s stomach. She couldn’t believe it. She expected something like that from Matt Jackson, that fucking cocky asshole, but not Callie. And, suddenly, she wasn’t angry at Adam anymore. She was angry for him.

“She broke up with me and then immediately went running to Matt, of all the fucking people she could have gone to. And I know, I just know he loves that she did.”

He gritted his teeth as he spoke, becoming angrier with every word. Alex’s heart was broken for him. “I’m sorry, Ad—”

He cut her off. “Don’t be. That asshole’ll get what’s coming to him.”

And with that he walked off, leaving Alex wondering—and worrying—what exactly he meant.

* * * * * * * * * *

Callie’s heart hadn’t stopped racing since the tag team gauntlet match had started. Matt and Nick had already beaten the Natural Nightmares, and now they were in the midst of their second match against Best Friends. If they won, they would face FTR immediately after. If they beat FTR, they’d get a title shot against Kenny and Adam at All Out in just over a week. And the longer Callie watched, the more she realized: she wanted the Young Bucks to win. Tonight, and at All Out.

Matt had taken out Chuck with a chop to the knee on the ring apron, and now he and Nick had Trent isolated in the ring. Nick tagged in Matt; Matt grabbed Trent and hung him up on the ropes. Nick went to the top turnbuckle and hit a perfect 450 splash. Matt went for the cover—but Trent kicked out at two-and-a-half.

“Dammit,” Callie muttered.        

“I see who you’re rooting for,” Britt commented with a smirk.

“Well, obviously I don’t want Best Friends to win,” she returned.

Britt’s eyebrows arched. “No love lost between you and Alex then, huh?”

Callie didn’t comment. Alex was the next-to-last person she wanted to think about right now. The last was Adam.

“So how are things going with you and Big Brother Buck?” Britt asked.

Callie sent her a sidelong glance across the locker room. It was obvious she assumed something was going on between her and Matt. “We’re just friends, Britt,” she said. But she couldn’t help but add, “But I’m glad I decided to go out there.”

Britt’s eyes sparkled with curiosity. “Oh, really? Professor Jackson was a good host, huh? Did he teach you anything else while you were out there?”

“Britt!”

“Relax,” she rolled her eyes. “I’m just teasing you.”

Callie pursed her lips. She wasn’t entirely sure she was just teasing her. But her attention abruptly was drawn back to the TV when she heard Chris Jericho proclaim, “Oh look at this! Hangman!”

Callie’s brow furrowed. Hangman? She didn’t see Adam anywhere. But then the camera cut to the right side of the ring, and she couldn’t help but see him. He held onto Nick’s leg. Nick tried to break free, but he couldn’t. And then, Trent rolled up Matt and counted one-two-three.

“Oh shit,” Britt said.

Callie couldn’t believe her eyes. She felt herself starting to shake as she watched, unable to look away, trying to process what she’d just seen. Adam’s eyes were red and glassy. Nick and Matt stared at him—shocked, betrayed, confused. Matt screamed at Adam to look at him, but he wouldn’t. He couldn’t.  

“I need to go.” She stood from the couch and pushed her way out of the locker room, heart racing, thoughts going a million miles a minute. So fast that she couldn’t make sense of any of them. She couldn’t make sense of what Adam had just done, no matter how bad his relationship had gotten with the rest of the Elite.

She arrived at Gorilla just as Matt and Nick returned backstage. She didn’t even get the chance to open her mouth before Matt yelled, “Did you know he was gonna do that?”

She gaped at him, taken aback. Angry that he could even think that. “No! Of course I didn’t know, are you kidding me?”

He raked a hand through his sweat-damp hair and turned away, pacing. But then he abruptly stopped. “I bet I know who fucking did.”

He took off down the hall. Nick followed, just as heated as his brother. Callie practically had to run to keep up with them. “What are you doing?” she asked—but she got her answer when she saw the door to Best Friends’ dressing room just ahead. She panicked.

“Matt, don’t,” she implored. But he didn’t listen. He charged in without warning, sending the door flying against the wall with a loud bang! Callie had no choice but to go in after him.

“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?”

Alex nearly jumped a foot in the air from where she sat on the couch at the unexpected boom of Matt’s voice. But as soon as she got her bearings, her shock was instantly replaced with anger. “What the fuck, Matt?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he spat as he stalked toward her. “Did you put Adam up to what he just did out there?”

Alex’s lips parted in shock. “You’ve lost your goddamn mind,” she said.

“Have I?”

“Yeah, you fucking have.”            

“Cut the bullshit, Alex!” he proclaimed. “We all know you have every reason in the world to sabotage us, and you have Adam wrapped around your fucking finger just like you do Kenny!”

Callie reeled when Matt said that. But she didn’t have time to fully process it before Alex stood from the couch and stepped right up to him. Her eyes darkened.

“Nick, if you don’t want to become an only child then I suggest you get your brother out of here right now.”

Matt let out a low laugh. But before Nick could step in the door flew open again. Kenny hurried in, a mixture of panic and confusion on his face.

“Oh, perfect timing,” Matt sarcastically muttered.

“What the hell is going on?” Kenny asked. “I could hear you yelling from all the way down the hall!”  

“Matt burst in here screaming at me about how he thinks I had something to do with what Adam just did,” Alex answered.

“What?” Kenny hissed at Matt. But Matt ignored him.

“Oh, quit the innocent act, Alex!”

“I AM innocent!”

“Alright, come on,” Kenny took Alex by the waist and gently pushed her back as she tried to advance on Matt. But she wasn’t done.

“If you want to know why Adam sabotaged you then maybe you should take a look in the fucking mirror!”

Matt’s brow lowered. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Quit the innocent act, Matt,” she spat his own words back in his face. “How long did you wait to swoop in once you found out Callie and Adam were having problems?”

“What?” Matt charged. “I didn’t swoop in. I was being her friend.”

“By inviting her to come stay with you in California?”

The room went quiet; shocked. Callie’s heart jumped into her throat. How the hell did Alex know that she’d been in California? Did that mean Adam knew? He must. Her eyes flicked to Matt. He looked just as caught as her.

“You did what?” Kenny gaped. He glanced between Matt and Callie, eyes wide, waiting for an explanation. Matt bit down on his jaw.

“Like I said, I was just being her friend.”

“Oh my God,” Kenny pinched the bridge of his nose. It got Callie to finally speak up.

“There is nothing going on between Matt and me.”

“Are you sure about that?” Alex charged.

“Oh, you’re one to talk!” she returned. “How many guys do you have dangling on a line right now, Alex? Three? Four? I honestly can’t keep up.”

Alex took a threatening step forward, but Kenny pushed her back again. “Don’t bother, it’s not even worth it,” he said to her.

Callie scoffed. “Defending her like always.”

“Yeah, I am,” he returned. “Because she’s right. It’s no wonder Hangman threw the match with you two going behind his back like that.”

Matt’s mouth dropped. Betrayed. “Are you serious? Callie and I are just friends!”

“You’re supposed to be ADAM’S friend!”

Alex yelled so forcefully that it took her by surprise. But she was angry. She was so angry for Adam’s sake, and she couldn’t hold back any longer. “The only thing he’s ever wanted is your approval! That’s it! And your head is shoved so far up your own goddamn ass that you can’t see it! So just for one second, can you please pull it out and imagine—can you fucking imagine just for one goddamn second how it must have felt for him to find out secondhand from Britt-fucking-Baker that as soon as his girlfriend broke up with him she hopped a plane to fly clear across the country to stay with someone who’s supposed to be HIS friend?”

She finally stopped, out of breath, voice hoarse, dizzy from yelling. And then, the sound of the ring bell came from the TV. The last match of the gauntlet, Best Friends vs. FTR. She’d completely forgotten about it, what with Matt storming in on her. She turned to look. Her face fell as the ref raised Cash and Dax’s arms in victory. “Shit,” she cursed. But she didn’t have time to dwell on it when Matt spoke up again.

“Adam’s insecurities aren’t my problem,” he said. “If he has an issue with me giving my friend a place to stay, then tell him he can come talk to me like a man. Not sneak up on my brother and cost us a fucking title shot. What he’s feeling is personal. Interfering in our match is business.”

With that, he turned and stalked back out of the locker room, pushing his way through the door. Nick cast disappointed eyes at Kenny before he followed after his brother. Callie looked at Alex. She shook her head, her expression angry, and then she turned and walked out the door.

Alex’s shoulders slumped. Her head was pounding and her ears ringing, adrenaline still coursing through her. “What a fucking asshole,” she breathed.

Kenny gripped her arm. “Are you alright?”

She shook her head in disbelief. “I just can’t believe he thinks I would tell Adam to do that.”

He frowned. “You know how Matt gets when he’s angry. He jumps to conclusions.”

She nodded as she drew in a breath, trying to calm her nerves. She looked up at him. “Um, thank you for coming in here. I don’t think I would’ve wanted to deal with that on my own.”

“Of course,” he softly said. “But you tore him a new one, so I think you would’ve been fine.”

He gave her a lopsided grin, and she couldn’t help but return it. There was that feeling again, those three little-big words. But, at the moment, there were more pressing matters than her complicated feelings for Kenny. “Well, I’m gonna go meet Chuck and Trent. I’m sure they’re not happy.”

Kenny nodded. “Yeah, go.”

Alex nodded and, somewhat reluctantly, made for the door. But she stopped and looked back at him, a thought occurring to her. “About the text you sent me… I want you to know that I’m not mad at you, Kenny. I’m mad at myself. And because of that… I do need some time.”

He nodded again, his blue eyes soft. “I know, Alex. And I understand.”

She gave him a thankful smile, and then she went out the door, her heart a little stronger than it had been five minutes ago.

* * * * * * * * * *

Matt couldn’t wait for Adam to come talk to him and Nick. Part of it was because he was still so angry, but it was mostly because he knew Adam wouldn’t come talk to them. He was a coward. Only cowards would do what he’d done tonight. So, he decided that he had no choice but to go confront him himself.

He stalked through the halls of Daily’s Place, Nick close behind. They found Adam right where they expected him to be.

“Of course you’re at the bar!” Nick shouted. “Of course you are!”

Adam stood there, mute, a drink in his hand. There were two more drinks sitting on the bar. It was obvious he was waiting for someone. Matt let out a laugh.

“Are you expecting someone, Hangman?” he asked with a gesture at the drinks. “Are you kidding me?”

Adam didn’t answer. He still couldn’t look at him; at either of them.

“Why’d you do it, huh?” Nick pressed, getting right in his face. “You cost us a title match. Why? Are you afraid to face us again, is that why?”

“No, he’s insecure!” Matt proclaimed. “He’s insecure about his friendships, he’s insecure about his relationship, and it all finally pushed him to this.”

Adam finally looked at him when he said that. Angry. Matt could see it in the set of his jaw, in the tension in his shoulders, in his bloodshot and glazed-over eyes. But there wasn’t just anger in his eyes; there was also guilt and shame. He’d done this to himself. He pushed his friends and his girlfriend away—and he knew it. But Matt didn’t feel sorry for him. Not anymore.

He stepped closer. “Apparently, all you’ve ever wanted was our approval. Well, guess what: you had it, Hangman. You had it. But not anymore.”

Adam opened his mouth—but Matt snatched his drink from his hand before he could speak. He didn’t want to hear anything he had to say.

“And you know what? It’s about damn time someone told you the truth. You’re nothing but a drunk.”

He tossed the whiskey in Adam’s face. And then Matt said something that he’d been wanting to say to Adam for months.

“You’re out of the Elite.”

With that, he and Nick turned and left Adam there at the bar, covered in alcohol, alone.

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[pigtownchronicles]

Chapter 2.8 - The Friday Night Party

Thursday evening, after work, Barry was on the corner where Hugh had told him to wait. Depot was down the street, and he watched the nearly unmarked door keep a steady traffic going in, even this early. Barry was surprised that a club would ever be that busy on a weeknight, but he found himself thinking about the dance floor again, thinking about how he’d almost gotten lost there, but lost the feeling instead. That sense of doubt almost made him abandon his plan, but he held on. Hugh showed up a few minutes late, and they walked down to a bench outside a rather unkempt park, and chatted.

“Alright, so here’s what you asked for,” Hugh said, and passed him a little baggie with two pills in it. “Have you used those before?”

“No!” Barry said, a bit defensive. 

“I’m not in the shame business, calm down. Look, it’ll take a bit for them to kick in, and when they do, he’s going to be, well, useless. You have a plan on how to get him to the lab?”

“I was gonna get him to my car and drive him.”

“And when people notice?”

“I mean, it’s not perfect, but it’ll do, right?”

Hugh dug around in his pocket with a little smirk. “Alright, I had a chat with Ian, and he agreed to let me slip you a little something extra. If you play your cards right, you might not even need the roofies. Here.”

Barry looked at the vial Hugh pressed into his hand, and it was similar to the shimmering dust he’d sampled back at the house, which had given him those...visions of being a little club twink. “I don’t think he’ll be doing coke at the party, if you want me to try and give him this shit.”

“It’s not for him, it’s for you. It’s not that club drug you sampled before. Ian has all kinds of homebrew back in the lab. Most of it is just, well, waste product, I guess you could say. Little bits and pieces from his work that get pulled out with everything else. The buyer might not want them, or they might not fit in afterward, so he’s left with the stuff. Ephemera is what he calls it. Some of it works...like a vision. That was what the dust at the house did for you. Other stuff he makes gives you little boosts, or temporary shifts. I keep telling him to market the shit, call it Prestige or something, but he says he can’t guarantee supply, so whatever. His loss, your gain.”

“So what’s it do then?”

“It...makes you important. People want to listen to you more, they’re more willing to do what you say. You can’t make someone jump off a building, but I don’t think you’ll have a hard time convincing your friend to take a ride with you if you’re on it.”

“How long will it last?”

“That should get you through the whole evening, no problem.”

He paid Hugh for the drugs, and was assured that if he didn’t end up needing the roofies, he could return them for a refund later. All day Friday, it was impossible to focus. He couldn’t believe he was really considering this, that any of this was really possible. He’d considered taking a little bit of what Hugh had called prestige that morning, just so he could get a grip on it, and figure out if it would be helpful, but chickened out. Part of him sensed he was going to chicken out tonight too, that he wouldn’t make an opening, that he would, once again, sabotage himself like always.

Anticipating the party, most everyone at the office was taking an easy day, getting a little work done, but mostly chatting and planning out their weekends. Richard seemed to mingle with all of them so easily, and knew more about some of them than Hugh had ever bothered to learn, and he’d only been with the team for a week. It was effortless for him. But then, Hugh had always felt like he needed to guard himself, hide part of him away out of shame. He couldn’t really talk about his family, or what he got up to on weekends, because no straight person would look at him the same way afterward. No wonder they’d picked Richard over him. They all probably thought he was an asshole who didn’t want anything to do with them, when really, he was the one terrified of them all.

He almost bailed at that point, and skipped the party entirely. What drove him to push on was fear. It wasn’t really the promotion he wanted. It wasn’t even really the respect. It was the fact that, if he didn’t pursue this, if he didn’t follow through, he knew he’d be right back with Ian, agreeing to cash it all in. He’d spend the rest of his life as some stupid circuit bunny, without a thought in his head other than the pulse of the beat, and maybe he’d be happy. Maybe. But he’d never be satisfied with that. It was time to swallow that fear and seize something for once in his damn life. Maybe it was time for these straight fucks to be afraid of him, instead.

They went to the bar near the office, the same sports bar they always went to for events like this. It was just as despairing as every other straight bar Barry had ever gone to. He did his best to mingle and fit in, but it was clear he’d already been frozen out. Word had gotten around that he’d been turned down for the promotion, and it seemed like everyone was rather pleased about it. He suspected that the dislike from them he’d always thought might be paranoia was more likely real. Again, his resolve shook, he ended up in the bathroom, making a line of prestige on the counter, knowing that this would probably be his only shot.

After all, none of those people would let him just take Richard with him. They’d all probably think he was going to rape him or something. He snorted the line, expecting a sensation similar to the one he’d had at Ian’s office, a vision of...something, but instead, he just felt this warmth suffuse him. It wasn’t a rush, and it wasn’t a high. He just felt centered, and confident. In the mirror, he straightened his jacket, and realized he hadn’t had a jacket on a second ago. He was wearing a rather sharp suit now, and while he recognized his reflection well enough, his face was just a bit sharper. His jaw was a bit more defined, the pimple on his nose had disappeared, his stubble gone, hair filled with highlights. He looked damn good. Like Hugh had said, he looked important.

He stepped back out into the party, and it was like meeting a bunch of strangers, somehow. They all gravitated towards him, wanted to talk to him, wanted to be seen with him. The conversation came easy, and Barry found that the forced congeniality Richard had been treating him to was stripped away, replaced by a genuine curiosity. He ordered a round of pitchers that came on the house, and everyone drank at his urging, especially Richard, who never had an empty glass. Just like Hugh had said, he didn’t even need the roofies. The party ran longer than they usually did, and as he made his way around the room, multiple people confided in him that they thought he should have gotten the promotion, not Richard. He just didn’t have the same charisma. Barry was always gracious, but just that little bit of ego stroking made him eager to move onto the next step.

Richard was nearly falling over, and in no shape to drive. Barry, who hadn’t been drinking at all, offered to drive him home, and everyone thought that was a great idea, he was so kind and generous, a terrific human. He just smiled, nodded, and helped Richard out of the bar and into his car, and they drove off.

“Don’t you need my address?” Richard asked.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll get you there just fine.”

“You know, I...didn’t really like you at first, Barry. I kind of thought you were a stuck up asshole. But you’re a real good guy, you know that?”

“Thanks Richard, that’s nice of you to say,” he said.

“Are we heading into town? I live out by Butte Creek.”

“This is a shortcut, you can trust me.”

“Alright.”

A few minutes later, Barry pulled into the little driveway in front of the house where Ian ran his business, and drove around into the back yard. Ian and Hugh were waiting for him there, and helped Richard out of the car, and down into the basement. “I don’t...where are you taking me?” he mumbled, but couldn’t put up much of a resistance.

“Don’t worry Richard, the real party is about to get started,” Barry said, and followed them down into the lab.

***

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#reality shift #personality shift

[lifeinahole27]

CS ff: “Walking the Tightrope” (Chapter 10/10) (au)

Summary: Killian’s daily routines are a matter of habit. When he wakes up late one morning, his routines all change for the better. Emma doesn’t care about routines, but she does care about Killian, no matter how reluctant she is to admit it to herself.

Rating: E (the content warnings matter this time!)

Content Warnings: Everything from the previous chapter applies as far as the Walsh business is concerned. Other than that, a very tame chapter. 

A Special Thank You: My continued gratitude to my lovely friends, @captainstudmuffin and @phiralovesloki. And a heap of love to @captainswanbigbang for putting this together and helping me accomplish this.

A/N: So, this is the last main chapter. There is an epilogue which I will post on Sunday, and then this grand adventure will be wrapped up! Thanks for being with me on this ride and for any comments, reblogs, and likes. I’m thankful beyond words. <3

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | 

Find it on Ao3 & FFN!

-x-

Chapter 10: Snowshine

Walsh still looks exactly the same as the last time she was here. Emma tries her best to keep her stomach calm when all she wants to do is throw up on his face, projecting an outward cool that she doesn’t feel as he enters the room and looks up at her. 

“What the - Emma? What the hell are you doing in my apartment?”

“Taking back what’s rightfully mine,” Emma says, gesturing to the box of pictures sitting on the bed beside her.

“Oh no, sweetheart. I would hardly call all of those yours.”

“Don’t call me sweetheart, asshole.”

Through all of this, James has been watching a progress bar load on the computer screen. With a noise of victory, he looks back to her.

“There you go, Emma. All done.”

“You brought David with you? Mr. Wouldn’t-hurt-a-fly?”

“Oh, buddy, believe me. You’re gonna wish I was David by the end of this. Good job hosting a whole website with a bunch of non-consensual photos on it. But shame on you for making it so easy to break into.”

“You have another brother?”

“Didn’t I ever tell you that David was an identical twin?”

At the little jingle that plays from the desk, he tries to push James out of the way. “What did you do to my computer?”

“Gave it a little tune up,” James tells him, crossing his arms with pride as a little unicorn marches into the center of the screen. 

All three of them watch with rapt attention as the unicorn stands and waves, before squatting. 

“Oh my god,” Emma says, bursting out in laughter as the unicorn defecates in the shape of an artfully written “fuck you” in rainbow colors. 

After a couple seconds, the whole thing emits a screeching noise and shuts off with a loud pop. 

“All your buddies that subscribed to your email list got something pretty similar. I mean, I don’t know if they’ll all open it but with the heading ‘Check out the brand new section!’ I’m willing to bet a lot of dudes are about to lose their computers.”

Walsh finally makes it around James, desperately trying to turn on his computer but nothing happens when he hits the button. “All of my business files were on there.”

“You kept all your shit on your personal computer? Wow. You’re even dumber than I thought.” James turns towards Emma on the tail of that thought. “You ready?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Emma responds, picking up the box of photographs and handing it over to James. They manage to make it out of the bedroom before Walsh must come to his senses, and he’s after them immediately. 

His hand closes around Emma’s arm, and she spins around. On instinct, Emma swings as she breaks the hold. And while James misses taking a snapshot of that hit, he doesn’t miss the one where Emma knees him in the nuts hard enough to bring him to his knees. 

“I have the perfect new image for the welcome screen on his trash web page,” James says as Emma backs away. He holds the phone out for her to see and she just barely stops herself from cracking up. “Here, take this. I’ll be right behind you.” He hands over the box, gently ushering her towards the door. 

She doesn’t go far, leaving the door cracked just enough to hear what James has to say to Walsh. 

“Here’s the deal, you Wizard of Oz-looking monkey piece of shit. All of the accounts for that website are completely wiped out. All that money you made off of people like my sister? That money is so far offshore that you’ll never be able to trace it ever again. Got it?”

“I’ll call the cops,” Walsh says weakly.

“You won’t. You have no evidence. And if you try to do that, or ever try to do this again, I will screw up your whole life. We’re in a digital age now, Walsh Whitney Covington. I have everything of yours now. Personal records, social media, bank accounts, the password to your pretentious little LinkedIn page that lists you as a connoisseur of wood, which… come on, man.”

“That’s all illegal,” he whines back, and Emma is mostly just enjoying the snivelling tone in his voice. 

“Yeah? And? I’m sure Emma signed a consent form for those pictures you had posted of her, right? You had her sign away her financial freedoms for the profits on it, too? Don’t ever fuck with our family ever again or you’ll regret it.”

After a couple more minutes of silence, James exits the apartment and gives her a bright smile. 

“Now, that was a fun afternoon with my brother. See? We should bond like this more often,” Emma says as they make their way out of the building and back down to where he parked his car. 

“Yeah yeah, don’t get used to it. Jack would kill me if she found out this is how I spent my day.”

“You’re still with Jack?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? I did marry her, after all. She wanted to wait until she made partner to have a baby and so I switched gears and became a stay-at-home dad after she went back from maternity leave. It helps to have a super lawyer as your wife.”

“None of the words that just came out of your mouth are what I was expecting when I called you about all this.”

“Well, it’s not like I send out Christmas cards with updates on the family,” James says, a little resignation in his voice. 

“Did you really take all the profits from the website?”

“And refunded the money you spent on that settee you bought there back before you started dating.”

Just as he says it, Emma’s phone dings with a notification. There’s a message from her bank saying there’s been a deposit into her account. Looking at the numbers, it’s way more than what she paid for the moderately priced item, but James shrugs. 

“Maybe I got the numbers backwards in my head. Added an extra digit. Whatever. So you mentioned earlier that you have a boyfriend? You haven’t changed your status on Facebook.”

“You follow my social media?”

“Just because I don’t let any of you know about what’s going on in my life doesn’t mean I don’t check up on you.”

“Well, I’m supposed to be at a Christmas party for his company down in New York but someone insisted we do this today.”

He rolls his eyes as he opens his door and climbs into the driver’s seat. No sooner is she seat-belting in when another notification chimes on her phone. 

“Did you seriously just buy me a plane ticket to New York City?”

“I’ll hand all of that over to David,” James says, indicating the box she placed in the backseat. “Besides, he and I are severely overdue for a brotherly chat.” Without another word, he starts a route for the airport. 

“When was the last time you had one of those? When you were fifteen?”

“Something like that. Hey, text him and let him know what’s going on. I should be back there in about an hour but I don’t want him to worry.”

She shakes her head, doing as he asked and sending a message to David. 

As they pull up outside the airport, Emma turns to James. “So, what do I still owe you?”

“Nothing. I got the cash he had stashed in his desk, all the money from his subscription side of the website, and free childcare for the evening after Jack gets home from the office today.”

“Did you tell David that yet?”

“No, but I will. And you know he will - he’s David. Go on,” he tells her when they arrive a short time later. “Enjoy the party.”

“Okay then. And hey, thanks for all your help. I couldn’t imagine doing that with anyone else.”

“Yeah, yeah. Hey, Emma?” 

Her door is open and she’s just about to climb out when he says her name. 

“It was nice seeing you,” he admits. 

She leans in quickly and hugs him, noting how familiar yet utterly foreign it feels. “Come visit us sometime,” she tells him as she pulls away. She stands there until his car pulls away and he’s out of view before she walks through the doors. 

Somehow, James managed to get her the perfect flight so she had enough time to get through security, although she looks suspicious as hell going in with nothing but her purse, if you ask her. It’s still considered early when she lands in the city, but with nothing else with her, she has to get party-ready with nothing but the money in her bank account. Thanks to James, there’s a little bit extra to play with in there.

Emma feels like she should be in some cheesy movie montage as she struggles to find everything she’ll need to get ready. Hair and makeup come first, and she’s thankful the salon isn’t far from a decent looking clothing shop or else her charges in cab fares alone would’ve gotten out of hand. 

The dress she finds is perfect - a sleek, black number that doesn’t fit too tight but that doesn’t hide her shape. It’s similar enough to the dress she was planning on wearing to this, the one she borrowed from Ruby as a first-date possibility but put aside in favor of the soft pink she wore instead. She admires the whole look in the mirror as the shop attendant helps her clip tags after Emma pays. She buys two pairs of shoes - a cute pair of cutout ankle boots and a pair of flats - in anticipation of the point in the party where she’ll want to feel her toes again. 

It’s only once she’s fully satisfied with the total picture that she heads out, making sure everything she wore down here is tucked securely into the weekender bag the attendant helped her pick out. 

This time, she opens the rideshare app for a little more comfort, and then it’s off to the Manhattan Penthouse to finally get to where she wants to be.

-x-

Tucking away the knowledge that Robin just gave him, Killian settles into his seat with only a lone glance at the empty chair beside him. He has Henry on his other side, and the rest of the Mills-Hood family in the remaining seats. They’ve not even begun when he receives a sharp, bony elbow to the side. 

“Hey,” Henry whispers as he leans close. “Isn’t that Emma?”

He turns his head, glancing in the direction Henry is pointing, and his breath catches. Sure enough, Emma is standing there in a black dress that surely should be illegal to look so good in. Her hair and makeup are all done, and she’s scanning the room. It takes another elbow to his ribs for Killian to finally stand up, waving over his girlfriend and attempting to wipe the surprise off his face while he does.

“Hi! Sorry I’m late.”

“You’re just in time, actually. I’m so… don’t get me wrong, Swan, but I never expected you’d be able to make it.” He leans forward, pressing a kiss to her cheek and taking a moment to soak up her closeness.

“Yeah, well, sometimes when you make a deal with the devil to take down satan, you get what you want faster than you expected,” she says, and while he doesn’t fully understand, he knows he’ll get the full story later. 

He pulls out her chair for her, pushing it in as she sits. “I do believe we all know one another,” he says to the table at large. “I’d told them to cancel your meal, so excuse me while I get that turned around.”

“Emma! I’m so glad you’re here!” Henry who’d been sitting on his right, beams from ear to ear as he slides over to talk to her. 

“Hi Henry. Everyone. Glad I could make it.”

Hearing her voice and the animated conversation that sparks up between her and Henry immediately calms his nerves for the evening, and he hastens to find one of the caterers so he can return to the table. 

By the time their dinner is served, he’s noticed no less than four times Henry has pulled out his iPod to jot down something in his notes. He smiles as he watches it happen, watches the gears turn in the lad’s head and the magic take root. He manages to keep it in his pocket for the entirety of the meal, but he’s pretty sure that was due to a questioning look from Regina right as the salads were placed in front of them.

With the rest of the table occupied with their desserts, Killian takes a moment to lean over, keeping his voice low as he whispers in her ear. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Me too,” she says, a satisfied little smile on her face. There’s been a peace evident on her face since the moment she walked in, and he’s intrigued but enjoying it. She was never too tightly wound to begin with, apart from the times she got stuck in her own head. This, he assumes, is due to the business with her ex being all wrapped up. 

After the dishes have been cleared, Killian rests in his seat for a bit. There’s still a lot more networking he’ll have to do, but for now he takes the time to relax as he and Robin discuss strategy for announcements. He’s in the middle of helping figure out the order when Emma’s hand creeps onto his thigh. His words falter for a moment, and he can see Emma’s smile get just a little wider. 

When her hand travels a little higher, he reaches down, knowing full well that his ears and cheeks are both bright with flush, and takes a moment when Robin is asking Henry a question to fully turn to her.

“Have pity on me,” he whispers, pulling her hand to his lips to place a kiss on the back of it, and she laughs quietly, turning her palm to link her fingers with his. 

“Just this one time,” she concedes, settling in with their hands clasped. 

-x-

Walking into the venue, Emma is momentarily overwhelmed. She forgot that the Storybrooke office isn’t the whole team, and that a lot of the authors would be there, so there’s just a sea of people as far as she can see across the space. But then Killian stands up, her eyes finding his as he waves her over. 

And it’s halfway between where she is and where he’s waiting that it hits her full in the gut: She is in love with Killian. She is so in love with that man that she can hardly stand it. He has never once looked at her differently or placed unrealistic expectations on her - he never set out to hurt her. 

There, with the lights of the chandeliers glittering overhead, and the backdrop of the city getting dusted in snow, Emma realizes that she is looking at the man she wants to spend all of her time with if she can. Her heart squeezes, even as she smiles and accepts the kiss he places on her cheek as they settle in.

It’s the first time she’s ever been to a party like this, and she has to think it’s going pretty well. While Killian is occupied with his duties, Emma offers to watch Roland so Regina can go with Robin as he makes rounds to greet everyone. Emma follows him as he drags her from one end of the penthouse to the other, eager to show her anything and everything he can. 

By the end of the night, her feet hurt and she’s all too happy to get her belongings from the coat check room so she can slip on the flats she bought. She’s leaning against the wall, innocently trying to pry her feet out of the booties when Killian comes up behind her, his hand warm through the material of her dress and his voice hot in her ear. 

“Are you trying to kill me tonight?”

“I’m just trying to change my shoes. It’s not my fault your eyes automatically go to my ass when you approach me.”

He looks affronted when she turns to look at him, a smile hiding behind the expression.

“Besides,” she says, “I just can’t wait for you to get me out of this dress.”

“I’m ordering us a car right now.”

It’s amazing; she knows he prefers the quiet and solitude of their little town, but he performs so well in the city - like he was built to live here - and she loves that he chooses not to. They’re both on their best behavior in the car, but Killian purposely sat on her left so his hand can rest on her knee. Rather than spiking that part in her that’s always game for another round of sex, though, it reignites her thoughts from when she entered the party and she stares at him in the dark as the city lights pass them by.

When he notices, he turns to her with a peaceful look on his face, and they smile at each other. “What?” he asks, his fingers tightening once.

“Nothing,” she replies, taking the moment to rest her head on his shoulder for the rest of the journey. “Tonight was great.”

Back at the hotel, they at least manage to settle a bit before Killian follows through with her request, with both of them sighing as the dress slips from her shoulders and drops lightly to the floor. They take their time, slow and languid, savoring each moment with each other.

“I know I’ve said this plenty of times, but I am so happy you were able to make it,” Killian tells her as their skin is still cooling. She needs to go wash the makeup from her face but she’s not quite sure her legs will function in order to do so.

“Me too.” She stares at him, her eyes roaming his face and sinking into the wonder that has been the last three months of her life, thanks to this man.

“What is it?” he asks, his expression serious as he tries to figure out what she’s thinking.

“I… want to thank you for everything. You went into this without knowing and you still haven’t pushed me to talk about what happened or anything and so I just… wanted to say thanks.”

His smile falters, still there but just a touch disappointed that the words weren’t the ones he was expecting after she set it up to be something else, and she knows how it feels. Her thumb strokes along his cheek, pushing at his smile briefly as she leans in to kiss him. 

Maybe next time, she thinks as she moves to the bathroom to clean up before climbing back into bed. Outside, the city keeps moving on as their world slows for sleep. 

-x- December 21: Saturday

As usual, Killian is the one that wakes up first. He sets about ordering breakfast and jumps in the shower in the interim. Emma is awake and sitting up in bed when he comes back out, and he leans over the bed to kiss her good morning. 

“David texted me that he’s on his way home. He has everything we took from Walsh and he’s going to drop it off at my place.”

“That’s certainly good news. Even better news is I have coffee and breakfast being delivered soon.”

She chuckles at that. “Perfect. I wish I had more clothes with me, but I suppose yesterday’s will be fine.”

“My luggage is yours, love. I always pack extra just in case, so help yourself.”

Which seemed like a good idea, until Emma walks out of the bathroom after her own shower in one of his button up shirts, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows and her supple form filling out the garment better than he ever could. 

They eat breakfast in bed, the curtains flung open wide to let in the weak, winter sunshine. As they graze their food, Emma books her ticket for their return to Storybrooke, crowing in victory when she scores a seat on Killian’s flight.

“I’ll text David and see if he can pick us up,” Emma tells him when they’re getting ready for their outside adventure, pulling her hat securely over her ears and wrapping her scarf around her neck.

They brave the cold to hit some of the popular winter activities in the city, taking in the Christmas markets and strolling Fifth Avenue. In the early evening, they meet up with Robin, Regina, and the two boys again to enjoy dinner together. With the pressure from the night before long gone, they talk instead of the upcoming holidays. 

It’s clear that Henry is willing to keep the magic alive for Roland, asking the younger boy what he’s planning on asking for Christmas when they go to see Santa after the meal is over. When Killian catches Henry’s eye a short bit later, the lad smiles and gives him a thumbs up. 

After dinner, they set out on their own again to see the Rockefeller tree in person. They stand there, watching the lights twinkle and the skaters on the rink until neither of them can feel their toes and their noses are bright red. 

Sinking into their hotel bed that night, Killian makes sure to set his alarm, but Emma grabs for it before he can set it down.

“Just wanted to double check. Wouldn’t want to miss your alarm or anything,” she says, that smile hidden in the corner of her mouth. 

“Cheeky woman,” he says quietly, making sure to kiss her hard and lovely before they each burrow under the covers. 

There’s another message from David waiting for Emma when they wake up letting her know they’ll be there to pick them up. Thankfully, with no luggage, their disembarking process is much faster and they’re able to get out of the departure door right as David and Snow pull up.

While they go their separate ways when they get back to town, he and Emma have a standing appointment for later in the afternoon to take everything that was acquired from Walsh’s apartment to send it off properly, as she did with her uniform. 

He sets to work on a mission, unpacking his bag and stripping off his dirty clothes to throw everything in his hamper. There’s still time before he meets with Emma, but since he’s been out of town since Friday, he’s behind on his weekend duties and he knows he’ll feel better if he takes the time to do it now rather than waiting. He throws his clothes in the wash, opting for warmer clothes for their task ahead. Instead of sitting around and waiting for the machine to be done, he takes the time instead to pack a picnic of sorts for the task ahead of them. Those items and a blanket all go into a tote bag he got from the last publishing conference he attended. 

Shortly after his laundry is folded and put away, Emma breezes through the door with a large box in her arms. 

“Ready?”

“Aye, just let me grab my keys.”

He locks the door behind them on their way out, and then they make their way to the beach closest to his flat. There’s a fire pit that was built ages ago, large stones surrounding it and a fresh pile of logs that Killian would place money on betting that David set it up for them. 

As he sets to work lighting the fire, he hands Emma the tote to start unpacking their items. She hums happily as she finds the soup, and again when she opens the second thermos that has the hot chocolate. He’s just finishing with his task when he turns to see her pouring the drink into each mug he brought, and raises an eyebrow as she tips a generous amount of whiskey into each one. 

She shrugs when she sees his look. “Believe me, I’m going to need it,” she says after a sip to taste-test. 

They stay on the beach much longer than most people would in December, with fresh snow occasionally falling around them. But they make sure each individual picture makes it into the fire. As delicately as they can, they remove them from the box, and he hands a stack face-down to Emma for her to fold each picture so he can feed it into the fire. 

She sets the thumb drive on the rocks around the pit, making sure to give it a solid stomp before throwing that in as an afterthought. 

“I’m sure it’s terrible for the environment but I need that thing wiped from existence.”

When each item has met its demise, including the box it was all packed away in, Emma puts out the fire using every precaution he’s sure David taught her.

Back in the comforting warmth of his place, Killian pulls out every blanket he owns and waits for Emma to come out of his bedroom from getting changed into pajamas. He piles them on top of her, going to change his own clothes before joining her on the couch. He holds her while she processes the whole thing - some anger and tears, some relief, until she falls asleep on Killian’s shoulder and he has to shift around until they can both stretch out. 

He doesn’t fall asleep until long after she does, whispering a quiet “I love you” against her hair before he finally falls asleep, as well. 

-x- December 23: Monday

They’re still on the couch when Emma wakes up, if only just barely. She’s facing Killian, her back pressed against the couch, with Killian’s arm looped over her waist. She’s just opening her eyes when she hears his gasp and then he’s teetering off the edge. Now wide awake, she peers down to see Killian wincing on the floor.

“Are you okay?”

“Just peachy, love,” he grumbles, rubbing his head where it smacked on the floor. She’s stifling laughter when he leans up and kisses her softly. “Good morning to you, my sweet couch hog.”

“We could’ve moved at any time. Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“Because I love you and wanted you to rest more than I cared about my own comfort,” he responds, only realizing as he finishes speaking that he may have said too much. His eyes, wider and brighter blue than she’s ever seen them, meet her steady gaze.

“I love you, too. But that’s a little dramatic of a reason for why you’re now on the floor.”

“I’d go to the ends of the earth for you. Or time. This time just happens to be on my remarkably uncomfortable area rug.” She can’t help the laugh that slips out this time and she runs her hands through his hair. Hangover be damned, she loves this man so much.

“Thanks again for last night. I was a bit of a mess,” she says, even though it feels like a vast understatement to what she actually was the day before. He waves his hand to dismiss her words.

“Sometimes, we just need to throw a mini-rager and burn a bunch of illegally obtained pornographic materials. You sure we’ll never need any of that as evidence in case there’s some kind of criminal investigation?”

“James was pretty clear with Walsh about what would happen to him if he tried to pursue legal action. Not only that, but every picture on the website has been removed and the only thing that pops up when the site is unlocked now is a picture of Walsh clutching his junk with an expression of pain on his face.” 

“I wish I could’ve been there to see you make that hit,” Killian admits, pushing up off the cushion to stand. “Come, love, let’s sail away to the kitchen where I can recite dirty poetry to you and make you breakfast.”

She laughs as she takes his hand, because while he doesn’t recite dirty poetry, he does make her breakfast and convince her to play hooky with him for the day. And when he takes her to bed a short time later, he infuses her skin with the words of his love over and over again. 

It’s the first time in years he doesn’t stick to any kind of routine at all, and they’re both perfectly okay with that. 

-x-

Epilogue

#captain swan #cs ff au #captain swan ff #sarah writes ff #csrt

[just-my-sickly-pride]

Debut || Roger Taylor x fem!Reader

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

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

word count || about 17.7k.

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

masterlist

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

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

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

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

    And now here you are.

    On your way to a strange man’s house.

    To lose your virginity to him.

    Because he’s paid for it.

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

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

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

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

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

    You close the door behind you.

    The Uber drives off.

    And you’re alone on the sidewalk.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “Yes,” you say. “Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

    You shrug helplessly.

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

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

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

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

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

    “An adult?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “Yeah, about nine.”

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

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

    Great. Real smooth.

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

    “Uh, no,” you say. “Uber.”

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

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

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

    “Sorry,” you say again.

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

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

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

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

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

    You hesitate. “Um–”

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

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

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

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

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

    You slip past him. He smells good.

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

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

    “Sorry,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “If you wouldn’t mind,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    You take a sip.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “It is?”

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

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

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

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

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

    “Sure,” you say, drawling sarcastically.

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

    “I believe you,” you say lightly.

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

    “So it’s been said.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “Right,” Roger says mildly, nodding.

    You narrow your eyes at him. “What?”

    “Nothing, I didn’t say anything.”

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

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

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

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

    “Oh, you think so?”

    “Yeah,” Roger says noncommittally.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “That’s good of them.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “Nice?” Roger says.

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

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

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

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

    “Have you tried?”

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

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

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

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

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

    “And you’ve struck out?” you ask.

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

    “Too soon?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “You going to answer it?”

    “In a minute.”

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

    Your hands slide back up your thighs.

    He swallows.

    You smile.

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

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

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

    Your phone buzzes.

    You ignore it.

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

    Roger’s face goes slack. “Uh–”

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

    “Never quite–?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “That’s descriptive,” you murmur sarcastically.

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

    “A demonstration would be nice.”

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

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

    You blink. “Part of the…?”

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

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

    “I’m sorry,” Roger says.

    You lower your hands. “For what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    so hes hot?

    are you on ur way home now?

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

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

    So you send a thumbs-up.

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

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

    “Don’t,” Roger says.

    You pause. “Don’t what?”

    “Don’t order the Uber.”

    Your stomach bubbles. “Wh– No?”

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

    “Why would you be?” you respond automatically.

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

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

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

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

    “Oh,” Roger repeats, a touch playfully.

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “No, it’s fine,” you giggle.

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

    You hesitate.

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

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

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

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

    Roger chuckles, his eyes sparkling.

    “It’s [Y/N],” you add.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Roger laughs.

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

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

    Roger frowns. “What’s stupid?”

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

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

    You huff. “You’re not.”

    “Then what–”

    “Kiss me,” you cut in.

    Roger stops. “Kiss you?”

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

    Roger hesitates.

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

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

    “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

    “Nope.”

    “And you’re in my house.”

    “Yep.”

    “And I’m so much older than you.”

    “That’s right.”

    “And you’re…”

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

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

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

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

    Roger moans in response. “Jesus Christ.”

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

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

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

    He nods, swallowing.

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

    Roger takes a shaky breath. “Are you–”

    “What did I just say?” you cut in. “Not repeating it.”

    Roger smiles, laughing breathlessly. “Bloody hell.”

    You smirk. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

    “Oh, it most certainly is one, believe me.”

     You lean in to kiss him, and his hands, thank the Lord, slide further up your thighs. You start unbuttoning his shirt, blindly, fumbling a little, and your kisses grow more eager.

    You’ve kissed a number of people in your time. Not a whole lot, but a few. And Roger really takes the damn cake.

    When his shirt is fully unbuttoned, untucked from his jeans, you move your lips down his neck, and he moans, letting his head roll back, his hands shifting to grab your ass, pulling you against him. You can feel the tent in his jeans, and, beyond thrilled, you grind against it, loving how a bolt of arousal shoots through you. Roger’s grip on you tightens, and when you nip at his skin, he spits out, “Fuck.”

    You rock your hips against him again, and he laughs again. “God, it’s been too long.”

    You hum, nipping his throat again and soothing it with your tongue. “How long is too long?”

    “Months. Lost count. Ah, fuck.”

    You pull back, giving him a look, and he lifts his head to meet your eyes. “Try twenty years,” you say dryly.

    Roger shakes his head. “Can’t even imagine.” He kisses you, just once, and then murmurs against your lips, “I promise I’ll make this good for you.”

    You shiver. “I’m sure you will.”

    “I mean it.” He kisses you again, and then sits back, his hands sliding back to your thighs and squeezing them gently. “I want this to be good for you. If I’m going to be your first, I want you to enjoy it. So you have to tell me if I’m doing something you don’t like, yeah?”

    You nod. “Yeah.”

    “I don’t care what it is we’re doing – you can tell me to stop at literally any point, and I will, no questions asked.”

    You nod. “I know, I know.”

    Roger chuckles. “You just really want to get things going, don’t you?”

    “Yes.” You press your lips to his, and, now that you both know where things lie between you, you’re both eager to get to the next step. The kisses quickly become more feverish, hotter, deeper. Roger’s hands go to the back of your dress, working the zipper down your spine, and you shudder at the feeling of it. When he’s done, you sit back to yank it over your head, dropping it the floor behind you.

    Roger’s eyes drink you in, his mouth hanging open. “Whoa.”

    You flush under his gaze. You know you look good – you’d worn your push-up bra and matching lace underwear for a reason – but it’s still a rush to get a reaction like that.

    “Bedroom?” Roger says, his voice a touch weak, and you nod, leaning in to steal one last kiss before climbing off him, taking his hand and pulling him to his feet. He groans slightly as he does so, and you giggle.

    “I know, I know, I’m old,” he says.

    “No, I like it,” you say, tugging him closer to you and hooking a finger of your other hand through a belt loop on his jeans. “Dad noises.”

    Roger shakes his head, his hands coming to rest on your waist, and you lean into the touch. “Don’t say that,” he grumbles. “Makes me feel even older.”

    “You’re not old,” you say, rolling your eyes. “You’re not even forty.”

    Roger laughs. “Ah, yes, a real spring chicken.”

    “Can you stop whining and fuck me already? I’m gonna be forty by the time we get to it.”

    Roger snorts. “Cheeky.” He leans in to kiss you, and you curl your arms around his neck, pressing into him.

    When you break apart, you take Roger’s hand again, and he leads you to his bedroom, both of you stumbling slightly in the dark house. You’re only in your underwear, but you’re still wearing your heels, and you feel like you’re in some kind of Victoria Secret ad.

    Roger keeps glancing back at you, his eyes sweeping your body, and he’s so distracted he almost runs into a wall at one point, and you have to tug on his arm to pull him out of the way, laughing as you do so. He retaliates by pushing you up against the wall and kissing you senseless, his thigh slotted between yours. You’re lightheaded and unbelievably turned on by the time he breaks away again, and it feels like a lifetime before you reach his bedroom. 

    Roger switches on the light.

    The double bed is unmade, but the room itself is fairly tidy, just a pair of shoes and a shirt on the floor. The whole room screams tax-paying adult, and you’re reminded again that the man you’re about to sleep with is, in fact, a proper adult. Not like you, an adult by the loosest terms imaginable, but a fully-grown man with children and a mortgage and a career, probably. A completely different world to yours.

    But none of that will matter when you’re both naked. 

    He closes the door behind him, and then you’re pouncing on him, pushing his shirt off his shoulders and all but tearing his belt off. His hands are tight on your hips, and when you undo his belt and the button and fly on his jeans, he pants, “Bed, bed, go sit on the bed.”

    You do as you’re told, sitting on the edge of the bed and crossing one knee over the other, taking the opportunity to quickly tie your hair back out of your face while and Roger fumbles with the rest of his clothes, kicking off his shoes and pulling off his socks and jeans. You can tell that he would’ve been thin as a twig back in the day, and you’d easily call him slender even now, but his body is soft, the sign of a father who’s spent more time taking care of the kids and having a beer in the evenings to wind down than going to the gym. It suits him, looks good on him. You’re certainly a big fan.

    Soon, he’s down to nothing but his boxer-briefs. His boxer-briefs, which are neon green.

    You break out into a grin, and Roger looks down at them, sighing. “Of all the fucking pairs I could’ve put on today,” he mutters.

    “They’re pretty great,” you say, and you make sure you have Roger’s full attention before you uncross your legs, spreading your knees wide, leaning back on your hands, “but I’m more interested in what’s underneath them.”

    From the look on Roger’s face, you’d guess his legs are about to give out from under him. “You’re gonna fucking kill me,” he huffs, and he hurries over.

    Grinning, you scramble backwards on the bed, lying down, and he crawls after you, over you, and his kiss is bruising.

    Your hands are shaking now – with excitement and with nerves, a lot of nerves – but you ignore that, and worm your fingers inside his underwear, wrapping your hand around him and giving him a tug.

    He jerks, and you have a moment of panic where you think you’ve done the wrong thing, but then he kisses you with more fervour, so you do it again. This time, his hand finds yours, gently guiding you away.

    “Did I do something wrong?” you ask.

    Roger looks confused for a moment, and then says, “God, no. I just don’t want to get too worked up before we get to, y’know, the main event.”

    “Oh,” you say, smiling in relief.

    “You really have no experience at all, do you?” Roger says, sounding almost disbelieving.

    “That’s what I’ve been saying,” you say. “It hasn’t all been some elaborate ruse to get into your pants. Literally all I have is some vague, theoretical ideas on how this works. And I know the mechanics. But that’s it. So you’re gonna have to be patient with me.”

    “That’s fine by me,” Roger says. He chuckles. “It’ll make everything I do seem much more magical than it really is.”

    “Sure,” you say mock-condescendingly.

    Roger laughs, and he looks so wonderful when he’s laughing that you can’t help but smile, your hand reaching up to comb through his hair.

    He notices the look in your eye, your smile, and he smiles back in a way that makes your stomach squirm and your fingers and toes tingle.

    He kisses you, and the squirming in your stomach grows into full-blown butterflies, big Amazonian ones, and you begin to have an inkling that, oh no, this could be bad. This could be very bad indeed.

    It’s probably nothing. He’s just hot, and nice, and funny, so you’re excited to have sex with him. That’s it. You’re a duckling that’s imprinted on its mother. Except you’re a human, and Roger’s the first person you’re having sex with, not your mother.

    Not the best analogy you’ve come up with. You can’t blame yourself, though – the way Roger’s kissing you is turning your brain into mush.

    He presses a kiss to just under your ear, and then kisses all the way down your throat, and you tilt your head back. “Feels so good,” you murmur.

    You can feel Roger smile against your skin.

    He keeps going, kissing the hollow at the base of your throat, further down still, and you bite your bottom lip. He presses a kiss to the top of your right breast, and then looks up at you. “Can I take your bra off?”

    You nod eagerly, and he moves back so you can sit up. “Oh, I’ve still got my shoes on,” you said.

    “I’ve noticed,” Roger says, and you chuckle.

    “As super sexy as they are, I do wanna take them off,” you say.

    Roger ducks forward to drop a kiss to your neck, and the butterflies are back, and you can feel your cheeks going pink. You want to hide your face, but Roger’s right there, and you can’t look away from his eyes. “How about you take your bra off,” he says, “and I’ll get your shoes.”

    “You don’t have to take my shoes off for me,” you say.

    “Well, I want to,” he says simply, and shuffles down, climbing off the bed. He gestures for you to shift forward, and you do, until your feet are hanging off the bed, your knees hooked over the edge. Roger gets onto his knees – he makes a dad noise as he does so, and you giggle again – and fiddles with the buckle on one of your shoes.

     You take a moment to watch him, biting your lip, smiling, and then reach behind you and unhook your bra, slipping it from your shoulders.

    He doesn’t look up right away, and you’re thankful for a moment to get your head around the fact that you’ve never been completely topless in front of anyone before. You’re self-conscious about the grooves the bra has dug into your skin, about the way your breasts look without the aid of the push-up, and you almost go to cross your arms over yourself, but then Roger glances up, and his hands go still. “Bloody hell,” he breathes. “You’re gorgeous.”

    You tuck your hair behind your ear. “Thanks,” you say in a small voice, unsure how else to respond.

    Roger shakes his head, and focuses back on the shoe, making quick work of it and easing it off your foot, setting it down beside him. He moves onto the other shoe. “Talk about winning the fuckin’ lottery,” he says.

    “I could say the same,” you say.

    Roger stops again, looking to you, and then smiles, looking back to the shoe. His ears have gone red.

    He takes the second shoe off and places it beside the first, then presses light kisses to the inside of your knee. He moves further up your leg, up your thigh, and you realise you’re holding your breath. His arms are curled around underneath your legs.

    Roger looks up at you, his thick eyelashes making him look almost angelic. “Is this all right?” he says. “If I…?”

    He’s asking if he can eat you out. Oh, God, he’s asking if he can eat you out. He wants to put his mouth and tongue there, and maybe his fingers, too, and no one’s ever done that before.

    You nod eagerly. Maybe a little too eagerly, as Roger laughs.

    You feel your stomach cave in on itself in embarrassment. “Actually, no thanks,” you say, trying to pull your legs back. “Changed my mind.”

    “No, no, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh,” Roger says, still chuckling. He coaxes your legs back to where they were, and kisses your thigh. “It was just the look on your face.”

    “You’re doing a terrible job of wooing me,” you say, aiming for resolute and chastising, but it comes out sounding more weedy and humiliated.

    “I’m sorry,” Roger says again, and his hands stroke your legs soothingly. “I am. I didn’t mean to make you feel embarrassed.” He smiles, a glint in his eye, and you’re momentarily left breathless. “Can I… make it up to you?”

    You can’t help but smile back, rolling your eyes. “Wow. Cheesy.”

    “Thank you,” Roger says. “I’m going to be honest, as fun as this banter is, my knees aren’t going to last forever.”

    You splutter a laugh. “Yes, yes, okay, yes please.”

    Roger surges up off the floor to press a firm kiss to your lips, and you take a moment to wonder just how dodgy his knees really are if he can do something like that, or whether he was just looking for a convenient segue into getting your underwear off. You’re not fussed either way.

    Roger kisses your collarbone, and then pulls back, hooking his fingers into your underwear. “Lift your hips up for me, love?”

    The pet name makes heat pool between your legs. Oh, Jesus.

    “Mm-hm,” you say, hoping it sounds more nonchalant to him than it does to your own ears, and lie back to lift your hips, and he slides your underwear down your legs and drops them near your shoes.

    You expect him to go back to his knees straight away, but he holds himself above you, kissing you, deep and slow, making you whimper into his mouth. One hand holds himself up, and the other one massages your hip, his thumb kneading your skin. Relaxing you, you realise. You let yourself get lost in the kiss, and you’re only partially aware when Roger’s hand moves from your hip to your thigh, brushing over your skin.

    You’re extremely aware, however, when his fingers stroke through your folds for the first time.

    Despite yourself, you jump, and Roger murmurs, “Sorry,” but you shake your head to dismiss his concerns, and pull him in again.

    For a few moments it’s strange, feeling someone’s else hand there, and you’re very conscious of how wet you are, and you wonder if it’s something you should be embarrassed about, but then Roger circles your clit, and suddenly all your worries seem very far away.

    It feels… good. Really fucking good. Roger’s fingers are rougher than yours, but they’re clearly experienced in how they move.

    You push your hips up against Roger’s hand, wanting more, and Roger complies, his fingers moving just a touch more roughly, and he ducks his head to nuzzle at your throat, kissing it, nipping lightly.

    “Oh, God,” you moan to the ceiling, overwhelmed already, and you almost laugh at how surprised you sound. Your hand grips Roger’s hair, and you hope it’s not too hard, but you couldn’t let go if you tried.

    Then Roger’s hand is gone, and you let out a choked sound at the sudden stop. You try to gather your thoughts to ask why, but then Roger is kissing down your body. Oh, man, you think, unable to conjure up anything else, and Roger chuckles, and you realise you said it out loud, but you don’t have time to be embarrassed, as Roger takes one of your nipples into his mouth, his tongue swirling around it, his teeth tugging at it, and you gasp.

    “I’ve never… That’s new,” you say weakly, hissing when Roger runs the flat of his tongue over your nipple.

    Roger pulls off to ask, “Do you like it?”

    “Yeah,” you say. “Yeah, uh-huh.”

    “Good.” He goes back to his task, and you arch off the bed slightly.

    “So good,” you breathe. Roger switches to the other nipple, and you moan appreciatively.

    Eventually, both to your dismay and your excitement, he draws away, and presses a single kiss to the space between your breasts. “You’re fucking stunning,” he says, and then he moves back to climb off the bed, setting himself between your thighs.

    You struggle to wrap your head around it. How he could be making you feel this good, and then still compliment you, as if you’ve done anything to deserve it?

    Roger doesn’t waste time talking now. He kisses the inside of your thigh, and then he dives straight in, his tongue nudging your clit as it pushes through your folds. You suck in a sharp gasp, your hand gripping his hair tightly. Your other hand flails, grappling at the sheets as he starts to find a rhythm. You wind up pressing the back of it to your mouth, trying to muffle the sounds you’re making, trying to gather some sort of control, because right now you feel like you’re falling head-first off a cliff, and Roger has complete power over how you land.

    He does something with his mouth – you couldn’t tell for the life of you what it is – and your hips buck against your will. “Sorry,” you blurt out, and it comes out broken and breathless.

    Roger just adjusts one of his arms, bracing it across your hips, holding you down, and you moan. His other hand joins his mouth, sliding a finger into you. “Oh, fuck,” you whisper, and then your hand returns to its position, keeping you somewhat quieter.

    It doesn’t take long before Roger’s working in a second finger, pumping them in and out of you, and the sound of it is so obscene that it makes your face go bright red. You’re climbing towards an orgasm, frighteningly quickly, and when a third finger squeezes in beside the first two, you very nearly come, but the sting of the stretch is enough to keep it at bay.

    But then your body relaxes around the three fingers, and Roger crooks them just so and sucks on your clit, and you move your hand away from your mouth to say in a rush, “I’m– I’m so close, I’m gonna come, fuck, ah, shit,” and then–

    Then Roger is gone, his fingers and mouth are gone, and you’re left teetering on the brink of an orgasm, feeling like the air has been punched out of you.

    “Wh– Roger?” you say, your head a mess. You prop yourself up on your elbows to see Roger still between your legs, but instead he’s massaging your thighs with his thumbs, dropping light kisses to your soft skin.

    He smiles up at you, his nose and chin glistening. “Thought we could try something.”

    You shake your head to try to clear it. “But I was just about to…”

    You can still feel the urge. Another minute, and you’ll be there. But the longer you wait, the more the feeling fades. It makes you want to punch a wall.

    Roger hums. “I know. That’s the point.”

    You frown, trying to wrap your head around it. “You… don’t want me to?”

    “Not yet.”

    It finally clicks. “You’re gonna do that to me a couple more times before you make me come, aren’t you?”

    Roger’s smile widens into a grin. “That’s the plan. If you’re on board.”

    “I’m on board,” you say. “As long as when I do come, it blows my fucking mind.”

    “That’s really the point of it, love.” Roger keeps eye contact with you as he leans forward to press a kiss to your core, and you shudder. “And move your hand away from your mouth. You don’t have to be quiet. The more sounds you make, the better.”

    “When am I gonna get my hands on you?” you ask. “I’ve barely even touched your dick yet.”

    Roger huffs a laugh, and you can feel his breath against you. “We’re getting there,” he says easily. “Good things come to those who wait.”

    “Ugh, that’s such a dad thing to say,” you bemoan, lying back down.

    Roger laughs again, and then his mouth and hands return to where you so desperately need them. You suck in air through your teeth. “Fuck, Roger.”

    Roger moans, and you jerk at the sensation.

    He brings you to the edge once more, and, even though you don’t tell him when you’re about to come, he knows, and leaves you hanging once again. So close, so close, but not close enough.

    You feel like crying. Or kicking him in the face.

    You moan helplessly, slinging an arm over your eyes, your legs trembling as Roger smiles against your thigh – you can feel it. A smug smile that makes your blood boil and your core throb even more than it already is.

    Then his fingers push into you for a third time, and his tongue licks through you, but this time it’s slow, painfully slow, not enough to make you come but enough to keep your head lost in the clouds, enough to make your stomach clench and twist, desperately searching for something. It’s enough to make you grind your teeth together. “God, fuck, I need to come,” you sob against the palm of your hand, your thighs trying to clench around Roger’s ears, but his arm is in the way, keeping your hips still.

    His tongue drags against your clit, steady and unhurried, and the gasping whine that rips itself from your throat is piercing to your ears. Not even your hand could muffle it.

    “There we go,” Roger says, and does it again.

    You squirm. “Roger, fuck, please, I wanna come so bad.”

    Roger’s fingers still move in and out of you at a leisurely pace, but he uses his mouth to say, “You wanna come?”

    “Yes,” you say miserably. “Please, I need to.”

    His thumb presses against your clit, and you bite your bottom lip, your body twisting.

    “Christ,” Roger breathes. “That’s a fucking sight.”

    “Fuck me,” you beg. “Anything, just please.”

    Roger takes his hand away, standing and wiping his face on the back of his hand, and you swear. He kicks off his boxer-briefs. His cock is hard and red, swollen, leaking. You sit up and zero in on it like it’s a four-course meal and you haven’t eaten in days. You scramble off the bed, dropping to your knees in front of him.

    “Fucking hell,” he says, clearly not expecting you to do that.

    “Can I suck you off?” you ask desperately, resisting the urge to just shove your mouth around his dick without further preamble. “I’ll do a good job, I promise. Just tell me what to do. I’m a fast learner.” You curl your fist around him, sucking the head into your mouth.

    Roger makes a strangled sound, his hips bucking slightly. “Wait, wait, wait,” he says quickly, guiding your head away with a hand on your head.

     You pull back, but keep your hand where it is. “Just fuck my mouth,” you say, gazing up at him. “I dunno how that works, but I can keep it open.” You do so, sticking your tongue out, silently begging with your eyes.

    Roger chuckles softly to himself, running a hand through his hair. “You’re gonna make me come just from running your mouth like that.”

    You open your mouth wider.

    “Or from just doing that,” Roger says. He pries your hand away from his dick, using it to pull you to your feet.

    He kisses you, a hungry kiss, a you’re doing so well kiss, and it makes you preen. “But I want to fuck you,” he says. “I’ve had my dick sucked before; you’ve never been fucked.”

    “I’ve never sucked a dick before, either, though,” you reason.

    “Well, hit me up next time you’re in the neighbourhood,” Roger jokes. Before you can reply, he kisses you again, and you drink him in greedily, palming at his cock until his kisses grow sloppy, messy, more teeth and tongue, and he has to snatch your wrist. “Let me get inside you first,” he growls. “Good God.”

    “I like it when you’re bossy,” you say, teasingly.

    Roger hums, his eyes dark. “You need that attitude fucked right out of you.”

    “Do it,” you say fervently, grinning in delight when he grabs your other wrist as well to stop you from touching him. “Do it, do it, do it. Fuck it right out me. I need it. Never had anyone try to fuck anything out of me before.”

    Roger shudders. “Jesus.”

    You half-heartedly try to tug your wrists back, but he holds them tightly. “Fuck me till I can’t walk,” you say. “Come on.”

    Roger takes a breath, and then lets your wrists go. “Bed. Now.”

    You scramble to obey, clenching your thighs together at the sight of Roger. He looks wrecked already, his hair a mess, his skin flushed, his eyes glassy, his lips red. He goes to his bedside table and digs out a bottle of lube and some condoms. “Maybe should check the date on these,” he mutters to himself, and squints at the packets in his hands. After a few moments of peering at them, he sighs in frustration, and reaches for the pair of glasses on the table that you hadn’t noticed before. He slips them on, and then nods at the packets. “They’re fine.”

    He goes to take the glasses off, but you say, “Wait, show me.”

    He turns to you. “Show you what?”

    Fuck, he looks gorgeous in those glasses. They’re large, round ones, with delicate silver frames, and you make a soft sound. “Oh, wow.”

    “I know, they’re horrendous,” Roger says, taking off the glasses and setting them down. “My eyesight’s always been shite, but I can’t stand wearing the bloody things.”

    “No, you look great,” you say. “So great, in fact, that I need you to get the condom on so you can fuck me literally right now.”

    Roger raises his eyebrows. “You what?”

    “I’m dying here, Roger,” you say loudly, smacking the bed beside you. “You look hot as fuck in those glasses, and I’m so insanely horny that I’m about to explode. I need your dick in me right now.”

    Roger grins, and rips open the condom packet. “All right. Jeez.”

    “Let me do it,” you say, crawling over to him and taking the condom from him.

    “You’ve ever done it before?” he asks.

    “Not since we had to at school when I was, like, fifteen.” You do it carefully, to the best of your memory. Your mouth waters being so close to his cock. “Is this right?”

    “Yeah, perfect,” Roger says. “You look incredible, by the way.”

    You look up at Roger, and the butterflies return. You’re left momentarily speechless, but it doesn’t matter, because Roger leans down and kisses you. His hand rests against your collarbones, and you get another idea in your head. You rise up into a kneel, keeping his lips on yours, and then you take his hand, pressing it against your throat: a silent invitation.

    Roger moans into your mouth, and applies some pressure, just a bit, testing the waters.

    It makes your core ache, and you kiss him harder, so he presses harder in return. His palm is warm against your throat, and you keep one hand loosely around his wrist, the other hand in his hair, as it is wont to do.

    You end up lying back on the bed, Roger pressing his hand against your throat as you gasp and squirm.

    “You like this, don’t you?” Roger says, fingers on his other hand dipping into your folds. “Fuck, feel how wet you are.”

    You nod desperately. Your mouth is hanging open, and your head is starting to swim.

    “Is that all for me, love?”

    You whimper, nodding again. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears.

    Roger lets go of your throat, and you gasp, your eyes wide. “More,” you say immediately. “More. Fuck me like that.”

    Roger smiles, keeping his palm against your throat, but brushes his thumb across your skin. His other hand curls around your knee. “Your enthusiasm is… mind-blowing,” he says with a chuckle, “but just take a moment, yeah? You’re all over the shop. Slow down a bit.”

    “I don’t wanna slow down,” you protest, grabbing onto his forearm.

    “We’ve got time, love. It doesn’t have to be over so quickly.”

    “You can’t tease me like that, almost make me come, like, three times, and then tell me to slow down,” you say. “I need you, Roger. Christ, I need you. Show me what it’s like, show me how good my first time can be.”

    Roger’s pupils are blown wide, and he lets out a shaky breath. He swallows. “Spread your legs.”

    You grin, and do so. Roger lets go of your throat and leans over you on all fours to kiss you briefly. “I’m not choking you while I fuck you,” he says. “I want you to feel all of it, not have your head somewhere else.”

    You nod vigorously.

    Roger reaches for the lube. You hold out your hand, and he raises an eyebrow at you, but pours some into your hand. You reach forward and slide your fist up and down his cock, spreading the lube. He groans and shudders, and then he says, “That’s enough, that’s enough, I want to fuck you.”

    You take your hand away, wiping the lube on the sheets, Roger surges forward to capture your lips with his, and you feel the head of his cock nudging at your entrance. A shot of adrenaline explodes within you.

    “Tell me if it hurts, okay?” Roger says, and you nod.

    Then, slowly, he pushes into you, just an inch or two. You gasp at the stretch, gripping onto his arms, your mouth wide.

    Roger stills, and nuzzles at your throat. “You okay?”

    “Mm-hm,” you say, biting your lip. “Keep… Keep going.”

    He does, rocking in shallowly, just going a little further each time. He’s panting against your neck, and you can feel your sweat pricking your skin. You can’t help but admire Roger’s back, the way the muscles move.

    It feels good. Once you get over the initial shock to the system of having something that size inside you, you realise why you were so excited to get to this in the first place.

    “I’m good,” you say, nails absentmindedly scratching the back of his neck. “It– It doesn’t hurt or anything.”

    “You sure?” Roger asks, kissing your neck softly.

    You can’t help but laugh. “Roger, for the love of all things holy, fuck me.”

    He doesn’t need another invitation. He slams into you, and your eyes go wide, a tiny sound of surprise leaping out of you.

    “Sorry,” Roger says, raising his head to kiss you in apology.

    “Don’t fucking apologise, it feels good,” you say back. “Come on, come on.”

    Roger laughs, and kisses you. You can feel his laughter against your lips, feel the way his smile changes the shape of his mouth, and that dangerously warm feeling in the pit of your stomach returns.

    You could get used to this. Get used to Roger laughing against your lips as he’s buried inside you. Get used to teasing him, to turning him on, to rolling around in his bed.

    As soon as the thoughts creep into your mind, you banish them. That’s not happening, you tell yourself harshly. This is a one-and-done deal. You can’t develop feelings for a man you’ve only met once. A man who is, by the way, in case you’ve forgotten, sixteen years older than you.

    Then Roger pulls out halfway and drives back into you, and all you can think about is his dick.

    Your hand goes back to your mouth, just like before, keeping yourself quiet as you moan and whimper. Your ankles hook over the small of Roger’s back.

    But then Roger pauses, sitting up, and he unwraps your legs from around him and pushes one of your knees flat on the bed, keeping you spread out wide. “Hands away from your mouth, love,” he says. “Let me hear you. It’s okay, you can let go.”

    Your face burns, and you cover it with both of your hands. It’s too big of an ask. You’ve never felt more vulnerable. “Roger…”

    “[Y/N].”

    You lower your hands. He’s watching you, his blue eyes burning with desire, but they’re soft, too. Understanding.

    “Keep your eyes on me,” he says. “Hold onto the sheets, yeah? Can you do that for me?”

    You nod, and, with no small amount of effort, let your arms go by your sides, your fists wrapping in the sheets.

    Roger smiles. “You’re amazing.”

    You turn your head away, overwhelmed.

    “Eyes on me. Hey.”

    You look back at him. Exposed. You’re exposed, in every sense of the word.

    Roger braces himself on the bed beside your ribs, and, keeping one hand on your knee, holding it down, he starts fucking into you again, hard and deep.

    The sound you make could best be described as a mewl, and it’s a sound you’ve never heard yourself make before. Your hands tighten in the sheets, fighting the urge to cover your face again. Roger’s eyes are still on yours, and it’s too much, you want to look away, but you can’t.

    “So good for me,” Roger pants. “Fuck. God, you’re incredible.”

    You whine. “Roger.”

    “That’s it, love. Say my name.”

    He thrusts into you at just the right angle, making your back arch. “Roger.”

    Roger groans, and he lets go of your knee to circle his fingers around your clit. You gasp, your eyes finally breaking away from his to look to the ceiling, feeling yourself climbing rapidly for the fourth time that night.

    “Let me come, let me come, please,” you beg, your arms straining as your fists pull on the sheets.

    Roger leans forward again to kiss you, a mess of heavy breathing and tongues and lips brushing. You let go of the sheets to clutch onto him, pawing at his shoulders and back and hips, unable to settle on where you want to hold him.

    One hand inevitably slides into his hair, and you grip onto it, tugging it hard. Roger’s rhythm stutters, and he groans out your name.

    His fingers feel so fucking good, and, doubled with the way he’s stretched you out, tripled with how he edged you before, you just know how hard you’re going to come. You can feel it building deeper within you than you’ve ever felt before, like an impending tsunami.

    Roger readjusts, sitting back again, his brow furrowed as he searches for just the right spot to hit you.

    When he does, you cry out. “Right there, right there, fuck.”

    Your hands scrabble for purchase, and one finds your own hair, burying itself, and you don’t pull, but you keep a firm grip on it, the slight pain being the only thing keeping you from losing yourself entirely. Your other hand finds the same spot as before in the sheets, and you sob, screwing your eyes shut.

    “You close?” Roger asks, and you nod.

    “Say it out loud, love.”

    “Yes, I’m so close, I’m so close,” you gasp. You’re almost there, you can feel it, only inches away, moments away.

    “Open your eyes, come on.”

    You do, and meet his gaze. “Roger,” you whimper.

    “You gonna come for me?”

    “Y-yeah.”

    “I wanna hear it, yeah? Wanna see you. See you come undone on my cock.”

    And that’s the final nail in the coffin. You orgasm pulses through you, so hard that you convulse, and you wail, blurting out Roger’s name, clenching down on him. Your blood roars in your ears, and you’ve never come so hard in your life.

    Roger moans out, “Fuck,” and then pumps once, twice more, and then comes, groaning your name, a shudder ripping through him.

    When he comes back to himself, blinking his big blue eyes at you, you can’t help but think he looks otherworldly. His face, pink, shines with sweat, as does his whole body. Locks of hair stick to his forehead, his temples. His mouth hangs open, and his chest heaves, and maybe it’s the ten-out-of-ten orgasm you just had, but in that moment, you kinda want to marry him.

    He takes the hand you’ve tangled in the sheets, and presses a kiss to your wrist. Your heart just about explodes. “You all right?”

    You splutter. “All right? The fuck’s that meant to mean?”

    Roger smiles, massaging the palm of your hand with his thumb. “I mean, are you hurting anywhere?”

    My heart hurts from you being all hot and perfect and stupidly romantic, you think. “No,” you say. “I’m just fine.”

    He pulls out of you, carefully, and it does nothing but reignite a spark of arousal within you. Then he collapses onto the bed beside you with an unmistakable dad noise, and takes off the spent condom, tying it off and tossing it into the rubbish bin beside his bed. When that’s done, he wastes no time in rolling onto his side and pulling you in for a kiss. You hum happily, shifting closer to him, not even caring about the sweat and how wet you are all over your inner thighs.

    When he breaks away, he says, “So. How do you feel?”

    “Like I just had the biggest orgasm of my life,” you say.

    Roger chuckles. “I meant now that you’re, y’know…”

    It clicks. “Now I’ve lost my virginity?” you say playfully. “Had my sexual debut? I’ve become a woman?”

    “Not that any of it matters, of course,” Roger adds. “But it’s still… It can be a big thing.”

    You give him a soft kiss. “Yeah, it doesn’t matter,” you say. “Virginity is nothing but a social construct and all of that.”

    “Of course,” Roger reiterates.

    “But I feel… happy.” You hope your grin isn’t as cheesy as it feels. “It’s nice to not have to… worry about it anymore, I suppose? I don’t know if I was really worrying about it before, but it… I don’t know.” You shrug. “I just had a really good time. That’s all that matters.”

    “Good.” Roger’s hand goes to your hip, squeezing it. “I’m glad.”

    “Did…” You lick your lips. “Did you have a good time?”

    “Did I have a good time?” Roger repeats, almost aghast. “Are you joking?”

    “Even though I had no idea what I was doing?”

    “You’re a natural.”

    You laugh. Your stomach squirms – both because of those ridiculous maybe-almost-could-be feelings, and because, even though you know in your mind that the whole sex part of the evening is over, your body certainly isn’t ready to throw in the towel just yet.

    Your thighs clench together, but you do your best to hide how it feels. You don’t want to be greedy.

    Roger feels your thighs move under his hand, though, and he looks to you questioningly. “Are you still–”

    “No, no, I’m fine,” you say lightly, shaking your head. “I was just moving around.”

    Roger pauses, and then says, “All right.” He kisses you, and then takes a moment to gather his energy before he sits up. “I’ll get us some water.” He turns to you, pointing a finger at you, as if something just occurred to him. “You should go pee.”

    Your eyes widen, and you nod. “Oh, yes, good thinking.”

    “Bathroom’s just there,” he says, gesturing across the room at the closed door.

    “You have an en suite?”

    “Well, yeah. Much easier when there’s kids around.” His face falls a little. “Not that I’ve had the kids here very often recently, but uh…”

    “I’m sorry,” you say.

    He shakes his head. “Sorry. It’s fine. Great way to bring down the mood, eh?” He leans down again to kiss you, and then stands up, stretching. “Be back in a mo’.”

    You watch him, your gaze hawk-like, as he pulls on his neon-green underwear and disappears out the door, raking his hand through his hair as he goes.

    Your thighs clench together again, and you whimper.

    You try to push it aside, and slide off the bed to go the bathroom, pulling on your underwear as you go. You don’t exactly feel like putting your push-up bra back on, but you don’t want to just lounge around completely naked. Would it be too presumptuous to put on Roger’s shirt?

    You bite your lip, considering, and then decide to just bite the bullet, slipping it on and buttoning it up. It’s comfy, and smells like him; you understand why women in movies do it now. You do have to call bullshit on wearing a man’s shirt like a short, cute dress though – it’s more just like a long shirt, and you’re glad you’ve chosen to put on underwear.

    It feels odd to pee in a stranger’s house – even odder that it’s an en suite – but you’re thankful that you get a moment to properly gather yourself in private, instead of while being surrounded by the smell of sex.

    It’s when you’re washing your hands that you finally get a look at yourself in the mirror. Your mouth drops open in horror.

    You look like a fucking mess. Your foundation is patchy where you get oily and where you’ve sweated it off, and there’s a slight ring of smudged mascara under your eyes – honestly, you’re thankful that it’s not worse, and that your setting spray did at least something. Your hair, though, is the worst of it all. You look like you’ve been dragged through a bush backwards.

    “Oh, shit,” you whisper to yourself. What can you do? You don’t have any make-up with you to try to fix the problems, but you can’t exactly take it off, either. You have no way to fix your hair. You untie it from the ponytail it was in and try to smooth it out, but it doesn’t really do much, so you tie it back up again, but it’s a shitty ponytail, so you untie it and try again. Then you try a third time, and give up, settling on the disaster that it is, and grab a tissue, blotting at your make-up.

    You sigh, staring at your reflection. Well, fuck. What the fuck are you meant to do? How the hell can you go back into the bedroom, knowing you look like this?

    “[Y/N]?” Roger calls. “You all right in there, love?”

    You shiver. God, the way he says the word ‘love’. The way he says your name.

    You clear your throat. “Um, yeah, I’m– I’m fine. Just…” You can’t say you’re still peeing. Oh, fuck, what if he thinks you’re taking a shit or something? “I’m just fixing up my make-up.”

    “I think there might still be some make-up wipes in a drawer somewhere, if you want to have a look,” Roger says. “Maybe they’re no good anymore, I’m not sure.”

    You have a dig around, and find a packet. It’s already been opened, quite a while ago by the looks of it. Must be Roger’s ex-wife’s.

    The thought of that sits weirdly with you, but you’re not quite sure why. Almost like you feel like you’re intruding, maybe. You certainly don’t feel like you belong here, in this bougie, nice house.

    You sigh again, and pull out a handful of make-up wipes, seeing if there’s any that still hold any moisture. One in the middle has a little bit, so you carefully run it under your eyes, and lightly tap it over your forehead and down your neck to soothe your skin, fixing up any problem areas as best you can without it being too obvious that you’ve just wiped off the make-up.

    The end result is fine. Not good, and certainly not great, but… yeah. Fine.

    You throw the make-up wipes into the bin, take a deep breath, and exit the bathroom.

    Roger’s on his phone, and he looks up when he hears the door open. His face goes slack when he sees you. “You’re wearing my shirt?”

    “Isn’t that what girls are meant to do after sex?” you joke.

    “I just haven’t seen, um, anyone do that in… in a long time,” he says, somewhat stilted, and he glances down at his hands. He quickly turns his eyes back to you. “It looks good. Really good.”

    “Thank you,” you say, and pad over to the bedside table near him, where he has two glasses of water waiting. “Which one’s mine?”

    “On the left.” Roger sets his phone down and watches you as you take a sip of water.

    He’s close to you, and, like before you kissed for the first time, you’re hyperaware of every movement. But he barely moves, just waits for you.

    When you put the water down, you hesitate. You want to climb on top of him, kiss him, feeling his arms around you again, but is that too much? Does he want you to go? Are you overstaying your welcome?

    “You all right?” he asks gently.

    You nod. “Um, yeah,” you say, and take a step back. “You probably, um, have work or something tomorrow, so I should go.”

    You don’t miss the way Roger’s face falls a bit. “Oh, you want to go?”

    No. “Well, it– I don’t want to impose…”

    “If you want to go, then I’ll order an Uber for you,” Roger says. “But don’t feel like you have to go if you don’t want to.”

    The Amazonian butterflies are back yet again. “I…”

    “Because – and correct me if I’m wrong,” Roger says, reaching out and tugging on his shirt, pulling you closer, and you go without any resistance, “but I think you were telling a bit of a fib before, when you said you were… what did you say? Just moving around?”

    You press your lips together as Roger guides you between his legs, and he tilts his head back to gaze up at you. He smiles at the look on your face. “Am I right?”

    You can feel your face heating up again. “No,” you mumble unconvincingly, hiding your smile behind your hand.

    “No hands over mouths,” Roger murmurs, reaching up and taking yours. “You don’t have to hide.”

    Fuck. Oh, fuck. His voice sounds like a warm fireplace feels, and you barely even know him, but you’ve never felt safer, more comfortable, around a man. You can’t pretend now – you’re really starting to like him.

    Roger raises his eyebrows at you, just a touch, searching your face. “So? Am I right?”

    “It’s fine,” you say, shaking your head. “I’m fine, really. You’ve done plenty, I… I can’t ask for more.”

    Roger hums, and presses a kiss to your palm before letting your hand go. “All right, okay,” he says. “I was wrong, I see. Can I at least tell you what I’d do to you if I had been right?”

    You breathe in shakily, and nod once.

    The corner of Roger’s mouth quirks up. “Well,” he says slowly, “first I’d kiss you, of course. And, as hot as you look wearing nothing but my shirt and your knickers, I’d undress you again. Get you lying down on your back, all spread out for me. I’d kiss you some more. Then I think I’d choke you, because you seem to like that a lot, yeah?”

    You nod, hypnotised.

    Roger nods as well. “Right. And then, while I was holding you down by your throat–”

    You gulp.

    “–I’d get my other hand, and I’d–”

    “Okay, yes, you were right,” you blurt out, and grab his face, ducking down to kiss him desperately. He kisses you with just as much hunger, and nudges you a few steps back, giving him enough room so he can stand up and start unbuttoning the shirt. As soon as he’s done, your shrug it from your shoulders, and Roger pulls you closer by your ass. One hand moves to cup your jaw, his tongue pressing against yours. It doesn’t take long before the hand shifts to your throat, and you whimper softly, urging him to tighten his grip.

    He does, and the feeling of it goes straight to your core. Your hands clutch at him frantically.

    He lets go of your throat, and you suck in a gasp, then latch onto his neck, kissing and nipping and sucking at his skin, licking off the salty traces of sweat.

    “Careful, love, careful,” he says shakily. “I can’t turn up to work looking like I’ve been attacked by a vacuum.”

    You huff, but soften your kisses. He moans under his breath, and you don’t think you’ve ever heard anything hotter.

    Soon, you break away, and crawl back onto the bed, and he follows you, positioning himself on all fours above you to kiss you deeply, his knee slotting into between your thighs. He presses it against your core, and you instinctively grind against it, shuddering when it fires an electric shock of arousal through your system. Roger shifts, readjusting his balance so he can bring his hand back to your throat, and you welcome it. You grind against his leg again.

    It’s when you have to stop kissing him, your brain going into overdrive trying to force you to focus on breathing, you have to breathe, that Roger sits back, moving his leg out of the way and replacing it with his other hand.

    “Fuck, Roger,” you gasp, twitching under his grip, your hands vice-like on his forearm. Your eyes slide closed, revelling in the way your head swims, the way your body fights to suck as much oxygen as it can into your lungs. You’re still so wet from before, still so stretched out, that Roger slides two fingers into you at the same time with ease, and you let out a stuttering moan, bucking your hips into his hand. His fingers swirl around your clit, hitting it in just the right way, and within minutes you’re almost there.

    “Most people think the best part about getting choked is the actual ‘getting choked’ part,” Roger says out of the blue, and you frown, trying to follow, opening your eyes.

    “Hear me out,” Roger says casually, pushing his fingers back into you and flicking your clit with his thumb, and you whine. “Are you close, love?”

    You nod.

    Roger hums. “You look so good like this. Does it feel good?”

    You nod again. “Mm-hm.”

    “Yeah, looks like it does. Looks like you enjoy it.”

    “Ah, Roger, please.”

    “It’s all right, love, I’ve got you.” Roger’s fingers quicken their pace, and you make a sound, squirming.

    “As I was saying,” Roger continues, “people think the best part of getting choked is actually getting choked. But it’s not. The best part of it is actually being let go. Do you want to see?”

    You nod, barely even listening to what he’s saying. You’re too close to coming to pay attention.

    And then Roger lets go of your throat at the same time he brushes your clit, and a rush of oxygen flows into your lungs, a rush of blood flows back to your head, and your orgasm slams into you, and the world seems so much brighter in that moment. “Oh, fuck, fuck,” you gasp, your back arching, your eyes wide.

    It feels like it goes on for a lifetime, although perhaps that’s just your mind trying to sort itself out. When you do finally start to come down from your high, you realise you’re shaking, and Roger is grinning at you. You blink at him owlishly.

    “Wh– Huh?” you breathe, your heart racing, and Roger laughs.

    “So you’re alive, then,” he teases, and leans down to kiss you.

    You grab onto him, kissing him soundly, and roll the both of you over, so you’re straddling him. You just stay like that, just making out, letting the frenzied kisses lull themselves into something slower, something calmer. Just kissing for the sake of it. Roger’s hands stroke up and down your back, and you could almost fall asleep like this.

    Speaking of falling asleep – you have to break away, hiding your yawn by tucking your face into his chest. Roger hums, and you can feel it vibrating against your body. You smile. “Sorry,” you mumble.

    “Can hardly blame you,” Roger says, his voice low. “It’s late.”

    You let yourself slump against him, a moment of pure self-indulgence, and then roll to the side, dumping yourself onto the bed. You groan, unable to stop yourself from instinctively shifting into a more comfortable position for sleeping, your arm beneath your head like a pillow, your eyes closing.

    “I’m sorry,” you say again, muffled by your arm. “I’ll leave in a minute.”

    Roger says nothing, and you feel your stomach coil in guilt. God, he wanted you to leave fifteen minutes ago, didn’t he? He was just too polite to say anything. And then you pressured him into making you come again, because you were too selfish to know when enough was enough. Great, fucking great, you’ve fucked it all up, and you’re a huge piece of shit, and you–

    “Did you want to stay the night?” Roger asks tentatively.

    Your eyes fly open, and you shift up onto your elbow. “What?” you say. “Stay?”

    Roger glances away from you. “It– It was just a suggestion,” he says. “Just an idea, I don’t know. I, um – it’s just late, and I don’t want you travelling all that way on your own. You can, obviously, if you want to, that’s up to you, I just…”

    You’re hardly even listening. You’re still struggling to drink in the first thing he said. “You want me to stay?” you ask.

    Roger looks to you, and bites his bottom lip. “If– Well, if you want to, then, um, yes, I’d like you to. But only if you want to.”

    You beam, and your heart triples in size. “Um, yes. I’d like to.”

    Roger smiles back. “Good. Great. That’s–” He clears his throat. “Did you want to have a shower?”

    “I think so,” you say with a laugh. “I’m…” You went to say I’m so disgusting right now, but you don’t want to fuck up your now-sleepover before it’s even properly begun. “Yes please.”

    “Well, you know where the bathroom is,” Roger says, nodding towards the en suite. “There’s a spare toothbrush in the drawer, if I remember correctly. I’ll get you a towel.”

    “You’re not coming into the shower with me?” you ask coyly.

    Roger blinks, and you laugh.

    “Oh,” he says. “You were joking.”

    “I wasn’t,” you say. “You just made me laugh.”

    Roger swoops down to steal a kiss, and you don’t let him leave, pushing up into him, stealing a few kisses back.

    “Let me get you a towel,” he says, and then climbs off the bed and pads out of the room.

    You bite on your finger to stop yourself from making some stupid giggle, or maybe a dumb squealing sound like a little girl. He asked you to stay the night. He wants you to stay the night.

    Oh, shit, you realise, your finger dropping from your mouth. Justine. You never told her what was happening.

    Where’s your phone? In the living room. Spitting out a curse, you pull on your underwear and Roger’s shirt again, and hurry out. You run into Roger, arms full of sheets, in the hallway. “Hey, is everything all right?” he says. “What did you forget?”

    “I never told my roommate I wasn’t coming home,” you say. “Last she heard, I was about to book an Uber.”

    Roger’s eyes go a little wider. “Shit, whoops. Yeah, go tell her.”

    You shoot him a smile, and scurry off to the living room. Your phone is on the couch, and you snatch it up. Wow, shit, it is late. You’re glad you only have an afternoon lecture tomorrow.

    Thankfully, just one message from Justine, from about half an hour ago. hey, haven’t heard from u in a while. just send me a message when u get this ok? xx

    You respond. fuck sorry, left my phone in the other room. I have SO MUCH to tell u omg, but in a nutshell uhh we ended up sleeping together, it was fucking amazing, and now he’s asked me to stay over, so ill see u at uni tomorrow maybe? if not then at home xx

    You keep your phone in hand, and head back to Roger’s room. He’s started cleaning up in the minute you were gone, stripping the bed. Fresh sheets sit on the floor. “What’s this?” you ask.

    “I’m making the bed,” Roger says simply, tugging a pillow from its case. “I’m too old to be sleeping on sheets I’ve just had sex on. Let me tell you, it makes a difference. And the sheets were due for a change, anyway.”

    You step forward. “Well, let me help.”

    “Don’t be silly, jump in the shower.”

    “Don’t tell me what to do.” You set your phone down beside his on the bedside table, and together the two of you help remake his bed.

    Roger chases you into the shower then, and says he’s going to tidy up the room a little more before he joins you. “I’m on a roll now,” he says, picking up your shoes from where you kicked them aside during the bed-making. “Can’t stop, won’t stop.”

    You take the make-up wipes. The door is about halfway open, and you can hear Roger moving around, hear when he trips over something and hisses out a curse, making you smile.

    The make-up wipe freezes in the air near your eye. You can’t very well have a shower and go to bed without taking your make-up off – it does not make even a vague semblance of a pretty picture – but this is… way more intimate than you were expecting. Why didn’t you think of this when you agreed to stay over? Roger’s going to see you without your make-up on, with your hair tied up in a bun. He’s going to see you in the morning, all bleary-eyed and disgusting. Fuck, morning breath. You have the spare clothes you brought that you can change into tomorrow, but no extra underwear. Nothing to wear tonight. It’s a miracle that Roger even has a spare toothbrush. What time does he get up for work? Will he expect you to leave before he wakes up?

    Are you a one-night-stand? Is that what this is? Are you asked to stay the night if you’re nothing but a one-night-stand, or does the fact that he asked you mean something else?

    “Is your roommate all right?” Roger asks, coming to the door, leaning against the doorjamb. “No freak-outs?”

    You lower the make-up wipe. “Um, no. It’s all fine, I think.”

    “Have you found the toothbrush?”

    “No, I haven’t checked yet.”

    Roger moves around you, pulling open the drawer and rummaging through. “Ah, here it is. Still in the packet! How good am I?”

    You smile as he presents it to you like it’s a medal of honour. “Thanks.”

    “Sorry about the make-up wipes,” Roger says. “They’re not great.” He huffs, and then leans against the edge of the sink, rubbing his hands down his face. “I’m sorry,” he says again. “I’m… I’m actually really nervous.”

    Your eyebrows shoot up. “Nervous?” you repeat. “About what?”

    “About… you staying over,” he confesses. “It’s been, I don’t know, ten years since I’ve had anyone new sleep over. My brain is suddenly filled with every annoying thing I do when I sleep. And I look awful in the mornings, let me tell you. If you think I look bad now, just you wait.”

    “Who says I think you look bad now?” you say. “I thought I made it perfectly clear that I think you’re a hot piece of ass, Roger.”

    Roger splutters, flustered, and you grin.

    “I move around a lot,” he says. “When I sleep. So be prepared to cop an elbow to the face.”

    “Don’t you worry, I’m a heavy sleeper,” you say. “And I move around, too.”

    “I run hot,” Roger adds. “I’m like a space heater. And sometimes I talk in my sleep, but only when I’m really stressed about something, like work. I can be really very clingy.”

    “I run cold,” you say with a shrug. “So clingy suits me fine.”

    Roger pauses, staring at you, like he wasn’t expecting an answer like that. Then he snaps out of it, glancing away. “Sorry,” he says for a third time.

    “Don’t apologise,” you say, shaking your head. “You don’t have to. I’m nervous, too. Like, really fucking nervous. I’m– I’m too nervous to even take my make-up off.”

    Roger’s eyes search your face. “I won’t care what you look like,” he says gently. “I’m sorry that you feel nervous about taking it off. But it won’t matter, I promise.”

    “Just wait and see,” you joke in a sing-song voice.

    Roger is silent for a few moments, and then he says, “Well, I hope you’re ready. I’m going to kiss the bloody daylight out of you when you take it off.”

    You don’t know how to respond. “You don’t have to do that.”

    “I’m going to. I’m going to do whatever it takes to make sure you don’t feel uncomfortable without make-up on. And if that means I have to keep kissing you all night as a reminder that it doesn’t matter what you look like without make-up, then that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

    You duck your head, making a disgruntled sound. Why does he have to say cute shit like that? Why must he make you suffer?

    Roger pushes the packet of make-up wipes a little closer to you, waggles his eyebrows at you, making you giggle, and then reaches across you for his toothbrush.

    You start wiping off your make-up.

    Roger waits until you’ve finished taking it off, until you’ve brushed your teeth, until you’re well and truly left without anything to do, and then he cups your face in his hands and does exactly what he promised he’d do.

    One steamy make-out session and one far-too-long shower later, you’re sitting on the newly-made bed, wrapping in a towel, the strands of hair that slipped loose from your bun sticking to your neck and temples. You’re watching Roger pull on a pair of underwear and rifle through his chest of drawers. He pulls out a huge shirt, clearly worn and well-loved, and turns to you, holding it out. “I went on a day trip once to Brighton,” he says. “We were out to a pub and I spilled red wine all over my shirt. Had to buy a new one. Sent one of my mates to get it for me and he came back with this. Hence why I have a shirt about five sizes too big for me.”

    “You didn’t have to explain,” you say with a chuckle, taking it from him.

    “I feel like I did,” Roger says. “I, um, usually use it as a sleep shirt when I travel.”

    You slip it on, and then stand up, letting your towel drop to the floor. The shirt is long enough to cover everything, but you’re not about to bend down any time soon.

    You glance over at your underwear, where they’re in a pile near the door. Should you put them back on?

    “Please don’t,” Roger blurts.

    You look to him. “Huh?”

    His face goes red. “Um. I just– I– You– I saw you look over there, and–” He rubs his hand along his jaw. “I, um…” He looks to the ceiling, and says it in a rush. “I’m sorry this sounds awful but I saw you looking over at your knickers and I don’t want you to put them on because you look really hot wearing my shirt and the thought of you wearing nothing underneath makes my brain explode.”

    “You’re one to talk,” you say, “standing in front of me in nothing but a pair of boxers like that doesn’t make my brain explode.”

    Roger’s eyes flick towards yours, and he breaks out into a smile, and then laughs. “I guess we’re even, then.”

    “We’ll be truly even when I see you wearing my clothes,” you say teasingly.

    Roger steps in close, his hands coming to your waist. “I don’t think your dress would fit properly, love.”

    “I’ll have to come better prepared next time,” you say, and Roger hums, leaning in to give you a kiss.

    Next time. Next time. You said ‘next time’. Talk about presumptuous. Christ! What is wrong with you?

    You break away. “Not that I think there’ll be a next time,” you say quickly. No. Bad phrasing. “I don’t want to assume there’ll be a next time.” Still bad. “I don’t want you to think that I think there has to be a next time.” Even worse. “I don’t want you to feel obliged to have a next time if you don’t want there to be.” Better. Not great, but passable.

    “I want a next time,” Roger says. “If you want one.”

    “I do,” you say, God, far too eager. “I’d really like there to be a next time.”

    “Me too,” Roger says.

    You press into him for another kiss, and then, finally, the two of you make it to bed.

    Once you’re under the covers, you almost fall asleep immediately. You didn’t realise how exhausted you are. Roger reaches over and switches off the light, and then wraps an arm around your stomach, his front against your spine. You allow yourself to smile freely in the dark, even as your eyes close and you drift off to sleep.

                                                      ~~~

    “I’m… I’m going to send you the rest of the payment,” Roger says. He’s dressed for work, just in a white dress shirt and black slacks, and you’d been admiring him and enjoying the coffee he’d made you after you’d gotten out of the shower. It’s early – too early, for both of you.

    But now your stomach drops, and you lower your mug of coffee from your lips. “You are?”

    “Yes,” Roger says.

    “You don’t have to,” you say. “I said it last night, I don’t care about the money.”

    “I know,” Roger says. “But it’s still right. You started this whole thing to help pay the bills, and it’s not your fault that there was that whole mix-up. You don’t deserve to miss out on getting the money you’ve rightfully earned.”

    “You don’t deserve to fork out that much money because of that whole mix-up,” you say. “You’ve already paid half of it. And it’s– it’s quite a fair bit, Roger.”

    “I can afford to pay it,” Roger says. “I’m living more than comfortably. Giving you the money you’ve earned would just mean that I can’t, I don’t know, travel overseas this year.” He raises his eyebrows a touch. “Well, now that I might not have to be paying for three kids as well, maybe I’ll still be able to afford to go.” He shakes his head. “That’s beside the… My point is, I can afford it. And you deserve it.”

    You don’t know what to say. “Roger…”

    “Just let me,” he says earnestly. “Please. I want to.”

    You open and close your mouth a few times. God, you’d be mad to turn down the money. But it doesn’t feel right. Does it? You don’t even know what to think.

    You glance down at your mug. “All right,” you say quietly, so much so that you’re not even sure if he can hear you. But you can’t bring yourself to speak any louder. “Thank you, Roger.”

    “Hey.”

    You look up at him, and he smiles. “You can pay me back by letting me take you out to dinner.”

    Your face immediately grows hot. “Suave motherfucker,” you say, and he laughs.

    “I still have a few tricks up my sleeve,” he says playfully.

    Your stomach squeezes. “Sure,” you say. “But I’m paying.”

    Roger snorts. “Not bloody likely.”

    “I’ll fight you for the cheque, don’t think I won’t.”

    “Maybe I’ll just sneakily pay for it before you’ve even realised.”

    You narrow your eyes at him. “Can we settle on going Dutch?”

    Roger sips his coffee. “All right,” he says eventually.

    “Good.”

    He takes out his phone, holding it out to you. “Text me some time during this week,” he says. “About where you want to go. Or just text me if you want to say hi. Or call me. Y’know, whatever.”

    You tilt your head to the side as you take his phone. “That wasn’t quite as suave, I have admit.”

    Roger sighs. “Damn.”

    You laugh, and send a quick text to yourself, then slide the phone back to him.

    He seems extremely pleased, but he takes a casual drink from his coffee like he’s trying to hide it, and you can’t help but think it’s horribly cute.

    He shoots a glance at you, and sees you grinning at him, and his cheeks turn pink, and he clears his throat, turning away to the sink to rinse his mug out.

                                                      ~~~

    You’re at uni, half-asleep, shuffling back to the bus stop after your never-ending lecture, when Justine barrels into you, grabbing your elbow so tightly that you yelp. “What the fuck happened last night?” she exclaims.

    You don’t know why it hadn’t been awkward this morning. Apart from the money conversation. There had still been some nervousness, on your part anyway, but Roger had been too focused on getting ready for work to let any uncomfortable silences hang. You have to admit that it had been nice to wake up with someone’s arm around you, and you had been quietly delighted to see Roger fussing over the faint bruises on his neck, pulling up his shirt collar and adjusting his tie to try to cover them. After you’d both gotten ready for the day, he’d dropped you at the nearest bus stop. “And I will text you,” he’d said seriously. “Don’t think I won’t.”

    “Good,” you’d said. “I’ll be waiting for it. Three days is the general rule, right?”

    Roger had groaned. “Don’t make me wait three days.”

    You had chuckled. “I’m not making you do anything.” You’d hesitated, and then said, “Is it weird if I kiss you before I go?”

    Roger had taken a breath. “I… wouldn’t say so, no.”

    So you’d leant in and kissed him, and he’d kissed you back, and you’d wanted to keep kissing him, but a car had pulled up behind you and honked, so you’d drawn back, whispered, “Bye,” and gotten out of the car.

    Once you’d figured out how to get home, you’d crashed, sleeping until your alarm had woken you up again for your lecture.

    “Stuff,” you say to Justine.

    “Stuff?” Justine squawks. “Don’t give me that shit. You have to tell me literally everything, or I’m going to kill you. Come on.” She loops her arm through yours, and starts towing you towards the bus stop.

    Your phone buzzes, and you pull it out of your pocket.

    I know it hasn’t been three days, but it’s been more than three hours. Is that enough time, do you think?

    You smile, reply, I think so, yeah, then quickly pocket the phone before Justine can sneak a glance as Amazonian butterflies flutter around in your stomach.

#queen fanfiction #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor imagine #rpf #mine #smut