#They ain’t coming back until like Tuesday afternoon

[pnuk-r0ck]

My parents just left woohoo

#They ain’t coming back until like Tuesday afternoon #They going 2 a Hotel #Victor Speaks

[deantfwinchester]

Late Nights

Pairing: No-Outbreak!AU, back on my Joel x Teacher!Reader shit (though her work hardly plays a role in this), established relationship

Summary: Getting home late is an unfortunately common occurrence in Joel’s line of work. When you both have busy days, it can be hard to find time to share, but you make do.

Warnings: extreme fluff, just utterly fucking saccharine at this point, is fluff without plot a tag?

——————

It’s Wednesday night. Joel’s night to cook dinner.

You get home earlier every day, no question. But since you like to take most every night during the summer months, he insisted on a 60/40 split during the school year. Sundays, Mondays and Wednesdays are his. You had Tuesdays and Thursdays. Friday & Saturday are mainly for pizza, take out, or date-nights.

When he’d grill on Sunday afternoons, you liked to try and help him with prep, but he’d just pour you a glass of wine or mix you a drink and try to usher you out of the kitchen. You’d always sit and talk with him while he worked anyway. Sarah too, when she wasn’t working on homework or out with friends. It’s one of his favorite parts of the week.

On the nights he’d come home late, though, he always worried about leaving you to it. He was meant to be home cooking for the three of you while you relaxed, tried to let the stress of the school day roll off your back. He loved giving you that time.

This particular night, when six o’clock rolled around and he realized he still had a good hour or more on the site, he knew he needed to let you know he wouldn’t be timely with his return. Didn’t want you to worry.

You’re on the couch, grading. By this time of night, Joel’s normally taken the work from your hands and pulled your attention toward anything else. Noticing the room darkening, you wonder where he is, just as your phone dings:

Wednesday, October 7, 6:03 PM:

Sorry baby, gonna be later than I hoped tonight. Y’all don’t wait on me, okay?

Supposed to be my night too, dammit. I apologize, sweetheart.

You’d told him till you were blue in the face he didn’t need to apologize to you when he was the one having to work until long after dark. It never took.

You responded quickly, knowing his phone would be back in his pocket and forgotten again soon when his attention turned again to the work and his team.

Wednesday, October 7, 6:04 PM: (Outgoing)

Dont worry about it, sweetie. i promise i can handle dinner, just don’t work too hard and get home when you can ❤️

And take a break and drink some water, will ya? if that bottle ain’t empty yet, you haven’t had enough! see you soon, love.

He’d be dead on his feet when he walked through the door, that much you knew. And he’d have no business rifling around in the kitchen for something random he’d throw together, not substantial enough by far for a day of working like he’d been. You hopped up and started to the kitchen, determined to make a hearty meal for you and Sarah to share now, and to ensure Joel had a real meal when he finally made it home for the night.

————

A couple of hours had passed by the time Joel finally walked through the door. You’re back on the couch, this time reading a book while the lights from the tv danced softly in the dimly lit room, with a bare haze of sound playing at low volume.

It was nearly 8:30 when you heard the key turning in the door. Sarah had retired to her room for the night after dinner. She’d tried to help you clean the dishes, but you’d ushered her off to relax after spending most of the afternoon doing homework.

Joel trudges wearily through the door, shoulders slouched and eyes heavy-lidded when he thinks you can’t see him. The second he lays eyes on you, though, his posture straightens and his expression brightens, eyes opening a bit more as he lifts into a smile. Your expression mirrors his, and you sit up, closing your book and rising to meet him halfway. You practically speak over each other in greeting:

“Hi darlin’, how was your day?” he says.

“Hey honey, how’d it go today?” you ask.

You laugh a bit when you realize you’re asking the same question on top of each other, and he pulls you close, arms resting heavily around your waist. You drape yours around his neck as he leans down to kiss you. When you pull away to look at his face, you see past the tired smile he wears to the exhaustion etched in his face, settled in his drooping eyes.

You move one hand up, fiddling gently with the strands of hair at the back of his head. You smile and put light pressure on the base of his neck with your other hand, moving his head down to rest on your shoulder. He catches on instantly, and settles comfortably where you direct him. He nuzzles into the nape of your neck and you feel his eyes close against your collarbone, his warm fatigued breaths rhythmically grazing your chest.

You continue playing with his hair with one hand, while the other remains resting on the back of his neck. You turn your head to place a soft kiss to his temple and, after a moment of restful silence, quietly speak:

“You’re tired, huh? I missed you today.”

“Missed you too, baby,” he murmurs against your neck, tightening his grip around your waist, and snuggling closer.

“You gotta be hungry. Got a plate waitin’ for ya in the fridge. Want me to warm it up?” you ask him, moving your hand down his neck to rub gently against his back. He breathes deeply in contentment at your comforting touch.

“No, I’m never leaving this spot. I live here now,” he says, and you feel the rumble of his voice against your chest. You chuckle lightly and speed up your ministrations, applying a bit more pressure as you discover the tightness of the muscles in his back.

“Mhm. And when was the last time you ate? Or drank anything for that matter?” you ask knowingly.

“Uhhhh, i guess it was, arou-“ he cuts himself off with a yawn, “around lunch time? Maybe one? Did finish that bottle like you asked, though,” and he smacks his lips lazily, somehow nuzzling further into your shoulder.

“Good, thank you. But lunch was seven hours ago now, so you need to eat something. Wanna start there? Or shower first?” you ask, chuckling a bit.

He raises his head a bit and squints at you, frowning playfully. “You sayin’ I smell, darlin’?” he mumbles, laughing into your shoulder.

You giggle in response before elaborating: “I’m saying you’re sweaty and would feel better if you rinsed the day off before crawling into bed.”

He sighs and rasps into your neck, “you changed the sheets didn’t you?” you feel a smile form against your chest.

“Sure did. So it’s food, shower, and bedtime. You can pick the order. Which first? Want me to grab your dinner?” you ask.

He sighs deeper this time, “What’s that thing about objects in motion and objects at rest or somethin’? Gonna keep doing whatever they already got goin’ on?”

You rumble a little laugh in return before responding. “I see. C’mon Newton, let’s keep ya moving. Go hop in the shower while I get your dinner ready.” You say, patting his cheek as he raises his head with a little groan.

You catch his eyes with your own and let your hand rest on his cheek. You move a thumb beneath his chin and pull him to you, giving him one last peck before ushering him down the hall. You pull his plate from the fridge and get to work on reheating his meal.

——————

He emerges less than ten minutes later smelling fresh and dressed in a clean t-shirt and a pair of plaid pajama pants, padding into the kitchen just as you’re filling a glass of water to place next to his warmed plate. He rubs a fist into one eye, yawning again, and plops into a chair at the kitchen table.

You approach behind him, placing the glass on the table with one hand and rubbing his shoulder with the other. He lifts a hand to grab yours and squeeze as he takes a sip. His eyes reach up to meet your own.

“Thank you. You didn’t have to do this, sweetheart. It was my night anyway, and now you’ve cooked and even put the damn plate in front of me,” he huffs.

“You don’t need to thank me, love” you respond, leaning down to kiss him again before taking the seat next to him with the glass of wine you’d poured to sip while you sat with him. You reach for his left hand where it rests on the table, and gently squeeze. He wraps his fingers around yours before you can retreat. Your fingers remain intertwined for the duration of the meal.

The two of you discussed the highlights of your respective days - roses and thorns, both too sleepy to bother with buds. When Joel finishes, you grab his plate to wash, but he takes it from you.

“No way are you washing my dishes too, honey. You’ve done enough already tonight,” he tries to insist. You’re not having it.

“Will you just let me take care of you, dummy? You’re bone tired, I can see it in those beautiful brown eyes. Here. How about this?” you rinse the plate and utensils, shove them quickly in the dishwasher, close it emphatically, and raise your empty hands.

He rolls his eyes, but relents with an exasperated sigh. “Whatever you say, darlin’,” he responds smiling, a bit bashful from the care and compliment.

“Good. Now c’mon, bedtime.” you say, taking his hand in yours once again and leading him to the bedroom.

“Whatever you want, baby” he grins, raising his eyebrows suggestively. You can’t help bellow a hearty laugh at that one.

“Jesus, like you could keep your eyes open, Miller,” you respond, as you pull the covers back and lead him onto the bed next to you. You settle back against the headboard and open your arms up, beckoning him into your lap. He shuffles closer and leans into your embrace.

“It was-“ he pauses, only to finish through a yawn “- worth a shot.” You chuckle quietly as he rests his head in your lap, eyes instantly slipping closed.

You turn on the tv, keeping the volume low. It’s only a little after 9, so still early for you to fall asleep. You would read, but you’d rather turn off the light, hoping the dimness in the room helps him get some good rest.

You lay one hand on his back and the other in his hair, both softly rubbing in comforting circles, and you feel him melt further into you. A familiar warmth fills your chest at the sight of him there, resting peacefully in your lap. You lean down and press one last kiss to his head before whispering to him.

“Good night, sweetheart.”

“G’night, darlin’” he rumbles, muffled into your lap. You smile, one hand still on his back as the other reaches up, flicking off the lamp, before returning it to his hair. Your fingers gently massage his scalp, and within minutes, you hear his soft snores.

#call the fucking dentist bby #ur gonna get cavities fr #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fluff #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel tlou #joel the last of us #joel x reader #tlou fanfiction #tlou hbo

[dear-mrs-otome]

WIP Wednesday 💕

In Bocca al Lupo

~~~~~~~~~~

“I was going to buy it.” The admission slipped free before she had time to snatch it back.

“You? You were going to buy the shop?"

Her cheeks stung pink at the slap of his incredulous laugh. “Yes, me.”

“You wouldn’t know the first thing about running a business like this,” he scoffed.

She shook her head fiercely. “No, you wouldn’t know the first thing about running a business like this. Could you recognize an incunable if you saw one? Do you have the faintest idea what an octavo is? Or who Madame Rochefort’s favorite author is? What genre you can sell Monsieur Martin on without fail when he comes by every Tuesday afternoon? All you see is coin to be made. Numbers in a ledger. Not people. And certainly not their stories.”

“This ain’t a library, lady. It’s right there in the name - bookstore.” He paused, as if considering something. “Although, if you’re so eager to make sure things are done in a certain way, I suppose I could let you keep your job.”

“Let me…” A logjam of words crowded her throat for a moment, indignities all clamoring for space at once until one finally jostled free. “You want me to work for you?”

A petty smile slanted his lips. “Ask me nicely and I’ll consider it.”

That expression of his was like a door being thrown open on a smoldering fire. Rage exploded through her in a backdraft, a mindless wave of fire and fury that vaporized the calm logic she prided herself on. “Listen to me, you tacky, tasteless, tawdry, tinsel-clad affront to the eyes. I wouldn’t work for you if you were the last thing standing between me and utter destitution.”

Answering sparks turned his blue gaze flinty, as the blood drained from his face. “That could be arranged. One word from me, and I could make it so that you never work in this city again.”

Her mouth fell open, eyes stinging slightly from the salt he had just rubbed into every last one of her open wounds. “And now you think you can threaten me into keeping the job that I already have? All while you buy the shop I already planned to?”

“Oh, I don’t think I can.” His grin was more a macabre baring of teeth than any thing of mirth. The triumphant snarl of a hound treeing its quarry. “I know I can.”

“Forget it. You can own this shop, you can own this city. You can own this whole damn country, which I suppose you kind of do. But you will never, ever own me.” The world had gone strange around her, red and wavering, like water spilled through wet paint. It took her three tries to see through it well enough to snatch up her book of poems from the top of the nearest pile. “I quit.”

It occurred to her, as she took her first wobbly step towards the door, that it might have hurt less to have simply driven her paper-knife into her own heart.

#my writing #actual progress! #i swear i can and do write #look ma #ikepri silvio #the haughty puppy #wip

[theretirementstory]

Greetings from a freezing cold Bar-sur-Aube, it’s -5c and we may reach the balmy heights of 1c later today. It has been very cold all week so I don’t feel as if I have done very much at all but I will let you judge.

To warm me up, let’s have a look at the songs I have chosen this week. The first song is “Higher Love” by Steve Winwood from 1982 and the second one “Ain’t Nobody” by Rufus and Chaka Khan from 1983. Hard to believe that these songs are over 40 years old 😳. I have given my heart and lungs a workout singing and dancing along to the tunes.

So one lot of checks have been returned OK for “The Ex-Graduates” new job, she is going next week for “the vetting” process and then it shouldn’t be too much longer before she starts the job. How exciting!

“The Trainee Solicitor” is working like a Trojan. His boss has been out of the office for quite a few days so far this year and has left the workload to him. That’s fine until you hit a problem but I am sure we all know this is “normal” worklife (unfortunately).

Working from home is to be the new norm for “The Photographer” unfortunately it’s not in the field of photography (at the moment). It seems that he has enjoyed just moving from one room to another to start his work, likes that a break means he can go into the kitchen in his home to get a drink and an hours lunch starts prompt at the allotted time (something which doesn’t happen when you are dealing with customers face to face). It’s early days but having a couple of hours travelling time given back to you is something and he can use that time for shopping, appointments or going to the gym.

My granddaughter FaceTimed me this morning without her Daddy being in the room so it was a surprise for him when he heard her talking to me. Her little brother is on penicillium medicine as he has an ear infection. He was in the kitchen with Grandad but came through to have a chat with me. They were at the cinema yesterday to see the Disney film “Wish” and are going out today to see butterflies and aquatic creatures. My granddaughter ended the call saying “bye I will ring you tomorrow “ 😂😂.

Now my week, the cleaner has been, returning to her two days a week. I don’t think the house really warrants 4 hours cleaning per week but she does move furniture to clean underneath, wash windows as well as dust, vacuum and wash floors so I can’t complain. Then I had my appointment with the oncologist. He had my blood test results and I was sad that things were not as good as they could have been with a couple of areas of concern. I came away with a prescription for five days of injections to boost my white cells and was told to have fortnightly blood tests now too. Well nothing I can do about it just got to wait for the next round of blood test results.

I was fortunate on Tuesday that I went into town to the pharmacy in the morning as in the afternoon it SNOWED! I have arranged with the nurse to come in for the next five days to give me my injections also arranged for them to come to do blood test on 22/1.

My cousin, in London, had her birthday this week. I had posted her card last week, however I went online and arranged a small hamper of 4 saffron buns, 1 pack of Cornish Faring biscuits, 1 pack of Cornish clotted cream shortbread and a box of Cornish Black tea although it didn’t arrive on her birthday it arrived the following day.

I also took the opportunity to order more books for myself, although I am back to knitting and crochet I like to read before I go to sleep.

It was the week for the knitting group and as the weather had turned so cold I couldn’t decide whether to go or not. Anyway after exchanging a few messages with Claudine I decided to go. I have been crocheting something which does resemble a scarf and as I have plenty of this wool I can make it quite long. I had also found a book of knitting patterns for children’s clothes, however the instructions are in French. I have decided that I am going to knit a cardigan from the book and I cast it on. I am enjoying knitting something different, a different pattern but one that is easy to do. Let’s hope it continues as easy as this is at the moment.

I knew that I had to get over my fear of rats and mice which may be lurking in the compost. So far I had been brave enough to go and put my vegetable peelings in there but as far as turning the compost went, it hadn’t been done for months with the result that the peelings were just sitting on top of the other matter. I plucked up courage to go out into the freezing cold (dressed like Nanook Of The North) armed with my twisty thing and a garden fork. I was working quite well then decided to use the garden fork, now this meant removing part of the front of the composter and I was sure I would see something staring at me, but no, not a thing and I was rather pleased with the result. I feel ready to maybe do this job once a week to oxygenate the pile and get it “working”. I have previously been told that you will know if rats are in the bin as you will smell ammonia (apparently rats urinate a lot) whether this is true or false whenever I open the composter I take a good sniff.

I have had messages from Monique, Pauline (in Barcelona), have messaged Anie (who should have returned from Indonesia this week) and Maud (no reply from these two) plus have been in contact with Sarah, Denise (a lady from the old knitting group) and friends in the UK.

I do so love January here in France. If you employ people to work in your home (gardener, cleaning lady in my case) you can claim money back on your tax. The tax office usually give you an advance in January and my notification came through this week. Also, I pay my energy by direct debit and I did increase my payments (as instructed) in September. Now I only pay 11 months of the year, get my invoice showing all the details of usage, payments etc in January and any overpayment is refunded directly. Imagine my surprise when I was informed I had overpaid so would be refunded. I have my heating on extra hours a day and still get a refund 😁.

Today is the Fete sans Frontiere in town and normally I would be going. However, as I still want to keep safe due to low immunity, it seems silly to go into a hall with well over 100 people and remove my mask to eat. Also they ask that you take a dish with you for sharing. These are then laid out and people are called up to go and collect food. Now 1) you don’t how hygienic the preparation of the food may be, 2) fingers could have touched the food that is laid out, had hands been washed say after using the toilet, 3) coughs and sneezes spread diseases and no matter what, someone could cough or sneeze while in the queue, not everyone carries sanitiser! No I don’t want to be among that, not when I (feel) I have managed to steer clear of any infection so far. So I guess I will stay at home, in the warm, and do some knitting or crochet.

I feels like coffee time now, I am also trying to get into the habit of having a piece of fruit mid-morning and mid-afternoon. It cuts down on munching on biscuits and enables me to have my five-a-day. I baked a quiche yesterday so I will be having quiche with something healthy this lunchtime.

So I will wish you all a very good week until next week.

#barsuraube #nature #photography #baking #knitting #reading #livingthedream #trees #friends #family #80’s music

[yyxgin]

7 days (lee minho)

pairing: lee minho x gn reader genre: fluff, best friends to lovers au, college au word count: 3.7 k  warnings: swearing, mention of alcohol in like one sentence listen to: 7 days - nct dream requested by: anon

synopsis: you confess your love to your best friend for a whole week before he finally takes it seriously.

THINGS YOU SAID MASTERLIST 28) things you said in the dark

MONDAY

Lee Minho is your best friend. Now, Lee Felix would disagree and say you’re in love with him, and your roommate might be right, but you’ll never actually admit it to him. You managed to hide your feelings for the older boy for far too long now and you’re not just going to lose your streak for nothing, right? 

Wrong.

Well, it’s not your fault that you have to break the little promise you gave to yourself. It’s all on Lee Felix and his pathetic bet. You should have known better than to make bets with a short Australian boy, but you guess even your brain has its dark moments and this was surely one of them.

“I bet you’ll forget to take out the things from the dishwasher before I come back from my afternoon class,” he prompts to say while putting on his shoes in the hall, glaring at you after a small argument you two had over who is the dirtier one in your apartment (it’s obviously Felix. He just can’t stand the truth). 

“Oh yeah? What are we betting on, then?” you mock him, pouting in annoyance. 

“If I come back and the dishwasher is still full, you’ll have to confess to Minho. No excuses.” he spits at you, putting on his coat and taking his backpack from the floor, looking like an angry cat. 

You snort at his comment. “As if,” you roll your eyes, “okay, deal. And if I don’t forget and you lose this bet, you’ll have to clean for the whole year alone. I’m not helping in the slightest.” you bark at him, watching him open the door and snickering at your proposal.

“Right. Okay,” he nods his head, getting out of your shared apartment, “deal.”

Now, this was a huge deal for you. It was important for you to win this bet, because, well, you hate cleaning. And on top of that, you can’t just confess to your best friend out of the blue, right? That would be horrible. Everyone would have thought you paid much attention to your task and that you actually did what you had to do-- take the dishes out of the dishwasher for once. It was easy!

Well… you see… Friends were on the TV. 

Isn’t that enough of a reasoning for you forgetting? No? 

Okay, right, maybe you do have a memory of a goldfish. But it’s totally not your fault that the episode that was running was just your favorite and Felix’s afternoon class wasn’t as long as you thought it was going to be!

Needless to say, Felix came home to a full dishwasher and a shit-eating grin on his face announcing his victory, bringing you back to your senses.

“Oh no..” you curse under your breath, fear in your eyes.

“Do it. Now,” he orders, “call him. I can’t believe you actually forgot.” he shakes his head, laughing to himself, “oh, well, I did think you would, but something inside of me still had a little bit of hope.” he shrugs, watching you nervously sweat under his gaze.

“I can’t!” 

“It was a bet, you little bitch! Do it now or I’m telling him!” he yells, motioning to your phone and glaring at you for the thousandth time that day, making you take it with shaky fingers and a deep sigh coming out of your mouth, dialing your best friend’s number, because truth be told, maybe you do fear your roommate just a little bit. He is short, but full of angst and rage for this world and you didn’t want to be the victim of that.

“Hello?” Minho asks, making you tremble even more with the reality hitting you.

“M-Minho?” you call into the phone, biting on your nails as you put your phone on speaker so Felix can watch you do the biggest mistake of your short life.

“Yeah?” he asks nonchalantly, making your heart skip a beat.

“I love you.” you deadpan, hearing the other side of the line get silent. It’s not an outcome you predicted, but it’s not the one you would like to hear either. 

After a while, there’s a short snicker coming out of the speaker followed by a teasing question that makes you instantly roll your eyes. “Who doesn’t?”

And you chose this as your object of interest? You huff, instantly getting irritated as all of your nerves leave your body. “I love you, Minho.”

“Did you drink?” he asks, “I mean, I know it’s only like 4pm or something, but with you and Felix living together, you never know…”

“No, I didn’t drink anything. I’m completely sober-” you prompt to say, getting cut off by your best friend again, his voice coming out in a rushed statement.

“Okay, I have a class in like 5 minutes and I haven’t gone out of my apartment yet, so please don’t get wasted and I’ll see you soon, bye!” and with that, he gives you no time to answer as he ends the call, leaving you sitting shocked in your living room with a silent phone in your hand and a moment to take in.

“So... I guess it went good?” you mumble, raising your eyebrows at your roommate that just shakes his head at you.

“You’re gonna try tomorrow again. I’m not letting you go before he takes your confession seriously.” 

“Felix-”

“No excuses.” he glares.

You had to clean out the dishwasher that afternoon anyway.

TUESDAY

You decide to follow your promise you gave to Felix, because in your words, mamma ain’t raise no bitch, and you also, admittedly, can’t stop thinking about the words you said to him ever since you got them out of your mouth. There was a sense of relief overflowing your body after your confession that tells you that maybe, this wasn’t such a bad idea as you first thought it was. 

You confess to your best friend on the second day of the week again. It’s tuesday and you two meet in a coffee shop, talking about how your week was. You two were quite busy with school and classes, so it was hard for you two to talk, but you quickly caught up and your conversations were still as comfortable as ever, as if nothing happened and you didn’t just spill out your heart to him the day before.

You think that maybe, he even forgot. Who knows? Lee Minho was quite the individual.

Once the barista calls for his name and he comes to take his order, you watch him with a look you only imagine can resonate the textbook version of heart eyes. It’s hard for you to look anywhere else-- you have eyes only for him. It’s quite silly, you think. You managed to fall for him even though all he’s ever done was tease you and laugh at you.

Well… that’s not all. And you know that. To a stranger, it might seem like your relationship is strictly like two siblings. You two tease each other more than you actually have serious talks, but that doesn’t mean Minho isn’t a good listener that always offers you the most honest advice. His humour is also the only thing that could get you through your hard days sometimes and for that, you’re forever thankful.

So once you step outside of the coffee shop and walk side by side on the sidewalk, you decide to go for it again. Because what could go wrong, right?

“Minho, I love you.” you say, voice much more steadier than yesterday, watching him react.

But exactly in the moment you do so, the cup of coffee in his hands slips out of his grasp and falls to the ground, making him wince and scowl, because truth be told, his only love is and always has been the americano now spilled all over the concrete.

“A terrible decision, really.” he mutters, taking the empty cup from the ground and throwing it out to the bin, sighing to himself.

You offer to share your coffee with him. He teases you for drinking latte.

WEDNESDAY

Wednesdays are the hardest for your best friend. You know this, because you know him too well. You know his schedule by heart and you also know when he’s having a hard time-- you are his best friend, after all. You can see it on him even in the slightest change in his eyes.

You visit him at his apartment on Wednesday with some takeout in your hand, knowing he doesn’t have the time and energy to cook on this particular day. 

His classes start in the early morning and they end in the late afternoon-- leaving him exhausted, only to be going to his dance classes in the evening. They always tire him out even more. It breaks your heart to see him getting home with dark circles under his eyes and fair skin, but you can’t really do anything about it-- it’s his schedule, after all. All you can do for him is be there with takeout in your hand, waiting on his bright yellow sofa (you were strongly against this color, but he just didn’t care about your opinion. Or he bought it just for the exact same reason, who knows) until he comes home, ready to hear him complain about his day.

And he does exactly that-- he comes home a few minutes after you sneaked into his apartment with the spare key he nonchalantly gave you once when you hung out, falling down face-first onto the sofa with an exaggerated sigh, screaming into the cushions.

“Hard day?” you ask, voice soft and considerate.

He answers you with a hum before he sits up again, coming closer to where you’re sitting on the sofa, taking the takeout from the bag sitting at the coffee table and sitting on the floor in front of you, right between your legs. You don’t know why he does that, but it’s become a tradition at this point-- he sits at the floor, even though he has plenty of space on the sofa to sit on, and you sit right behind him, legs on either side of his body, nudging him with your heels when you feel like teasing him.

“Thanks for coming,” he mumbles, getting the chopsticks and munching on his food, chewing out loud-- a sign that it tastes good and you made a good choice on picking his dinner today.

“It’s not a big deal, I always come over anyways,” you answer, smiling down at him.

He only nods at you, but you see his composure shift in the way he aimlessly stares at the wall-- he doesn’t feel good. It’s not only the exhaustion today. There must be something else going on. 

“Are you okay?” you ask, bringing him out of his thoughts.

“Yeah,” he nods, continuing to eat, “it’s just… I feel so useless today.” he shrugs, snickering to himself.

“Why?” you simply state.

“We’re learning this new choreography and I just can’t get it right…” he mumbles, not once meeting your eye as he explains what’s on his mind. Minho doesn’t say a lot, but somehow, you always entirely know how he feels.

You sigh, shifting a little in your seat so you’re closer to the boy sitting on the floor, tenderly bringing your fingers into his hair. You brush it away from his forehead, playing with it, as you quietly speak up, wanting to heal your best friend’s heavy heart.

“It’s just a bad day, Minho. It will be okay, I promise. You just have to rest, okay?” you mumble, continuing to play with his hair. “You’ll get the dancing right in no time. So don’t worry about that, yeah?”

“Hmm,” he hums in a mix of pleasure and acknowledgement, closing his eyes momentarily before he puts the empty box of takeout on the coffee table and leans back into your touch, “fine. Wanna sleep over and watch a movie?” 

You shake your head in disbelief at how quickly his mood changes, giggling. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he nods, but doesn’t move from your touch. You watch him from up close, tracing the sculpted features of his face, admiring his beauty, when you decide to say the three words again, nonchalantly and randomly, as always.

“I love you, Minho.”

“Thanks.”

THURSDAY

You wake up to the sunlight aggressively shining into your eyes, scowling a little and cursing at Lee Minho under your breath, because he is the only person you know that doesn’t close their blinds before going to sleep. You thank the gods for not having a morning class today, trying to force yourself to go back to sleep, when you hear loud cursing from the kitchen, prompting you to hurriedly stand up and rush to the room, watching a disaster happen right in front of your eyes.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck-” you hear, seeing something set to flames on the stove-- you think it’s eggs, by the carton placed on the kitchen counter, but you really can’t recognise the object when it’s coal black and burning.

“What’s going on?” you nervously ask, watching the scene unfold.

“A fire.” your best friend says, making you laugh.

You just shake your head at him, taking a seat at his kitchen table, not even rushing to help. Watching him struggle is much more fun anyway, and you know he’ll figure it out eventually-- he’s an engineering student. He’s smart.

“Are you not going to help?” he glares at you, putting the pan under the sink, flashing water on the hot surface. 

“Not really, no,” you shake your head in innocence, seeing how the hot oil reacts with water in a small explosion, almost burning your best friend’s fingers off as he quickly lets go of the object and curses loudly again, taking a step back.

“How did this all even happen?” you ask, watching him sigh and take out another pan, cracking an egg on top of it and letting it cook.

“I was looking for Dori and forgot I had eggs on the stove…” he scratches the back of his head, laughing a little at himself.

“Right. Yeah. Why didn’t I think of that? I’m such an idiot,” you propose, laughing with him. It’s such a Minho thing to do, you don’t even feel surprised anymore.

Minho then finishes cooking the eggs, serving them to you on a small, white plate, acting like a chef as he takes a seat on the chair opposite of yours, eating his own creation as well.

“Is it good?” he asks, watching you fierclessly nod at him with big eyes and full mouth.

“It’s amazing. I was starving, really, so these eggs really hit different right now,” you mumble out, “Thanks Minho, I love you.”

It slips out casually now. It’s been four days and your best friend doesn’t seem to notice the change in your behaviour, but you don’t really even care at this point. Maybe it’s easier for you this way, after all.

Minho just hysterically laughs at you like a maniac this time, not even finding words to say back as he finishes the breakfast he made with so much struggle, and maybe even the tiniest bit of care. 

FRIDAY

The cars behind the window blur into themselves as you drive down the street, sitting on the passenger seat of your best friend’s car. You smile fondly at him when he shortly glances at you from his place, driving with ease down the neighbourhood you live in, the raindrops angrily falling at the surface of the car making it hard for the two of you to even listen to music on your drive home.

“Thanks for driving me home, you’re a lifesaver,” you say when you’re near your apartment complex.

“Well, I have to take care of you since you’re too stupid to get driver’s licence,” he shrugs, grining.

“I’m not stupid!”

“You failed the test twice!”

“I was stressed!” you argue, laughing at him. 

He shakes his head at you, parking in front of your building, waiting for you to get out with your things and run into your apartment. You don’t forget your ritual, though, looking him in the eye before you leave, muttering the cursed eight letters again before saying goodbye.

“I love you.”

“Why?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed. There’s a hint of amusement hitting his features, but confusion is a feeling overpowering on his face when he speaks to you.

“What do you mean, why?” you shake your head.

“Why do you keep saying that?” 

“Because it’s true?” you answer, sounding more like a question, though, watching his expression change into even more confused one.

“But like… why?”

“That’s a stupid question.” you scoff. You feel your palms sweating, trying to nonchalantly wipe them on your pants, the stress finally falling on your shoulders when you’re being questioned.

“It’s not. Answer me.” he insists, pouting at you like a little child in the store when their parents don't want to buy them something.

“Because you’re my best friend? I don’t know,” you sigh, hurriedly taking your backpack from the floor, opening the door wide to escape the conversation, “bye!”

You run into your apartment, breathing heavily as you take off your shoes and reach the living room, seeing your roommate laying sprawled out on the sofa in his usual manner. This is a situation for a short australian man to cope with, if you’ve ever seen one.

“Felix, I think I fucked up.”

SATURDAY

After a long, long conversation with Felix about your feelings and how you think you ruined it all, you think your mood couldn’t be worse. You feel like you either completely missed your chance by telling Minho you love him only because he’s your best friend, or you messed it all up and made your friendship awkward by saying so and he finally caught on to what your words really mean.

You walk around the apartment like a stressed-out shell without a soul, chewing on your bottom lip at all times, when you hear the bell on your door ring, throwing you out of your thoughts as you run to see who’s there bugging you in the late hours of the evening.

“What are you doing here so late?” you ask Minho, caught off-guard.

“I was bored,” he shrugs, looking down to his feet. You want the ground to swallow you whole. It’s suddenly hard to stand there in front of him-- it only deepens how embarrassed and frustrated you feel.

“Do you wanna go out for a walk?” he asks, raising his eyebrows up at you in question.

“Sure,” you shrug, following him outside.

You walk by his side, feeling your hands slightly brush against each other from time to time, making you shudder with the unexpected contact. You’ve never felt more nervous than now-- and you took your driving test twice, so that really tells you something.

“Why are you so quiet? Did something happen?” he asks, slightly nudging you with his elbow.

“What? No,” you shake your head, “everything’s fine.” you smile.

“Are you sure? I know I can be a dick sometimes, but you know I’m always here for you,” he says, gazing into your face with such fondness it actually comforts you.

“Yeah, I know,” you nod, “thanks.” you sigh. 

A few more steps later, though, the sentence slips out of your mouth again, and you don’t even try to fight it as you let it go. It feels natural to say it now. You’re getting used to it, yet, the feeling he makes you feel always somehow shifts-- but still stays the same as well.

“I love you.”

A nervous laugh is all he gives you, hugging you to his side with his arm, keeping you close to shield you from the cold.

SUNDAY

And when the clock passes midnight and Minho’s still sitting in your room, you feel like somehow, you two have never been closer. You managed to confess to him every day for the past week and he’s still by your side. It’s a change to your relationship, but you don’t feel like it’s causing you trouble anymore.

You sit in silence, just enjoying each other’s presence. You don’t have a clue why he didn’t want to leave yet, but you don’t mind him staying. He brings your soul another kind of comfort-- like the morning by the sea, just listening to the waves hitting the shore, the distant chirping of birds lulling you back to sleep.

His hands rest on your calves, your legs thrown over his lap as he sits up on your bed, his back pressed against the wall. You lay there, watching him in the moonlight. You had to turn the lights off, because Felix’s room is right opposite yours and the landlord didn’t let you change the door, meaning you both had an old, white door with a big glass window in the middle of it, letting the lights shine right to the other’s room at night. 

He tickles you in the spark of the moment, making you laugh quietly. You don’t want to wake Felix up, or else he’ll get mad at you, and once again, you don’t play with a short australian boy, or you’ll get burned-- you know that by now.

“Stop it!” you whisper-shout at him, sitting up and moving away from him.

He chases you on the bed, though, his fingers laying everywhere on your body, lightly tickling the skin of your stomach when his hands slip under your pyjama shirt. You push them away, squeeking with the coldness of his fingertips, tears threatening to fall from your eyes at the force of your laugh. 

He stops, falling down to the bed next to you, heavy breathing being the only thing heard in the quiet room. His hand slowly makes its way to your thigh, resting there delicately. You curse at the butterflies rising in your stomach-- you want to shout at them to go away, but hell, is it a good feeling. It’s like you’re torturing yourself, but it’s a sweet torture. You wouldn’t change it in the slightest.

And so then and there, after confessing to him for six days straight, you decide to try again, with as much sincerity as you can, because suddenly, there’s something inside of you telling you that this time, it might actually work.

“I love you.”

And perhaps, you’re not wrong, because with the shuffling of the sheets, he turns his body to yours, facing you. He stares into your eyes, smiling softly at your face, the action looking angelic sitting on his features. 

“I love you too,” he confesses in the dark. 

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[dothwrites]

15.20 coda--at the end of the world

author’s note: while i am still reeling from the finale, this was my way of making some kind of personal peace with it. don’t mistake this for me agreeing with the choices made <3 

---

“I would know him in death, at the end of the world.”--Madeline Miller

---

Castiel opens his eyes. 

All around him is green. A moment later, he hears the soft sound of birds chirping in the background; from further away, the faint sounds of children laughing. The air is ripe with the smell of growth, damp in the air and life underneath his fingers. 

He sits up. The sky is a perfect shade of blue, the kind found only in poet’s and painters imaginations. A few feet away, the shrubs grow, flowers spilling over themselves in their enthusiasm to be born. Everything is a riot of life and color. 

“Cas.” 

Castiel’s heart thumps against his ribs. He knows that voice. 

He whirls around, already knowing who he’ll find. Several feet away, Jack waits, one hand raised in a short wave. 

Castiel finds himself up on his feet, and within two short steps, he’s enfolded Jack in his arms. For a moment, he forgets about everything which came before, and allows himself this sheer comfort. If nothing else remains, then Jack is here. 

Jack hugs him back, twice as fiercely, before they separate. Castiel holds him at arm’s length, trying to find injuries or hurt on him, but there’s nothing. In fact, it’s almost as if...

“Jack,” he says slowly, his arm falling away from Jack’s shoulder, “what happened?” 

Jack smiles, a little lopsided, but still his boy. 

“Well,” he says, gesturing towards a bench, “It’s kind of a long story. 

---

For all that Jack said it was a long story, it ends up being remarkably quick in the telling. Castiel listens, sometimes grieving and sometimes proud, as he hears of how Sam, Dean, and Jack ultimately defeated Chuck. His heart grows in his chest as Jack recounts Dean’s words. 

That’s not who I am. 

A small part of him wishes that he could be there to see it, but he tucks that part of himself away. He said his piece. He relieved the burden which has been pressing down on his shoulders now for years. In his lifetime, it was nothing more than a blip on the map, but those years have made all the difference in the world to him. Finally, he can look back on them now without regrets. 

“And so, I came here,” Jack finally says, shifting a little on the bench. He looks oddly guilty, like the times Castiel would find him sneaking snacks back into his room. “I thought...” 

“What?’ Castiel prompts, after a few moments when it becomes clear that Jack has no interest in speaking. 

“Sam and Dean don’t really need me anymore. I mean, I know that they want me, but the world is bigger now. And the people up here need me too.” 

It’s then that Castiel looks around, scrutinizing his environment more closely. The nagging sense of familiarity hits and then he wonders how he didn’t see it before. His favorite Heaven, caught in an eternal Tuesday afternoon. 

“It’s not right,” Jack says, his forehead wrinkled into an earnest expression of worry. “The people here are stuck. While I was on earth, we all talked about free will, but the people here don’t have it. They’re stuck forever in an endless loop of memories, and it’s all just...empty.” 

Jack looks at Castiel, and Castiel doesn’t see God. He doesn’t see a divine being, or Lucifer’s son, or even an angelic being. He just sees his boy, lost and confused, but still so pure, still wanting to do the right thing, no matter what. 

“Cas?” Jack asks. “Will you help me?” 

---

Rebuilding Heaven is slow work, but time doesn’t really mean anything here. It’s delicate to rebuild the walls separating billions of souls so that nothing collapses. Castiel works alongside Jack, making suggestions as his mind trips along to potential problems. 

Though it’s never said aloud, Castiel knows why Jack is working tirelessly. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, the knowledge sits that Sam and Dean are going to die. One day, they will pass from the earth, and come to Heaven, and on that day, Castiel wants everything to be perfect for them. He wants to show them a true paradise, a place without walls or barriers, a place where emotion is genuine and not just a manufactured memory. Rebuilding Heaven is his last chore, the last of his penance to be performed. 

He does make one stop, however. 

When he walks in the door, Kelly’s head lifts up from the book she’s flipping through. Her smile is a balm to the hurt places inside him, the ones that he likes to pretend don’t exist, because he was happy, yes? That was the whole point of everything, was to be happy. “Hey, Cas,” she greets him, shifting over and patting the couch next to her. “I was wondering when you’d be by.” 

“I’ve been busy,” Cas says, settling down on the cushions. In Heaven, his body is easier than it was on earth, more flexible, and he wonders if that’s because after all these years, he’s finally returned to where he was supposed to belong, or if it’s because he no longer has the shadow of his love pressing down on his shoulders. 

“Jack told me. Rebuilding Heaven? Sounds ambitious.” 

“The old Heaven was...not ideal,” Castiel says. “I thought it was at the beginning: each soul gets a paradise tailor made to them. But then, I realized that human life is meaningless without the connections we form along the way. Each soul, stuck forever in its own loop is...” 

“It’s lonely,” Kelly says, reaching out and squeezing his hand. Castiel returns the gesture, grateful for the connection. Her eyes are kind as she moves closer to him, her shoulder pressing into his. 

“So what happened?” 

---

In their time together, Castiel never told Kelly about Dean, at least not explicitly. But she had a brilliant mind and was able to see the threads of his longing woven into everything he did. Relating the story to her comes easily, and he tells her things which he would never tell Jack. 

“And I was happy,” Castiel says at the end. “I was.” 

“You trying to convince me or yourself?”

“Neither,” Castiel replies, bristling slightly. It was true that he might have been happier--he had performed a willful obfuscation of the original terms--but that doesn’t negate what he felt in that moment. The sheer love, the overwhelming gratitude, the incandescent happiness of being able, one last time, to proclaim to the world Dean Winchester is Saved. 

Everything else is unimportant when viewed through those lenses. 

“Why haven’t you gone to see him?” Kelly was always good at cutting to the heart of the problem. 

“Dean has his life on earth. I have my work here in Heaven. I don’t...” Because, of course, he’s asked himself the same question many times. Why doesn’t he go find Dean and tell him of one last, improbable miracle? 

“Cas, let me tell you: I didn’t know Dean all that well, but I didn’t need to if I wanted to know how he felt about you. It was all over his face.” Kelly turns to face him, suddenly serious. “Cas, you should go to him. At least allow him to speak his side. If he doesn’t feel the same way, then you’ll know. And if he does...” 

Castiel shakes his head. Happiness in the being is what he’s told himself ever since he awoke to find himself in Heaven. Happiness doesn’t come from the having. He will live with himself and find contentment in the works which he does. 

Kelly looks sympathetic, but doesn’t say anything as he walks out. 

There’s work to be done. 

---

Castiel sighs with satisfaction as he walks through Heaven. Slowly, the walls are coming down. Souls are mingling and interacting. There’s joy in the once quiet halls, the giddiness which comes from freedom after too long without. He moves through the different realms, silent as a thought, and goes unnoticed, at least until a gruff voice catches his attention. 

“What the hell are you doing here, boy?” 

A wide grin splits Castiel’s face. Only Bobby Singer would think to call an angel ‘boy’. He walks towards the old hunter, who looks the same now as he did in life, and is surprised when Bobby sweeps him up in a hug which would threaten to crack his ribs, were he human. 

“You did good,” Bobby whispers, his voice thick in Castiel’s ear. “I heard what you and that boy Jack did, and you did real good.” 

It means more than he would have thought, to have Bobby’s approval. After a moment’s pause, he hugs Bobby back. 

When Bobby pulls away, he quickly knuckles his eyes, before clearing his throat. “So, you fixed Heaven on top of everything else? What do you have planned next?” 

Castiel’s shoulders lift in a shrug. “There’s always work to be done maintaining Heaven. We don’t know what, if any, effects the restructuring will bring, so I suppose I will be traveling and making sure that everything is stable.” 

“If that ain’t a load of shit,” Bobby scoffs. “From what I’ve seen, your boy has enough power in his pinky finger to do just about whatever he wants. Stop making excuses and get your feathery ass back down there.” 

Castiel swallows. “It’s not quite as simple as that. Sam and Dean have a chance to live their lives, the way that they would wish for them to be lived. It’s not fair of me to intrude.” 

“Now, if that isn’t the biggest pile of horseshit I’ve ever heard.” Bobby’s mouth twists underneath his beard. “Only one thing keeping you from going back down to see those boys, and it sure as hell ain’t concern for Heaven or some BS notion that they’re better off without you.” Castiel opens his mouth, but Bobby speaks over him. “And don’t tell me that you’re just waiting either. Something I learned a long time ago--you never have as much time as you think you do.” 

Castiel closes his mouth and says nothing. 

---

Bobby is wrong. 

There’s still time. He doesn’t have to go yet. There’s still work to be done in Heaven, souls to be guided, walls to be broken. Jack still needs him. 

There’s still time. 

There’s still time, until there isn’t.

---

Castiel feels it before he knows what’s happening. It’s a rift, a tear, something which ripples throughout the universe and comes to hit him in the chest. He staggers backward, hand clutching at his shirt. 

His first thought is that Heaven is under attack, but a second’s observation tells him that’s not the case. Everything is fine. The fabric of Heaven remains secure, the souls are unbothered. It’s only him that feels the blow. 

With a flutter of wings, Jack appears beside him. His face is a mask of distress, tears welling in his eyes. “Cas,” he cries, clenching his hands into fists at his side. “Cas, it’s--” 

“Dean,” Castiel says, finally understanding the bolt of pain which ripped through him. 

It was too soon. He doesn’t know how much time has passed on earth, but he knows it was too soon. 

It’s always too soon. 

“Cas, what do I... I can heal him. I can go and heal him now. I can save him. I can...” Jack trails off, his feet still pacing in desperate circles. “What do I do?” 

It’s a child’s question, and Castiel has no answer. 

“Free will,” is all he says. “Whatever you do...It’s your decision.” 

---

Castiel feels when Dean Winchester’s soul enters Heaven. He held that soul within his grace, he snatched it away from the filth and flames of Hell. He cradled that soul while he was reassembling Dean’s body, pulling atoms out of air to create skin, flesh, and bone. He would know that soul at the end of everything, and he knows it here, when it settles into the place which was created for him. 

It was as perfect as Castiel could make it; down to the Impala sitting in the Roadhouse’s parking lot. He created every inch of Dean’s Heaven in homage, in apology. 

It wasn’t fair. Dean deserved to live to a ripe old age. He deserved to enjoy the world for which he fought so hard. He should have grown old, should have found peace, should have discovered the foibles and pitfalls of normal, human existence. Dean worked too hard, for too long, and he deserved a kinder, softer fate. Instead, he’s here, and all Castiel can do for him is to craft his Heaven with painstaking care. 

He pauses on the boundaries of Dean’s Heaven. Every fiber of him yearns to go forward, to rejoice in Dean’s presence, to see that beloved face again. He wants it so badly he can almost taste it, leather and gasoline and whiskey mingling together until he’s back in the bunker, listening to the sounds of his family--

Castiel takes a step away from the border. First one, then another. After three steps, it becomes easier. 

Dean has his paradise, and Castiel won’t interfere. 

---

Heaven moves as it always does, timeless and changeless. There is no turn of the earth to mark the passage of time. Instead, it moves like the ocean, rolling waves which are always moving and yet the surface remains the same. Castiel travels through various Heavens, observing the newly liberated souls, and taking his peace from their newfound enjoyment. It eases something within him to see his former home restored, better than it ever was before. 

He’s inspecting a field of sunflowers when the sound of a car door closing surprises him. Immediately, his heart lurches in his chest, dipping down to somewhere around his knees before hurtling upwards to lodge in his throat. He swallows before he turns around. 

Dean Winchester is there. 

Castiel’s heart, always out of his control, performs a quick dance against the confines of his ribs. Dean looks...He looks whole and wonderful, vibrant and alive. The lines around his eyes look as though they’ve been carved through laughter instead of despair. His shoulders sit easier, no longer pressed down with the burden of the entire world. 

Castiel licks his lips. “Hello, Dean,” he finally says, when it becomes obvious that Dean has no intention of making the first move. 

Dean’s lips quirk up in a grin. “Cas,” he says, not moving from where he’s leaning up against the frame of the Impala. “You’re a hard guy to track down.” 

Layers upon layers of subtext are placed within the seemingly simple sentence. Castiel remembers Purgatory as well as anything else, the desperate year of keeping one step ahead of Leviathans while close enough to Dean to protect him if need be. 

“I’m sorry,” Castiel says faintly. “I wasn’t aware anyone was looking.” 

Dean’s face performs a series of interesting maneuvers, dropping and rising and twisting. It finally settles into an expression like stone as he pushes off the car and storms towards him. Castiel waits, caught up in breathless anticipation of the oncoming storm. 

“Look,” Dean growls, reaching out and snagging the lapel of his coat, almost like he wants to ensure that Castiel doesn’t escape. Castiel doesn’t even dream of it; there’s no other place he’d rather be than caught in Dean’s grip. “There was a lot of shit going on at the time, so I didn’t get to say it then, but there’s nothing happening now, so you are going to sit here and listen, all right?”

Castiel nods, but Dean doesn’t seem to notice. “I can’t believe you didn’t...” He runs the hand which isn’t still wrapped up in Castiel’s coat over his face. “You idiot,” he finally breathes. “A couple of dumbasses. You’ve had me, Cas. All along, you’ve had me.” 

Castiel looks up at Dean in sharp surprise. When he meets Dean’s eyes, there’s nothing but the infinite compassion which he fell in love with. “You... You’re this force of nature that came bursting into my life. All this time, you’ve always been there, always helping, and I took that for granted, I know I did. But, god, Cas, I should have told you every day how thankful I was to have you there with us. I should have let you know what a miracle you are. You never gave up on me, not once, not even when I deserved it.” 

Castiel’s breath hitches in his chest as Dean lets go of his coat. Slowly, with a shaking hand, he reaches up to cup Castiel’s cheek. “You never stopped believing. You never stopped trying. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.” 

“Dean.” The name bursts out of Castiel’s chest in a harsh breath. Dean’s words are working their way underneath his skin, to the point where his body can’t contain them. 

“Cas.” Dean gently angles his face up so that there’s no escape when he says, “I love you.” 

“I’m sorry,” explodes from Castiel’s chest, the helplessness and grief he felt when he felt Dean’s soul leaving earth erupting in a single quick sob. “Dean, I’m so sorry, I should have been there, I should have done something, I never should have left you alone--” 

“Cas.” Dean’s fingers press into his cheek, not hard, but firmly enough to get his attention. “It sucks, all right? There was so much I wanted...” The corner of his mouth drops. “I was going to get you out, and you, me, and Sam were going to head to the beach. I was going to get you drinking out of a coconut, maybe a Hawaiian shirt. We were going to do Christmas, I was going to take you to a theme park and see if you puked on roller coasters. I wanted...” For a moment, grief so overwhelming that it can’t be touched crosses Dean’s face, but then, with effort, he pushes it away. “There’s so much that I wanted, but it’s done now. And besides, you’ve been busy.” Dean raises his eyebrows. The grin on his face invites Cas to smile as well. “Reforming Heaven?” 

“I wanted...There was so much I did wrong here. I thought if I could make it right, that maybe...” Castiel leans his cheek into Dean’s hand. “I wanted it to be perfect for you. You weren’t supposed to be here yet.” 

“I know. I know. And it’s not okay, but you’re here, all right? Mom’s here, Bobby’s here, Charlie, and Jess, and Kevin, and Ellen and Jo...They’re all here, and thanks to you, I’m going to see them. You did that, Cas.” 

“Jack did most of the work--” Castiel begins, but he’s cut off by the soft press of Dean’s lips against his. 

Sparks burst in his chest as Dean’s hand slides around to the back of his neck to cradle his head. His other arm slides around his waist, and suddenly, Castiel is held by Dean Winchester, by this miracle of a man. Dean’s kisses consume him, until he’s no longer Castiel. Instead, he’s heat, and friction, and more. 

“You and me,” Dean pants against his lips, pulling away just far enough to run his nose along Castiel’s. “We’ve got time now, Cas, we’ve got so much time. I’m going to take you apart, going to show you how much I love you, every single day. I’m going to show you everything.” 

Castiel is drowning in the outpouring of Dean’s devotion. He’s helpless in the riptides. All he can do to save himself is kiss Dean again, tasting salt on their lips from where their tears trace down to their lips. Castiel cries partly for Dean’s missed opportunities and the fact that life is so cruel. But he also cries from happiness. Dean is right. Here, they have all the time they could ever want. There’s time to explore every feeling and desire, time for them to become themselves, without the pressure of the world around them. 

They part. Somehow, Castiel’s hands have found their way onto Dean’s waist. One of his thumbs is braver than the rest of his whole body, as it sneaks underneath Dean’s shirt to touch bare skin. Dean grins at him. 

“Hey, Cas,” he asks, pressing his forehead to Castiel’s. “Do you want to take a drive?” 

Their fingers entwine as they walk towards the Impala. Castiel’s chest feels light, like Dean’s hand is the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground. “I’m still trying to figure out the roads here. It felt like I was driving around for forty years to try and find you.” 

They settle into the Impala, where they’ve been so many times before, but now Castiel can enjoy every squeak of the leather seats. He can revel in the imperfections of the car because of the perfection that’s next to him. Dean Winchester reaches across the seat and takes his hand, as easy as breathing. 

“I can’t wait to show Sam everything,” Dean says, as he guides the Impala back onto a road which Castiel is almost certain wasn’t there when he arrived. “I, uh...Hope it takes him a while to get here. But. Yeah, when he gets here, I can’t wait to show him everything.”

“We’ll see it all together,” Castiel finally says. It’s all he can say, his heart too busy dancing in his chest. 

They have all the time they want.

---

Time slips and passes and stops. In between his time with Dean, Jack, and the rest of the residents of Heaven, and performing maintenance throughout Heaven, Castiel watches the earth. He sees those left behind grow older. Claire and Kaia start a family, Claire finally having set aside the kernel of anger in her heart. Castiel watches Sam and Eileen’s family grow, smiling when Sam finally goes back to law school and gets his degree. He spends the rest of his career fighting for justice for children lost in the system, those who can’t fight for themselves. Saving people, hunting things, indeed. 

Several times, Castiel thinks about going to visit Sam, if only to assuage the grief he can still see the man carrying, but each time he stops. It hurts, but grief is a facet of life. This grief is natural. It comes honestly. It’s not manipulated by a sadistic higher being for a voyeristic pleasure. 

Eileen comes out to the Impala and brings Sam back into the house with gentle touches. Throughout the years, she’s learned how to navigate Sam’s moods, and knows how to bring him back. They lay in bed, foreheads pressed together, Eileen’s body curved into Sam’s. 

“I just,” Sam begins, twisting slightly so Eileen can read his lips, “I just miss him so much sometimes.” 

“I know,” Eileen answers. It’s all she needs to say. 

After a while, Sam gently wraps his fingers around Eileen’s wrist, partly for comfort, partly to grab her attention. “Dean’s baseball game is next weekend. Do we know yet if it’s going to conflict with Beth’s dance rehearsal?” 

“It shouldn’t,” Eileen answers, and with that, the normal routine of their life is reestablished. The grief is always present, but it’s part of the human condition. 

Castiel turns his eyes back to Heaven, where Dean waits for him. Despite it being Heaven, he insists on making repairs to Bobby’s house as well as the Roadhouse, even when Castiel reminds him, for the hundredth time, that if he truly wanted to, he could fix these imperfections with a thought. 

“Sometimes, you just have to do things the hard way,” he answers, through a mouthful of nails. 

Castiel rolls his eyes and goes to help him. 

---

The morning dawns, quiet and gentle. The dawn is silvery-gold as it stretches across the grass leading up to the cabin. In the distance, the birds start singing. Castiel can smell the fresh scents of spring, dew clinging to the grass, the clean, bright potential in the air. His toes stick out from underneath the comforter, but a quick flip of his foot flicks the corner of the blanket back into place. 

A warm, heavy arm winds over his waist. “Babe, it’s too early,” Dean mumbles into the nape of his neck. “Go back to sleep.” 

Castiel strokes over the back of Dean’s hand. The words are tempting, but something has woken him up, and now that it has, he wants to know what it is. He props himself up on his elbows, ignoring the chill of the air as it bites at his bare skin, and concentrates. After a second, he startles. 

“Dean,” he says. 

Though he doesn’t put urgency or fear into his voice, something about his tone makes Dean open his eyes, suddenly alert. Castiel looks at him, and Dean rolls over onto his side. After their time together, they’ve mastered the art of the wordless conversation, much to the chagrin of Charlie, Kevin, and anyone within ten miles of them, at least according to Jo. 

“It’s time?” Dean asks. He rolls closer to Castiel, stealing his warmth, as he trails his fingers over Castiel’s ribs. 

“Yes,” Castiel answers, taking Dean’s hand in his and pressing kisses to each of Dean’s fingertips. “Won’t be long now.” 

Dean’s fingers slide across his cheek before he curls his fingers around the bolt of Castiel’s jaw, pulling him down. Their lips meet in a chaste kiss which still manages to make fireworks explode in the pit of Castiel’s belly. He doesn’t think the thrill of kissing Dean will ever fade. Castiel doesn’t want it to. 

“I should get going,” Dean murmurs, rubbing against the bristles on Castiel’s cheek. “You want to come along?” 

Castiel relaxes back into the mattress, only reluctantly parting from Dean. “No, you go. I’ll be here when you get back.” 

“I know.” Dean slides out of bed, and Castiel takes a moment to appreciate the play of his muscles underneath fair skin. He lets out a small, disappointed noise when Dean slides into a pair of jeans and a jacket, causing Dean to roll his eyes at him over his shoulders. “Yeah, keep it in your pants. Definitely wearing clothes to this particular meeting.” 

“Shame,” Castiel murmurs, waggling his eyebrows. 

“Shameless,” Dean corrects, leaning over the mattress to kiss Castiel once more, short and sweet. “We’ll be back before too long.” Another kiss to Castiel’s forehead, and then Dean murmurs, “I love you,” into his hair. 

Castiel smiles. Much like kissing Dean, hearing those words will never grow old to him. He’ll revel in them, roll in the simple syllables, allow them to sink into him, with the simple truth that Jack tells him, that Charlie tells him, that Kelly tells him, that even Bobby and Ellen and Jo tell him. 

You are valued. You are loved. 

He smiles at Dean Winchester, this impossible, miracle of a man. “I love you too,” he replies. 

Dean out of the bedroom. The door to the cabin opens and closes. Castiel rolls over onto his back and stretches, staring up at the ceiling. 

There’s work to be done today. He’ll need to travel through Heaven, informing the various interested parties that Sam Winchester has arrived. There will be a party tonight at the Roadhouse, a celebration instead of mourning. Then he and Dean will get to show Sam their Heaven, will listen to Sam relate through his years. 

There is so much work to do. 

But they have time. They have all the time they need. 

---

“Life never ends when you are in it.”--Lemony Snicket, The Beatrice Letters

#spn spoilers #destiel #destiel fanfic #destiel fic #deancas #deancas fic #saileen #saileen fic #dean winchester #castiel #sam winchester #eileen leahy #coda fix #15.20 coda #fix it #fix it fic #because fuck the finale that's why #do not take this fic as agreement with what happened #but this is the only way my brain will accept it #unbeta'd because we die like men in this house #dothwrites

[sconnie-doesnt-know]

So Wrong

Characters: Lee Bodecker, Reader, Jane Bodecker, assorted OCs, also gonna go ahead and say Lee is kinda soft/dark in this one

Word Count: 8000

Warnings: Infidelity, alcohol usage, smoking, somewhat dub-con sexual stuff, but not really

Summary: The Reader is a young single mother and widow new to the town of Meade. She gets drawn into a social circle that includes the Sheriff’s wife, while also being drawn to the Sheriff himself.

A/n: I truly don’t know where this came from or why I wrote it. I watched TDATT and suddenly this whole thing just popped into my head complete with a Patsy Cline soundtrack. There’s infidelity on Lee’s part, and his wife is terrible, and these are fictional characters so I am trying to not feel guilty for making that happen. 

There’s more to this story, probably extending into 1 or 2 more parts. I don’t know what to say for myself, I cannot pwp. Feedback and constructive criticism are welcome. Not beta-read, so please let me know if there’s an error. 

Hope you enjoy!

Meade is as good a place as any to settle. Surrounded by wilderness and small towns, it’s quiet, far from anyplace and anyone you know. A welcome adventure and a place to dispose of your grief, finally - hopefully. 

You pull up on a quiet street and sit there just a moment to breathe, to look at the life you had that is settled in between the few boxes and suitcases of belongings, the folded up flag, and the little boy you buckled into the seat.

Through a tangled web of connections, you are able to rent a little upper duplex apartment from the widow in town. She claims she doesn’t mind a little noise as your son stomps up the stairs and gives you an open invitation to join her at church on Sundays.

It is six days into your new residence, the first Monday in town when the apparent welcoming committee shows up at your door. She wears a gentle smile on her face and presents you with a warm pie still wrapped in cloth.

“My name is Jane Bodecker, my husband’s the Sheriff. I wanted to introduce myself…”

You know the routine after moving around a few times already. You imagine the conspiring during the luncheon after church yesterday, the ladies munching on dry cookies and deciding who would be the first to talk to you.

You nod and smile, and accept the offering. 

“Some of us like to get together to play cards and socialize on Tuesdays, it would be nice to have you join us and let us get to know you.”

Of course she means that they are chomping at the bit to know why a single woman with no family ties has moved into town. You’re familiar with the ritual and know you need to go along if you want to make it work in this place.

You return her smile, “That would be so kind of you, as long as you don’t mind my son coming along.” You gesture to the little boy hiding in your skirts behind you.

“Of course he can. He can play with my boy, Robert. We will see you at two.” She leaves you with her address and directions over, telling you to look for the house with the red shutters.

Their house is in one of the newer, more developed parts, with some manufactured homes lining the street and looking boxy compared to the traditional farmhouses, but it's charming. The red shutters stand out, that’s for certain. It doesn’t take long to figure out that Jane is a proud host, head of the gossip chain, and is required to mention “My husband, the Sheriff” at least once per conversation.

You let the ladies ask their questions and nod politely as they give you the required chorus of condolences. You feel the shift when Jane steers the conversation to what they all want to know. “Now, I don’t mean to spread gossip, but some folks were wondering why you rented a place here instead of goin’ home to your family.”

Your shoulders stiffen, ‘so much for not putting me on the spot’ you think, but you still smile politely as you answer. “I have no other family. My daddy was gone when I was a girl and my momma dropped me off with an aunt and uncle when she was with husband number three and I don’t know where she is. They said it was the first thing she did that made a lick of sense,” you try to joke. “Well, they didn’t exactly approve of me and Jimmy, so when we married they told me not to go back.”

“And the boy’s other kin?”

“Ain’t no other kin. Jimmy’s family was small, they’re gone now.”

“Well, ain’t you a tragedy,” she says in a chirpy, high voice. 

Your face tightens and you stare at your lap, “We get by,” you weakly mutter. 

They all assure you that they have some nice gentlemen they can introduce to you, and go on about how fortunate you are they are pulling you into their group. You hear about faceless people and their minor transgressions, but get bored with it fairly quickly and use the time to look over the Bodecker home. It’s nice, a mixture of modest and a few state-of -the-art updates. There’s more dust than you expect, the sofa cushions look worn down, with only a few photos on display. The sheriff’s face shrouded in shadows in the one you can see, but you figure their son must take after him since he doesn’t have the pinched look his mother seems to naturally have.

You don’t even meet ‘her husband, the Sheriff’ until your third Tuesday afternoon of cards at their home. Jane herself is practically giving a campaign speech since the election so close. You never paid a lot of attention to local politics, and you try to give her your attention, but when she starts to ramble on it’s just too much. You happen to look to the side to avoid rolling your eyes and catch just when he strolls in, as if on cue with the uniform all perfectly in place. He scans the group of women until he stops on you, eyes lighting up with interest.

Your own breath catches in your throat at the sight of him as he removes his hat and looks you over.

“Well,” he drawls, “You must be the sweet new thing that’s got all the fellas in town rioting.”

You have to look down, lest the embarrassment make you combust.

“Now, Lee,” Jane scolds, “That’s no way to say hello. Come over here and introduce yourself properly.” She guides him over, and you almost say it with her when she recites, “This is my husband, the Sheriff.”

“Apologies, miss. I know you aren’t trying to get them all riled. Janey told me ‘bout your husband. War is Hell, shame to be losing boys like that.”

He holds his hand out to shake yours, his hold firm and warm and you are hesitant to let go.

“I appreciate that, thank you, Sheriff. Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” he nods, eyes flicking over you one more time. “What are your plans in this lovely town of ours?” 

“Oh. Well,” you freeze up for a moment, it’s the first time someone’s asked and you don’t have your answer prepared. “Well, I was thinking that I would get a job. We get by right now, but once my boy is in school, I would like something else to do.”

Jane jumps on your answer, “Let’s just see if we can’t find you a bachelor around here. Plenty of boys can use someone to take care of ‘em, but if you want a man who will be home on time, you stay away from any of the deputies. I can’t remember the last time Lee wasn’t busy with something or other from the county. I suppose that’s the life we’ve chosen though, isn’t it?”

Her voice sounds overly sweet, but you can sense the daggers in her words. It’s the way he reacts, shifting on his feet and rolling his jaw like he’s annoyed. Jane doesn’t even pay attention to anything but the cards in her hand. Some of the other ladies nod, but the sheriff just lowers his head before he pulls Jane to the side to talk to her quietly.

You track his movements, fascinated until you shake yourself out of it. It’s been years since you felt like that or even saw a man that caught your attention - not since Jimmy. It’s alarming, unnerving.

The wave of guilt that washes over you is more than you can handle. 

“Please excuse me, but we must be going.” You get up without waiting for any response and practically yank your son right out of the house as Jane calls after you that she will see you again soon.

You brush off the incident after having some time to think, convinced that it is just because you were caught off guard, and try to go on as normally as you can.

Your days end up filled with social calls, running errands or helping your landlady, and keeping your son busy. He asks to play with the Bodecker boy nearly every day, but you try your best to keep your distance when you can, especially when she starts trying to arrange dates for you even when you politely decline.

You look at the other ladies sometimes and wonder how many of them are just tolerating her the way you do. There’s just something grating about the way her voice goes especially nasally when she has something not-very-Christian to say, or the way she talks so openly and obscenely about the apparent whorehouse in town. She doesn’t even seem the least bit shameful when she begins to complain about her sister-in-law and the trouble she gets up to despite her brother being the sheriff.

Sheriff Bodecker, on the other hand, is a bit more friendly than you anticipated, expecting him to be cold or rude, but usually he’s the one pushing his wife to extend a coffee or supper invitation your way and making small talk when you are still around when he gets home from work or if he catches you around town. Your own mind suspects that it’s maybe just a sense of civic duty to know his neighbors, but it’s nice to have company nonetheless. 

Conversation with him comes easily. He talks with you about interesting news stories, about the boys, about some of the other towns, and even plans for the county. It’s interesting, not just debate on whether the new curtains chosen by someone or other are tacky. There are times you get lost talking with him and need to be corralled back in by Jane or Steven getting antsy.

The way he draws your eye is a mixture of curiosity and interest. It makes you notice when he’s driving the patrol car or when you see him around town. You catch how tired he seems at the end of the days, how he’s usually got a piece of candy to slip to kids when they come by and are brave enough to ask. You notice how he knows everyone in town and seems to have an eye on everything, checking in at the shops and breaking up the young men when they start to roughhouse.

In a place like this, Jane Bodecker is far from the only gossiper in town, so while she might not share much about herself or her husband, plenty of others do. Some of the things they say are just nitpicking and you try to drown it out. They’ve been decent to you since your arrival, but it’s hard to ignore the constant whispers of how power went right to their heads.

When the election is over and she gets the right to continue to say “My husband, the Sheriff” you start to really see what they say. She loses the facade of playing the good wife, but still hosts her weekly card meetings to keep up to date. Instead of just coffee and tea, she starts slipping sips of whiskey and gives her opinion a bit more freely than before, and often hurling insults anywhere they can land.

It’s painful to watch her put down everyone, but especially the sheriff when he gets in her way. When you catch him sending a frustrated look at her turned back or rolling his eyes at her complaints about the town and its people, you pretend not to notice and remember to keep a smile on. Her outbursts get more and more unhinged and brazen, and the defeat and exhaustion in his stance makes you ache. There’s a hurt you can’t vocalize without overstepping, but it eats at you, chips at your patience bit by bit.

When the sheriff pulls the cruiser over one day while you’re walking between stores to say hi and make some small talk, you’re pleased. He seems less worn down, it’s nice to see.

“Oh, Sheriff, you’ve got some good timing,” you reach into one of your shopping bags, pulling out a paper bag of hard candies you bought from the candy shop. “While doing the washing, I found a handful of wrappers. Turns out the boys were getting into your candy stash. Thought you might need a refill.”

You hand him the bag and the smile he gives you in return makes your chest tighten up and ache.

“Sweet things from a sweet thing, thank you darlin’.” 

You bit down on your lips, desperate to not react to his flirtatious words. “It’s nothin’, Sheriff.”

“Not to me.”

You start to sway from foot to foot, looking down at the sidewalk with a hum and trying to come up with something else to say. Silence hangs in the air for a moment before his radio crackles with a call from the station. You take the opportunity to make your exit.

“I’ll be seeing you, Sheriff.”

He shoots a glare at the radio, but looks back at you with what you could only describe as longing. “Sure will, Sweets.” Usually something like that would sound condescending, but from him it sounds endearing. He winks and pulls the car away, talking to the dispatcher while he drives.

‘Sweets...sweet thing...darlin’’ his voice repeats over and over in your head, fingers trembling and clumsy with the rush they give you and the way your heart races.

You get nearly sick when you recognize the feelings you’re having. It’s like it was when you were first with Jimmy. When you couldn’t even look him in the eyes because you felt too overwhelmed by your feelings for him. When you flushed and overheated when he got close and said pretty things. When you used to hold onto his hand and promise yourself that you would care for him every day and prove your love to him.

That’s when you realize you’re coveting another woman’s husband.

It’s Thursday, which means you need to head down to Main Street to visit the pharmacy for your landlady, Mrs. Martins, and gather some groceries for the week. You had made plans with Jane to let the boys play together while you took ran errands. You don’t have a good excuse to change the plan, but you can’t help but ask again, “You sure you don’t mind him being here?”

“Not at all,” she smiles, a bit wider and more manic than usual, “Now if that handsome Wilford boy happens to ask you for supper, don’t you worry about rushin’ back, ya hear?”

You laugh at her latest unsubtle attempt, “I will keep it in mind, thanks.” She and a few others had started to meddle, putting eligible bachelors in your path and setting up dates on your behalf. You do try. You talk to them, let them flirt, but none hold your interest. They’re boys - lanky and lean, still all reckless and rowdy. Not what you’re looking for, nothing like the solid, filled-out figure of a man, someone secure and stable and in a uniform. But that’s something to think about another day.

Wilford does indeed ask. 

You do not feel so inclined to take up the offer, especially when he pinches the round of your ass as he asks you to consider dessert before any supper. 

He has you pressed against the wall outside the hardware store, letting the sun blind you and bring tears to your eyes as the bricks snag the delicate threads of your dress.

He only backs away when a loud voice booms out, “There a problem here, son?”

He turns his head to find Lee pulled to the side of the road, window down and arm resting on the frame, his jaw clenched and eyes narrowed.

“No sir, Sheriff, just makin’ some supper plans, ain’t we?” Wilford looks back at you with a leer. Your hands press flat against the building and your knee twitches with the urge to jerk up and hurt him.

“I thought we were expecting you tonight, isn’t that right?” Lee asks you pointedly. 

Your attacker looks back at Lee, then to you, and you nod. Finally, you’re given some space. 

“I imagine you need to be moving along then?” Lee checks, waiting impatiently for Wilford to answer.

“Yessir.” He gives you a wicked grin and spins away to go back down the street. “Maybe another time when you’re free.”

You shake your head, eyes narrowed at his back as you glare.

Lee taps the side of the cruiser, “C’mere.”

You take a shaky breath and gather yourself with a nod before taking the few steps across the sidewalk. Leaning down you take a moment to look him over in his uniform, the badge gleaming in the sunshine and eyes clear blue as the sky.

“You alright, Sweets?” he asks, voice low and gentle. He’d taken to calling you that since the candy incident, always in that same tone - like it’s precious and important. The way it hits you right in the center of your chest hurts more than the physical damage done a moment ago. You know he isn’t asking if your heart is aching, or if you’re alright being lonely, or any of the ways you’re feeling it right now, but it strikes you in an unexpected way.

“I’m fine,” you smile tightly, “Thank you for checking.”

“These boys just don’t know how to handle themselves when they see a pretty lady.” Your cheeks ache as you try to keep from beaming at the off-hand comment. “Ya know, I’m getting ready to head on home, you need a ride that way? I’m guessing your boy is stirrin’ up some shit with mine?” He turns and scans the road and sidewalk around you, fidgeting a bit as he asks.

“I still have to make another stop and my car is at the end of the block, but thank you.” You stand up.

“Well, I mean it, you and Steven stay for supper tonight, I’ll square it with Jane.”

“You don’t hav’ta do that-”

“No worries, darlin’.” He winks, taps his fingers on the shell of the door by the painted logo and waits until you nod in agreement. “See you soon, then.” And with a nod he pulls off the curb.

You watch the cruiser drive away, then look up and down the street, but no one else is there. You finally manage to draw in a full breath, and rush to get to the cool air of the pharmacy to ease the flush burning you from the inside out.

You make it back to the Bodecker’s before the sheriff, glad to have a few moments to smooth things over with Jane since she clearly had not expected you to turn down the date she arranged for you.

“He wasn’t too much of a handful, was he? I told him before I left that he better mind you today.”

She waves you off, sitting back down at the table with her abandoned cigarette in the tray and a small glass of brown liquor.

“Well, the boys’ll sleep tonight, that’s for sure. They’ve been running circles round the whole damn house.” She ashes the cigarette before taking another puff and settling against the backrest of the chair.

You take a moment to look over the kitchen, a pot is just about to boil over so you make your way to it. “Can I help you out with anything? Give you a moment to freshen up ‘fore Lee gets home?” 

“I suppose that’s the least you can do.” Her cheeks draw in another puff and she hums, taking her glass with her as she goes to their bedroom.

The boys run inside, breathless and sweaty, both shouting while they tell you about a nest they found outside before you order them off to get washed up themselves. You look down the hall, waiting to see if Jane was on her way back or if she was expecting you to finish her cooking. Rather than let it burn, you do just that, taking care of the potatoes, adding a few seasonings as you go, and pulling out the meatloaf from the oven. 

The screen door squeaks and boots thud through the house when Lee enters and makes his way to the kitchen. You nervously look over your shoulder, catching him leaning against the door jamb, spinning his hat in his hand, a soft smile on his lips as he looks your way.

“This is a sight. If I didn’t know better I’d think I wandered into the wrong house.” 

You let out a bit of a nervous laugh, then look back down to the greens you were tending to, “I am so sorry, I kept your wife busy longer than I should’ve. She’ll be out in just a minute.” You go back to busying yourself with finishing up the meal.

“Not complainin’,” he mutters under his breath, but you still hear it and it makes your breath hitch. Jane could set you on edge with her snide remarks, so could Lee, but for completely different reasons - some that had been dormant for so long you didn’t know what to do. 

Just then Jane makes her grand reappearance, hair freshly combed and lips tinged with a touch of color; her cheeks look ruddy, but you can’t tell if it’s rouge or flush from the alcohol she’s been sipping.

“Don’t you go adding too much milk to my potatoes, nobody likes ‘em all runny. Here, let me,” she says and nudges you out of the way, “See you gotta mix in just a little bit right there.”

She overpours anyway, her hands moving unsteadily as she mashes the potatoes up, making them runny just like she warned you about. 

From behind you, you see Lee go to the table, picking up the liquor bottle and examining the contents, making marks with his fingers against the side of the bottle and shaking his head. He takes a swig himself and sets it back down.

He mumbles something about being sober, then walks down the hall to where Jane disappeared, stopping to say something to make the boys giggle on the way before they wrestle each other at the bathroom sink to wash up for supper. 

The meal starts off quiet, just the utensils scraping along the plates, but Jane being the gracious host, finally tries to perk it up with conversation.

“I know Wilford might be a little rough ‘round the edges for someone from a bigger town, but there are still several other young men I can introduce you to,” she offers, unprompted.

You choke a little before you recover and finish chewing your bite of food.

“You needn’t go through the trouble, Mrs. Bodecker. Really.” 

“It’s just, you’re so young to be widowed already and all alone. What kinda home will it be for the boy with no man around? And don’t you want more kids? I bet you just glow. Some of the ladies at my bible study wouldn’t mind setting you up.”

The idea makes you squirm. No, you aren’t dead inside, but there’s no way for you to get what - who you really want.

The sheriff speaks up then. “My old man took off on my ma, sister, and me. That’s just the way shit happens sometimes,” he says and you feel the dark cloud start to clear just a bit. You nod at him, acknowledging the little bit of affirmation.

“What was your husband like?” Jane presses, digging a little further into that painful wound. “Maybe that will help me out.”

Your Jimmy didn’t have much to give you, but he gave you all he could. He gave you the kind of love that made your cheeks hurt from smiling, and your stomach swoop with butterflies. Your eyes flick toward Lee and you think again about how alike they seem to you, handsome, intuitive, assertive, strong-willed. He catches your gaze and pauses his chewing for a brief second while he waits for your answer. 

“He was a good man, strong and fair. I’d like to think he and Mr. Bodecker would’ve gotten on quite well,” you finally say, smiling kindly at them both in turn.

Lee’s lips curl into a smile while he finishes chewing, then sits back with a stretch. “You’re makin’ me sound like an old man,” he whines, “Call me Lee when I’m not on duty.”

“Yes sir,” you automatically reply. “Lee.”

His smile grows. “Say, Janey? Why don’t you go get that jug of wine up for us?”

She nods and gets up.

“Wine?” you ask, surprised.

“It’s nothin’ special, someone up the road makes it. Tastes better than that church wine, but don’t burn like the shine some other folks are brewin’ up.”

Jane comes back with three glasses and pours generously for you all, her own motions increasingly sloppy from her afternoon drinking.

You sip at it, the taste a little tart, but not as acidic and thank them for their generosity.

“Jane, you do something different with the seasoning tonight?”

“No,” she answers, then goes right back to her chat with you, you think about speaking up, but she goes back to leading the conversation. “So, you still thinking about becoming a working gal?”

“Not right away, but yes.”

“Oh?” Lee asks, “Something at the diner? I think the grocery is hiring?”

“Nuh uh,” her voice takes on a nasty tone, “Nothing like that for her. She went to secretary school.” The lilt in her voice makes it clear that she doesn’t care for that little fact. “Can you believe that? School just to learn to file a paper or take a message.”

“There’s more to it than that,” you quietly defend.

“Jane, what the hell do you know? You haven’t worked a day in your life?” Lee asks.

Jane rolls her eyes, body slumping a bit in her chair. “Well, whatever you do, just make sure you don’t go working at the Tecumsah.” She snorts into her glass as she takes a sip. “That’s where Lee’s sister works. I told you ‘bout her before.” She gives you a look. “That place is a den of sin, if you know what I am gettin’ at.”

“You’re are gonna spoil my appetite talkin’ like that,” he says. He drops his fork and you startle, his glare at his wife making clear this is another sore subject. 

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing,” she mutters. “I’m gettin’ tired of mending the buttons on your clothes.”

Your jaw nearly drops. You wring your napkin on your lap and scramble for something to change the subject and break the tension, “Jane, there are such lovely flowers planted right by the library, is there a gardening club around here that you haven’t told me about?”

She’s bored by the topic, but it does enough to distract her and send her on a tangent. You nod and hum while you pick at your food. Occasionally you glance to Lee at the side and find him looking at you appreciatively.

You keep turning the conversation away from yourself, getting her to talk about anything you can as she keeps refilling and sipping down more of her wine. 

You use the next lull in conversation to make your exit.

“This has been lovely, and I am so thankful for everything today, but we really oughtta get back home. I need to make sure Mrs. Martins gets her items from the pharmacist and I need to try to fix the old projector she’s given me.”

“What’s wrong with it?” Lee asks, leaning forward.

“No idea,” you laugh. “I was hoping to puzzle it together.”

“I can take a look for you,” he offers.

“If you have a moment,” you turn to Jane, “And you don’t mind sparing him.”

She scoffs and waves her fingers, “Nah, take Robert with you.”

He grunts in response while the kids leap up, excited for more time together. You do what you can to clean up and ease the load for Jane, but she’s getting more irritable by the minute, so you shuffle to the door to leave.

You head to the driveway where your car’s parked, waiting for him outside while the boys chase each other around the cars. He steps out the door, swinging his key ring on his fingers, looking at ease without the uniform on, but still strutting with an air of authority. It makes your stomach swoop.

“The Martins place? What road is that on again?” he asks jarring you out of your staring.

“Just follow me, Sheriff. I mean - Lee,” You nod as you get into the driver’s seat, Steven climbing in on the other side.

“Don’t mind if I do.” He mutters it loud enough that you hear him. The tilted, teasing grin on his face as he climbs into his own car almost makes you certain it was his intention.

When you get out, there’s a lump in your throat and the air suddenly feels heavy. Thankfully, the short walk up your drive is quiet, the sheriff walking leisurely next to you and laughing at the boys as they race each other down the sidewalk. 

“I gotta go in the back way,” you swallow thickly as you tell him while you open up the gate, “There’s a private staircase for us there.”

He nods and follows. 

When you enter the small apartment, you’re grateful that you don’t have much to fuss over and that it is tidy by default.

“Why don’t you boys go play with the Lincoln Logs or race cars? Nothing too loud right now,” you suggest and push them off toward the small room Steven occupies. “I got the parts all together right here, but I think something is missing.” You point to the box with the projector parts and reels.

“No problem,” Lee’s voice is quiet in your small space. He takes out the parts and starts to fit things together, checking a few switches here and there after a couple of minutes before patting the top of it with a, “There you go.”

You smile widely, “That’s it? Really?”

“That’s it, Sweets,” he matches your smile.

You suddenly hate the idea of him leaving so quickly, so you look around for something else.

“Coffee?”

He nods. “It’s like you read my mind,” there’s a glint in his eye as he gives you a generous once-over.

You feel a flush and quickly turn away to the kitchen.

Your hands tremble as you fill the kettle with water and scoop grounds into the press.

The boys break into a fit of giggles and before you can call after them, you feel the warm presence of Lee shuffle up behind you. His boots scuff against the floor as he stops, then seconds later his arms cage you in from behind, his palms resting against the edge of the countertop.

His breaths are deep, his nose just tickling along the neckline of your dress and you feel your back stiffen at the rush.

“You’re so lovely Sweets,” he whispers.

Your breath shakes as you suck it in. “S-sheriff,” you swallow thickly, “Lee? What’re you doing?”

“You’re beautiful, y’know.”

You remain still, unable to whisper anything but his name again.

“I see the way you look at me,” he presses a kiss to your skin that’s so gentle and tender but nearly makes your knees buckle. “Like you want somethin’.”

“I’m not - I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you weakly deny.

One arm leaves the counter to wrap around your middle, pulling you even closer to him while he steps right up behind you, the whole front of him up against your back. The movement makes you gasp and arch just slightly. You’re unable to catch yourself from rolling your head back to lean against him fully and feeling him grunt.

“You don’t need to make any excuses. You want me, dontcha?” he talks with his lips pressed right against your neck, heavy breaths tickling at your hairline.

God, do you want him. The sudden feeling of a warm, masculine body against you is something you didn’t realize you missed so much. For years it’s just been you and your boy and focusing on the day to day, not thinking about the way a strong arm feels pulled around you with fingers just tickling at your sensitive skin - until suddenly that’s exactly what is happening. And how you’ve missed it, your muscles nearly seize up with tension as you try to fight how good it feels.

It’s like trying to drag yourself from a dream, slow and muted as you try to make sense of everything at once; a sharp clarity punches through hard and fast.

“Your wife,” you reach down to cover his hand with your own, ready to try to pry him off.

“That fucking pig? I don’t love her, I don’t want her. She don’t want me either.”

“Don’t say that. You can’t say that,” you tell him and start to pull away, squirming away but getting nowhere since he doesn’t budge an inch. He allows you to spin around between himself and the countertop. “Lee? What is this? What’re you doing?”

It’s a stupid question. You know what this is. You can remember moments like these with your late husband, but Lee is not your husband. You know his wife. You just spent the evening with her in their home.

He doesn’t answer. Instead his free hand starts to skim up along your side until his thumb catches at the curve at the bottom your breast, then slides up so that he can rub his thumb back and forth over your dress, teasing at your hardened nipple.

It makes you whimper and nearly fold in half with how sensitive you feel.

“I’ll make you feel so good,” he coos, his lips parted and eyes tracking the movement of his thumb.

You lift your arms to his shoulders, uncertain yet if you’re planning to push him away or pull him close when you hear the quick footsteps of the boys.

Lee steps back to give you some distance and your hands flutter mid-air as you try to compose yourself.

The boys start to whine over each other-

“Momma. Robert keeps knocking over my building.”

“No, he keeps takin’ the blocks I’m using.”

Some kind of clarity forms and you rush out a solution for them, “Why don’t you get out your TinkerToys and split it all up? Alright? Go back to the other room,” you nudge them away.

Problem solved, they run back to the room, leaving you standing in the kitchen, Lee lingering just feet away and the half-finished coffee press on the counter.

“Jane must be expecting you home by now.”

He grunts and shakes his head ruefully, “She’s probably passed out by now.”

“Oh,” you nod. You search for something, anything to excuse yourself and catch your breath, “I need to go to the bathroom. Excuse me a moment.”

You slip out of the kitchen and into the door just down the hall. Taking a moment to relieve yourself then press a cool rag to your cheeks. You’d nursed the glass of wine Jane had poured, so you knew deep down you weren’t tipsy, you were just overrun by the feelings the sheriff gave you. Once you get your first full breath in minutes, you feel better, calmer and more controlled. You look at yourself in the mirror and decide - you just need to send him on home.

You barely crack open the bathroom door when it’s pushed open wide, Lee wedging in when it’s wide enough and nearly slamming it shut behind him.

“Don’t hide from me, Sweets,” is all he says before he’s got one arm around your middle again, and the other holding the back of your neck while he presses his lips against yours. After gasping in surprise, you instinctively return the kiss - your tongue and lips tentative against his dominating mouth. 

It’s strange - all of it so strange after so long. It’s been years since your last kiss and you feel clumsy, out of practice, but he doesn’t hesitate one bit, doesn’t seem turned off by your uncoordinated motions and hands that can’t keep still over his middle and shoulders.

He takes in a deep breath, pausing for just a second to position himself better, then he’s back on you, and you feel ready for him this time. One hand resting on his chest while the other hooks up around his neck, your fingers stroking through the soft, short hairs at the back of his head. He turns the both of you, pressing you against the vanity sink.

“Lee,” you whimper when he wedges a leg between yours.

“Shh, shh, sshh. I got you.”

His kisses are relentless and make you light-headed, gasping for breaths every time he slightly lets up. His hands push and pull, struggling against your dress and your undergarments until he’s freed one breast and can drop his head to suckle at your hard peak.

Your mouth falls open in a silent cry, mind painfully aware of the children in the room nearby. You crack open an eye to make sure the door is still closed and try to focus on the sounds the kids are making, but his tongue and lips are too distracting. He pulls as much of your breast into his mouth as he can, greedily swirling his tongue all over the sensitive bud, and pulling away with a loud pop.

You slap at his shoulder while he just looks up at you with a shit-eating grin.

“Feels good, right?” He places his hand to cup your breast, thumb flicking at your nipple. “Let me have you, I’ll make you feel so good, my sweet girl. Please?”

His own eyes close as he ruts up against you, his hard length pressing against your hip and sending a tremor through your body, practically shaking your bones. You don’t move though, your hands stay frozen where you hold onto him, but he continues to lead and coax you along.

One wide hand holds you at the back of your neck, just holding you in place. His mouth moves across your cheeks and at the hinge of your jaw. He whispers quiet promises of satisfaction, telling you how lovely you are and confirming every word with a kiss. His other hand leaves your breast after one final and quick pinch and grabs at the bottom of your dress. The fabric bunching in his fist as he gathers it until he can feel your thigh.

Then he teases you with just the tips of his fingers, sliding right up and over til he meets where your thighs meet. It tickles, makes you shake a little, and then you’re sucking in a hard gasp when he keeps going until he pets and presses over your sex with the pads of his fingertips.

“So wet,” he says on an exhale, pressing right where you feel your excitement leaking. “You want me too. It’s alright.”

To prove his point, he presses harder, flattening his hand until he’s cupping you and making your body jerk between him and the sink. You bend your knees to open your thighs wider with the touch, and he groans and presses hard against you again, the heel of his palm putting pressure to your throbbing clit. You struggle to not hook your leg right over his hip to let him in.

“Lee,” you start to beg, “Please. Oh my god, please.”

It’s so overwhelming you start to sob, the tears already prick at the corners of your eyes. Just being touched, feeling the warmth of him, and the words - it’s all that you remembered being with a man to be and more. His hand keeps a rhythm against you, driving you higher. You hadn’t had a man’s touch in years, but suddenly you need Lee like you need air.

“Please,” you say again. Your body tingles with electricity that has nowhere to go.

“So pretty. You’re so pretty, baby. I’m gonna take care of ya. Am I what you need?”

“Yes,” tears start to roll down your cheeks. He pulls back slightly until he can slip his fingers underneath your panties, gliding right through your arousal. You feel two of his fingers slide into you, and you squeeze around them instantly.

“Fuck,” he grunts. Your wetness drips down his fingers into his palm. He presses the heel of it against you again, right against your sensitive clit this time. “Come on my fingers, sweetness.”

He fucks you with his hand, his thick, solid fingers caressing you while he sends jolts of pleasure through you with pressure on your sensitive button. You squirm to get away, but the hand still at the back of your neck tightens and holds you down, making you take it.

“It’s alright,” he whispers, “It’s alright.”

And that’s it. You freeze for a moment as the pleasure peaks and then you’re trembling as the shocks of it rush through you in a blaze. You can hear the wetness drowning his fingers as he keeps pumping them into you while you clench over him repeatedly and sob as quietly as you can, which must not be very quiet because he starts to shush you and slow the movement of his hand, gently attempting to calm you down.

“You’re okay, s’alright baby, just breathe, c’mon,” you hear him coach, but all you can focus on is the thumping beat of your heart as it races and trying to catch your breath between sniffles, the tears falling freely down your cheeks.

His hand slides out from your panties to grab you steady at your waist, the hand from your neck moves so he can use his thumb to wipe away your tears. He presses his forehead to yours and tells you to breathe with him.

You blink your eyes open, eyelashes glittering with wetness and you take a minute to focus. Once things are clear, you tilt your head back to look at him. His cheeks are flushed, lips wet and rosy, and his eyes - they nearly glow as he looks you over. It’s something to see - awe, tenderness, pride all in the twitches of his lips as his lips turn up with a smile.

“Sweets, will you touch me?” he asks. For such a big man, his voice is suddenly so small.

“Lee, I can’t-I haven’t…” you struggle to find the words.

“It’s alright, that’s alright,” he assures you, circling your wrist with his fingers still sticky from your arousal, and guiding them to the bulge in his trousers. You flinch, but don’t pull away, your arm tenses, but goes with the motion. He presses your palm against the solid length, pushing down to give him some relief. His hips press against you in return and once he’s sure you aren't going anywhere, he lets go of your wrist, then starts to undo the belt and button in quick movements. He tugs the waistband of his trousers and boxers down together, just to release his cock.

You feel the fabric move under your palm, but keep pressing against him, your hand sliding just slightly out of remembered instinct. When the fabric of his boxers slides away and you’re met with the heat of his cock, you gasp. Your hand wraps around him, fingers circling around his shaft to hold him and pulling a strangled moan from him.

“Shit-fuck,” he hisses. “Won’t be long.” He wraps his hand over yours, pulling your fist up and down over him while he pumps his hips into it. Precome drips down from the slit, easing the glide. 

His eyes close and he presses his temple to yours, his face pulls up in concentration, focusing on the pleasure, “You’re so soft, so sweet,” he rasps, “Want you so bad, want you all to myself.”

You can imagine it, if you’re ready to be totally honest, you have imagined it.

“Kiss me?” you whisper.

His lips meet yours roughly for a long press, then he tilts his head and licks at the seam of your lips, making you open up to him. His hand and yours start to speed up, he keeps guiding you up and down, just the slightest twist at the head with each stroke.

The kiss turns sloppy, more sharing air and pecks than anything as he spirals with the pleasure you’re helping to give him.

“You’re gonna -you’re gonna make me-” with a pained expression, he nudges you away, his hand stroking frantically as he leans over your sink until he starts to come, streaks hitting the porcelain as he chokes down groans. You watch his neck and face go red, trying not to watch, but you can’t help yourself and catch the way his cock twitches with his release, all swollen and red. You don’t think you could possibly blush more, but still fire burns underneath your skin.

When he finishes coming, he reaches for you again, pulling you into another hard kiss. “God, darlin’. Fuck,” he whispers while he attempts to catch his breath. “Fuck. Haven’t been tugged off like that since I was a deputy.” He chuckles, the laugh coming out in hard puffs of air.

You struggle to look at anything in the bathroom, eyes straying back to Lee, to his softening cock, to the come dripping slowly in the sink basin. Just then you hear the boys start to giggle and reality hits you again, making your chest seize up in panic.

“Oh, Lee. No,” you raise a hand to your mouth and quickly rush out the door, piecing your wardrobe back together as you walk back into the kitchen. You hear the water run in the bathroom and murmuring as Lee talks to himself.

Your movement must have distracted the boys because they manage to sound like a stampede heading toward you. You wipe at your nose and eyes as best you can before you turn to see what they want.

Both the boys pause, but it’s your son that speaks up, knowing how you look when you cry. “Momma, you alright?”

Lee exits the bathroom then, shirt tucked back in, belt and trousers back in place - only the flush from the neck up giving anything away. His eyes bore into you with heavy emotion that you are ashamed that you can read so well - concern, sympathy, desire. A mixture that you remind yourself you don’t deserve.

“Yeah, baby. I am. You know I get sad sometimes, I’ll be fine. Are you boys ready to say goodbye for tonight? I think it’s well past your bedtime.”

You grab Steven and fuss with his hair, with his messy shirt, and then turn him around and hold him against you like a tiny human shield. “Say thank you to the sheriff for fixing the projector and for letting Robert play.”

“Thank you, sir,” your son dutifully responds.

Lee can see what you’re doing and he’s not happy with it, his mouth going flat and shoulders heaving as you pressure him into leaving.

He just nods, then nudges at Robert’s shoulder, “Say thank you for indulging us.”

“Thank you,” Robert quietly says.

You send Steven down the hallway to get ready for bed, and then you follow behind as they step toward the door, Robert too tired from a full day of play to put up a fight. Lee opens the door to the back steps, telling Robert to be careful going down. When the boy starts down a few, Lee turns back to you.

Before you can react, he’s giving you another kiss, quick but meaningful. “We’re not done,” he whispers. 

“We are. Go home, Lee.”

He gives you a long look before stomping down the steps. “Til next time, Sweets.”

...

#lee bodecker x reader #lee bodecker smut #lee bodecker angst #lee bodecker fanfiction #hoedecker club #hoedecker cult #tdatt fanfiction #my writing #fic title so wrong #lee bodecker x you #lee bodecker x female reader

[thedeathdoctor]

Kinktober Days 2, 3, and 4: Aphrodisiac, Thigh Riding, and Size Difference

Friday the 13th: Jason x Reader

Forbidden Nectar

Aka: sometimes you celebrate your actual 21st birthday by chilling in the woods behind your house with a Yeti tumbler full of Sangria and end up getting the best dick of your life by your local thicc stalker/slasher 

~Under the cut below~

You weren’t like the other girls, no matter how hard you tried. For you, high school had come and gone in the blink of an eye, and yet some of it still lingered in your mind. College was a chance to reinvent yourself, join in with a group of friends where you could grow into being a satisfied, competent woman. There, to some extent, you did. 

Joining a sorority was one of the few sporadic things you tried that managed to stick with you. During Fall Recruitment freshman year, you fell in love with Greek Life on campus, rushed, and accepted the invitation one of the sororities extended to you. Fundraising and outreach activities were your favorite; you had grown up with a passion for helping others, from Girl Scouts to food drives through your high school, you showed up for them all. However, you could never shake the nagging thoughts in the back of your mind, thoughts that insisted that the people around you didn’t like you as much as they seemed. 

Summers home felt especially isolating when you returned home for the break. You loved your parents and of course missed your dogs, but the difference between your busy college town campus and Yeehaw, New Jersey was like night and day. It took a few days to readjust to the change in pace when you returned. Time had a really funny way of standing still in Crystal Lake while you went to school for a whole nine months of the year. The same pickup truck stood watch over the corner store by your house as long as you could remember. At school, the surrounding towns seemed to be able to move entire roads around over break, leaving you reluctantly reliant on Google Maps to find the same pizza place you visited just four months ago. 

Crystal Lake’s lack of excitement and stimulation was good for recollecting your thoughts and having a place to just breathe. Happiness was found through the routine of everyday life and simple pleasures, like trading excess garden vegetables with family friends in town. You knew nearly everyone, and it warmed you when people would call out your name to wave hello. 

It wasn’t paradise though. Most of your tiny high school graduating class had stayed, trying to fill the few remaining positions at local businesses, while others yoked themselves to jobs in the next town over, the one that had a smattering of chain restaurants and a ghostly outlet mall. They all still had to drive places, and since Bill had passed, your parents were the sole auto mechanics in town. Crystal Lake was never a popular vacation spot, but several families routinely returned to their modest summer homes on the north shore, propping up the dwindling town. You helped around in the shop, freeing up your pa to tow cars when needed. Visitors tended to arrive in vehicles that were not as durable as promised, but that wasn’t their fault. 

“After all,” he would say, “people know when they fucked up. A lecture ain’t gon’ get them back on the road, but a hand up might.” 

He had never attempted college, nor did he want to, but you were surprised to find him more knowledgeable than some people you ran into on campus. Nothing incensed you more than snooty, middle-class students who widely looked down on “stupid hicks” like your father, as if they had the same opportunities out here and in suburbia. They didn’t know that they, too, were just one unexpected economic crisis away from being in the exact same situation, and you had long since stopped trying to change their minds.

The garage popped up first at the front of the property, closest to the road, and a private driveway led around a corner to the house. Your grandpa, Leon, had built the shop in the 40s with his pa, and ran it with a buddy of his. Grandma Susan had insisted it be built away from the house, as she “couldn’t get her beauty sleep with all that racket.” They had planted several saplings at the back, which had since grown into a beautiful row of oaks that mercifully shielded the house from the cacophony of power tools.

Gravel crunched under the truck’s tires as you turned into the driveway and pulled up behind the shop. A voice called out from the rear arch of the building, weary, but relieved. Matt, your older brother walked out, partially blinded by the patch of 2:00 sunlight though the canopy. You laughed as he shielded his eyes with one hand; the backwards baseball cap was as essential to his uniform as the filthy grey-blue jumpsuit was, but a pair of cheap wraparound sunglasses hung onto the collar swung with his every step, forgotten. 

“Hey Matt, catch!” 

Resting the paper bag of groceries on your hip, you swung the door of the Ranger closed and tossed the keys to your brother. 

“Mom needs these for dinner tonight, so I gotta take this in.” You gestured at the bag you had shifted into both arms. “Everything should be there, but the timing belts. Frank said they were on back order or something; should be back about Tuesday though!” Matt shrugged, after all, what could you do about absent parts. 

Patches of sunlight lit the driveway as you walked up towards the house. June was one of your favorite months here, where it was warm even in the shade of the woods, but the sun wouldn’t cook you alive if you were outside for too long. The front door was already unlocked, and two whirlwinds of fluff came barrelling through the door at your knees, and you steadied yourself against the doorframe. Jack and Willow were the two homebody dogs, greeting everyone who walked through the door with the same excitement every time. 

The smell of apples and sugar permeated the entire house, and you found a beautifully latticed pie cooling on the countertop as you set the grocery bag down. Taking the groceries out and laying them on the counter, you tore the paper bag in two and tossed the pieces at your pups. The click-click-click of their paws ended as they took the paper into the carpeted family room and began to shred them methodically. 

Following them, you found ma in the family room with them, curled up on the couch with her favorite book and a knit blanket. The curtains were half drawn, and her hearing aids lay on the side table underneath the dimmed lamp. Looking up from the worn cover, she smiled. “Thank you for running to the store for me, dear. I could have sworn I remembered everything for your birthday dinner tonight, but now I do. I know your pa gave you today off for your birthday, so I just need you back here ‘round six - six thirty to eat.” You responded by tapping your fingertips against your chin as you signed “thank you,” before raising your left and fluttering your “I love you” towards her before leaving. 

The screen door snapped at your heels as you walked through the back door. Past the wood shed, a long picnic table stretched out under a large oak. Nearing it, you took note of the excessive bird droppings and maddeningly long grass underneath that would absolutely tickle your calves. A mental note was made in your head to clean it down another day, and you meandered over to the edge of the woods. 

As you walked around, the thought occurred to you that you had never had any real desire to explore your own backyard more. As a child, you spent more time in town, around people, reaching out. Now, you just felt more of a yearning to connect with the home and land you grew up on. 

Twenty one was an important birthday, but just like all the ones before, this one felt more like an extended weekend here. Your friends had planned to celebrate, but that wouldn’t be until your trip to Colorado in mid-July. For now, you had the afternoon to yourself and a bottle of sangria that Catie had given you as you were packing for home. 

You returned to the house and took your half filled outdoors pack, poured some of the sangria into an empty green Thermos, and added it to the bag of stuff. A small access trail led from the edge of the backyard into the woods, and you set off. 

The trail forked at several junctions, every one of them marked with small colored dots spray painted on major trees. It was easier than having to upkeep sign markers as not many people needed to or even really went back here. Blue led down to the kayaks and the lake access, and you remembered racing Matt down the path to the dock as a child. Green led up the hill to the tree fort that Mark, your younger brother, and his friends had built with pa one weekend, back when you could still rest your elbow on his head if he stood still for long enough. Red led to the family plot, more occupied by well loved family pets than ancestors, thankfully. The path headed back to the house was better marked, dirty yellow hi-vis tags nailed to the trees in case you didn’t get back before dark. 

Further than that, you didn’t really know what lay beyond. You had never really wondered about it before, something that boggled your mind as you pressed forward. The trail became increasingly overgrown, and you were close to pulling out the brush machete that was in the pack, before you spotted a clearing up ahead. Brambles scraped along your calves as you tried to step over them and your thighs as you tried to skirt past a larger cluster. 

The clearing seemed to be an old campsite. A rusting fire pit sat near the center of the clearing; towards the left edge of the woods, and the remains of a small collapsed pavilion covered three or four rotting picnic tables. Rays of sunlight streamed down onto a relatively smooth patch of earth, as perfect a place as any to sit. 

Setting the bag down against the ground, you pulled out the rough, thick canvas blanket and shook it open. It covered enough of the ground for you to lay out with the Thermos and the book you were working on. It was a steamy romance novel, one of your truly guilty pleasures. The sangria, though sweet, left you feeling floatier than usual; you were so into the book that you practically breathed in every word off the page, and out here, you didn’t have to hide the blush across your cheeks. 

How you wished to come across a strong, kind man like that. The ones you had had the displeasure of meeting ranged from arrogant and abrasive to paranoid and reactionary. All they seemed to want was control, over her friends, her choices, her. No one lasted longer than a few careless hookups; they never seemed to care about your pleasure. They disliked how much time you spent volunteering, with friends, and studying. On the inside, you would give up everything in your life for the right person, but after meeting enough people, you didn’t believe anyone like that existed. 

You were so wrapped up in your fantasies that you didn’t notice the man watching you from the treeline. His hand rested on the handle of a sheathed machete that hung from the faded leather work belt at his waist. He had seen plenty of dumb teenagers desecrating the forest that was his home, but you weren’t doing anything close to that. You lay outstretched on a blanket, peaceful, enjoying the beauty of the clearing. Your feet slowly kicked back and forth in the air, flexing your thighs and calves. Every so often, your gaze would float off the page, looking past the book you held; he wondered what you were admiring so passionately. 

A ray of sunlight glinted off your hair, illuminating the golden streaks that were typically hidden. The blush across your face captured his attention, and your wistful eyes drew him in to you. To him, you were the epitome of beauty and purity, a sight both new and refreshing in these woods. A strange feeling wound through his body and settled in his groin. It demanded attention, and he pulled at the crotch of his pants, trying to alleviate the tightness there. 

When he returned his gaze to you, he found himself standing closer to you than before, no longer hidden by the brush. To his horror, he watched as you looked up from your novel, and noticed him standing there, hand still over his pants zipper. 

“Hi there,” you called out, “would you come sit with me? I swear I don’t bite…”

He was transfixed by the sound of your voice, how it cleared his mind of all thoughts of destruction and shame, and stepped closer. Surely, you would find him strange for wearing a mask, or for his marred skin, but you did not flinch as he approached. 

Despite your offering of space on the blanket beside you, he instead chose to sit on the very edge of it. Were it not for his dirty hockey mask, you would have bridged the gap between you two with a kiss. You offered him a smile, and showed him the book you were reading. The cover depicted a pretty woman swooning in the arms of a large, rugged man. Between the blush on your face as you held the book, and your eyes looking earnestly up at you, he realized what the feeling in his body was. He needed to please you. 

Shifting on the ground, he stretched out his legs, spreading them slightly. The tent that formed in his pants caught your attention; you rose to your knees and moved closer to him. That wasn't enough for him. His large hands wrapped around your waist and pulled you towards him, setting you down on his thigh. 

You placed your hands gently against his upper chest and settled on his thigh. Even through the fabric of your shorts and panties, he could feel the heat radiating from your sex. You gave off a distinctly sweet scent that filled his head with a light airiness. 

His thigh pressed nicely up against your clit and his hands slid down the sides of your waist to your full hips, and began to gently rock you back and forth. You leaned into the motion, slightly arching your back to tilt your hips into the sweet friction, and your forearms steadied you against his chest. It was broad and soft, and you gasped as you felt the firm muscles hidden underneath. He had picked you up without a hint of strain, as if you were just a soft little toy. 

Maybe it was the arousal bubbling in you already from the book and the drink, but you came so easily on his thigh, soaking through the fabric of your shorts. The rocking slowed to a stop as he felt your body shudder involuntarily and your juices seeped through his pants leg. 

Adrift in bliss, you barely noticed him undressing everything but his mask. You slipped your shirt off, and had hooked your thumbs into the waistband of your shorts when you noticed him staring at you. Slowly, he tilted his head, and you felt his eyes roam your body, giving you pause. Then, with an incredible amount of ease, he stripped you nude, tearing first the cotton of your shorts, then the delicate lace of your panties off your body. Before you could react, he had set you back down on his leg, sweet nectar drooling from your lower lips onto the cool skin of his thigh. 

His hands kneaded your hips as he began to move you again, enjoying how your soft flesh yielded to his touch. You leaned against him, pressing your bare chest to his, which earned you a low hum from underneath his mask. Your hands roamed over his shoulders, feeling the swell of his muscles under your palms. Something jutted firmly against your own thigh with each movement. The shape was unmistakable, but you had never encountered one of this size before. It filled you with incredulity, and the thrill of taking it entirely overpowered any apprehension in your mind about whether you could. Once the thought had occurred to you, it pushed you over the edge again, your fingernails curling into his skin for support. Your breath ghosted over his chest as you sighed gratuitously, partly involuntarily, partly to rouse him further. 

It was successful, as he leaned back, taking you with him until you rested entirely on him, your stomach flush with his. His hands roved down your back, settling on your buttocks, massaging them gently. They were capable of doing anything they wanted to you, even hurting you, but their power had been tightly controlled. Carnal hunger swelled within you, driving you to seek more from him. 

You straddled his hips, feeling your inner thigh muscles stretch until your knees came to rest lightly against the ground. His hands wrapped around the back of your thighs, one holding you firmly as the other slid between them. His middle finger traced down your vulva and paused at your clit, rubbing until he felt your body shiver and your warm fluids on his fingertip.. Your insides ached to be filled, and with only a breathy "please", his touch crept up towards your entrance. Slowly, he pushed the digit into you, eliciting a gasp of pleasure and surprise at its thickness. It shifted inside you as he repositioned his arm, and you only had a moment to realize it before your heightened sensitivity sent you spiraling into another orgasm. 

Feeling you from the inside excited him; his chest heaved as he let out a deep growl of approval. You rested your head on his pectoral muscle, unable to form coherent thoughts as his finger plunged into you, accompanied by distinctly lewd squishing sounds. He worked with the intention of readying you for his cock, slipping in a second finger, then a third as you focused on relaxing your internal muscles. 

His fingers slipped out of you, leaving you startlingly empty for a moment before he shifted you lower on his body. The head of his cock nestled itself between your lower lips. Its presence nearly made your heart leap out of your chest. Finally, it was time. 

The tip pressed firmly against you and you gasped as your body yielded to his, granting entry to the bulbous, dripping head of his second machete. His hands returned to your hips, holding them firmly as he eased his way into you. When it felt as if you could not take anymore, he would slightly pull back before pushing further in. The movement was similar to the rocking motion he had guided you through earlier, continuing until you had taken him to the hilt. 

He let you rest for a moment as you stretched to accommodate his intense girth. When you determined you were ready, half whimpered, half begged, “take me now”. 

His shaft curved upward, and with each movement pressed against the sweet spot just underneath your tummy. The pulsing veins added further stimulation with each thrust, teasing your sensitive walls with its texture. Heavy panting became audible from behind your lover’s mask. Even he wasn’t immune to the intensity of base pleasure you gave him. You had broken his stoic demeanor, and reveled in his guttural moans as he thrust into you. 

A pulsing knot began to form in your core as he pounded away at you, hips slapping smartly against yours. Desperately, you fought to hold off your orgasm as long as you could, but there were no other thoughts in your mind to cling to as a distraction. His cock was punishing, mercilessly bringing you to orgasm, showing no signs of slowing. Your body twitched and shook; his firm hands on your hips ensured his complete control over you, preventing you from shying away from the stimulation he was hellbent on giving you. Letting your mouth drop open and eyes flutter, you surrendered all control to him. 

His breaths grew ragged, heavier, as he felt his own orgasm building up in him. You squeezed him so perfectly, and he reveled in the feeling as you pulsated effortlessly around his shaft. He pulled you down onto him as he gave one last, powerful thrust into you that left you gasping for air. Thick spurts of ejaculate coated the entrance of your uterus, filling you until you were overflowing. His cum mixed with yours, the fluid drooling from between your lips, pooling between your bodies. Your head rested and settled against his chest; for a few remaining moments, your fingertip lazily traced hearts onto his skin as you drifted off into the haze of sleep. 

#I'm sorry this took so long #my writing #filth #smut #Kinktober 2020 #aphrodisiac #thigh riding #size difference #Friday the 13th #friday the thirteenth #jason voorhees #jason voorhees x reader #jason x reader #jason vorhees imagine #slasher x reader #slasher imagines #slasher imagine #slasher thirst

[keravnous]

- agent 14/agent steve haines; american money

It's a Thursday and it's raining. The raindrops are heavy and loud on impact, running down his windshield like tears. He's on his way to the set and he prays that it'll clear up soon.

"This show will kill you", Warren sits on his bed, sheets lazily draped over his legs. Steve can see where his pubic hair begins and his mouth waters. Warren takes a long drag from his cigarette, blows the smoke into the air.

"It fucking won't, nothing can", Steve's leaning against the door frame, coffee in hand.

"Fuck yes, it can. And it will, lurking around at Forum Drive all day and for what? Two minutes of frightening pictures that will make Karens all over LS go buck wild."

"Who's Karen?"

"Forget about it. Let me suck your dick, Haines, c'mere."

As he arrives near the recreational center and pulls into one of the lots it has indeed stopped raining. The streets are still wet but the sun's coming out again and the air is already mushy with the reblooming heat. There's a lanky man with a dog and he's yelling into his phone - the man that is, not the dog.

He knows who the guy is, even though he most likely doesn't know him, probably he doesn't even know that Steve exists. He's an associate of Franklin Clinton and the Bureau keeps a close eye on him, due to the nature of Clinton being so close with Townley and Philips.

Steve watches Lamar, leaning against the hood of his car, the remaining rain wetting his thigh through the denim.

"Man Frank, you just ain't around no more, homie. That's all I'm saying. Yeah - Yeah, sure whatever, dog - Yeah, fuck yourself too, homie."

He hangs up and stuffs his phone back into his pocket. The dog looks at him. "Man, you get the fool more than I do, Chop. Wassup with him, can you tell me? He always been that fool, but something ain't right there."

Steve knows what ain't right there. Franklin must've picked up by now, or maybe Townley told him, what they were up to that one afternoon at the warehouse. And for what he knows about Clinton and what the intel tells him, the young man probably isn't much of a big fan of government-approved interrogation techniques.

And he probably also won't like what Steve has next in stock. Warren was a little careless the last time around, tongue loosend by sweet kisses and a hand around his dick, when he spoke about a securicar delivering important IAA files soon. It won't hurt 14 but it would definitely aid Steve an awful lot, so he decided to send the boys on the road again, maybe on Tuesday.

The production team's van rolls up next to him and they swarm around him like a stock of bees buzzes around their queen and then there's sound and light checks being run and a woman applies powder to his face. Lamar Davis has not moved a single step. Their eyes meet.

"What are you idiots doing here?", he hollers. Steve wonders if he could be of use.

"We're shooting a show", he replies, while the attach a little microphone to his collar, "The Underbelly of Paradise, you surely have already seen an episode or two."

"You're that Haines-guy then?", something in Lamar's voice makes his skin crawl, his files told Steve that he too is a gangster after all, killing and robbing are some of Davis' favourites. The look he shoots him isn't much friendlier.

"In the flesh", Steve dusts of the sleeves of his polo shirt.

"Yeah, aight. Fuck you then, man. C'mon Chop, we best be leavin', homie. Imma take you back to Frank's crib", oh, there is something in Lamar's voice that Steve definitely doesn't like at all but he just smiles politely at the man, until he's around the corner and out of sight. Steve's smile drops.

"Can we hurry this up a little, people? I don't got all day!" The bees start buzzing again.

_

The raid on the Humane goes by easier than expected. They are in Warren's living room, as the news inform about the incident. Steve is just pouring himself another glass of wine and Warren looks at him.

He knows, that the other one knows. It's a cover story the IAA will buy, but not Warren. Pain shoots through his legs as he slowly makes his way towards the sofa.

Warren mouths a few words at him. Be careful. Steve nods and leans over, places a soft kiss on his shoulder.

"Learned from the best", he whispers and Warren jerks.

"What?", there's panic in his voice.

"The Rashkovsky Job? The breakout and then his research goes missing?"

Warren blinks at him in disbelief.

"So, did he let you know if he likes it in South America?"

They laugh and Steve feels light, his fingertips tingle with it.

_

Steve's on his balcony. There's a saxophonist a few meters down the road, playing some Sinatra pieces and the music wraps itself around him like a blanket. The musician's interpretation reaks of melancholy and reminds Steve of the golden days of Vinewood cinema, noir films and cigarette smoke. Musicians playing at street corners isn't something foreign in a city where everyone has dreams of being the next big national superstar, but Steve usually hates him with his guts. This one's different. It touches him and he finds himself enjoying the dark, warm tunes that float through the cool air. It will be autumn soon and Steve's glad that the heat will be gone.

Warren watches him from the inside, leaning against the kitchen counter, lips curled in a smile.

_

Steve has always hated Michael's bloated and ugly, fat face and now he even gets to point a gun at it. It feels like his birthday and christmas fall on the same day.

"They know or they think they know that I'm the one that was behind the incident."

They stare each other into the ground, guns raised. Steve's ready to fire, has been from the minute Townley walked onto the plaza for the first time.

"Put the weapons down, boys. Fun time's over!", Steve wants to sigh. This is not happening. And then they are suddendly surrounded by their own man Sanchez has sent and then fucking Merryweather's there, too. This is not fucking happening. And so he does the only thing he's always been good at.

"We all know you Agency boys are balls deep in a plot to drive up your fundings by any means necessary", he shouldn't have said that. Warren trusted him with that info, even showed him the intel. He sees something moving behind Agent ULP's eyes, it's fear. He's got him.

Suddendly there's a loud pop and then pain shooting through his left leg. "Same goddamn leg", he blurts out as hell starts to break loose around him. Sanchez blood sprays the concrete in a bright red as the bullet pierces his skull. Steve wishes it would've been Michael instead.

He runs until he can't take the pain no more, then cowers on the ground, slowly robbing behind cover, as Dave and Michael pick up the gun fight. He's bleeding heavily, red liquid rushing out of the wound and drenching his cargos. It seems like the bullet is stuck and maybe has wounded some arteries. He figures that he probably hasn't that much time left. He strips himself out of his shirt and wraps it around his leg, adding pressure on his thigh, just above the bullet wound.

He thinks about Warren. Oh dear God, don't let me die today.

_

"What did you do?", it's Warren, he's sitting at Steve's kitchen table.

"Did you let yourself in, pretty boy?"

"What happend?", he sounds furious now, gets up and his eyes bore into Steve's. He's dizzy with it, with what Warren's gaze tells him, let's him know without saying a word.

"Nothing, it's nothing."

"You got shot!"

"Yeah, the same leg."

"That's - you're-"

Steve wraps his arms around him and presses him close and Warren releases a surprised noise. "I'm still here", he says and it's more for and to himself, than for Warren but the other doesn't seem to care, burying his face in Steve's neck.

The world's a little brighter and warmer and Steve doesn't feel that threatend anymore. He has to make a phone call, but that can wait a few more minutes.

_

He has a team on the way to the plant, it will be alright. They'll be gone for good, just another casualty. He sighs, takes a deep breath and throws the script on the seat across from him.

"Are the cameras rolling? Yes? How do I look, the chin's sharp?"

Warren looks at him, eyes still a little hazy from his last orgasm and Steve turns his head and looks at him. He's so pretty and Steve's heart misses a beat.

"I-", his voice breaks and Warren blinks.

"Yeah?"

"I hate you."

Warren laughs. It's deep and dripping with amusement, running down Steve's body like hot honey. He rolls himself over, on top of Warren, who's still laughing deep in his chest, burying a hand in Steve's blond hair.

"No. No, you don't."

They look at each other and their gazes turn soft. "Sometimes I do", Steve's voice is quiet, honesty seeping through his words, "But sometimes I-, I would burn the world down to protect you."

Warren's hand caresses his neck. "My life would be so very boring without you, Haines. It nearly makes me forget that I just really want to skin you alive, sometimes."

It's not really an I love you - I love you too, but it's as close as they can get without hurting their egos. The kiss is soft and sweet and a promise.

"Hi, I'm Steve Haines. I've tracked down killers, attacked incompetence and taken down terrorist cells, and tonight -"

The gunshot rips through the night and the camera man throws himself back, lands unpleasently on his back.

"My god! The guy! What's-his-name! Fuck, shit, they shot him!", he stares down at the dead man, blood rushing out of the bullet wound in the back of his head. The impact had torn some skin and skull apart and there's a nasty opening, his brain leaks out of it. The camera man vomits out of the gondola as sirens erupt in the night.

_

Warren has his feet up on the coffee table, mindlessly zapping through the programs. It's all shallow and boring and he hopes that Steve will be home soon. Home.

His stomach does a funny little flip and Warren smiles to himself, wraps the blanket around him tighter. It smells of him, his perfume. He closes his eyes and he can practically feel Steve's hand creeping around his neck, resting on his shoulder, heavy and warm. It's always like that, when he comes in on Warren sitting on the sofa. He will lean down and place a feather light kiss on the back of his head, maybe rest his nose there for a moment, taking the other man's scent in for a few seconds, before getting up again and ranting about Norton or another colleague. A fuzzy warmth spreads in his stomach and Warren sighs. A sudden noise interrupts his daydreaming and he lazily opens an eye at the TV. It's a Weazle Broadcast.

"We interrupt our nightly program for an important message. We just recieved notice that FIB Special Agent Steve Haines has been shot on duty at the Del Pierro Pier. Agent Haines died a hero, doing what he loved, which was presenting a TV show. He helped combine the chaos of anti-terrorism and the mindlessness of network television into one highly successful career. Mr. Haines, who was not married, leaves behind his mother."

The world goes silent.

_

He's not moving. Has not in hours, maybe it's even a full day at this point. He has not eaten, has not showered, has not moved at all.

Warren feels like a dead man. The thought makes a bitter laugh splutter over his lips and then has him break out in tears immediately after.

It's a scary thought that people continue to live their lives, acknowledging that an agent passed away last night but they are now out and about, at their jobs, maybe seeing friends or family. A lover, even. They are busy living their life's while Warren's just dissolved in a matter of seconds.

It's a scary thought being ripped off of something so dear so abruptly, it's scary how it ripped a hole it Warren's chest that is now filled with a black, emotionless but equally painful void that nags, tears and claws at him.

It's a scary thought that he's alone again.

His body, his throat gives in and he's rolling on his side, screaming and tearing at the blanket, fingers grabbing at the fabric, as his knuckles turn white. He's screaming and screaming and screaming until his throat is sore and his eyes burn and the only noises that leave his mouth are little pathetic whines of exhaustion and the gasping for air. The pain in his chest takes his breath away, chokes him and makes him want to curl up, bore a knife into it, twist and turn it until it goes away. He feels like vomiting.

_

It's Sunday. It's been a little over 30 hours. Warren is tired, but everytime he tries to close his eyes he sees him, hears his laughter ring in his ears. It hurts. It hurts so much, he has hardly any words left to describe the agony he is going through.

His head hurts too, so does his throat and his stomach, with the constant throwing up and the lack of hydration. But he can't bring himself to get up, to grab a glass of water and drown some pain killers and go to bed. His legs are heavy and he just doesn't have the energy.

Warren feels like dying but he's also so painfully alive.

_

He's wide awake. He'll need to find a solution for how he's going to be able to go to work tomorrow.

But for now he's wrapping himself in Steve's blanket, the one he sleeps in when he's been over, inhaling the fading scent.

_

"Agent 14?"

His eyes are red, bloodshot and his fingers are trembling, seconds away from shaking. He had powder this morning to just make it somehow and it's slowly wearing off. He hasn't been on coke since college and it sent him on a murder high, blood pumping like a race horse only to now let him dive head-first into a killer hole.

It's been three days since Steve left his life both, quiet and eardrum-tearing loudly, and it feels like a nightmare, eternal and burning hot. He's empty inside but there's also just so much pain, it feels like he's breaking into pieces. His stomach clenches and his heartbeat is heavy, vibrates thickly in his chest and he just wants to die, too.

"Mrs. Rackham", his voice is rough, it doesn't bother to hide that Warren had been crying and screaming his lungs out every night since Steve's brain had been splattered onto the ferris wheel.

"I need to talk to you."

This is about Avon and Clifford, he's sure. His hand shakes and coffee spills on his desk. He curses under his breath and reaches for a tissue but Mrs. Rackham grabs his hand with force. They look at each other. Warren blinks.

"You are not in a good condition. I don't need explanations or lies, 14. I want to offer you my sincere condolences on your loss, Mister Jones. "

Warren takes a deep breath but he can't keep his eyes from tearing up.

"Take the week off, Agent", as he's not moving, shocked and dumbfounded, she starts to pick his jacket up, "Go now, I'll cover you up."

He gets on his feet, knees weak and body shaking, takes his jacket from her hands.

"Thank you, Phoenicia", he means it.

She looks at him. "I'm sorry", and she means it, too, "The IAA could've done some-"

"Don't."

She nods sharply and then looks at him once more, eyes piercing.

"I lost my husband in service as well, Iraq in 2004."

And then they're hugging, Warren is burrying his face into her neck and wailing like a little child.

_

It's a weird feeling and it fucks with his head as his gaze falls on the door of his apartment. He could've sworn that he heard the key turning the lock. He stares and stares and stares and it feels like his brain is readying for Steve to come through the door anytime.

He doesn't.

_

It's midnight and he had five more moments like the door-lock one earlier. He feels like he may go insane.

Warren fumbles for his phone on the nightstand and opens up Eyefind, types his thoughts into the searchbar.

At the end of his research he's left with two possibilities: it's either a stage of grief (denial they call it - dying's more fitting, Warren thinks) or the sideeffects of the coke slowly wearing off.

_

It's raining. It's like the heavens above are pissing down on him. Warren's crying while the rain relentlessly pounds on his umbrella.

He's standing a few meters away from the funeral party. Steve's mother bails her eyes out and he would like to go over to her and wrap her im his arms but he would just be a stranger to her.

There's a saxophonist in front of the cementry. He's playing Sinatra's Summer Wind, sounding sad but warm nonetheless. Steve's family probably thinks of that as a weird coincidence but Warren has spent two full nights finding the man again, who has played down at Steve's street corner all those months ago. It was difficult and time consuming, but not impossible.

There's a new wave of tears making their way out of Warren's eyes and he has to clasp a hand on his mouth to stop the painful noises from making their way into the soft air of spring. He feels like he's breaking apart, torn into two pieces.

He cries and cries and cries until the funeral party is long gone any the sun sets. The saxophonist is still playing.

_

When Warren comes home the sun's gone for some while and it's dark out. There's a light burning in his kitchen. For a moment, just a split second, it feels like Steve will swing around the corner. But he doesn't.

He walks into the kitchen to find a bouquet of white lillies sitting on the countertop. He checks the card attached to them.

Sorry about your loss.

He doesn't recognize the handwriting, it looks like it could've been written by someone who's older than Warren, male maybe, but his last Hand Writing and Letter Indentification Course was two years ago. He figures his cleaner, a nice elderly lady, had put them there. He thinks about her seeing the bouquet on the door step and carefully carrying them inside, placing them in the only vase Warren has at home. It makes him both sad and glad, glad that at least she's still around.

_

In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: it goes on.

14 would've liked to ask Robert Frost if he was just stupid or naive or both.

_

Two days later he's so angry at the world that he grabs the vase and throws it across the room, where it collides with the wall and breaks in a thousand little pieces.

_

The anger keeps on coming, rage that boils hot and white in his stomach, makes him lash out at colleagues and scream his lungs out, throwing things and fits like it's nothing.

He finds himself beating into walls and furniture until his knuckles bleed.

Mrs. Rackham puts him onto another break, Temporarily Suspended Until Further Notice the record reads.

_

Warren's awake, restless but exhausted, again. It's three in the morning. His head hurts, his bones hurts, his whole body feels heavy.

"I should've stopped you from going", he whispers into the night and his mind conjurs up Steve's voice, consoling him.

"No, really. I should have been more persistent. If you just would've stayed with me that night."

Steve answers him again, but it sounds washed out in Warren's ear.

Oh, please don't let me forget his voice.

_

He's not moving again. Hasn't done so in two days.

Mrs. Rackham continues to call him, but he won't pick up. He can't handle her, can't handle her sorrow and her advices. He doesn't want to hear it. She would probably also bug him about not showing up for work again and that's just something he really doesn't want to hear right now.

It's phone rings again and he picks it up to throw it against the wall with all the force he can possibly muster, so it would just shut up, but it's not Phoenicia calling this time. It's Lester.

"14? This is Crest." He doesn't sound good. Warren doesn't know what to say.

"I am, ehrm, calling to see how you're doing?" Odd. He can't bring himself to say anything back. "You know I, err, saw you didn't clock in to work for a few days? Are you doing, ehrm, well?"

"Yeah", it sounds as broken as he feels. There's an uncomfortable silence on the other end of the line for a few seconds, maybe even for a full minute. He hears Lester's inhaler.

"I, well I err heard about Haines."

It should send him into a rage, a fit, maybe even crying manically but there's just nothing. Just the casual numbness that hangs above him like thick clouds these days.

"Yeah, a shame, isn't it?"

There's coughing, then deep breaths being taken. "You're not doing too well, Crest?"

"Can we meet up, 14? I", another cough, "I know a place."

_

The sun's out and it burns in Warren's eyes, on his skin, even though he's wearing both, a jacket and sunglasses. Crest sits across from him at the table, not touching his iced coffee. So isn't Warren, he is neither thirsty nor hungry.

They are at a bean machine on Vinewood Boulevard. It's one of the stores Steve used to buy his coffee at. There should be stining pain at the thought but there's just sadness, blackness wandering through Warren's mind.

"You don't look too good", Crest says.

"You neither", Warren says and to mask the shaking of his voice he takes a sip from the coffee. It tastes like nothing, like liquid paper.

"I don't feel to good either. But you also don't, so what's the matter, 14."

Warren just shrugs. Lester looks at him, a steady and stern gaze, as if he's looking for answers in Warren's eyes, in his fucking soul.

"What are we doing here?"

"Just looking after a, err, friend."

"We're not friends, Crest."

"Associates then, maybe?", the look on his face is a little sad, offended. Warren can't bring himself to care.

"Yeah, whatever."

"Any lead, yet?"

Warren lifts his eyebrows in suprise. "A lead?"

"Yeah, you know", Crest clears his throat and leans in a little, "Who did it, you know."

Maybe Warren's mind is playing tricks on him again, but Crest looks a little concerned.

"No, none. Nothing."

Crest nods and leans back. Lester doesn't offer his help, so Warren decides that he then won't ask for it. Still confused and mouth already opened he wants to know why, as Lester's lungs throw a fit, his body cramping and being thrown forward and then back again by his dry coughs. Warren's up on his feet in a matter of seconds, his heartbeat picking up a fast rate he hasn't feeled in weeks, adrenaline rushing through his veins. He grabs Lester by his shoulders and holds him up, while he coughs coughs coughs. At the end of it there's blood on his chin.

"You're not planing on dying as well, are you?"

The look Lester shoots him, slumped in his chair with other guests on the terrace staring at them in shock, makes Warren's skin crawl.

_

He hasn't been at an attorney's office ever. It's a weird experience.

The people are nice and calm and so is Mister Allan, who has Steve's testament laying in front of him.

"So, Mister Jones, shall we get started then?"

Warren nods. It still confuses him. He wonders what Steve's mother thought, when she heard that she won't inherit everything. Warren doesn't want money, money won't replace anything.

He must've said that out loud, because Allan chuckles.

"Mister Haines hasn't left you money. No need to worry, Mister Jones."

He leaves the office with a black box tucked safely under his arm. He doesn't open it, not in the office, not on the way out in the elevator, not at home. He tucks it away in his closet, deep down where he keeps a ski puffer, that he never wears anyways.

_

He finds himself talking to Steve, or what his mind conjurs up of his memories, more often. It helps him, or so he hopes.

He misses him and the soliloquy is a good substitute, at least for now.

_

They are at a clinic just above the hills and behind the Vinewood sign, far away from the city, the air is dry and crisp nonetheless. Lester sits in a wicker chair, wrapped in a blanket and stares at the fountain in the middle the perfectly trimmed meadow. Warren sits next to him, craving a cigarette, but not lighting one. He'll have to wait a couple more minutes, until the nurse will bring Lester back into the clinic.

"Thank you for stopping by", Crest means it.

"Am I the only one?"

"No, oh no. There's, ehrm, Franklin's coming over too, once or twice a week."

He looks better, rested. Warren doesn't know who Franklin is, but he nods politely anyways.

"That's nice."

"Yeah, he's a good kid." A crook then.

"Are they treating you well up here?"

"It's fine, I- argh, fuck it. The dinner's horrible but the doctor's are good enough. Won't make a difference anyways."

"That's what they're saying then?", Warren looks into the setting sun. From up here Los Santos seems peaceful, quiet, a big, glorious and shining city. It's a hell hole full of shit, Warren knows that now, but he can't leave. Not yet.

"Yeah. No. They don't say it, but they mean it. It's in their eyes." Lester takes a sip of his water.

"Don't say that, Crest."

Lester looks at him. He doesn't say it, but the look on his face says it all. You've been through enough, I won't tell you that I'm dying soon.

"Yeah, well, it was nice seeing you. Getting better and such", Warren gets up, the wicker creaking, his phone in hand and sunglasses back on. They look at each other for a long, quiet moment and then Warren nods, turns around to leave. A surprisingly strong hand grabs his arm.

"I have a project, it's happening right now, Warren."

He stops in his tracks. From somewhere behind the fountain laughter sweeps up the hill. There's an old lady on the meadow with their grandchildren and they're playing ball. She has a bandage around her head.

"A project?", Warren doesn't turn around.

"Yeah, I'd like you to take over. You need something to do."

"I still have a job, Crest."

"That reminds you of him." It's like a kick into his guts and there's sudden rage boiling inside of him, but there's also something else. A certain calmness, that wraps itself around his shoulders like a white blanket. T feels a lot like clarity.

"That it does, yeah."

"I'll have Paige bring you the details."

"Sure. Good night, Crest."

He walks over the little path out of bark mulch, that is overgrown by trees, back to his car. He feels oddly content.

_

See, life does goes on. It's a weird thought that strikes him out of nowhere. He's afraid of forgetting everything that was, since forgetting always seemed easy. Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not next week but who knows what will be in a year? Maybe he'll catch himself sooner or later, not thinking about Steve for a few weeks, months, years.

He's afraid of that, sincerely so.

_

The air in the bunker is cold and damp. Some of his people are moving out the old equipment. He doesn't know Crest's newest associate, it's most likely no one from the Hertz/Clifford-Incident.

I'm sorry I called him a buffoon, if I had only known back then.

He thinks of Phoenicia's concerned face and suddendly he finds himself smiling.

"Oh, he was a buffoon, you weren't wrong, Ma'am", he says to himself and hears a quiet chuckle errupting from his chest. There's sadness floading him, but it's warm and sweet and feels like an old friend.

There's no time for tears as the door of the bunker suddendly beeps loudly, informing him of a visitor arriving.

_

"So, you're getting along, then?", Crest sounds better. Warren lets go a breath, he doesn't even know he held in the first place.

"Yeah. They are quiet, but I appreciate the effort they are putting into it."

"I told you, they're are reliable."

"So you did."

There's a long pause, silence.

"Listen, Crest. I gotta go, speak to you soon."

As he hangs up, he's confronted with his lie, standing alone in his quiet living room.

_

The next time Lester invites him over, he says yes. He lives in a bigger, cleaner house now and Warren can only guess, that he was indeed involved in the robbery at the Casino his team is trying to solve right now. He'll offer them a false trace. Maybe they'll pick that one up.

"Georgina's not home, you just missed her", Lester wobbles down the stairs to the living room, crutch in hand.

"Who?"

"Georgina, he lives with her", Warren looks up, from where he is securing Lester's arm with his own hand and looks into the face of a young man. He looks younger than himself and wears expensive street style clothing.

"Who are you?"

"That's Franklin, Warren. Franklin, that's the friend I've been telling you about."

"Pleasure", Warren's voice still on the edge, while the man's handshake is firm.

"You lost your man, dog? Lest been telling me."

"I did, eight months ago."

There's something moving behind Franklin's face but he's quick to cover it up. Warren wonders: what and why.

"Shame man, I'm sorry to hear that, homie. My girl left me, too."

"He didn't leave me. He died."

Franklin looks at Lester, confused and a little reproachful, too. Then, it seems to click, as Franklin looks at him again. He now looks a little terrified, actually.

"Franklin was just leaving anways, weren't you?", Crest sits down in a beige armchair. Warren notices that he has new glasses.

"Yeah, shit. I mean of course, I was on my way out. Nice meeting you man, I hope you're, you know, doing better soon. See you around."

"Thank you", Warren recieves an awkward pat on his shoulder and then Franklin's steps distance themselves, until the front door falls shut.

_

He didn't leave me. He died.

His own words echo in his skull but they don't throw him into a manic tantrum, he's not crying, not screaming. He's oddly calm.

Is this how it feels, when one comes to terms with something, he wonders. Maybe, it is.

He died.

That he did and it must've been fucking ugly. Blood and soupy brain everywhere. Warren wishes he could've held him during these moments, when the body is slowling shutting down, when something mysterious, unknown happens to the human consciousness.

He died.

And Warren had missed him every single day since then. He leans himself against the closed bedroom door of his apartment and then makes his way to his closet.

The box is still where he has left it.

He died. He died. He died.

"I miss you, Steve", he whispers into the silence of his flat and then he smiles, it's small and sad, and he sinks onto the ground, box clutched in his hands, "Fuck, I wish you were still here."

There's silence but Warren likes to think that something of Steve's mind, his soul is still left on this earth, stayed with him. It's a nice thought, even if it's unrealistic. It's still consoling.

Steve's gone for good, but just because his body doesn't walk the dirty streets of LS anymore doesn't mean that he left Warren's life completely - he still existed, left his footprints behind. And Warren's ready, willing even, to take carefully aligned pictures of them and hang them on his wall. He's ready to look at them every day that may come and maybe he'll stop crying at some point. Or maybe he won't. He'll be fine.

It's an odd feeling. His life still feels empty, incomplete since Steve passed and so does Warren. He feels empty, shallow and sad, but it will pass and he will take the time. It doesn't mean forgetting him, quite the contrary maybe.

He flips the lid, puts it aside carefully with a quiet thump on the carpet below. He takes a look inside and bursts out laughing.

_

"Did he leave you something?", he hasn't seen her in years, since college. She used to be his flat mate.

"Yeah", he smiles to himself.

"What is it?", she looks moved and Warren would love to tell her, but he can't. He really can't. Not all of it, anyways.

"A letter."

"A letter?"

"Yeah, a fucking love letter."

"Warren! Don't say that! It's very heartwarming!"

It's been a year. He still misses him. "He wasn't the type for it, that's all."

He thinks of the envelope he keeps in his safe. It's a document, FIB header and logo, completely official.

Reference: Counter Espionage, Crimes Against National Safety, A Report By Steve Haines to be handed to Misses Phoenicia Rackham In Relation "To Agent 14", Mister Warren Jones

"Oh, was he not, you know, a little a romantic?"

"No, it must've taken a lot for him to write a love letter." It was really sweet and it went well with the attempt to put Warren in a High Security Penitentiary.

"Really?", she looks a little concerned, but she doesn't get Steve, their relationship as it was, like Warren does.

He looks up from his coffee cup and lights a cigarette. He hasn't had a smoke in a long time but at least he stopped with the cocaine.

"Yeah. Sometimes", there's a smile tugging at his lips, "Sometimes I think he would've rather seen me locked away."

#i'm sorry but i had to #my writing #steve/14 tag #steve haines/agent 14 #agent steve haines #agent 14 #gta v #gta online

[riofann]

Bird problems

You guys there’s a bird that cascaded down my chimney and out the fireplace this past Saturday(I’m assuming for the first time cuz it was the first time for me to see this) . It flew into a room and I opened the front door started cleaning cuz I needed to anyway hoping it’s gonna follow the wind. So I go into the room it flew into bang around don’t see it. So I closed the front door thinking it’s gone I walk into the next room guess who’s by my foot?! So I jump around cuz it’s flapping it’s wings I can’t even get the door open properly because now it’s chasing me around the house! Eventually I open the door and just leave that area and continue to clean. So as the sun was beginning to set I went banging around didn’t hear anything, so I thought okay it’s gone. Sunday comes I run to Lowes to get an animal mesh something so this doesn’t happen again! Come back fumble with the mesh and command strips all is good, it’s tight enough it shouldn’t get through.

So Sunday passes nothing,  Monday nothing,  this Tuesday, yesterday guess who comes flapping around the fucking corner.

And it’s coming from a room I visited earlier in the day! I look at the wire mesh I’m seeing small feathers so I’m like okay did you get through?! Or were you in hiding?! I had left the house briefly for an appt. So I decide this time I’m going to open the back door and the front let it choose its exit. Everything is open concept can’t trap it in a room. I text my friends they suggest when it’s flying towards you run out the door. I tried that, little shit hit a U-turn and returns to the same fucking room it flew into initially. So I’m like okay let me clean up! I can’t focus on work I abandoned my work laptop all together (they would have to get in touch with me via postal mail at this point, because the laptop was in the one of the rooms it was ping ponging through) 

The thing about this bird it doesn’t CHIRP/ MAKE A SOUND! Just flaps its wings! So I can’t locate it if I wanted to trap it, because all I hear are fucking wings, flapping through the air!! Scary ass sound! Had it chirped or tweeted I probably wouldn’t be scared shitless, but it DOESN’T. So I hear it flapping around I runaway I can’t deal. Air is flowing through the house from both doors so eventually it leaves. I don’t know when all I know it wasn’t in the house when I had someone come and look early evening around 5/6PM.

Now picture this I’m banging on everything looking like a crazy bitch, broom in hand I’m banging on top of kitchen cabinets, fridge, I’m getting under the couches, on top of the china cabinet all of that! Because fucker you ain’t staying in this house terrorizing me!!! The guy that came to check it out said hey let’s put boxes in front of the fireplace until you get a screen for the top of the chimney. Perfect I fill in some spaces with Styrofoam from the box my work laptop came in. I go banging around one last time before I retreat to my room. Silence, nothing, my body is starting to calm down. 

I’m traumatized at this point because the thing chased me around the house 2x!!! So this morning I’m still shaken! I have to get some stuff from the living room but I stay in my room till afternoon! I do the same thing I did the night prior grabbed the broom and went banging around just in case.

 As soon as late afternoon hits TODAY! The HORROR sounds of WINGS FLAPPING coming down the CHIMNEY!

So I hop up off the couch, abandon work again, and grab the first thing I can and start banging on the box!  I’m screaming, I’m making noise. Not today not tomorrow I can’t do this with you birdie! I get some more Styrofoam reinforce the spaces between the box and the rock fireplace (it’s not a flat surface) so I’m banging around trying to scare it thinking okay you can’t get in anywhere so you should just fly on up this chimney and GTFO!

The little shit hasn’t left!

I have declared psychological warfare! I turned on YouTube and I am playing 48 hours of scary bird sounds! The next is a weird sound that irritates birds. 

In between all this I’m texting my mother what does she suggest?! Feed the bird! Give it some water! She loves birds! I’m like you aren’t getting chased around this house lady! I have calls to lead and attend how do you want me to do that with a bird that doesn’t chirp but it’s wings sound supersonic flying around the house?!

And yes I have looked for a nest I’ve swept beneath and on top of all surfaces there’s nothing that I found. 

Anyway thanks for coming to my Ted Talk. My theory is that it’s a baby bird but still like no adult bird came looking for it. I don’t hate birds I actually like them, from a distance! Emphasis on a distance. But this bird it’s just eerie it when it gets in it refuses to leave one particular room/space. I can’t coax it out so the best thing I can think of is to make it inhabitable in the fireplace and inaccessible to my home. 

Do any of you bird lovers/watchers know what type of bird it could be? Or why it doesn’t chirp? Its a black bird with some white feathers, it’s not big like crows/ravens, just a small little black bird. I’m located in the south east of USA. 

Edit: A butterfly flew towards me and I about came out my skin. Soooooo I’m gonna need some time to recover mentally lol this damn bird. 

#bird proofing #bird problems #wildbirds #birds #garden birds #mute birds #bird expert #birdlovers #bird lovers #bird people #usa birds #american birds #bird watching #bird watcher

[bubblyani]

‘Just For Show’

(Ronnie Kray x Reader)

A Ronnie Kray One Shot

Movie: Legend (2015)

Word Count: 6253

Rating: Mature

Requested by: @97freaknik

Summary: Upon his brother’s persuasion, Ronnie Kray dates, and marries a ‘nice’ girl, in order to cover up unsavory rumors about his sexuality. All just for show. Until feelings come knocking.

Author’s Note: Loved this story idea so much I couldn’t resist. Thank you for this. Hopefully everyone will love this! Enjoy y’all!

Light or Dark?

Staring at your reflection in the mirror, you were at a sheer dilemma as you held on to two lipstick shades, comprising of light pink and dark red. Whatever color that would be painted on your lips tonight, must indeed leave an impression, deemed 'perfect and memorable’.

“You think he is taking the mick?”

A concerned voice inquired. With your eyes still in the mirror, the inquiry urged you to recall the sole reason you had difficulty deciding a simple lipstick shade in the first place.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

(A few days ago)

Regardless of the years of baking experience you had under your belt, the simplest task of carrying a cake dressed with heavy icing on a cake stand, yet proved to be your most challenging task, ever. Finally placing the stand in the countertop display, you sighed silently with relief. As you gazed at the delicious treat, along with the others next to it, you could not wait to see the lineup of customers ,eager to satisfy their sweet tooth.

“Psst! He’s here!”

You turned upon the whispers of Ethan, your cousin, who stood next to you. Being the same age as you, Ethan had been working in your family’s Bakery for years, receiving the required training until he would be ready to start his very own elsewhere.

With your eyebrows raised, you shot him a glance.

“Who’s here?”

You whispered back, quickly standing straight. He motioned his head towards the door that opened with the ring of the bell, finally revealing a figure.

A figure responsible for your heart to skip a beat every single time : Ronald Kray.

You caught your breath, attempting to suppress a smile. Your cousin sniggered in response. “What?” You hissed under your breath, giving a nudge. “How can I not? When you’re all lovestruck!” He replied, in mid-snigger. “Well, Stop it!” “Shhh!” Ethan's shushing finally made you look back front, all to see Ron walk towards the counter. You involuntarily dusted your hands off the apron. It was something you could not help but do, every time he walked in, to be exact. “Morning, Ron...”

You greeted, offering a soft smile to the well dressed man. Looking around, he merely replied with a low grunt of acknowledgment. Silence afterwards was not of any surprise. And with no further question, you quickly found yourself packing the usual order for him. Only to realize he had come alone today. What could be the reason?

The famous Kray Twins always preferred to fulfill their sweet cravings from your Bakery. And their preference had tempted the rest of the Firm to be fanatics as well. Though he was the silent one between the two, Ron certainly succeeded in capturing your attention with the least of intentions.

And with the fullest of intentions, you found yourself falling for him, deeply. In secret, of course.

Smiling, you placed the neatly wrapped treat on the counter before him.

“Lemon Drizzle Cake...just the way you like it” You said, certain those will be only words you will need to spare for him that day. “Hmm...” Ron grunted, his gloved hand grabbing it slowly. And just as always, you expected him to turn.You expected to indulge the view of his broad back as he slowly walked away. As always, you expected to be grateful for even seeing him again for a mere few seconds.

Except, he defied all your expectations.

"Y/N?" “Y-yes?” You stuttered, surprised by the timbre of his deep voice when he uttered your name. You watched him take a deep breath, his eyes still on the cake.

“Would you like to…" he began, looking at you, "....go out with me?"

You swore no trace of breath was left in your body.

That query seemed completely ludicrous, exiting the lips of someone such as Ron Kray. Yet for you, it was heavenly music to your ears.  

And when heavenly music played, who would not want to sing with joy?

“Yes…” You replied mindlessly, all to your cousin's surprise.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

(Present)

“Oi!” The snap of Ethan’s fingers forced you to return to the present. “Where were you off to?” He asked, with raised eyebrows. With the lipstick pressed against your lips, you smirked. “I’m sorry…” you replied, “….you were saying?” “I was saying…” Giving you a quizzical look, Ethan continued, “Do you think he was taking the mick?” Concern still evident in his tone.

After the entire recollection, all you could do was smile to yourself. And given the dark red shade that ended up on your lips, your heart seemed to have already decided.

“Honestly, I don’t know…” you said, “Only one way to find out, hmm?”

‘Cool and unaffected’ may have been your exterior. But only you were the witness to your excited self who jumped up and down on the inside.

A man you adored finally wanted to take you out.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The last long note of the jazz trumpeter was responsible for the storm of applause that emerged in the club, and you certainly were a willing contributor. Though your hands had turned red from the the chaos of the claps, the smile on your face did not seem to fade away. Offering a standing ovation to the musicians on stage, your response seemed to attract the attention of the other customers as well.

“Jazz tickles your fancy, innit?” 
 Ron Kray asked, causing you to sit down shyly. “I admit, it does” smiling, you replied with honesty. “What about boxing?” He continued, “Do you like boxing?”

What was this? A questionnaire, a survey? Was he ticking off certain invisible criteria that you had not laid eyes on? Regardless, you found it all so amusing. Chuckling, you crossed your leg over the other.

“Thanks to me Dad, I do…” You said, straightening your back, “Although he won’t let me attend any games…” you added, looking around with wonder. Esmeralda’s Barn was as amazing as you had imagined it to be, and more. Your eyes did not fail to sparkle from the moment you set foot in this venue, for all that existed, really seemed to posses a touch of glitter.

“This is a really nice club…” You said, looking over to Ron with a smile. With no words in reply, he raised his glass of champagne to you. Inviting you to raise yours in turn. Though conversation was not of the expected frequency, you were enjoying the night with him.

“Well...Hello Hello! What have we here?”

Reggie Kray was full of smiles and cheers, making his way over to your table with a few from the Firm. You were certainly surprised to see how all of them were quite joyous to find you there with Ron. As the chairs were dragged with screeches, a mini party was suddenly held at the comfort of your own table.  

Time flew by gloriously. In the midst of sipping champagne, you eagerly listened to stories told by the Krays, and even some others from the Firm. Stories, that were mostly unfiltered. Nevertheless, they all caused you to laugh so wholeheartedly, even the sides of your stomach began to ache. The jazz music, the stories, the company, all the bare necessities to fill you with happiness. Seeing Ron smile with his mates was definitely a highlight of the evening. If only you could have been responsible for a feat as amazing as that was. If only.

When the Firm finally left the two of you alone, you were in the midst of laughter, hitting the table hard with your eyes closed, upon remembering the dirty joke Reggie uttered a few seconds beforehand.

“Oh!…” you breathed, recovering from the laughter, “I am having such a blast” you said with all honesty, waving to the others before turning to Ron, “Thank you…” you told him, presenting the most genuine smile you could ever portray, as you calmed down to watch the performance on stage.

It was certainly an evening you hoped to remember. Granted, you would have preferred more intimacy with the man sitting next to you. But you did not wish to complain. Not about Ronnie Kray. Being at his presence was a gift itself. The sound of the empty glass landing on the table firmly made you look back at the Kray Twin.Why would he gulp down such a fine brand of champagne in one setting?

“Y/N…” “Yes?” You replied, as you indulged in your own champagne.


“Will you marry me?”

Spitting out the alcohol in a flash, you looked at him with wide eyes, and a dropped jaw.

“W-WHAT?”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

With the Kray Twins claiming the title of Royalty in East End, a scandalous story about them hitting the papers was certainly a stain that was hard to wash off.

Ever since the story of the sex party scandal came to light, featuring popular figures such as Lord Boothby, the curiousity about the sexuality of Ronald Kray had garnered more attention. Along with that, Business with the current clients, found itself to be difficult to be built up, or even being carried on. Awfully desperate to wipe this slate clean, Reggie Kray and Leslie Payne had but one solution.

“Are you out of your FUCKING minds?” 
Ron Kray’s reaction was simply justified, especially when their solution, was for him to marry a ‘nice girl’. Marry? And to a woman?  Rubbing his chin, Reggie looked at his brother.

“Just think about it, Ron…” he said, his hands resting on his hips, “Or else people are going to talk…” “Business ain’t going to be good for us, Ronnie” Leslie added coolly, blowing smoke as he held on to his his cigarette. Looking around at the only two occupants in the pub, E.Pellicci on a Tuesday afternoon, Ron pointed his fork at his twin. “Reg, you’re my brother…” he muttered deeply, “You know better that I never hide my preference…”

“And as your brother…” Reggie said, sitting in front of him, “I know better to have your back before things go fuckin south…yeah?” He added, “Come on! It’s not like you have to fall in love with her…” he smiled, patting Ron’s shoulder “It’s all just for show…”

Looking at one another, a silent conversation had suddenly begun, a silent negotiation more like. Or perhaps was it an eager salesman trying to make a sell to the difficult customer?

Finally, Ron sighed, grunting in acknowledgement. He seemed to have given up. Feeling victorious, Reggie and Leslie nodded at each other with relief.

“You have someone in mind?” Ron asked casually,  resuming to pick at his Eggs Benedict with his fork.

Looking at his brother proudly, Reggie smirked. For he was eager to share his grand plan.

The grand plan that involved their favorite Bakery.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Relieved you were to have saved your best nightgown for a night such as this one. Your wedding night, to be exact.

Tracing the material with your fingers, you permitted the silk to caress your skin whilst you brushed your loose hair. With Ron still in the bathroom, you had some time to reflect on the whirlwind adventure you had experienced. All in just one week.

Just when the idea of a date seemed ludicrous, a proposal from Ronald Kray was simply unimaginable. He made some fair points, you would admit. How he 'loved you’, and how he ‘wanted no one else but you’. Truthfully, his tone may have seemed monotonous, it could have easily been a tad bit insincere, yet you were certain that was only because he was not like everyone else. For a different aura existed within him, and that being one of the primary reasons you adored him. Some attractions in life could never be explained.

Besides, with you hopelessly in love with him for almost a year, there was no trace of hesitation when you accepted it. Your family did not seem to mind whatsoever. With the Krays and the Firm showing their loyalty to the Bakery, your parents never felt safer and more proud. No wonder you had no difficulty loving Ron Kray all this time. For everything seemed to make complete sense. He may not be the most expressive man on the planet. But that did not bother you, not even the slightest. Confident you were to pull out something new from him. You had never been this certain about anything in your entire life.

The wedding, it was simple yet lovely, including all that you ever hoped for. There was music, there was laughter and there was company at its warmest. The Firm may intimidate the others, but in your eyes, they were the epitome of sincere friendship and family.Just married for a few hours and yet all of them felt like brethren to you.

You jumped out of your thoughts the moment Ron cleared his throat. Coming out of the bathroom, he managed to look robust even in his pajamas.

“Sorry about that…” He said, embarrassingly. Being inside the bathroom for quite a long time, the apology did not seem shocking. You shook your head slowly.

“It’s fine…” You said, as you watched him sit on the edge of the bed. Slowly walking over, you joined right next to him. You felt giddy, empathizing with a teenager hoping to catch the attention of her senior classmate.

Silence took center stage for brief moment. Almost to the point it grew awkward. You felt your breath quicken in silence as your heartbeat increased along with it. You found it difficult to gain control. But fortunately, Ron began to speak.

“Many people think Reggie is the more beautiful one …” He said, “Do you agree?” He asked, turning his head to face you. With his glasses still on and his hair slicked back, Ron certainly looked too formal for bed. With your eyes on him, you took a deep breath, finally calming down thanks to his inquiry. A proper distraction.

“Well, I won’t lie…” you began,  “Reggie is beautiful…” Ron sighed, “Eh…” as if this was no surprise. “And so are you…” You added, with an extra dose of affection. Which made him look back at you with shock.

“Yeah?You think so?” His query was sincere, to which you nodded, chuckling. 
“Of course…” you giggled, “Why else would I say yes to you?”

Your heart sang when you heard him chuckle in return. It was very rare, his chuckle. A chuckle only heard when the others in the Firm jested. Only then did he chuckle. Until now.

Feeling the softness of the bed on your fingers, you were even more convinced he was not really ready for bed. You wanted him to loosen up. Inching closer, the distance between the two of you finally closed. Suddenly, you felt so brave. Brave enough to make an impression on the feared Kray Twin: your now-husband.

Ron did not flinch when you took his glasses off, for you were as delicate as you could be with it. Neither did he move an inch when your fingers began to affectionately stroke his head, stealthily digging into his hair, pulling his locks out of the constraints of his hair wax. Tonight and for always, he was to be yours, and you were overjoyed.

With his hair falling on the sides of his face, it came to your realization as to how handsome he really was. He was quite underrated, to be honest.

Your eyes quickly fell on to his lips. Ever since you first laid eyes on him, those lips had driven you mad. Lips that could enslave a thousand if needed. You knew for certain of their softness, you had an inkling they were luscious. All you needed was proof. 

Frustration came over you when he kissed you at the ceremony for the first time. Being in the presence of many, the kiss was short. Too short, to be exact. You wondered if he was just shy. Many a doubts came to mind, yet you were too quick to dismiss them. Why would he marry you if not for love? You had no wealth nor mafia connections. So indeed for love, yes?
 Staring at his lips for too long, you felt your heartbeat increase with urgency. You were hungry. With your hands still in his hair, you leaned forward for a taste. Until you felt him grab you by the shoulders, pushing you into bed. With grunts and growls that exited his lips, you realized his preference for lovemaking: Rough.

You gasped when he surprised by climbing on top of you. Pulling down his pajama bottoms in a flash, he rubbed his manhood with intensity whilst spreading your legs wide open, causing your eyes to widen as well. No, not yet! Not this ways!
 “Ronnie Wait!" you cried, " I’m still a virg-”

Your own words were cut off by a loud cry of surprise, feeling your inner lining break with a sharp pain as his shaft finally entered you, for the first time, ever. With your eyes closed, you tried to handle the pain, that disappeared soon afterwards.
 “You’re a…?” Ron croaked, finally realizing the depth of his actions. You nodded slowly. To your surprise, you found the tone of his eyes change. It grew into something that could even be considered sad. Or regretful. That was when you felt your heart melt. What you thought you would get cross, you could not, you did not. All because you loved him too much. 
 Cupping his face so delicately, there were so much you longed to say. Certainly, this was not the best way for a virgin to experience sex. Yet, this was life. But when you cupped his face, you had other agendas at heart. What could those lips offer you?

With his attention tightly held on to, you moved close, finally kissing him the proper way.

You cherished it, every second. At first, it was a peck, innocent and sweet. With the longer peck, followed increased affection that was motivated with every touch. Being braver, you proceeded to lick his lips, only to place your lips over his once again, kissing  him with added pressure, longer than before. Only then, only then did you feel his own lips kiss you back. With his equal reciprocation, it was possibly the best kiss you ever experienced. Moving your hands over to his head, you encouraged the kiss to deepen, moaning into his mouth, as he began to rhythmically move inside you once again.

No clothes were in need of disrobing. Not tonight. For the priority was met. Vulnerabilities were disrobed instead of clothes. Intimacy was displayed instead of the bare frame. You moved along with him, and he was wonderful, fitting so well within you. Pleasure was felt to the core. And to your relief, the kisses did not end so soon. Stealing long, expressive kisses here and there, Ron Kray made love to you until finally the release was met. Groaning, he fell on to the bed right to you.

As you brought your legs together, you felt a sense of wetness in between your thighs. With a swift stroke, your eyes widened by the sight of blood on your fingers.

“Where are you off to?” Ron asked, as you slowly attempted to get off the bed. “Uh….” you struggled, looking at him shyly, ‘The blood…” you said, motioning to the bottom part of the bedsheet stained with red,  “Need to clean ‘em off…I-Ah!” But you were far from it, especially when you were pulled back into it by Ron. Ending up in his arms that wrapped your frame, you rested on you elbows, looking at him confusingly, only to be met with his long kiss. 
 “No rush…” He grunted coolly, bringing you to his chest, “No rush…”

Pleased by your husband's wishes, you complied, savoring the softness and warmth he had surprisingly brought to you.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“So?..Did you get it over with?”

Reggie asked, the very next morning when Ron made his visit to the E.Pellicci. Sipping on his tea, Ron merely grunted in acknowledgement. Little did he know of the growing curiosity of Reggie Kray and Leslie Payne in regards to the juicy details of the wedding night. Given his usual displeasure in women, they were indeed quite curious about this particular woman. 
 “And...How was it?” Reggie was persistent. Looking up from his cup, Ron found himself staring into the distance. “You know what?" he said, " It wasn’t half bad…She…" he paused, bringing his hand up , "....she is an interesting one” 
 “Is she now?” Leslie asked, chuckling with amusement, "So will there be more that interesting one then?" "Fuck off!" Albert Donoghue’s sudden appearance in the pub caused the trio to quieten with concern. “Reg, Ron…Heads up!” he muttered, as the pub doors swung open dramatically. Along with its dramatic swing, came in a group of men, wielding nothing but iron pipes and shameless grins.

“Congratulations Ron Kray!” One of them called out loudly, “The Richardsons would like to give a little…wedding present…”

Gang wars. What’s there to be said?

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You sighed, sitting comfortably on the sofa, as you continued to apply the medicine over Ronnie’s hand. Just a small brawl, Reggie said, when he brought his brother back home to you. One day after the wedding and you already were forced to face this. Helping you realize all that you were to anticipate in the near future. All as the wife of Ronnie Kray. 
 “So…will this be something usual?” You asked, making him throw you a look, “Just for future reference…” you added defensively. Ronnie looked back at his bruised knuckles.

“Every job has its challenges, yeah?” He began, as you nodded, “I suppose these are mine…” he added,  “…and more…” You chuckled. It was clear when you married him, you married everything about him. So who were you to judge? “Well said, Mr. Kray” you smirked as you were quite impressed,  “There! All done…” you said, staring at his cleaned bruises as you slowly got up, “I’ll just… make you some tea and-Ah!”

He was always the surprise, pulling you back to him. Ever so comfortably, you ended up on his lap. Wrapping one arm around your waist, he brought you closer, making you blush.

“Would you mind just…staying like this?” Ron asked, his tone filled with shyness, all the while looking at you. His words made your eyes warm. And also your heart.

“I would love to…” you said, blushing harder when he took your chin to kiss you. Long and quiet, the kiss was proficient enough to convey enough to your heart and soul.
 “Y/N?” “Hmm?” you hummed, still drunk by his kiss. Pressing his lips together, he inhaled softly. “Do you like…poetry?” Ron asked all the sudden. You could reply with nothing but your bright smile.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“Oh darling, these are just wonderful…” Violet Kray, mother of the Kray Twins cried with joy as she accepted the basket, filled with warm Loaves of French Baguettes. All from her daughter-in-law. 
“Straight from the oven, Mrs. Kray” She said with pride. Violet scoffed.

“Don’t you dare be so formal, love. Call me Mum…” The matriarch replied, bringing the young woman to an embrace.

“I will, Mum”

All this Ronnie Kray watched, with a surprising sense of satisfaction. The fact that his wife won his mother's heart was definitely a good sign. And as days and weeks went by, Ronnie Kray was coming to terms with what an amazing woman he was forced to marry into.With the fascination of a woman and a man combined, her interests were beyond incredible, fit to make conversation with simply anyone in the Firm. He certainly had judged her too fast before. Just because she worked at a baker, did not mean she was not interesting or amazing.

Apart from conversation, she was sexually surprising as well. Never did Ronnie imagine to feel a sense of pleasure that was never experienced before.  And besides the pleasure, he felt love. Although he had more preference to men earlier, the aura she had given out in the bedroom was what he could not get enough of. Sex with her was just as exciting as sex with a man. With a colorful imagination, she made sure every time to be as unforgettable as the one before.

Watching a somber or serious news telecast would never be boring with her sitting on his lap. Especially when his erect and hungry shaft was buried inside her as she moved in steady rhythm. Holding his head securely, with his face pressed against her neck, he watched her moan, all the while she made her way up and down on his shaft. Impressed he was with her eagerness to be so open minded, even urging his hands to roam around her frame as she unbuttoned her dress from the front. All so that his hands could touch, pull, pinch, tickle and caress every inch of her skin as he pleased while she moved.

“Never knew you had this side to you…” Ron breathed, to which she looked at him. 
“Well, you never asked, Mr. Kray…” she purred, crying out in pleasure soon after, as he tugged her erect nipples.

And before knew it, Ronnie Kray had more appreciation for the female anatomy than ever before. Ever since then, he would spontaneously show off his appreciation with his lips more than ever. The simple favor of undoing an apron may have gone further, merely triggered by the sight of her bare neck, forcing him to unzip her dress, only to let it fall to the floor. All the while he held her, as he took his sweet time, kissing, licking and sucking every inch of her skin that his eyes could trace. And with her gratuitous moans and cries filling his ears, he had never felt so proud.

Ever since the wedding, Ron visited the E.Pellicci less. But whenever he did, the pub was filled with cheer.

"We hardly see you anymore, Ron!" “Probably too busy getting hands on with his new Missus!” “Or maybe even busy training her to stay out of his way…” “No! No! He really seems to like her…” "Bugger off, you cheeky fuckers!" Ron would say, with a cigar between his teeth, laughing alongside the mates. All the mates who laughed. All except Teddy Smith.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You watched the Firm gather around Teddy, all with champagne glasses in hand. "Happy Birthday, Mad Teddy!" Ronnie cried out on behalf of all at Esmeralda's Barn, "May you be as mad as ever!" "To TEDDY!" All cried with cheers.

Teddy Smith flashed his brightest smile. You clapped your hardest, watching the Firm sing their songs of camaraderie. This really should have been just the boys. Why on earth would Ron bring you here?

"I would just ruin the whole mood" you remembered telling him, whilst putting on the earrings a few hours ago. "Fucking nonsense!" he said, as you turned to fix his tie, "The Firm loves you..." he stated as you finished, “Besides… who doesn't want to show you off?" he teased, forcing you to playfully smack his shoulder.

Smiling to oneself at that recollection, you headed towards the restroom while your ears were enlightened by jazz musicians who played on stage. Too much champagne had you running off to the loo even before 11pm. But before you could enter the ladies room, you felt someone stand behind you. 
 “Enjoying the party?”

Teddy asked, making you turn to him. You smiled widely. “Oh yes, very much…" you said, "Happy Birthday again Teddy!” you clasped your hands together with a sincere wish. He was the adorable brother you never had.

Except he merely scoffed with disgust. 
 “You think you have all of us figured out, aye?” He asked, displeasure very evident in his tone. Confused, your eyebrows furrowed.

“What do you mean?” you asked. Taking one more step towards you, he folded his arms.

“Do you really think the great Ronnie Kray…married you, for love?”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

With your pulse running high, you quickly turned on the sink tap in the ladies washroom, letting the water run as you moistened the mouth with some. You hoped it would calm you down, but it did not.

Looking at yourself in the mirror, you watched yourself take deep breaths. Each breath in a dire need to to help you take in the information you just received from Teddy.

Also known as the truth.

He disclosed it all, Reggie’s desperate plan to save his brother's reputation, and how that plan mainly included marrying you. Rumors of his bisexuality you were familiar with, yet you never expected that to be true. Not after everything you had experienced with him. And you did not expect to hear all of that from Teddy, the man who claimed to be Ronnie's former lover. 
 “You’re nothing but a bloody cover up…” You remembered him saying. Chuckling with pride, he continued to taunt you: “How do you know where on earth he fuckin ends up, after you fall asleep?” he continued, “Face it, love! You’re nothing but a public please-”

“Stop it!” You cried out, covering your ears with an innocent plea, storming into the Ladies Room. Bringing you back to where you were now.

A fool, You felt like a fool. How could you have been so blind? You should have not come here. You should not have said yes to anything Ronnie had asked of you. More importantly, You should not have loved him in the first place.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

He always had her in his sights, no matter how busy he was with the Firm in the party. With her been in the loo for too long, Ronnie was getting impatient.

The moment she was within his sights he felt relief, except that was robbed from him once again when he watched her leave the club with a possible look of dejection.

It worried him, infuriatingly. He followed her, tried to at least through the crowds in the club. And Teddy Smith was the biggest hurdle of all, bumping into him as he came from the same corner as she did. 
 “Why is she leaving?” Ron asked him. Teddy however, was silent, enraging Ronnie even further, “Answer my fuckin question!”,he said, pulling him by the collar. Teddy however looked far from upset.

“Cause she doesn’t belong here…" he said, "...she never belonged with us, Ronnie…” he added with dedication, “Forget about her…” his breath felt seductive, running his hands over his clothed chest. Ron was immune to it surprisingly. He was far from aroused.

“You fucking bastard!” He yelled, pushing him away,  “I’ll get you next time!” pointing at him, “Wankers!” Ronnie cried out, leaving the club. Passing him by, Reggie appeared quite confused. 
“Ron…what’s going on?” He called out to his brother, who clearly ignored him. Reggie turned to Teddy, finally sensing the reason for this contradiction. Shaking his head, Reggie Kray sighed. “Teddy, …the fuck did you do, mate?”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“Come on! Come on!” You prayed, turning the dial of the numbers frantically as you stood inside the telephone box. You hoped someone would answer your call, you hoped someone would come to pick you up. But your hopes were in no luck for consideration. “FUCK!” You yelled at the phone frustratingly. Clearly, it was not like you to swear like this in the open. Has his habits rubbed off on you?

“Y/N!”

And just like that, you turned to find Ronnie standing outside the booth. “No!" you shook your head immediately, "Go! Leave me alone!” you cried out, putting the phone down. “Y/N…” Ronnie began, “What the bloody hell you doing?” “Avoiding you, that’s what!” You snapped. 
“Let me in…” he demanded. “No!
“Let…me…in” his demands were repeated, through gritted teeth, leaving pause with each word, which truthfully scared you. Left with no choice, you opened the door, allowing him to enter, and lock it right behind him.

With such little space between the two, you felt uncomfortable for the very first time. If it were a mere few days ago, you would be finding any excuse to be wrapped around him, just to listen to him grunt, to listen to him moan, to listen to him chuckle.

“What did Teddy tell you?” He inquired in seriousness. Averting your gaze, you kept silent for a few seconds before you finally answered: “The truth…the whole truth and nothing but the truth…”
“Never knew you could be snarky”
“Well, you never asked…”

Your banter with him, it was such a lovely surprise. Which made this even more disappointing.

“I’m not even angry…I’m..." you paused, "I'm hurt” you said, feeling your nose grow sour, “I may not be smart as any of you. But I'm no fool…” you added, involuntarily sniffing, “I’m not foolish enough to stand by when someone plays with my emotions” with your hands on your hips, you tried to gather your self, “I don’t…I don’t think anyone has ever loved you the way I did" you said, making Ronnie open his mouth slowly, “It was silent, but it was strong. For many years. I never cared that you were a gangster, I never even cared of the other foul things they said about you.” you continued, “But if you were to tell me, this was all just for show and nothing…was ever…real-I…I don’t understand” you struggled, taking a step closer to him, his cigar smell strong in his coat, “Was none of it real?” you asked, “Our conversations? Our kisses?" you paused, taking a deep breath, "... Every single time we made love…Were they not real?”

A single tear trickled down your cheek by the end of that question. And with your question, you expected a well deserved answer. You think you earned it after all this. Yet, Ronnie did not answer. Staring at you, he merely stood there pondering. Disappointed, you did not know how to cope with this. Sighing symbolized your surrender, and you turned to leave with a heavy heart.

Until he grabbed your wrist with a grip hard as iron. 
 “If you know me well.…" he began slowly, "You would know very well that I am a difficult man to deal with” he said softly, yet he remained feared. You gulped, not knowing what to anticipate. However, his grip loosened soon after. Instead he held your hand gently.  
 “You're right..." He began, “It was just for show, yes. In the beginning. At the bakery, at the jazz club…” he said, making your stomach clench, “I had to, it was the plan…”

So that was it, It was the truth. You were being strung along all just for show. Your feelings felt used, like a wet cloth being wrung so tight there was no water left.

“But not anymore…” Your eyes widened upon hearing his words. Looking up, he looked at you. His hold on you tightened, yet not with pain. But warmth instead.

“I…” he paused, “...I think I love you" he gulped, "And I don’t want to lose you…ever” he said, tracing his tone to comprise of softness and vulnerability. A thick liquid of warmth began to pour down on to your heart. You wanted to accept it wholeheartedly, except it was blocked by a lid of doubt. 
 “What about Teddy?" you asked coldly. 
“Oh! He’s a jealous faggot! But he means well…” Ronnie said in a matter of fact tone, forcing you laugh out loud. He certainly could make you smile always. That Ronnie Kray. 
 “He loves you, I can tell…” you said, feeling envious to the core. 
“Well, it’s a pity now…” Ronnie said, driving that jealousy away. Yet you were still not convinced. "How can I believe you?" You inquired, still realizing your hand was being held, "How can I sure absolutely sur-“

Your words were cut off when Ronnie Kray pulled you to him for a passionate kiss. And your lips did not hesitate to hold back at all. Though your mind was the provider of that lid of doubt, your heart was the one pouring that warmth, and it seemed like it was stronger. Lips were happy to be reunited once again, opening to each other so that the tongues could play their usual dance. You moaned involuntarily as you felt his hands grab you by the buttocks, pulling them up whilst you both kissed. But your mind was not impressed, not yet. This was just too easy.
 "Ronnie..." you said, pulling away, “..that's just cheap-”

"This! This is what I want...for the rest of my fucking life..." he snarled, but with meaning, "I may get arrested, I may even go to fucking jail..” he said, "But this…” he paused, “I don't want this to change. Ever" Positively moved, you chuckled. “Well said, Mr. Kray”

You admitted, lips not holding back when Ronnie fully kissed you once again. Never did you expect a man like Ronnie Kray to be this way.

As he kept kissing you with all his heart, you wondered. Did you really pull something out of him to change? Would a better version of himself be a possibility because of you? For the moment, none of that really mattered.

For all you needed to remember was your love for him. And from tonight onwards, his love for you.

——————————————————

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[collecting-stories]

The Deal - ep. 02 - Georgia

Summary: When your car costs more than you expected you strike a deal with Daryl. 

A/N: I forgot how much I love writing these two. 

Georgia Masterlist | The Walking Dead Masterlist

☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

The next time you saw Daryl it was Tuesday. He had called you on Sunday night to let you know that the problem was your fuel line and your exhaust. He’d used a lot of car terms that you didn’t necessarily understand before finally assuring you that he would have the car back in working condition as quickly as possible. Which would have been quicker if you had the money to pay him for the job. You might not have understood the car terms but you understood the dollar amount and it was more than you could afford on top of other expenses. Who knew letting Eugene fiddle with the car would cost so much?  

“We’ll work something out, come by the garage on Tuesday.” Daryl had offered when you admitted that the price was higher than you had expected.  

So on Tuesday, just after school, Tara dropped you off in front of the garage. It was raining something awful and colder than it had been all weekend; appropriate November weather according to Eugene. The hoodie and jeans you had on weren’t the best of your looks but it would have to do.

“Hey sweetheart!” Axel greeted you when you walked into the garage, acting like the two of you were the best of friends. Tiny waved from where he was inspecting a tire. “You come to check on the car?”

“I did. Is Daryl around?” You asked, fiddling with the strap of your backpack.  

“Ran to grab smokes, should be back soon,” Axel replied, “feel free to wait.” He gestured to an old backseat that had been converted into a couch.  

“Alright.” You sat down on the couch and pulled a book from your backpack, beginning to read as you waited.

Daryl wasn’t gone ten minutes more, coming in and shaking the rain off himself as he took his jacket and flannel off, hanging them by the door. You felt hyperaware of him when he was around which was probably why you looked up the minute he came in and kept your eyes on him as he moved further into the garage.  

“It’s shit out there.” He mentioned, still oblivious to you.

“Yer girl’s here.” Axel piped up, pointing a wrench in your direction.  

Daryl turned toward you, eyes widening a bit as he caught sight of you. He coughed and ran a hand through his hair, trying to fix it. “What’re ya doing ‘ere?” He asked.  

“You told me to come down to discuss my car.”  

“Did ya walk ‘ere?”

“Tara...my friend dropped me off.” You replied, standing up and following him as he walked over to the car.  

Daryl nodded and walked over to you, grabbing your arm to pull you away from Axel and Tiny. You were going to consider this his designated move if everytime you saw him he was dragging you around by the arm.  

“Ya shouldn’t come by when I'm not at here.”

“But you are here.” You pointed out, smiling.

“Anything coulda happened while I wasn’t.” He stated, looking back to the other two as if they weren’t to be trusted. And maybe they weren’t but they’d been perfectly welcoming to you.  

“I’m all in one piece, promise.” You assured. “But listen, you wanted to talk about payment plans or something?”  

Daryl sighed, “Yeah, listen, ain’t nothin’ I can do ‘ere but...if I work off the books, take more time, ya can pay in more installments. It’d be half what it is now.”

“Seriously? That would be amazing.”  

“Ain’t a big deal.” He shrugged, “I’ll move the car to my house tonight.”

“Thank you, thank you!” You surprised him by wrapping your arms around his neck and hugging him tightly. Daryl tensed on impact and you let go when you realized how stiff he was. “Sorry.”

“S’alright.” He replied, immediately chewing at his thumb to calm himself down.  

“I really, really appreciate it. Honestly.” You repeated, “I have to go to work but let me know whatever the first payment is.”

“I’ll figure it out, let ya know.” He promised. “Ya walking?”

“What?” You asked. You had already started the short trip back to your bookbag. Patricia was expecting you at the diner by 4pm and it was nearing 3:50 now. Lori would grip about how many minutes you were cutting it.

“Ta work. Ya walking ta work?” He asked.

“Oh, yeah, but it’s just at the diner.” In proximity to the autobody shop it was hardly a three minute walk. Patricia’s diner was a block over on the corner.

“It’s still rainin’, I could give ya a lift.”

“You wouldn’t mind?” You’d let him give you a lift to the stop sign right outside if he offered.

“Nah, I’ll grab my coat.”

-

You had taken up working part time at the local diner when you were fifteen. The minute you were allowed to get working papers from the school you had begged your mom for the opportunity, swearing that you would save your money and not waste it on clothes or makeup or whatever ‘frivolous things’ your mom would criticize. It had taken more convincing for your dad but since he wasn’t thrilled paying for your cellphone or the thought of paying for a car in the future he eventually caved.  

Patricia was a friend of the family and she promised you wouldn’t have to wait on anyone sketchy or work too many hours and never on Sunday. It started with four hour shifts four days a week but it had evolved from there. Sometimes you worked after school until midnight, on weekends you worked early morning shifts.  

“So I was wondering if there was anyway I could pick up a couple extra shifts?” You requested, following Patricia through the double doors as you tied your apron. “I don’t know if you know-”

“Dale told me your car is over at his shop.” She replied, indicating that she did, in fact, know.

“It is. So, ya know, I need some extra cash.” You explained.  

“You know, Otis’ cousin works at the place in Woodbury. I’m sure he could get you a good deal.” Patricia mentioned.

“I’m good, thanks. I just need a few extra hours.” You replied, grabbing some menus from under the register as a small group walked through the door.  

“We’ll see.” It was as good as no and you knew that. Especially when she offered Otis’ cousin to you three more times during your shirt.  

Her antagonizing was only interrupted by Dale’s arrival around 8pm for dinner. You were so relieved to see him that you almost thanked him for coming in. Dale came in every night for dinner and every morning for breakfast. Ever since his wife had died three years ago he had made the diner a regular spot for himself. Patricia wouldn’t say anything bad about his garage with him there.  

He sat at the counter like always, reading the sports section of the newspaper as he ate. Occasionally he’d call you over for a refill of his drink but otherwise he kept to himself for the evening, a little unusual but you were busier than normal and didn’t think about it. Until he called you over as he was getting ready to leave.  

“How was the burger?” You asked, pouring him a cup of coffee to go.  

“Good as always. I actually wanted to talk to you about Daryl.” Dale said, “heard you’ve been having trouble with the car?”

“News travels fast. But uh, yeah he’s gonna fix it for me.”

Dale nodded, “I just wanted to say, Daryl’s a good kid. His head just ain’t in the right place sometimes.”

“He’s just fixing my car Dale.”

“Keep it that way.” He admonished, getting up. He left behind a rather generous tip and you were quick to stuff it in your apron pocket. Lori was convinced that tips should be split evenly and she told anyone who would listen. She would flip if she saw the twenty that Dale had left you.

-

“So, how long have you been working on cars?” You asked, fiddling with a wrench that lay atop a toolkit. You were sitting on an old lawn chair under the carport of the Dixon’s house with the space heater turned toward you.  

“Long enough.” Daryl shrugged. Whatever he was fixing you couldn’t be sure but you had a nice view from your spot and took advantage of watching the way his muscles flexed as he worked.  

He had called you on Wednesday with a promise to work on your car Friday afternoon and, whether he intended it to happen or not, you showed up with your backpack. Claiming that you were off work and your mom was annoying you at home. He didn’t say anything against you being there, just turned the space heater toward you and went back to work.  

“Don’t ya got dinner or somethin’?” Daryl asked, not that he necessarily wanted to be rid of you, just that he didn’t really understand why you had decided to spend your Friday afternoon with him when you could be spending it anywhere else.  

You shrugged, “told my mom I was going to Maggie’s. She’s at work so she won’t check and Maggie told her parents that she’s with me cause she’s going out with Glenn tonight. It’s their three-month anniversary.”  

“Coulda just said no.” He replied.  

“Sorry, I talk a lot.” You apologized, “my ex always joked that I needed a muzzle cause I didn’t know when to shut up.”

“Didn’t say that.” Daryl explained, stopping what he was doing to look over at you, “doesn’t bother me. Talk as much as ya want.”

“Thanks.”

He hummed.

“Do you have any plans for Thanksgiving?” You asked.

He turned back to look at you again, eyebrows raised in confusion before shaking his head. “Oh yeah, we’re havin’ the whole family over. Just gotta bail ‘em outta jail first.”  

You laughed, louder than you intended too, and the screen door on the side of the house banged open at the same time, startling you. Daryl stood up straighter as an older man came down the three steps into the car port. He didn’t seem to notice you, going straight to the beat-up old refrigerator in the corner and grabbing a six-pack of beer before heading back inside. Once the door clanged shut after him and he was back in the house Daryl let out a breath and you looked over at him.

“You can save some money...you don’t have to bail him out.”

Daryl laughed before turning back to work on the car again.  

“Do you work tomorrow?”

“I got a shift at the slaughterhouse over in Woodbury. Can’t work on the car again until Monday.” He replied.  

“That’s fine, whenever. I can pay you the first installment next Friday after I get paid. I have to go dress shopping tomorrow with Maggie for the winter formal.” You supplied, pulling Daryl’s flannel from last Friday tighter. The sun was officially down and the only light, besides the glow of the space heater, was the flickering overhead light in the carport.  

He hummed, “that’s fine.”

“I don’t wanna go to the formal but…it’s important to my mom. She’s on PTA and they’re organizing. She said it would look bad if I didn’t go.” You said, pulling your knees up to your chest. “Did you ever go to like, prom or something?”

“Nah.”

“I wish I wasn’t going.”

“Ya seem like the type.” He replied.

“What?”  

“Ya seem like the type ta go ta all that shit.” Daryl clarified.  

“Yeah.” You agreed. He was right, you knew that. You looked just like every sweet country girl in a movie or a song was supposed to look like. You did all the things you were supposed to do. You got straight A’s, went to church every Sunday, you were polite and friendly, you went to youth group and school dances and you were responsible and you didn’t curse or drink or smoke and you had lots of friends and you were a cheerleader and you played softball. All the things that your mom had always wanted for you.  

Daryl glanced over at you as he wiped his hands on the rag he kept in his back pocket. “I’m calling it a night. I got work in the morning.”  

“Okay,” you stood up and grabbed your bag, “I’ll see you later I guess.” You hadn’t been thinking about this evening coming to an end. In your mind it just stretched on for hours and hours and infinity until both of you lost track of time.  

“I’ll give ya a ride, don’t want ya walking when its dark out.”  

Before you could say anything your beeper went off. An S.O.S text from Lori. “Damn it.”

“What’s the matter?”  

“Uh,” you looked back at Daryl, “could I use your phone? My cellphone is dead and this girl I work with wants me to call her. Guarantee she’s going to call out.”

Daryl looked back at the door his dad had come out of minutes earlier. He never had people over his house, mostly because he didn’t get along with people but also because he didn’t want his dad seeing anyone around. Will Dixon was an easy person to be embarrassed by.  

“I can just walk there and see what she needs, it’s okay.” You promised.

“Nah, it’s fine. Come on.” He opened the door for you, letting you pass in front of him into the house. The kitchen was run down, peeling linoleum, old appliances, a mountain of dirty dishes, and bottles of alcohol cluttering the counter space. On the wall by the refrigerator there was a phone and Daryl guided you in that direction so that you could call Lori back. Somewhere off the kitchen a TV was blaring a football game.

“Thanks.” You whispered before picking up the phone and dialing the diner.  

Lori picked up immediately, “Patricia’s Diner.”

“Hey Lor, it’s me. I saw you paged.”

“Oh my god, are you working tomorrow night?” She asked.

“No, I’m off.”

“Can you? Please? I got a date!”  

“A date?”

“Yeah...Rick just came in and we were talking and he asked me out. I’m so excited! But I have work and I don’t want to ask Amy-”

“I can do it. I need the hours.”

“Heard about the car.” She replied. It really was national news.

“I got to go.” You hung the phone up before she could say goodbye and then Daryl was pushing you toward the door. You were just reaching for the doorknob when Daryl’s father came into the kitchen, looking at you for the first time.  

“Who the fuck is this?”  

“Go wait outside in my truck.” Daryl said, pushing you closer to the door so he could stand in front of you. “We were just leaving.”

“Don’t leave on my account.” He called after you. As the door closed you could just hear him asking Daryl if he’d “paid her well? Don’t be a shitty tipper, that’s wha’ got yer brother in trouble.”

You waited ten minutes in the truck for Daryl. When he finally came out he slammed the side door shut and then slammed the car door shut too. The ride home was silent, you wanted to apologize or tell him not to worry about his dad seeming like a dick or something but your tongue was stuck in your throat. So instead you just sat there staring out the window while he smoked. He drove you to the same spot he had last time, a few houses down from yours so that your parents wouldn’t see you in his truck. And just like last time you lingered in the passenger seat, resolved to say something.  

“Thanks.”

“Ain’t a big deal.” He replied, lighting another cigarette off the end of the one he’d just finished.  

“Not Just for fixing my car.” You explained, “it’s nice of you to put up with me.”  

He shrugged, “Don’t mind the company. Sorry ‘bout my old man.”  

“It’s okay.” You promised. “Tell him ya didn’t tip me on account of my less than spectacular appearance.”

Daryl shook his head, the faintest smile appearing at your words.

“I’ll see you later?” You asked, finally opening the door and exiting the car.

“Yeah.”

Just like last time Daryl sat, idling while you walked down to your house and went inside. Once the door was shut behind you he put the car back in drive and took off for his house.

-

Taglist: @cbarter @onemorebeautifulnightmare  @mainokutan @qrangr  @twdeadfanfic @gigilame @sabertooth-potato @enrapturedbythemoon  @hopesxxhigh @coffeebooksandfandom @jodiereedus22 @tehfabbooty @thecaptainsgingersnap @of-storms-and-sadness @twdeadfanfic @alwaysadreamingoptimist @bucky-barnes-babies @ly--canthrope @daryldixonandfrogs @jaycc7983 @easnuppa @imaginecrushes @tonystarkismyboy @watchmeaspire @harpersmariano

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon au #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x you #daryl x you #daryl x reader #daryl imagine #daryl fic #daryl fanfiction #daryl fanfic #daryl writing #daryl dixon writing #the walking dead fanfic #the walking dead fic #the walking dead fanfiction #The Walking Dead AU #the walking dead imagine #twd imagine #twd fanfic #twd au #twd fanfiction #twd fic #collecting stories #georgia series

[busterkeatonfanfic]

Chapter 29, Part I

Buster had hoped that the picture would progress more smoothly back in Culver City. New York had been recreated on Lot Two in no time and was ready for filming by the time he returned to M-G-M on Monday the 30th. He was finding that even without the onerous script, however, he just couldn’t go back to the way he’d done things a few short months before.

When arrived on the set, he hadn’t wanted to get into the scenes of him and the girl right away. Instead, he pulled Bruckman aside and chewed over ways to lead the audience into the story, break the ice a little. Maybe a fussy grande dame carrying too much weight wanted a portrait of her little boy. Buster could see them in his head, the fat lady brushing the shoulders of the kid’s jacket, posing him just so. When she wasn’t looking, the scoundrel would stick out his tongue or thumb his nose. In the meantime, he—that is to say, the photographer—would be growing more and more frustrated with the boy. After being scolded by the lady, who wouldn’t hear that her perfect angel was monkeying around, he would finally take the portrait and show her the result. Upset, she’d blame the kid’s behavior on him. The conversation would get heated, drawing the attention of a drunk panhandler who would ask for his portrait to be done too. After all, his cup was full of pennies, wasn’t it? He could afford it. The lady would object. No, her boy was first in line. There’d be a yelling match between the two, the finely dressed fat woman and the ragged skinny drunk, followed by some shoving, in which Buster became collateral damage when the drunk ducked a punch. The hullabaloo would attract a crowd, and finally a policeman (giving Buster a suspicious look as though he was the cause of it all) would disperse the crowd. Buster would be left on the sidewalk, unpaid for his portrait of the kid and worse off than when he started.

This idea having occurred, he’d called to the crew to get him a fat lady, a kid, and someone who could play a drunk. They just looked at him like he had three heads.

“What’s the big idea?” he’d said.

“C’mere, I wanna word,” Sedgwick had said, frowning over the cigarette between his lips.

They’d gone around the corner until they were out of earshot, then the older man rounded on him. “What in the fuck was that?”

“What in the fuck was what?” said Buster, genuinely baffled.

“All the business of ‘Get me this, I want that.’ You made me look like a damned ass in front of my men.”

“How?” said Buster, astonished.

“By undermining my authority, that’s how. I’m the director. You barking orders makes me look like a spare prick.”

Buster had tried not to gape. He felt his own anger begin to rise. Wanting to keep the peace, though, he’d swallowed and said, “Well, I’m awful sorry. It’s nothing personal, honest, I just never worked another way. It won’t happen again, alright? You have my word.”

Sedgwick’s shoulders had relaxed somewhat and his expression softened. “Thanks. Look, I know it’s got to be tough to adjust, but we do things different. Just watch. You’ll see it’ll get taken care of.”

The scene didn’t get taken care of, despite Sedgwick’s assurances. Buster had stood back chain-smoking and watching calamity unfold. The kid was uncooperative, too green to be anything other than nervous in front of the camera. The fat lady couldn’t seem to understand that the camera couldn’t see the kid when she stood in front of him in all her overproportioned glory. The drunk couldn’t take direction at all, to the point that Buster suspected the drunkness wasn’t an act.

Finally, Sedgwick had thrown up his hands. “This is a disaster. Buster, line these god damn people up and get this fucking shot over with.”

Buster stubbed his cigarette out. “Me?”

Sedgwick had looked pained. “Yes, you. Who else?”

Feeling satisfied inside, Buster had taken over and soon had all parties in line and the scene rolling right along. In the days following, Sedgwick didn’t try to interfere with him and he didn’t try to interfere with Sedgwick, and they grew to like each other. A large man, he had a big appetite and liked to come over to Buster’s half of the bungalow to eat an elaborate lunch cooked up by Caruthers rather than patronize the studio cantine. Buster dubbed him Junior.

Even though Weingarten was up his ass about something every other day, shooting was going alright, too. Maybe it wasn’t the way he was used to working, but at least he’d gotten three-quarters of his control back and could dispense with things like jewel thieves and kidnappings.

As April gave way to May that week, he stayed overnight at the bungalow. On Wednesday he managed to sneak Nelly in. They had to forgo their usual activities beneath the sheets owing to her monthly visitor, but they had a nice dinner of roast lamb and potatoes and tried a few foxtrots in the front room, bumping into furniture because was hardly any room, then Nelly practiced her lines while he smoked and perused the latest pile of newspapers and magazines that Caruthers had left.

On Friday night, he drove back to the Villa. He arrived just in time for dinner, catching Natalie as she passed through the atrium.

“Hello, Nate,” he said. He’d just hung his coat and hat and kicked off his shoes.

“Oh, you’re back in time for dinner,” she said without a smile. He could tell by the way she said it that it was a question in disguise: Why haven’t you been home for dinner?

“Well sure, it’s Friday night. Ain’t filming tomorrow. I’m staying at the bungalow while we’re filming,” he added.  “Toldja that.”

“You didn’t,” she said, unsmiling. “You didn’t say you were staying at the bungalow this week.”

He considered his wife’s unhappy countenance and tried to remember if he’d called her on Monday. He’d had dinner with Sedgwick, then there was a bridge game and drinks with some of the M-G-M brass. Sam Goldwyn had been there. Or had that been Tuesday night? He couldn’t remember, and couldn’t remember calling her. “I thought I did. Honest. I got caught up in stuff, I guess,” he said.

“Oh, your card games?” she said, hand on her hip. She looked beautiful, all polish, poise, and elegance. “Maybe with that girl from your picture? Marceline?”

His eyes widened. “Marceline? You mean Marceline Day?” He knew he ought to be used to Natalie’s jealousy by now, but sometimes it flew at him out of the blue and smacked him straight in the face like that baseball last July. He’d hardly filmed a single scene with his newest leading lady, let alone entertained thoughts of seducing her.

“I simply find it incredible you’d forget to call me over a card game.”

“Well, it’s true whether you believe it and I said I’m sorry.” He reached for her arm. “C’mon, let’s not fight about silly stuff.”

“Oh, I agree it’s silly alright,” she said, brushing off his hand. “I didn’t make it so, you did.”

“Nate,” he said. “The kids. C’mon, they’re in the other room for Christ’s sakes.” In an attempt to extinguish the argument, he grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed both her cheeks in quick succession. “Please? You’ve got me tomorrow and Sunday. I’ll spend all that time with you. I’m all yours.”

Natalie grimaced. “I’m leaving tomorrow afternoon for Lake Tahoe. With Norma. Don’t tell me you forgot that too.”

“Of course I didn’t,” he lied. He had no recollection of her telling him about Lake Tahoe, though supposed it had been discussed in New York when he was listening with half an ear. “Let’s make the most of tonight then, and tomorrow morning.”

“We’re having veal for dinner,” she said, ignoring his offer.

“Good. I’m hungry.”

It wasn’t much of a truce, but he treated it like one and put his arm through hers and walked her to the dining room.

Natalie went to bed early that night complaining of a headache and was too preoccupied the next day buying new outfits for her trip with Norma to trouble with him. “I’m sorry, but it’s supposed to be warm and we’ve got to have some lighter dresses for the trip,” she’d said just before departing.

He tried to distract himself golfing with Tom Mix, but kept getting stuck on thoughts of his wife like a skip in a record. There had been a time when Nate had loved him and they’d gotten along, he could almost swear by it. He’d once spent hours with her mother and sisters, not resenting them for taking up Natalie’s time and attention. Rather, he had been glad to be in their midst even though Peg had never made a secret of the fact that she didn’t think him good enough for her middle daughter. It had been easy then to love the people who loved Natalie.

There had also been a time when Nate and him had talked about more than the children, kissed in more than a perfunctory way, and shared more than just a house and money. To this day he couldn’t understand why it wasn’t that way between them anymore, couldn’t remember when they’d begun to drift apart. He was pretty sure she had still loved him when they’d moved into the Villa. When had she stopped? Why had she stopped?

Tom would bring him back to reality at intervals, reminding him that it was his turn to put. He’d forget about Natalie for a couple minutes, but the needle would return to the beginning of the groove and he’d start worrying all over again. If only if he just—maybe if he just …

That night, he got roaringly drunk at Marion Davies’ party, not bothering to see Natalie off at the train station when she left late in the afternoon.

The Villa was vacant the following day, his sons having been kidnapped by Constance and all the servants but Caruthers dismissed until Monday. Their benevolent mistress had decided they could do with a little holiday as a treat. Tired of fretting about Natalie, he drank some black coffee to tame his headache and called Nelly afterward.

Note: I know you’re all sick of waiting, so I decided to publish Chapter 29 into two parts. The second part will likely be longer. Sorry I’m so busy, but 🤷‍♀️

#buster keaton #fan fiction #actor rpf #golden age hollywood #silent film

[romaxnogersav]

Missing you

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: angst, heartbreak, a curse word or two

Word count: 2931

Summary: He hurt you, even though he promised he wouldn’t. He had also been missing you, but so had you.

A/N: This was written for @captain-rogers-beard​ One Hit Wonder challenge. Thank you for letting me participate, Mimi. This is my second entry, and I really hope you like it. My prompt was Missing you by John Waite. The song lyrics are in bold. It’s both sang, and quoted in this story. English isn’t my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes! Also, this is an AU, it doesn’t follow the MCU!

Enjoy 💫

also, gif isn’t mine!

The apartment was silent, vacant. It had been like that for some time now. Gone were the laughs and peaceful nights you spent on the couch, curled up under his arm. Gone were the mornings you woke up in your warm bed next to him, or to an already made breakfast.

Gone was the man, that once said he loved you. The same man that time and time again said how much he wanted to be with you. He was the same man that told you that even though he loved you, he couldn't. Not because he didn't want to, but because his heart was longing to be with someone else, he wanted something else.

Steve Rogers was that man. The man that loved unconditionally, cared, and respected deeply. The man that you thought would never turn up to be like the others you've been with before. You were oh so very wrong.

Three months ago, Steve Rogers had broken your heart by breaking what you had, so he could go back to his old love, maybe his only love - Peggy Carter.

You should have seen it coming, maybe you kind of did. When Steve had come home that night, there had been something different about him, about his demeanor. You had brushed it off at first, but that gut feeling and the nasty voice in the back of your head told you something was definitely going to happen, and it did.

Steve had sat down on the couch, hunched forward, and asked for you to come to sit with him. Then with a sigh, he had told you what was wrong. Peggy Carter had come back to the US from London a few weeks ago, and Steve? He couldn't forget the love he had for her, he wanted to try again. With glassy eyes and a dozen apologies, he had told you one last time that he did love you, and walked out the door. Steve, who promised you he'd do his damn best not to let anything hurt you, promised he would never hurt you.

It had been three months since that Wednesday in late March. The first couple of weeks were the hardest. So many different things were swirling in your head. You had tried to pin the blame on yourself even. Maybe you hadn't been enough? Maybe you were his second choice and you always will be.

You had sulked for some time, much to Natasha's disappointment. You had blamed him, yourself, even the ever perfect Peggy Carter. You had cried yourself to sleep, refused to go out, leave your bed even. Thank God for your friends though. They had let you be for a week, only because you had asked for space, but after the first week, they had enough. Natasha, Wanda, and her brother Pietro had waltzed into your apartment and pulled you from your bed. They had sent you to take a shower, while they cleaned the apartment. When you had gotten out, much to your amusement both Bucky and Sam, Steve's closest friends, was there as well. They had brought food, a few movies, and a couple board games for you to play.

You were surprised that both Bucky and Sam were on your side in all of this. They were in your corner fully. Both of them had tried to talk Steve out of it but without success. They had tried to reason with him, show him the life he was leaving to go back to Peggy, but you guessed his heart worked harder than his mind. And his heart was telling him to go back to Peggy.

It had taken you some time to go on with your life, to try and move on but you were getting there, you were taking it one step at a time, day by day and as far as you knew, you were going to come out on the other end.

You walked around the couch towards the wall where your guitar sat. You've been finding solace in playing every once in a while.

You picked the instrument and moved around the place, sitting down in one of the armchairs. You took a position, setting one of your legs a bit higher than the other, placing the guitar just above your knee. You moved your fingers over the strings a couple of times and with a deep breath, you started a melody.

You weren't really sure what you were actually playing until the familiar tone of Missing you by John Waite took over. You had been playing the melody a couple of times over the last week or so, but you never actually got around to singing the song. Well, maybe today was finally that day.

With a deep breath in, you started up top and soon the words flew out of your mouth.

Every time I think of you I always catch my breath

A variety of memories, moments of the relationship you and Steve had, started flushing in front of you as you sang. Small details, big things, moments you might never be able to forget.

The day you met was one of those.

It was a nice spring Tuesday morning. You wanted to say that your day had started out good, but you would be lying. You had overslept and barely been able to get ready fast enough to leave for work. You were in desperate need of coffee, so you had stopped at your favorite coffee shop.

There was a line of at least three people and you had half a mind to just skip on the coffee in favor of making it on time. You were tapping your foot impatiently, checking your phone like crazy, when the man in front of you turned around with a kind smile.

"What are you having?" he asked you, blue eyes boring into yours.

"I'm sorry?" You said in question.

"What's your coffee order? I'm sorry if I'm overstepping, but you seem to be in a hurry so I thought I could order for you." He said a genuine, sweet smile displayed on his face.

It was an incredibly nice gesture, even though you were strangers.

"I- that's really sweet of you. Thank you," you gave in, telling him your coffee order and extending your hand. "I'm Y/N.," you told him, giving him a small grin in return.

"Steve." He introduced himself with one of his most charming smiles, one you quickly learned to love.

And there's a storm that's raging Through my frozen heart tonight

So many other scenes, words, and memories flooded your mind. So many moments you had spent together. Cooking together, cuddling, walking around the park in the early mornings. Making love, kissing, whispering sweet nothings to each other.

The memories you had, as much as they reminded you of the pain Steve left you with, they will always remind you of the greatest times you've had together.

I ain't missing you at all (Missing you, missing you) Since you've been gone away (Missing you, missing you)

Suddenly a memory, maybe one of the ones you loved the most, flushed before you.

It was a quiet Saturday afternoon. You and Steve had spent almost the whole day at home, save for getting out for your morning walk.

You were curled up on the couch in the living room, you with you back against Steve's front, and his back leaned on the armrest of the couch. With one of his arms around you, his other held a book. You were also reading a book, your head lying on his chest. Soft jazz played in the background from the old fashioned record player sat atop a small table against the wall.

Steve's fingers would occasionally brush against yours where your hands were sitting close.

He moved a bit behind you, getting more comfortable before closing his book, and setting it on the table behind the couch. Both his hands snaked around your waist, hugging you tightly. His head buried itself into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent with a content sigh.

"What are you doing?" You laughed a bit, slightly ticklish from the movement of his beard against your neck.

"I'm cuddling my girlfriend, what does it look like?" He said quietly, laying a few feather-like kisses on your neck. You giggled, book forgotten somewhere on the coffee table.

His face moved from your neck, laying a few kisses in your hair before moving around to your ear.

"Can I tell you something?" He whispered quietly, his fingers intertwining with yours.

"Of course." you said just as quietly, waiting to hear what he had to say.

You were almost able to hear his heart beating in his chest, its' pace quickening just a little.

"I love you." he whispered against your ear, gently squeezing you to him even more. Your eyes blew wide, and for a second you just sat there until a big smile appeared on your face. You tilted your head back, your eyes moving across Steve's face for a second before you cupped his cheek in hand.

"And I love you." you whispered back and leaned up to press your lips together.

I ain't missing you (Missing you, missing you) No matter what I might say (Missing you, missing you)

A small tear escaped your eye, just as a knock came from the door. You stopped your hand from moving against the strings, setting the guitar on the armchair. You stood and wiped at your eyes with the back of your hand, moving towards the door.

You took a deep breath and flicked the lock twice, before pulling the door open.

You expected almost anything and anyone to be standing on the other side of that door, but you didn't expect to see him there.

You stood there, your eyes going back and forth over his face, his eyes, waiting. He looked, honestly he looked like a wreck, no better than you. His face was pale. His eyes were red-rimmed, with dark circles underneath. His hair was a mess, both from probably messing it up too much and needing a shower. He looked tired, stressed out, from what, you couldn't tell.

You waited a few seconds, your hand tightly gripping the doorknob, your other holding the door with just as much force.

You didn't know how you felt about all of this. About his sudden appearance, his presence.

He looked at you, eyes racking around your body, your face before he stopped and took a deep breath. He opened his mouth and closed it a couple of times before he suddenly said in a small voice.

"I'm sorry."

"I beg your pardon?" You asked instantly, your voice cracking slightly. What was he even doing here? What was he apologizing for?

"I'm sorry, I'm an idiot. A dumbass, a clown, and every other adjective that can explain what a fucking dumb person, what an asshole I am." He said, his voice rising. You looked at him stunned, but then pulled him into the apartment in fear of your neighbors hearing you. Whatever it is that Steve wanted to talk about, didn't need to be public knowledge.

When he stepped in, he took in his surroundings for a second, then covered his face with his hands. The apartment had changed since the last time he was here. The furniture was moved around, the walls freshly painted. There were things missing, others were new.

"I'm a fucking moron," he said quietly.

You were at a loss for words. Three months, it had been three months since you last saw him, and yet here he was now, telling you how stupid he was.

"What's all of this Steve? What do you want? Shouldn't you be somewhere relishing in your love with Peggy?" The pain was evident in your voice, your face, and your eyes too. It took every ounce of him to not jump forward and wrap you up in his arms, and tell you how sorry he was.

"I fucked up Y/N. I'm the biggest idiot to ever walk the Earth." he sighed, his hands moving his hair around. He crossed his hands across his chest, looking down at his shoes.

"Steve, what are you doing here?" You asked, your voice raising just a bit, your nerves, your emotions getting the best of you.

"I needed, I wanted to apologize. I wanted to tell you how sorry I am. For the way, I ended what we had, for the things I said. I want to apologize for the pain that I caused you, the tears you had to shed over the mistake that I made. Because Y/N, leaving, it was a mistake, a really big one." he whispered the last part, his voice breaking. His eyes glassed over, his cheeks flushing a bit red. Your hands trembled, your own eyes welling with tears.

"You can't just come and say things like that Steve, not after what you did." You told him, turning around and wrapping your hands around yourself as if that would actually help protect you.

"I was wrong Y/N. Things with Peggy, they didn't work out.." you cut him out before he could continue. White, hot anger filling you up.

"Let me stop you right there Steve Rogers. I am not going to be your second choice. I'm not gonna be second best, Steve, I don't want to be. I'm never going to be enough, am I? Because all you have ever longed for is her. I'm not going to be enough because all your heart wants is her." You tried to keep your emotions at bay, but at the end of the sentence, a choked sob escaped you.

Steve moved closer, laying his hand on your arm. Upon the contact, you wrenched your arm off, getting a step away from him.

"That's not, that's not what this is. It's not. Things didn't work out with Peggy, because my heart wasn't there, my heart didn't want for things to work out. It doesn't want to be with her, doesn't want to come home to her, wake up next to her. It doesn't long for her touch, for her lips and her affection. You were never and never will be second best because my heart wants you. It chose you, and I was just too big of a fool to realize it when I should have." He said, his voice quiet, but evidently breaking with every word he said.

“I can't lose you Y/N Y/L/N. I can't lose the woman that I love, the woman that has seemed to catch my heart, the woman that floods my mind every minute of every day. I can't lose that strong and independent, intelligent, and caring woman that makes my heart beat a mile an hour. I can't let you go, and I was a fool to think I needed someone else when all I ever needed was right in front of me. I'm so sorry sweetheart." He choked out, a sob leaving him. His cheeks were covered in tears, ones freely going down and reaching the end of his face, sliding down his neck too.

You weren't any better. You were trembling, your cheeks wet with the tears that couldn't seem to stop.

He dropped to his knees, his arms wrapping tightly around your middle, leaning his head against your stomach. Another sob left him, his arms tightening around you.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." His voice dropped, even more, so much pain laced with it.

A sob escaped the back of your throat. You dropped down to your knees too, your hands wrapping around Steve's neck, your face buried itself into the crock of his neck. One of your hands covered the back of his neck, your fingered twisting in between the hairs there.

Steve's hands found their place, one on the back of your head and the other gently moving up and down your back.

You both sobbed, shushed, and held each other, walking each other through the emotional rollercoaster you went through. You spoke sweet nothings to each other as if you weren't longer together. It was natural.

After some time passed, your sobs and cries dulled down, reducing to soft whimpers and hiccups, and that’s when Steve spoke again.

"I'm sorry, for everything darlin'. I just, if you'd give me the chance, I promise I won't let you down. Never again. I've been missing you so much sweetheart." he told you softly, his breath warm against your ear, his fingers moving over your hair. You squeezed him closer, unable to voice your thoughts.

You loved him, and that would never change. He was an idiot sure, but he was an idiot you had loved for over two years. A man you had loved unconditionally, fully with all of your heart.

"I've been missing you too." you told him quietly, a chuckle like sob leaving him, before his lips kissed the top of your head.

People always said that love conquers all, and maybe it really does, because sitting there, in Steve's arms even after everything that happened, you still loved him.

No man was perfect, because perfect men hardly ever existed. And Steve Rogers? He was far from perfect, but at least he had a heart, one that belonged to you, one that wanted you.

#mimi's one hit wonder challenge #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #steve rogers angst #steve rogers one shot #steve rogers fanfiction #marvel angst #marvel one shot #marvel fanfiction #tina writes

[kareofbears]

desperate as that sounds

Five times Ryuji ran for Akira (and one time he ran for himself.)

—  

read on ao3 or below the cut :)

It’s 4:45 am with the weather sitting at a brutal -3 degrees when Ryuji really starts wishing that he brought another jacket.

People are lined around Akihabara by the hundreds outside of closed electronic stores, and the sun has yet to even rise. Some people are yawning, some are clutching their rapidly cooling coffee in a death grip, and most have dark, purple bags underneath their eyes—proof of the battle scars that they’ve acquired. Every person here had the same goal in mind: To get what they need and get out as quick as possible.

As it turns out, if everyone has that same mindset, it creates the violent, yearly November tradition that is Black Friday.

Glancing around, he notices that people came in packs, teams. Teenagers and pre-pubescent kids are all scuffling around, hyping themselves up and creating strategies for the war to come. The more seasoned veterans of the yearly massacre came in pairs—the smaller the group, the faster you move, the move land you cover.

At the biggest electronic store in a region that’s already been nicknamed ‘Electronic Town,’ he is fourth in line—an impressive feat, especially for a first-timer. But it came with a heavy toll: he is completely and utterly alone.

”Skull, do you read me?”

Well, physically alone, anyway.

“Loud and clear,” he replies, readjusting the mic in his ear. “Not that I mind, but what’s with the codenames?”

Futaba scoffs. “You think Black Friday is just about the physical aspect? Foolish boy—the psychological aspects are half the battle. If I get you into the mindset that we’re in a Palace, then you’ll get into infiltration mode, and you’ll be OP compared to the nerds out there.”

“Ooo, I like it! Your brain is effin’ galaxy sized!”

“I do what I can for my faithful pack mule.”

“I’ll try not to take that personally.”

His deal with Futaba had been a simple one. She helps Ryuji navigate the horrors of Akihabara during Black Friday in exchange that he acts as what is essentially a drug trafficker sans the drugs. Despite her rigorous societal training she’d undergone with the Thieves, something about entering a borderline stampede still seems somewhat unappealing to her. Besides, he doesn’t mind. He’d always wanted to do something nice for Futaba anyway, and the store that has her computer thing is the same store that holds what he needs.

”Five minutes to go,” her voice crackles into his ear. ”Infiltration route—go!”

Their deal had also come in with an intense tutorial session that ended up lasting until one in the morning. “Floor 4, down 3 aisles, 8 steps in, turn right, second shelf, grab a box that says ‘GTX graphics card.’ Pink, if possible.”

“A+, Skull! You know, if you can memorize that, I seriously don’t get why you’re failing English verbs.”

“Please, this is actually important.”

Futaba cackles. “Now you’re speaking my language. With your legs and my navigation, this’ll basically be a Tuesday afternoon in Leblanc.”

People around him are starting to straighten up, some going as far as to remove the extra layer of clothing and shoving it in backpacks for maximum speed and minimum restrictions. “Damn, people here look more intense than some dudes in my track meets.”

“If you’re throwing out portable chargers with 30-hour battery life for only 800 yen, you’d be a little intense too.”

Ryuji scoffs and begins to stretch, being extra sure to get his right thigh. “I’m plenty intense. Just last Saturday, I almost beat the Big Bang Burger challenge.”

“Pretty sure Akira beat that on his second week in Tokyo. You know, you still haven’t told me why you’re bothering with this whole Black Friday mess. I didn’t peg you for an electronics type of guy, and your phone is as crappy as your posture.”

“Rude! But I can’t argue with that.” He starts to run in place, and for a brief second, he wonders if he should’ve packed a protein shake.

“Well, too late now. If your thing sells out because you didn’t want to give your Navi information, that’s on you.”

“Gimme some credit, Futaba,” an employee who looks equal parts sleep-deprived and terrified approaches the glass doors. “Ain’t no way in hell I’m failing either of us this morning.”

The glass slides open, and as if sunlight was released from the captivity of the clouds, or perhaps a meteor just broke through the earth’s atmosphere, the people start pushing, shoving, and flooding inside. The crowd looked both impenetrable and unwavering; an unstoppable force and an immovable object rolled into one giant stream of desperate shoppers.

Ryuji spares a split-second to crack his neck. Mission Start.

The moment he breaks through the initial threshold, people who were only one step behind him suddenly became ten, twenty, thirty. Weaving through crowds and aisles with the precision of a seamstress, Ryuji evades it all with ease.

”Skull, status report.”

“Smooth sailing, Oracle!” He ducks as an overly buff businessman turns around with a 3-metre pole used for studio lighting threatens to bash his head in. “You’re totally right about the codenames, by the way. It’s almost like I’ve got Captain with me.”

“Right?” She laughs. “It’s all about the mindset.”

Ryuji turns, and finally gets to the stairs—the most brutal section and the biggest gamble. It’s the reason why it was essential that he’s one of the first in line. Once the stairs get jammed with people, it’s game over. Making a mad dash up four flights of stars, he thanks any God that may be that Palaces are fantastic for rehab.

He makes it to the top, panting. It’s empty, save for a few nervous-looking employees. He hopes the smile he throws their way came off as ‘pleasant and grateful for their service’ rather than ‘a delinquent asshole who might steal loads of shit.’

“Down 3 aisles, 8 steps,” he mutters to himself as he quickly scans the fourth floor. “Turn right, second shelf,” eyes landing on his target, he grins. “I effin’ rock.”

”You got it?”

“Of course I did!” He fist pumps before swiping the box. In his excitement, he nearly runs over to give a random employee a high-five. “Alright Oracle, you’re up.”

”I love you so much in a non-weird way. Okay,” he hears the clacking of keys on the other side of the mic. “What do you need?”

“Two words: game console.”

The clacking stops. “You’re joking.”

Ryuji snorts. “I ain’t waking up at 3 in the morning for a joke.”

”Those are hard enough to get as is, and on a day like this—”

“So you can’t do it?”

In the same way every one of the thieves know they could bait Ryuji with a few choice words, it’s a lesser-known fact that Futaba is quite nearly as bad when it comes to open defiance. “Jerk. Of course I can.”

“Then let’s do it!”

“Ugh, fine!” The clacking resumes, more vigorously. “Yikes, only 3 left. Make it quick!”

“Got it,” he replies. He turns around and his stomach drops as he sees people rushing in. “What floor?”

“Third.”

Ryuji groans. The stairs, with people packed in like sardines, are a circus. It would take at least two minutes to try and go down a single flight of stairs. The elevator is even worse, and he honestly wouldn’t be surprised if it had already started to malfunction. Only one choice, then.

He takes a deep breath. “Pray for me.”

”Godspeed, soldier.”

Ryuji, like a wild animal on the loose in the streets of Tokyo, jumps on the handrails and begins his descent that way, begging to the skies that he doesn’t slip and create a domino effect that knocks down a dozen people.

In thirty seconds flat (with no small amount of cursing from both the customers and himself) he jumps off and lands (tumbles) onto the third floor, grinning triumphantly. Eat your heart out, Sumire.

“Oracle, I’m here. Almost broke my ankles. Where to?”

”Straight ahead,” she replies. ”Only one left, though. Better make it quick.”

His eyes land on the last game console, and he sees someone making their way towards it. “Not a problem.”

Ryuji sprints.

Throwing every societal rule and common courtesy into the air, he makes a mad dash and, somehow, miraculously does not bump into anyone or knock down any huge shelves.

In approximately 3 seconds, he grabs his treasure and yells a very loud but completely genuine “sorry!” over his shoulder as he half runs back to the stairs, face red for multiple reasons.

Delving back into the sea of the crowd, trying to navigate himself to the cash register, he sighs. “I’m going to hell.”

”Mission success, then?”

“I had to steal it from some guy! I feel so bad. What if he’s like, buying it for his long lost son or something?”

”Whatever! That’s just part of the Black Friday spirit. Congrats! At least you finally got a game console.”

“Huh? Oh, I already had one.”

Static crinkles in his ear, before, ”WHAT!?”

“Ow! Don’t yell!”

”You already had one and you still did this shopping run?”

“Yeah…?”

”Why?! Are you gonna sell it? Are you one of those sleazy men who take advantage of the good will of gamers, Sakamoto?”

“Hell no!”

”So—“

“Oops, almost at the front of the cash register. I’ll drop off the goods at Akira’s. Talk to you later, shortie.”

Click.

”Wha— Hey! Ryuji!” Silence. “Ugh!”

————

After a much-deserved nap, Futaba climbs up the stairs to Akira’s attic.

“The star has arrived!” she says in lieu of a greeting. “Where’s Ryuji?”

“He left,” Akira answers. He’s looking at something on his worktable. “Your stuff is on the bed.”

Futaba whoops and snatches up the little plastic bag. Peering inside, she sees an adorable GTX hot pink graphics card, and a note. In a horrific scrawl, it writes: dont tell him plz ;)))

She looks up quizzically when her eyes land on Akira’s desk: A shiny new game console.

“Um…”

“Hmm?” he looks up. “Oh, Ryuji dropped it off. Said his mom won it at work, and since he already had one, he gave it to me. Nice, right?”

She opens her mouth, before closing it with a clack. Just two weeks ago, Ryuji had asked Akira in the group chat if they could play video games at his place. Sometimes, it’s easy to forget about Akira’s situation: false accusation, an attic for a room, no definitive meals, not even a proper bathroom in the building, but Akira plays it off like it’s easy. He answered by making a joke that he’s too poor for something like that when you can buy faux battle axes and realistic shotguns instead. Everyone had forgotten about that interaction.

But apparently, Ryuji hadn’t.

He’s an idiot, Futaba thinks. To which boy she’s referring to, she’s not sure.

“Yeah,” is what she says instead. “It’s nice.”

====

The dust motes flying around the attic of Leblanc are lovely. Swirling in senseless formations, floating through the still air like snow. The way none of them collide with each other, as if they have some sort of motion detector that tells them to move out of the way. It’s pleasing to look at.

It’s a shame Ryuji doesn’t give a single shit about them at this moment.

He’s sitting on Akira’s bed, back pressed against the window sill with his hair tipped up, staring unfocused at the wooden beams, eyes glazed over. He’s been like this for the better part of the day, and now the evening is slipping by him. Time continues ticking on like a rigged bomb; an ongoing reminder of how many seconds he’s losing, and how much more he can lose.

He’s considered moving. To walk around the room, shift the dust that’s surely settled on him. Getting up, stretching his legs, outwardly expelling some of his trapped, balled up energy is a good idea. Healthy, even, if those shitty YouTube videos he’s watched on his phone about anger management were on to something. But he can’t. He shouldn’t.

Amidst all the uncertainty and the wound-up anxiety that has currently made permanent residence deep inside his core, he knows that if lets his joints unlock, he’s going to fucking lose it.

Slam a fist inside the dry wood, tear up a blanket, throw the adorable ramen bowl he gave Akira against the wall until it shatters into a hundred pieces. He’s so terrified of ruining this room that he won’t even give himself the option. And Ryuji would rather let hell freeze over than scare Futaba again in his fit of fucked-up rage that comes with the package that is Sakamoto Ryuji.

So he’s stuck on the bed for God knows how long.

Footsteps come up, and he doesn’t need to look down to know who’s going to chew him out. If it’s not Akira that’s going to chide him out of his stupor (which it isn’t, even though Ryuji would do anything if it means that Akira’s back here with them), then they’d send in someone who’d drag him out of it with her nails perfectly manicured.

“You look terrible.”

“Screw off,” Ryuji spits automatically, and he cringes inwardly. Ann doesn’t deserve the sharp end of his horrible mood. It’s not her fault that it feels like his insides feel like they’re trying to eat their way out.

She ignores him and moves to hop on top of the old work desk. The wood creaks underneath her. “You’ve been here all day.”

“I know.”

“Did you sleep last night?”

“Yes. No.” He feels Ann’s stare burn into the side of his face—a ghost of Carmen’s presence. “I don’t know.”

“He wouldn’t want to see you like this.”

Irritation swells in him. She’s never learned to take a hint in her life. “Really? Are you seriously saying that?”

“Are you saying he would?”

“I’m saying he’s too busy having the living shit beat out of him to see me like this.”

His body twitches, and that’s all he needed for his resolve to break down. He jumps from the bed, feet landing heavily enough that he’s sure they can all hear him from the floor below. Unconsciously, his feet pace around the small room; quick with agitation but heavy with dread. Anything to distract from doing something stupid.

“You’re worried about me, what, not sleeping? For lying down on this damn bed for too long? Screw that. Akira’s being grilled like cheap meat for the past couple of days and you’re expecting me to act normal about it? That’s bullshit.”

Bad. This is bad. His fingers are already curling in his fists, eager and all too willing to be used. He settles for balling the edge of his shirt instead.

“He isn’t here. That’s the fact, isn’t it? And what the fuck am I doing about it? Freaking out? Trying not to throw a tantrum about it like some kind of stupid kid? Am I really this messed in the head that everyone on the team is—-is hiding from me like I’m some kind of—” he cuts himself off.

Delinquent.

Ryuji takes a deep breath, fully inhaling and slowly exhaling. He focuses on the dust motes again. In and out. Countdown from ten. He can do this. He can get a grip on himself. Thank God it was Ann that came up—if it had been anyone else, he doesn’t think he can put his pride aside as easily. (Unless it was Futaba. God, he loves her so much.)

For a while, it was silent except for his breathing; it stuttered occasionally, but eventually it evens out. Ann only watches from her perch.

When he feels stable enough, Ryuji drops to sit on the hardwood.

“Okay?” she asks. Ann never babies him when he gets like this—she’s good that way.

“Okay.” And he really is. Not completely, of course not. His nerves weren’t strung as tight, but he still feels a heavy weight right in his stomach.

She hops off the desk and goes to sit in front of him on the floor. Crossing her legs, Ann waits. They regard each other for a long minute.

“He’s the toughest guy I’ve ever met,” he says. It feels weird saying this out loud, instead of repeating the mantra in his head like a broken record. “If anyone can handle this, it’s Akira.”

She rolls her eyes. “Duh.”

“He’s going to be okay.”

“I know that.”

“Sooner than later, his dumb ass is going to be walking through the door downstairs.”

“You bet he is.”

“And I get to yell at him as much as I want.”

“Get in line.”

“I’m not going to lose him tonight.”

Ann reaches over—slowly, giving him plenty of room to shift away—and places a hand on his knee. “You’re not going to lose him tonight.”

Ryuji laughs, a little breathy but still genuine. He prods at her hand. “When’d you get so good with me, Takamaki?”

“I do the Lord’s work around here, free of charge.” She grins, before her tone drops again. “Can you do something for me, though?”

“Lay it on me.”

Ann pulls back and leans on a propped hand, her blue eyes piercing. “When Akira comes back, and he will—”

“And he will. No doubt about it.”

“Obviously. He’s the best person for this. But when Akira comes back, he’s…” Ann gnaws on the inside of her cheek. “He’s not going to be okay, Ryuji.”

Somewhere in his mind, he already knew what she was going to say. While the biggest of his worries is that he’d never see Akira walk through the doors of Leblanc again, there was a quieter fear. A very specific fear, one that Ryuji knows all too well. Because stories don’t just end at the climax of a single event—they keep going. It’s the fear of what happens once he does see Akira.

The aftermath.

The bell chimes downstairs.

His heart lurches, and he makes the briefest of eye contact with Ann before he’s gone.

He’s the toughest guy I’ve ever met.

It’s like his feet have a mind of their own.

If anyone can handle this, it’s Akira.

In an instant, he’s scrambling towards the stairs on all fours before pushing himself up.

Sooner than later, his dumbass is going to be walking through the door downstairs.

His hand finds its hold on the old wooden railing as he sprints his way down. More than once, he almost trips and bangs his head into the wall.

And I get to yell at him as much as I want.

Rounding the corner, he jumps on the landing, ignoring the sharp pain that shoots up his thigh. He ignores the stares from everyone else. Looking up his breath catches in his throat. Gray eyes meet his brown ones. He takes one step forward, and then another. And then he sprints the rest.

He’s going to be okay.

Ryuji stops himself right in front of him, an arms-length away. Akira’s face looked like it’s been through hell and back. Split lip, black eye, bruised cheekbone. An intense fury flares up his spine when he sees the grime and dirt up along his temple.

He hesitates.

As much as he wants to reach forward, close the gap, to make sure that this boy that he can’t afford to lose is real… he can’t do it.

Because he knows what would happen if he tries to cross a boundary that isn’t ready to be crossed—he might not be ready. Ryuji could hurt him by touching any injuries he doesn’t know about (God, how much more is he hiding in there? He’s this close to either throwing up or throwing a punch). But what he’s most scared about, what he’s terrified of doing, is touching Akira in the state of mind he’s in right now. For someone to grip him, grab him, even just brush past him right now, it might be too much. Judging by how beat up he looks just from his face? That does shit to people. That changes you.

Ryuji would know. So he keeps his distance.

Akira’s eyes turn dark, and for a second, Ryuji is terrified that he must’ve overstepped a boundary.

Then he throws his arms around Ryuji, the force knocking them both back by a couple of steps.

“Akira?” he asks, bewildered. Never in their friendship has he seen Akira act like this. It sends alarm bells ringing through his head. “What—”

“Don’t,” Akira cuts off, voice hoarse and quiet, so quiet that even this close, Ryuji is straining to hear him. The arms around him tighten. “Don’t be like that. Please. I can’t. Not right now, Ryuji.”

It hits him all at once. And in his sixteen years of living, Ryuji doesn’t think he’s ever been stupider.

Akira’s been trapped in an interrogation room with nothing but a bunch of make-believe police officers. He got the shit beat out of him, had to stage his own suicide.

And Ryuji just tried to push him away.

He lets his arms wrap around Akira tightly; not too tight, but enough to make sure he won’t slip away from him again. (Never again. Not if he can help it.)

“I’m glad you’re back,” he whispers. Tilting his head up, he stares at the soft lighting of Leblanc, forcing his lungs to breathe evenly—not for fear of losing his temper, but for fear of exposing the tears silently streaming down his face. “So fucking glad.”

Akira doesn’t answer. He only buries his face deeper into Ryuji’s shoulder.

Ann was right—Akira isn’t okay. Not for now, not for awhile. It’s up to Ryuji and everyone else in their group of friends to fix that. That’s fine. They’ll all take as long as they need. He isn’t okay right now, but he will be. They can work on that.

But one thing was clear.

I’m not going to lose him tonight.

====

Summer in Mementos is pretty gross.

Granted, it’s always nasty in here—there’s a perpetual air of moisture, like the inside of a whale, if Ryuji had ever been in one (he’s basing that off of an American movie Ann showed them last week; he didn’t even know it was possible for a fish to get lost in the ocean). There’s also the ongoing sound of trains passing by them on loop, and to him, trains are just inherently cramped and humid and always too sticky for his liking.

Of course, there’s the disgusting, weird amalgamated Shadows that litter every level of Mementos. At least in Palaces they sort of resemble something from the real world, but he guesses they didn’t even bother with these ones. The worst part of all this is that right now, it’s hot, but not hot enough for the Shadows to process a heat wave.

So essentially, they’re fighting with additional bucket loads of sweat, but with none of the usual reward that comes with it.

Well, not that they needed it.

“Fox.”

“As you wish.”

Yusuke’s boots skid to a halt as he points his katana at the fast-moving Shadow, the tip perfectly still. “Your assistance, Goemon.”

They’re on their weekly Mementos grind, the list Mishima keeps updating finally too long to ignore. (Akira hates it when things pile up. It’s a big reason why Ryuji hastily cleaned up every time he wanted to come over. Now though, he doesn’t even bother.)

The current All-Star team includes Yusuke, Makoto, Ryuji, and Akira, with the rest of them keeping a close eye in case they need a quick shift in strategy.

From his katana, black ice crawls in the ground beneath rusted train tracks, the air suddenly chilly despite the humidity that was there a moment ago. Frost shoots forward, encasing the legs of the Shadow only to shatter with a strong jerk forward. It roars, the ear-piercing sound causing the scattered debris around them to vibrate. Akira clicks his tongue.

Strong against ice. Easy fix. Ryuji mouths the words along with Akira when he says, “Panther, you’re up.”

“Finally!”

Ann darts in, high-fiving Yusuke as he rushes out. Ryuji can see Makoto pat Yusuke on the back, sympathy etched on her expression and Futaba mussing his hair. He always took it the hardest when he had to be switched out.

Akira’s gloved fingers brush the edge of his monochrome mask. “Come, Principality.”

As if a human version of justice has been summoned down to earth, the winged statue floats for a moment, eyes filled with scorn as she casts a simple, yet effective memory loss spell. The Shadow shakes its head aggressively. It works, but it won’t hold for long.

“Skull.”

“Don’t mind if I do!”

He grins and sprints right, squeezing into the Shadow’s blindside. It tries to twist around to take a swipe at him, but Ryuji is too fast—he slides right between its legs to confuse and disorient it. Once it seems like it completely lost sight of him, he raises his hand to grip the edge of his black mask. “Come on out, Captain!”

It’s a classic tactic; make the enemy lose focus, stun it, and stop it.

A pirate straight out of the Caribbean materializes from the embers of his mask—Captain Kidd in all of his glory regards the Shadow with a look of disdain before sparks fly from the hull of his ship, and an intense streak of lightning bursts forth, shocking its target like something from a regrettable movie about torture, knocking it down to the ground, a buzz perceptible even from here. He might have overdone it.

Ann whistles. “You didn’t even let me get a chance with it.”

“You can have the next million Shadows we bump into, I promise.” He calls Captain back into his mask, fragmented pieces forming together impossibly quick. “We good, Leader?”

Akira nods. “Just let me get the loot,” he smiles at Ryuji. “Awesome voltage on that last one, Skull.”

A grin stretches over his face before he can stop himself. He won’t deny it—getting a compliment from Joker was always something he filed away for later.

He’s too busy feeling pride surge through him that he can’t even bother to get ticked off when he hears Morgana scoff. “It doesn’t matter how good that attack was; he got in the way of Lady Panther’s finishing blow. That’s a crime in my eyes.”

“But doesn’t that just mean he saved her from doing anything?” Makoto raises an eyebrow. “Technically, he prevented any danger from befalling her, right?”

“Queen, as a gentleman, I have an obligation to tell you that that is a sexist notion.”

“You did not just say that.”

Something makes Ryuji pause. Immediately, his eyes flicker around them automatically. He tunes their chattering out, and finds himself tapping his foot, a slight jitter overcoming him. His nerves are trying to tell him something. Or maybe he’s imagining it? Is it just an aftershock from the intense lightning he cast out? No. It’s been too long since he’s had any problem with electric moves, and he’s never had problems from ones that he threw out himself.

Something was wrong, and he can’t put his finger on it.

He rattles his brain trying to figure out what it is. No one’s hurt, everyone’s safe and together. Well, mostly together, since Akira’s still approaching the Shadow—

A cold sweat drapes the back of his neck. Akira is still approaching the Shadow.

The Shadow hasn’t disintegrated yet.

“Akira—!”

The name slips past his lips, codenames forgotten. In slow motion, Ryuji sees Shadow’s body tense, its mouth frothing with what looks like liquid magma made from pits of hell—specializes in curse, and a strong one at that; Ryuji can feel the potency of its malignancy from where he’s standing. He watches as Akira stiffens, fingers twitching towards his mask, ready to retaliate, or at the very least, defend. And like a domino effect of bad luck, Ryuji feels bile rise to his throat.

Akira is good at what he does. Infuriatingly good. Took the whole Metaverse bullshit like a fish to water. But even he can’t switch Personas the same moment he summons them.

Principality would crumple like tissue paper against the Shadow. And Akira along with it.

You’re too late, a voice whispers in his head. You wouldn’t make it.

A heartbeat passes. And then Ryuji is flying.

It’s never too late, screams back something stronger, something unshakeable. Not ever. Especially not for him.

His boots hit the ground like the first strike of lightning amidst a storm—impossibly fast and unexpected. Lungs wheezing and legs throbbing, he crossed the distance in the span of a breath.

The Shadow throws the curse at Akira, red and black and filled to the brim with intensity, and Akira’s eyes can only widen, pupils dilated wildly to the point where there’s only black—a mirror of what’s about to hit him if Ryuji isn’t fast enough.

He doesn’t hesitate.

Ryuji shoves Akira, hard enough that he crashes onto the ground and he can hear the breath forcefully leave his lungs, and suddenly Ryuji can’t hear anything at all. His fingertips are fire and ice, his sense of surroundings have completely dissipated. Any energy in his body is being drained, like a dam cracked into millions of pieces—and all he’s left with is air. Vaguely, he can hear a choking noise, a broken sort of sound.

The blow is not just a violent one—it never is, with curse attacks. Instead of just feeling his skin bruised or blood running down his temple, he also feels himself get weaker, his mind growing heavier. An attack on the mind and body; a perfect cocktail of fucked up.

The last thing he sees before he loses consciousness is the glint from Akira’s knife slicing through the Shadow’s throat.

====

Tokyo is currently at a wicked thirty two degrees.

The sun radiates scorching temperatures down from the sky, the concrete eagerly absorbing every bit of its heat, making something akin to walking across hot coals. It’s hot enough that a mirage is visible to the naked eye. It’s hot enough that every ice cream store has a forty-minute line-up. It’s hot enough that no birds were flying, in fear that they may truly be fried by the sun above them.

Basically, it’s hot as hell.

“Ryuji-chan, pick up the pace!”

But Haru is more vicious than any conceivable temperature.

Looking like a survivor who was lost in the desert for several days, Ryuji lets out a half-garbled battle cry and sprints the last dozen meters. Haru clicks her stopwatch.

Sitting on a lovely lilac blanket, she tsks from underneath the shade. “Three seconds slower.”

“Ugh!” he collapses beside her on the cool grass. If she looks at him from a certain angle, she can see the steam positively radiating off of him. “I’m going to beat the living shit out of the sun.”

“You know I’d support you in anything you do, Ryuji-chan, but I don’t think you’d be fast enough to catch it,” Haru says. She hands him a cold water bottle. “Drink slowly.”

He rolls over so that he can squint up at her. “You’re mean.”

“I’m harsh,” she corrects, shaking the bottle in her hand. “There’s a difference.”

He takes it. “Have you done this before?”

“Helped someone train in running? No. But,” she rummages through her pastel pink tote bag, and proudly shows him a handful of books. He squints at them. “Since I’m so new to the group and everyone has such broad interests, I decided to try reading up on them! Did you know that drinking cold water after running results in less dehydration than drinking warm water?”

Ryuji stares at her. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For saying you’re mean. You’re not mean. You’re real nice, Haru.”

She smiles at him and pats his head, despite the overflowing heat and moisture settled on top. “You’re very sweet Ryuji-chan, but that’s not going to make me go easy on you.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re the tough-love kind of coach.” Ryuji sits up, cracking open the seal. Chugging down the water, he makes eye contact with Haru before slowing down substantially.

He dumps the rest of it on his head, sighing and shivering in relief. “That’s the good shit.”

“Why not wait for the sun to go down a bit?” she suggests. “The heat is really scorching, and there’s still plenty of time to keep training later.”

“Nah,” he stretches his arms behind his head before he stands again. “I gotta keep going while I still can.”

Haru frowns. “Overexertion isn’t going to help anyone.”

“Don’t you worry your fluffy head! I may be stupid, but I know when to stop when I gotta.”

“I really think you should rest for a bit.”

“I will when I’m done, I promise.”

“You looked rough in that last lap—”

“Haru,” Ryuji is grinning, but his tone leaves no room for argument. “I’m going to keep training.”

They stare at each other for a few moments, before Haru’s shoulder sags slightly. “Alright.” He’s about to say something when she cuts him off. “But only if you tell me why you’re so insistent.”

Ryuji shrugs. “If that’s what it’ll take to prove it to you, then sure. It’s kinda stupid, though.”

“I’m sure it’s not.”

“Oh, wait till you hear it,” he laughs, a little shy. “So you know how Mona and Futaba are, like, the Metaverse experts? And Makoto is the big brain? And Yusuke does the whole calling card part?” Haru nods, and he continues. “Well, I’m not really… anything. Ann already took the role of moral support and there’s no way in hell I’m the ‘brain’ in anything. Jeez, last time I picked up a paintbrush was in kindergarten. So I figured, I’d be the fast one, you know? The one that can get to someone fast enough to help them out.” Ryuji’s grin turns into something softer; less edge and more fond. It does something to her heart. “And if it’d help ‘Kira down the line, then it’d be worth it, right?”

Haru stays silent.

“Anyway! That’s enough of that cheesy shit.” He moves back to the track, running shoes scuffing at the concrete. “Wish me luck, maybe I can actually catch up to the sun this time. Teach it a lesson.”

“Ryuji.“

Looking back, he gives her a curious look. “Yeah?”

Haru hesitates.

I never once thought you were stupid. You’ve given so much more to the team than you can imagine. You have no idea how many times you’ve helped Akira without even lifting a finger.

“I have a cooler full of water behind me, so… please try your best out there.”

Ryuji gives her an enthusiastic salute. “Yes ma'am!”

He runs off, the sun continuing to beat down him relentlessly.

====

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Ryuji knew they were all going to die someday. It’s inevitable. The circle of life, the winds of time, la vie en rose, etc.

He just didn’t expect it to happen at the age of 16, on the sinking cognitive ship of their next Prime Minister, wearing a wack-ass leather outfit surrounded by his panicking friends.

“We’re going to die!” Futaba wails, knees shaking uncontrollably to the point where she can hardly keep standing. “I don’t know how to swim!”

“It’ll be fine,” Akira spits through gritted teeth. He’s far tenser than anyone else, red gloves formed into fists and eyes constantly darting around to see what can save their lives. “We just need to focus.”

Makoto points to something on their right and shouts, “There! A lifeboat!”

Sprinting down the slowly escalating ramp, their eyes widen at the single lifeboat propped at the very top of the bow—which is slowly approaching a ninety degree angle. They all had one thought in their minds.

“We’re not going to make it in time,” Yusuke says, quietly.

Akira bangs his fist into a nearby column. “To hell with that. There’s no way I’m letting us die here.”

A heavy silence falls over them. The air is practically crackling with electricity and pure agitation, but there’s also a determination between all of that. Everyone’s overcome with a need to protect their friends and teammates, but they were at a loss of what to do. A quiet realization overcomes the group—there wasn’t going to be a miracle to save them.

Ryuji’s eyes land on Akira. He’s scanning the area, Third Eye activated but unable to pick up anything that isn’t the lifeboat. There’s no panic in his clear, gray eyes, but the terror in it is the most prevalent out of anyone present.

It hits Ryuji, all at once. The boy in front of him may be his age, and even younger than some members of their group, but he is undoubtedly the leader of the infamous Phantom Thieves. Every decision he made had led them here, in this moment, in their imminent death. And if he lets them all get taken, whether it’s through the ocean or the approaching explosions behind him, the truth of the matter is Akira feels that he would be responsible. That it’s his fault that a cognitive boat would take the lives of his friends.

Yeah. That’s not happening.

Ryuji clenches his eyes shut for a few seconds and slowly opens them. He begins to jump in place, hyping himself up.

“Skull…?” Haru asks, brows furrowing.

“Hang tight, guys,” he says, taking quick breaths. He can do this. “I’ll nab the boat.”

A chorus of gasps and heated objections rang through the air, and Akira steps forward, more shaken than Ryuji’s ever seen him. “No. Skull, please—”

Ryuji throws him a wobbly grin, more for Akira than himself. In one smooth motion, he jumps down and hits the ground running.

“No!”

Immediately, he feels his knees and thighs begin to protest, only intensifying the further he sprints up. For a minute, if Ryuji closes his eyes, he can imagine that he’s in a meet. A race. That the screams he hears behind him are his track mates, and not teammates, friends, best friends that would die if he failed to get to the boat fast enough.

He pushes himself even more.

It’s a miracle that he gets to the raft before his legs give out, and he feels a satisfying crank underneath his palms when he rotates the lever. As he throws a thumbs up at his friends, seeing them safe, healthy, alive, he feels relieved beyond words.

He makes eye contact with Akira, and he really should’ve expected the explosion that comes next.

====

His ceiling has seventy-nine plastic stars.

Ryuji stares up at it from his bed, arms crossed behind his head; they’d long since lost their cheap light. It was raining hard outside, enough to rattle against his window like pebbles calling for his attention. He ignores them.

It’s been years since he got those stars—dating all the way back in middle school. He got into a bad habit of sneaking out in the middle of the night to look at the sky from the roof of their apartment building. It scared the shit out of his ma when she finally caught him, scolded him to hell and back. By the end, they found a compromise: she’d buy him a crap ton from the hundred yen store, and they’d stick it up together. When they did, it kept falling down, so she went back and bought him a bottle of superglue. Now you can’t take them off, even if you tried to use a little scraper.

It bothered him, for a while. Young boys were cruel, and anyone who came to visit always poked fun of him for it. It wasn’t until he visited Akira’s room one day, saw how pleased he was that Yusuke bought them for him that he couldn’t help but revel at his own stars again, after all this time.

Ryuji twists his body sideways, ripping his eyes away from the plastic figures. Enough of that.

His eyes have long adjusted to the darkness that surrounds him, allowing a clear view of his room in the limited moonlight. Laundry splayed around his tatami mat from his sprints training today, gaming controllers scattered on the center table from when Akira came over a few days ago. That was a blast. He helped him beat a boss he’s been stuck on for weeks, and Akira beat it like it was nothing, it was the coolest shit ever—

Ryuji forces himself to flip over to glare at the wall. Sleep. That’s a better idea.

He takes a deep breath, forcing his breathing to go steady. There’s lots to do tomorrow—school is a drag, but they plan on meeting up at Leblanc afterwards. The thought allows his muscles to relax. Really, the atmosphere of Leblanc is just so pleasing to him. The warm lighting, the run-down booths, even the smell is a welcome presence. Well, that’s mostly because Akira drags it with him wherever he—

Slowly, his eyes open.

It always comes back to him, doesn’t it?

He rolls onto his back, in a position to stare at the stars again. The rain hammers on.

Ryuji’s a dumb kid.

It’s not a self jab, it wasn’t manifested by some sort of long-standing insecurity. It’s a fact. He’s never been good with a book, never done anything half-decent by picking up a pencil, his mind was never programmed to listen and retain information in long classes. It’s definitely not like he’s the brains of the Thieves, never a strategist of some kind. His ma encouraged him to take on a tutor in the past, and he’d rather bite a finger off than spend her money on wasted potential, so he found himself wandering the streets of Central Street as a way to pass time.

Ryuji’s a dumb kid, but even he knows he’s irrevocably, completely, stupidly in love with Kurusu Akira.

He sits up and ruffles his hair, frustrated. There are too many things wrong with that sentence, too many things that can go wrong because of that sentence. Of course, he finds the one thing that can mess up the unshakeable foundation that he and Akira built for each other. He must’ve really pissed off some God upstairs for him to have a hell-bent queer awakening with his best friend.

No, that’s wrong. It was the furthest thing from hell-bent—it was soft, it was gray, it was raining, and most importantly, it took its time.

They were halfway through Kamoshida’s Palace when Ryuji realized it; the sheer amount of power that hindsight gave him made him pause long enough to get clocked out by a Shadow.

Doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. It can’t matter, because he would never, ever do anything to fuck up what he has. Not again.

Wait, no, that’s not true. Even before Kamoshida, he’s never had something like this. He’s never had someone like him. He’s never had someone who’s so entirely on the same wavelength as him, who’d have his back even when his was against a wall. Kurusu Akira is…ethereal. Out of this world. Cool as fuck. (Hot as fuck, too.) If you lined up the entirety of Tokyo and told him he could pick one. One person out of the whole lineup to be his friend, he’d have his answer in a heartbeat.

See, now that isn’t something that changed with hindsight—Ryuji’s known that he’s been in love with Akira since before they completed Kamoshida’s Palace. And when he figured it out, he didn’t feel shock. His eyes didn’t widen, his heart didn’t start thumping like crazy. It’s more like he just scratched his head in a huh kind of way. It felt like his life had been waiting for that day in April, like everything was at a standstill until he finally met Kurusu Akira. It made sense. Everything just makes sense when Akira’s involved.

Which just makes this all the more fucked up.

He knocks his head back against the wall, eyes stuck on the raindrops’ rapidly moving shadows on his bedroom floor. Karma. That’s probably what’s happening. The world still hasn’t forgiven him for losing his shit, so they decided to make him pine for the only person that he can’t afford to lose.

He can’t even stomach the idea of trying to get over it, to try and put distance between himself and Akira. He spent a lifetime waiting for a miracle, for someone who didn’t know existed. He’s not giving up a single second of time with him. That’s probably why the world relentlessly shits on him; he’s selfish enough to keep the feelings that he has. But he can’t bring himself to regret that decision. Not with the way his breath hitches in his throat whenever Akira walks into the room.

Ryuji’s in love with his best friend, and there’s absolutely nothing he can do about it. He’s accepted it. Just like how the sky is blue, or that he well and truly hates Calculus. It’s a factor of life.

The rain seemed to fall harder, droplets sounding like rigorous hail against the windowpane. He lets out a long yawn.

Ryuji’s in love with his best friend, and there’s absolutely nothing he can do about it.

That’s not the reason why he can’t sleep at night.

Akira is a quiet guy. He gets his point across with as few words as possible, as if each letter costs him fifty yen to say out loud. So he speaks through his expression; a quirk of his brow, a tilt of his head, a certain smile is enough to carry half of the conversation.

And, every once in a while, Akira gets a look.

It comes up at the weirdest times—when the two of them baton pass in the Metaverse, when Ryuji eats ramen too fast and gets sick, when he helps an old lady cross the street. Plenty of times it’s because Ryuji is doing something incredibly stupid (like when he said that the square root of sixteen is six, because if you just get rid of the one, then that makes sense, right?), or when they’re laughing so hard neither of them can breathe. But sometimes it comes up in quieter moments, too. The two of them talking quietly in the attic at Leblanc, or when Akira confesses that he’s relieved Ryuji’s always there for him. (As if there would ever be a time where he won’t be.)

The look is subtle enough to miss but easy to find if someone knows what they’re looking for. The usual attentiveness that resides in Akira’s eyes disappears, in its place a softer gaze; his pupils get dilated, and the edge of his eyes get all crinkled like Valentine’s tissue paper. A half-smile rests on his lips, never quite turning into a full-blown grin, but that’s okay. For some reason, it all reminds Ryuji of the moon. Of soft moonlight. Of streetlamps on empty roads.

Ryuji’s in love with his best friend, and there’s a small, tiny, infinitesimal chance that his best friend might love him back.

His eyelids slide shut, though he knows that it won’t be enough to let him rest.

Realistically, he’s probably wrong. Akira isn’t in love with him, and he’s only seeing what he wants to see. With every eligible person seeming to fall in love with him at some point in time, how would it even be possible that Akira would love him?

He rubs his eyes, desperate to get rid of the unending fatigue that’s plagued him for months on end. It doesn’t work.

Bad excuse. Akira does love him, just like he loves everyone he encounters and befriends and ends up risking his life for. Ryuji’s surprised Akira hasn’t passed out yet, given his bleeding heart for the entire population of Tokyo.

Lightning flashes and thunder rumbles as he rubs his eyes harder.

But what if he wasn’t wrong? What if the signals he’s seeing aren’t based on misunderstood yearning?

When his eyes start to burn, his fingers move up to his hair.

There’s no way in hell he’d ever risk losing his best friend. His partner. His Akira. It’s not something he can gamble. It’s not worth it.

He begins to tug, hands shaking, and he can barely feel the sting of pain from nearly pulling his hair out his scalp.

It’s not worth it. He decided that in the very beginning.

Ryuji buries his face into his palms.

But he is so, so exhausted of being tired.

Lightning flashes, and for a split-second, his room is bright.

Fuck it.

By the time thunder rumbles through his apartment, he’s already out the front door.

His sneakers squelch against the wet concrete, soaking his unsocked feet. He’s sprinting fast enough that the street lights around him blur, and he can feel quick breaths getting pulled out of him. It takes him a few seconds to realize that he forgot to wear a raincoat, but he doesn’t care.

Akira is his best friend. Akira accepted him, flaws and all. Akira loves him, one way or another. That’s what held him back. He can’t risk losing that.

Ryuji quickly checks both sides before running across the street, wiping the rain off his brow, and keeps going.

But that’s what should’ve pushed him into confessing sooner. Because if that’s all true, then that can only ever mean that Akira would accept this part of him too, right?

He jerks out of the way as he almost barrels over a fire hydrant, making him step into a deep puddle. It doesn’t slow him down.

Maybe he would’ve realized it sooner if he wasn’t too fucking tired to think straight.

His lungs begin to complain, his breaths turning to wheezes, but he ignores it in favor of going faster.

Too late for that now. All the matters now is to talk to—

He skids to a halt.

In front of him—eyes wide, hair drenched, no shoes—stands Kurusu Akira.

Ryuji’s mouth falls open, and for a minute, he almost laughs. Of course. He should’ve known. Just as he’s willing to sprint to Akira at an unholy hour in the night…

He smiles sheepishly at him, and Ryuji feels his chest constrict in the loveliest way possible.

…Akira would do the exact same thing for him.

The rain slows, and the thunder ceases for a moment. The world pauses long enough for both of them to speak in the same breath, the same heartbeat:

“I’m in love with you.”

#fic tag #akiryu #pegoryu #fanfic #writing #ryuji sakamoto #akira kurusu #persona 5 #persona 5 royal #mine #desperate as that sounds #and yeah man thats a jon bellion song #fic

[wheresmynaya]

Cupcake Battles Ch.2 | Brittana

Thinking about you all today and I hope you’re doing alright. <3

Also available on ff.net (x) ao3 (x) & below the cut!

We’re back in the Cupcake Battles’ arena and the remaining three teams stand at the ready in their stations as Sam Evans strolls in through the glass double-doors to the show’s action-packed theme music. He struts down the aisle as if it’s his own personal catwalk, smoothing his hands along his shaggy blonde hair before shooting Mercedes and Artie with his finger-guns.

They look to each other confused and unamused while Sam then finishes his entrance with a twirl that leads into a not-so-smooth body roll. Despite that though he doesn’t give up and proceeds to hump the air, missing every single beat while he does so.

\\

“Gross,” Santana scrunches her nose and tries to avert her eyes before she goes blind. Instead she catches Brittany staring at her, attempting to keep from laughing at Santana’s obvious disgust. She feels the blood start to rush to her face upon being caught but then Kurt’s whispering to her.

“And to think he was on Grooving with the Celebs,” Kurt admonishes quietly, “I think even I might dance better than him.”

Santana’s eyes drift from Brittany to find Sugar egging Sam on as she pumps her fist. She can’t decide if Sugar is genuinely into this method of torture or she’s just messing with him. Either way, Santana reluctantly looks away to acknowledge Kurt’s comment.

“I wouldn’t say all that,” Santana quips and Kurt sucks his teeth at her, “What? I’ve seen you dance after you’ve had two Shirley Temples. It ain’t cute.”

Kurt rolls his eyes, “First of all, I’m always cute.”

“Yeah,” Santana sputters out behind a laugh, “Sure.”

“Secondly, you think you’re a better dancer?” Kurt questions with a smirk, “All you’re missing is a stripper pole.”

“At least I’d get paid to dance,” Santana shrugs, “You’d probably get paid to stop.”

\\

When the music cuts, Sam straightens his suit jacket and points to the camera, “Welcome back, Viewers! Who’s ready for Round 2 of today’s Cupcake Battle?”

The camera alternates between capturing the teams’ reactions and all the teams clap and cheer with excitement upon finally getting to the challenge after the interruption that took place just before the cameras started to roll again.

It was then that everyone learned that Rachel Berry is not one to go gentle into that good night.

\\

The uncharacteristically long break between rounds was due to Rachel rushing around the arena, trying to evade being escorted off the premises.

Rachel had broken through the doors and went around knocking over as many baking pan racks as she could all while belting out Hannah Montana’s Nobody’s Perfect in between giving Santana death glares.

Who knew someone so small could cause such a big scene?

The crew had scrambled to keep Rachel from coming at Santana, but the co-judge wasn’t having it.

“Nah, let her through!” Santana called from over a crew member’s shoulder. She tapped her chest with her hands and shot her arms out, “Try me, I light up! Come on!”

“Oh my God…” Kurt facepalmed, “How is this show not cancelled yet?”

The teams were a little afraid but the drama was so addicting, they couldn’t stop watching.

Thankfully, the crew was able to wrangle Rachel to the ground before she caused anymore damage. She struggled like hell to break through until Finn came over to talk some sense into her. It seemed to work and she calmed down enough that the crew felt it was safe to let her up slowly.

Finn gave her a dopy smile before throwing her over his shoulder like a sack of full of broken dreams.

“Sorry about that,” He said to everyone then gave her butt a pat, “She’s super passionate.”

As Finn carried her out, Rachel made her exit by singing ABBA’s I Have a Dream.

It was quite the spectacle, but once she was safely removed the crew quickly reset the arena so that they could get back to filming.

\\

The camera pans back to Sam, “Well, this round is sure to quench that thirst!”

“Did he really just…,” Santana mumbles aloud looking as unimpressed as ever, “Who comes up with this crap?”

Kurt lifts his shoulder, “I thought it was quite…punny.”

Santana gives him a look and says plainly, “I’m quitting.”

“No you’re not,” Kurt chuckles and pokes at Santana’s side, “You love me too much.”

“No one said anything about love,” Santana groans, batting away his hands.

Kurt tutted, “Last premiere party, you said it in front of everyone so I have witnesses.”

“I said I appreciate your fabulousness. That’s all.”  

Kurt just gives his co-judge an eye roll before they both turn to Sam as he approaches the panel.

“Cheerleading is thirsty work, isn’t that right Coach?” Sam asks, trying to be conversational as he looks to Coach Sue Sylvester. He gives her a dorky grin but she just ignores him and continues to stare down the camera like the cameraman is attempting to infiltrate her mind.

Sam waits for a reaction before ultimately giving up. He looks to the audience, “Well, I’m sure it is! For our first round, we focused on good eats and now we’re focusing on good drinks. Round 2 is all about Day Drinking!”

“Finally something I can get behind,” Santana smirks.

Kurt tilts his head, “I don’t think that’s what it means. At least, I hope not? This is meant to be a family show…”

“The challenge for this round will be to create three cupcakes that are each based on a drink that gets you through the day. Hence, day drinking!” Sam explains carefully.

Santana frowns at the clarification, “Boo..”

Kurt nudges her side, “Shh.”

Sam goes on with explaining, “So we’re looking for cupcakes that are inspired by a drink that gets you up in the morning, a drink pushes you through those afternoon blues, and a drink to end the night with.”

\\

The camera pans to Team Batter Up Cupcakes where Brittany and Sugar exchange excited smiles as they bounce on their toes. They’re buzzing with anticipation and Brittany’s already running through various ideas at a mile a minute, her creative side ready to run wild.

Team Baking Dreams Come True looks equally thrilled with the new challenge and stares down their biggest competitors across from them. Blaine and Tina try their best to intimidate Brittany and Sugar – keyword try – but Team Batter Up Cupcakes don’t look the least bit concerned.

Team AJs Bake Shop on the other hand look slightly worried as Mercedes and Artie start to brainstorm. With the rivalry going on between the other two teams and the dramatics that came from Rachel and Finn’s kitchen during the first round, Team AJs Bake Shop has flown under the radar for the most part.

But aside from the cupcake Brittany and Sugar put up, Mercedes and Artie were the only other team that came close to a high level of praise. By high, we’re talking about Santana labeling it as tasting just fine which isn’t really that high of a critique when compared to the words said to Team Batter Up Cupcakes.

Brittany and Sugar aren’t new to this whole competition thing and although Mercedes and Artie think they’re being slick with the whole silent but deadly act, nothing gets past them. Old rivals or new ones, they’re gonna take down anyone who stands in there way of that prize money!

\\

“But wait, bakers, there is…a twist,” Sam interrupts the teams as the surrounding walls illuminated in the usual pink neon lights shift to green, followed by a dramatic sound effect.

The camera zooms in on the far wall that begins to move. A special pantry slides forward from a hidden segment in the paneling. The shelves are stocked with various cans and bottles.

“Is that?” Sugar squints at the cabinet trying to distinguish the labels. Once she realizes, she looks to Brittany and asks, “What day is it again?”

“Turn Up Tuesday,” Brittany responds with a devilish grin then it falls as she turns to Sugar, “Or maybe it’s Thirsty Thursday? I don’t really keep track of the days anymore.”

They both giggle at each other with these great big grins while Sam continues.

“As a curveball ingredient, each team is required to use an item from this pantry in their creation!” Sam announces as he windmills his arm to point to the cabinet next to him. The camera pans along the items there as he continues to explain, “There are a variety of popular sodas as well as spirits that you can choose from, but at least one of these items must be included in your final product.”

\\

“Aren’t the bakers meant to provide for a cheerleading benefit at the end of this?” Kurt whispers to Santana, “Isn’t it a bit…inappropriate to include alcohol around minors?”

Santana ponders it before deciding she doesn’t actually get paid enough to care about how ethical these challenges are, she’s just here to serve looks and dish out realness. But she can tell Kurt is a little conflicted about this so she throws him a bone.

“Listen Miss Priss, no one is going to get buzzed off of a boozy cupcake except for maybe you.”

Kurt gasps and begins to stammer out a reply, but Santana cuts him off.

“Besides, I doubt they’re unfamiliar to the taste of it because: number one, they’re high school seniors and I’m sure they’ve already turned to alcohol at least once. Number two, they have to deal with grandma down there as their coach.”

“Watch it, you knock-off J.Lo.” Sue quips without even glancing in Santana’s direction.

“Knock-off? I’ll show you knoc – “

“Sit down, Santana!” Kurt urges and tries to force her back, “You can’t try to fight another guest judge, remember what happened last time?”

Santana’s quick to bite her tongue, the producers don’t necessarily like when she roughs up a guest judge but this lady is pushing it. She cuts her with one last glare before taking a settling breath and looking back to the remaining teams.

\\

“Man your stations, bakers, and let the battle begin!” Sam pulls the pocket square from his chest and waves it like a flag girl yet again with such a flamboyant flare that even Kurt questions how straight he really is.

Brittany rushes to pull out the sketch pad beneath the counter and starts to scribble out a design she had been working on ever since the pantry rolled out.

“Alright so this is what I’m thinking…Dr Pepper, Piña Colada, and that spicy Mexican hot chocolate we like.”

“In that order?” Sugar asks as she watches Brittany craft the designs with such focus.

Brittany nods resolutely without looking up from the sketchpad, “Yup, in that order.”

Sugar glances over at the pantry to find Dr Pepper and Malibu then turns back to Brittany and asks, “You want to use more than one ingredient from the curveball pantry even though we don’t need to?”

“Yup,” Brittany says and pops the p for emphasis. She finally looks up at Sugar, “And I want you to create these cute fondant decorations for each. You saw what Tina did last round?”

“Yeah,” Sugar scoffs and shoots Tina a glare from across the aisle. Tina looks back questioningly at first then tries to match it with her own scowl.

“You’re going to show the judges how it’s really done,” Brittany smirks.

Sugar tears away from her staring match with Tina and begins to beam because her best friend is such a genius, “Hell yes, this is going to be so awesome!”

Brittany high fives Sugar, “Duh.”

\\

In Team AJs Bake Shop’s station, Mercedes and Artie work together to try and come up with their three drinks. Ultimately they decide on a mocha Frappuccino, an Earl Grey infused with lemon, and a tequila sunrise. They’re pretty confident with their choices and set off to begin making their cupcake batters while watching Team Baking Dreams Come True and Team Batter Up Cupcakes duke it out amongst themselves.

Mercedes and Artie figure that with such an intense rivalry, the other teams will be too busy bickering to notice them coming through for the win!

\\

Over in the Team Baking Dreams Come True kitchen, Blaine is working quickly to draft a design but finds that Tina keeps getting distracted.

“Come on T, focus!” Blaine urges when he catches her staring across the aisle again, “Just ignore them.”

“I can’t!” Tina cries as she continues to glare back at Sugar, “I can feel her beady eyes burning holes into me. She’s taunting me, Blaine, taunting me.”

Blaine sighs at his friend’s dramatics, “She’s just trying to get in your head, you know how they work. They always do this. Remember when they told us they replaced all the sugar in the test kitchen with salt but they didn’t actually do it and we wasted all that time recreating all of our batters because didn’t check beforehand? It’s just like that again, they’re all talk.”

Just then Sugar scribbles something on her sketchpad and shows off the message to Tina.

Still salty?

Tina gasps; it’s like Sugar is in her head and she quickly turns to Blaine. She grabs him by the shoulder and the sudden movement makes him jolt forward with wide eyes.

“What are you doing?”

“Quick! Taste the sugar!” Tina urges.

Blaine groans and pries Tina’s hand off of him, “We’ve been standing here the entire time, there’s no way they could’ve switched – “

“JUST DO IT!”

Blaine sighs and goes to sprinkle a bit of sugar into the palm of his hand before bringing it up to his mouth. Tina watches him like a hawk for a reaction.

Blaine’s facial expression goes from tired, to confused, to surprised.

“Salt?”

“Yeah,” Blaine grumbles and shoots Team Batter Up Cupcakes a glare.

Brittany and Sugar are doubled over as they laugh and laugh, it only makes Blaine and Tina even angrier.

“That’s it,” Blaine narrows his eyes, full of a new sense of determination, “Game on!”

\\

Santana watches the whole exchange between the rivals with a proud smirk. Switching out the sugar for salt is a classic practical joke, but even she has no idea how Brittany and Sugar pulled that off. It must’ve been when the crew was resetting after Rachel’s second outburst.

She glances over at the team but lingers a little longer on Brittany as she talks excitedly to Sugar. Deep down she knows she’s being a little unprofessional here, but there’s this aura about Brittany that Santana just can’t resist.

It also doesn’t help that the girl is super fine and talented as hell too!

“I’m really interested to see how Team AJs Bake Shop does this round,” Kurt says to Santana, “They’re kind of like the dark horse, the underdog, the sleeper, the– “

“Okay, I get it.”

Kurt glances at Santana to find her staring at the blonde yet again. He shakes his head, “You really need to work on your subtly.”

Santana looks to him and blinks, “What?”

“Your lesbian tendencies are showing,” Kurt says knowingly with a wag of his finger towards her.

Santana quirks her brow and looks down at her chest before adjusting her boobs, “Better?”

Kurt laughs at his co-judge’s ridiculousness, “Not what I meant, but sure.”

\\

“Alright judges,” Sam announces as they come to a stop in front of Brittany and Sugar’s station, “First stop, Team Batter Up Cupcakes! How are you ladies doing?”

“All good in the hood over here,” Brittany says coolly with a thumbs up. She’s leaning on a stand mixer while Sugar’s off to the side rolling out fondant.

Santana smiles politely at them both while her hands stay folded in front of her. She looks like a meek little mouse but at the same time ready to knock you down a peg if you think you’re flying too close to the sun. She totally nails the balance of looking adorable yet intimidating and she really is so, so attractive but Brittany can’t stop staring her boobs.

She tries her hardest, she really does but they’re right there staring at her! She can’t remember if it was like that when Santana came around in Round 1, then again she was too busy with being blinded by Santana’s gorgeous smile to notice anything else.

“You seem to be handling the pressure quite well,” Kurt acknowledges and his soft voice manages to break Brittany out of her boob-daze long enough to focus on him, “What are your drinks of choice for this round’s challenge?”

Brittany nods and looks down to taste the base frosting she has been working on before making an adjustment, “Well, my morning usually starts off with Dr Pepper so we’re pretty lucky that the drink is included in the pantry. For the aftern – “

“Wait,” Kurt pauses, “You start off your mornings with Dr Pepper?”

“How else are you meant to brush your teeth?” Brittany deadpans, “Or…do you not do that?”

Santana hides her laughter behind her hand while Sue stares at Brittany like she has two heads. Sam is looking somewhat convinced with Brittany’s logic though while Kurt gawks at her.

“Of course I brush my teeth,” Kurt scoffs then chooses to move on while Brittany starts on her next task, “And your choice for the afternoon?”

“Piña colada with Malibu from the pantry,” Brittany answers and Kurt is surprised yet again.

“For the afternoon?” Kurt clarifies and looks to Santana for some kind of back up. When she doesn’t give him anything, he turns back to Brittany, “I’m not following your decisions here. Can you explain?”

“It’s 5 o’clock somewhere,” Brittany replies easily as she tosses the Mexican chocolate into the double-boiler, “Everyone loves Piña Coladas.”

“Getting caught in the rain!” Sugar sings from behind her.

Brittany wiggles her hips to the sound and smiles sweetly at Kurt, “You’d probably benefit from an afternoon Piña Colada. Although, I’m still not sure if the song is talking about an actual drink or if it’s a euphemism…”

“I – “ Kurt stammers and Santana takes that as her cue to cut in before he combusts.

“You’re using two ingredients from the pantry,” Santana points out as she takes a step closer to Brittany. There’s this glimmer in her eye and this sexy little smile, “That’s pretty bold of you.”

“All or nothing,” Brittany says confidently, “That’s my motto.”

“I like that,” Santana chuckles, “You both showed off a lot of skill in the first round, how long have you been baking?”

Brittany ponders that a moment while she whisks through the melting chocolate and calls over her shoulder, “Hey Sug! When did I transfer to the C.I.A?”

Sugar hums as she comes up beside Brittany to steal some food coloring, “A couple years ago?”

Brittany nods and looks to Santana, “For a couple years then.”

“What?” Kurt gasps, “How is that possible?”

Santana is equally surprised, “That’s really impressive, I spent nearly ten years in school before I opened my own place. Where did you transfer from? It must be just as prestigious with the amount of skill you already possess.”

“I mean, I guess?” Brittany says, “I transferred from MIT.”

“Holy sh – “ Santana is completely in awe, “I needz to hear this backstory.”

“We really should move on to the other teams,” Sam tries but Santana just waves him off.

“Shut it, Trouty!” Santana bites before looking back to Brittany, “Tell me more.”

Brittany shrugs although her stomach can’t stop flipping because Santana Lopez is interested in her backstory. Is she dreaming? She keeps her cool though and does as she’s told.

“Well, I was working on my second Masters when I got into a little argument with someone from the Department of Chemistry over the quality of a cake they brought in for a staff luncheon,” Brittany explains, “They said that they spent years perfecting the recipe and that it takes a certain kind of talent to bake. I said that it couldn’t be that hard and here I am.”  

“You are just…,” Santana pauses and tries to keep her smile from growing any wider, “You’re full of surprises.”

Brittany lifts her shoulder all nonchalant-like and she’s too busy being wrapped up in another compliment that Santana has given her that she doesn’t realize her chocolate is starting to bubble. She quickly turns the heat down before it burns, but not before a lone chocolate bubble bursts and splatters a couple droplets on Santana’s dress.

All the cool she possessed goes right out the window as her face turns beet red.

“Oh my God,” Brittany gasps and Sugar darts to look in her direction at the sound of such a distressed tone.

Santana looks down at the melted chocolate dotting her chest.

Kurt’s jaw drops and he subtly moves behind Sam in preparation for the absolute fit Santana is about to throw. He’s seen first hand how vicious she can be and he doubts even Brittany’s pretty face will help her this time.

“Oh my God,” Brittany repeats and grabs at a paper towel to wet before she’s absent mindedly dabbing at Santana’s chest, “I’m so sorry. I – I can pay for the dry cleaning bill or I can–“

Santana stills Brittany’s trembling hands.

Kurt thinks this is it, this is the day Santana finally gets her ass fired and waits for Santana to yeet the poor girl across the room, but something strange happens instead.

Santana smiles.

Kurt thinks she might’ve hit a new level of pissed that he’s yet to see during their many years of working together. He’s actually scared for Brittany, but there’s no way in Wal-Mart that he’ll try to intervene now. There are just some things even he won’t do.

Brittany gulps.

Sugar stands back to watch, popping tiny marshmallows into her mouth like popcorn.

“It’s fine, Brittany,” Santana says through her smile then slowly let’s Brittany’s hand fall to the counter, “Although you might want to keep a better eye on your chocolate next time.”

“Yeah sure,” Brittany nods in a daze. Honestly, she’ll agreeing to anything Santana says right now as long as she doesn’t tear into her like she did with Rachel earlier.

Santana looks down at the cutting board next to where Brittany’s hand rests now and recognizes the chocolate packaging, “Are you using Mexican chocolate?”

Brittany slowly blinks and looks down at the board and back up, “Uh… yeah. It’s for our drink to end the night with. We’re doing a Spicy Mexican hot chocolate.”

“Hmm,” Santana hums before swiping a piece of chocolate from the board, “You have quite the line up for us. Good luck to you both.”

“Thanks,” Brittany says before they all begin to walk away. She feels like she can finally breathe again and looks over her shoulder to Sugar and starts to mouth holy fuck did you see th –

“Oh and Brittany?” Santana calls out.

Brittany instantly swivels on her heels and stands at attention, “Yeah?”

“Keep an eye on your chocolate,” She smirks as she pops in the piece she stole earlier before turning away.

Brittany thinks she actually might be drooling right now because woah, but it doesn’t last long before Sugar is ruining her moment.

“Oh my God, Britt!” Sugar squeals as she starts slapping at Brittany’s shoulder, “There is no denying it now. I’m not even going to say it because you and I and all of America knows what I’m thinking.”

Brittany lets out a sigh and shakes her head, “I need a drink.”

“Shots!” Sugar cheers. She grabs the bottle of Malibu from her station and pours a bit into a measuring cup and hands it to Brittany while Sugar pours some into a ramekin. They both knock back the shot and Brittany sends Sugar a knowing look.

“I’m beginning to see what you’re talking about now…help.”

“Yes!” Sugar beams, “Don’t worry about a thing, I’m going to be the best wing-woman!”

“Let’s just win this thing first before you go all Love Connection on me,” Brittany chuckles, “I know how you like to spiral.”

Sugar throws up her hands in defense as she walks back to her side of the station, “I just call it like I see it, Brittz, and I called it from the very beginning.”

Brittany just keeps her head down and gets back to work, trying to keep thoughts of Santana to a minimum.  

\\

“I thought you were going to kill her,” Kurt whispers as they leave Team Batter Up Cupcakes behind, “I thought you were going to finally catch a case and kill that poor girl, not to mention her ruining your dress.”

“The girls did their job, what do you expect?” Santana replies easily, “Besides, it was an accident.”

Santana is guided off to the side so that her stylist can work her magic and remove the stains, or at least position her hair so that it’s a lot less noticeable. It’s only a couple dots so it’s really no big deal, but Kurt doesn’t seem to want to drop it.

“An accident? You know who else had an accident? Marley Rose. In her pants. Because you threatened her with a knife.”

“Calm down, it was an off-set spatula,” Santana corrects, “There’s no sharp edges there.”

“It was completely unnecessary,” Kurt admonishes.

“You know what else was unnecessary? Combining avocado and chocolate.”

“It wasn’t that bad, Santana. Don’t be dramatic.”

Santana rolls her eyes at him as her stylists does some finishing touches before Santana is given the okay to return to set. She gives Kurt a disgusted look, “Avocado has no place in this kitchen, damnit. I don’t care what kind of food trend band wagon rolls up in here. It’s a no for me.”

Kurt shakes his head in disbelief but returns to the previous topic as his tone dips lower, “She practically had her hand on your boob, Santana. Brittany, not Marley.”

“Yeah…and?”

“And you didn’t rip it from her body…”

Because I’m a lesbian and I’m into it, is what Santana wants to say but she doesn’t and honestly she doesn’t know what stops her. She’s always said what was on her mind, but now?

Santana glances over at the station they just left and catches Brittany with her head down in deep concentration. She smirks for a split second before turning a glare onto Kurt.

“I know what happened, Kurt, I was there. I don’t need you doing a play-by-play for me.”

Kurt looks at her quizzically, but the response seems to shut him up for the meantime. They go on to check in with the rest of the teams in silence.

\\

After they make their rounds, the judges return to the panel and wait out the last few minutes. Although thus far Santana hasn’t been able to keep her eyes from straying too far from Team Batter Up Cupcake’s kitchen, she along with the other panel judges are unable to look away from Team AJs Bake Shop.

The pressure is definitely on as the team scrambles to frost their cupcakes, but it doesn’t seem like there will be enough time for Mercedes and Artie to complete all three of them. You can start to see them beginning to lose focus as they keep checking the time, the seconds quickly disappearing until ultimately the buzzer sounds.

“Alright bakers, put down your utensils!” Sam calls out as he walks to the center of the arena, “This round is ovah.”

The camera pans to each kitchen, capturing the bakers’ relief – Sugar and Brittany hug it out while Blaine and Tina high five – but when it gets to Team AJs Bake Shop, Mercedes and Artie look completely defeated and devasted.

Only two out of the three cupcakes they planned have made it onto their plate.

“First up to the judging panel,” Sam says while doing his James Earl Jones impression again, “Brittany and Sugar from Team Batter Up Cupcakes! Let’s see what you’ve made.”

\\

Brittany and Sugar make the short walk over to the panel and hand out their cupcakes. They’re aesthetically on point with Brittany’s excellent piping and Sugar’s fondant work rounding out the whole presentation, but they hope that their eccentric ways don’t scare off the judges too much.

“Looks awesome,” Sam compliments with a wide smile, “Please explain to the judges what you’ve created.”

Brittany has been pretty cool-headed so far, but ever since the chocolate boob incident she’s been thrown a little off her game. She sucks in a breath to calm her nerves before speaking.

“Hi again, judges! To start your morning off right, we’ve made a Dr Pepper cupcake inspired by my awesome dentist Dr. Pepper who taught me that teeth-brushing isn’t only done at night.”

“Oh my God…it was her dentist. I feel so stupid,” Kurt sighs to himself.

Santana just chuckles, “As you should.”

“We used Dr Pepper from the curveball pantry in the chocolate cupcake batter as well as in the cherry buttercream frosting. Sugar made the topper out of fondant,” Brittany explained while the judges went in for their first taste.

Their expressions shifted to surprise at the sudden tingling sensations on their tongues.

“Oh! And we also garnished with popping candy to replicate the fizziness of the Dr Pepper,” Brittany supplies and watches nervously for a positive reaction.

Santana is the first to speak up this time, “Can I just say this is probably one of the best soda-inspired cupcakes I’ve ever had.”

Brittany’s brows shoot up to her hairline while Sugar lets out a squeal.

“It’s not just a chocolate cake with a splash of Dr Pepper, you can actually taste the soda in this and your use of the popping candy was again…sheer genius,” Santana adds, “Great job.”

Kurt reluctantly nods, “I love the frosting. It isn’t too sweet and this fondant work is spectacular, I’m just not sold on your choice to start the day off with this kind of beverage.”

“It was alright for me,” Sue shrugs nonchalantly, “Next!”

Santana and Kurt scowl at her but move on to the next cupcake anyway.

“So to get through the afternoon blues, Sugar and I went with a Piña Colada cupcake for obvious reasons,” Brittany begins to explain.

“Get litty!” Sugar whoops and knocks her first with Brittany’s.

“There’s pineapple juice and a little coconut cream in the cupcake batter and it’s topped with a coconut rum buttercream then garnished with some toasted coconut flakes as well as another awesome fondant piece by Sugar,” Brittany finishes while the judges taste their second cupcake, “We used Malibu from the curveball pantry in this recipe.”

“Wow, you can really taste the rum here,” Kurt comments but Brittany and Sugar can’t tell whether or not that’s a compliment.  

“Be careful you don’t get all white-girl wasted on me,” Santana teases while she tastes the frosting and lets it coat her tongue. She gives a satisfied smile, “That’s really good and I’m not even a big fan of Malibu. Might be just a touch too sweet for my tastes though. Malibu is so sugary as it is, you should’ve maybe cut back on adding any more sugar to your recipe.”

Brittany’s smile falters, “Understood.”

“I really like the fruity flavors of the cake here,” Kurt adds.

“You? Liking something fruity?” Santana’s brows rise, “I’m shocked.”

Kurt opts to ignore her and continues, “It’s just the right amount of pineapple and coconut, I feel like I’m on some tropical beach somewhere. And the addition of the toasted coconut flakes was a great touch, it adds a nice texture to your cupcake.”

“This one is better,” Sue agrees and at second glance they find that she has somehow devoured the entire cupcake, “Although, I don’t know how well it will go over with the parents if you’re chosen to cater for the Cheerios benefit. You would have to come up with something different. Next!”

Brittany and Sugar feel like they’ve been dealt another blow and think that maybe they should’ve been a little more tame this round. The judges’ responses are all so mixed, they don’t know where they stand.

They remain positive though as the judges move on to their final cupcake.

“To end the night, we have a Spicy Mexican Hot Chocolate cupcake with marshmallow frosting,” Brittany says as the judges start to taste, “There isn’t anything from the curveball pantry in this recipe, only the Mexican chocolate we found in the regular pantry.”

Kurt looks like he’s struggling with his watery eyes, “Is that…cayenne pepper?”

“It is,” Brittany nods resolutely, “Hence the spicy.”

“It’s really…” Kurt starts to cough but Sue is quick to slap his back which makes him yelp in pain.

“I’m into this,” Santana nods, barely batting an eye at Kurt’s reaction, “Once again, you’re showing off how well you balance out flavors and this marshmallow frosting... I’d eat it of off anything.”

Brittany gulps at the way the word rolls off Santana’s tongue. In an instant, Brittany’s mind  takes her there. She closes her eyes tightly, willing the thoughts away with all her might because now is not the time for them.

“No hot chocolate should have cayenne pepper in it,” Kurt replies once he’s able to speak again, “Like why? I didn’t get it.”

“That’s because you’re a basic bitch,” Santana eye-rolls but turns an encouraging smile onto Brittany and Sugar, “I liked this, it really took me back to my roots.”

“I’m a big fan of cayenne pepper,” Sue agrees, “Combine that with some lemon juice and sand and you’ve got yourself the perfect Sue Sylvester master cleanse.”

Santana gives Sue a look, “That can’t be healthy for you.”

Sue doesn’t answer though, just holds her head up high.

“Okay well, great job!” Sam commends, “Please return to your kitchen. The next team up: Blaine and Tina from Team Baking Dreams Come True.

\\

“I’m a little worried,” Sugar says once they return to their station. She takes another swig of rum straight from the bottle before passing it to Brittany, “Were we too much?”

Brittany shrugs and drinks from the bottle too, “If we did it any other way then we aren’t being true to ourselves and that’s the most important thing.”

“True,” Sugar nods, “I can’t get a read on them. Their feedback was everywhere.”

“We’ll just have to wait. We’ve always been the oddballs in every competition but we still bring home a win,” Brittany adds and looks to Sugar, “It won’t be any different this time.”

“Yeah! And Santana liked most of them and she’s usually the hardest one to please so that has to count for something,” Sugar wonders aloud, “Right?”

“One of the best soda-inspired cupcakes she’s ever hand,” Brittany reminds her, “We’ve got this, Sug.”

That seems to ease Sugar’s nerves and they stay huddled side by side like that, passing the bottle of rum back and forth between each other as the remaining teams are judged.

\\

“Here you go, Kurt!” Santana teases as Blaine and Tina present them with a pumpkin spice latte-inspired cupcake that they’ve chosen to start their day with. She cuts through the cream cheese frosting with her fork, “This is right up your basic bitch alley.”

“Shut up, Santana.” Kurt groans and rolls his eyes before tasting the creation. He doesn’t want to admit it aloud and land himself right at the butt of Santana’s joke, but the cupcake is delicious.

Judging by Santana’s facial expressions she thinks so too.

“I see you’ve taken my advice from Round 1 and stepped your game up,” Santana says to Blaine in a tone that drips with condescension, “There’s actually some flavor in here this time…even if you went with something so mainstream like a PSL. You did well, yay.”

It was the most unenthusiastic, off-handed yay Blaine and Tina has ever heard and they aren’t sure whether they should thank her for the compliment or be offended. Instead they just nod and wait for Kurt’s critique.

“Finally something I’m familiar with,” Kurt sighs through his pleased smile, “This is my favorite one so far. It’s like biting into Autumn. All of your flavors are spot on and this cream cheese frosting complements it so perfectly.”

Blaine and Tina share a surprised look that makes Brittany and Sugar want to gag. Sugar rolls her eyes so hard they almost stick while Brittany just wants to push one of them, most likely Tina since she’s the closest. Those two are the biggest suck-ups ever and they only confirm it as they thank the judges for their wonderful feedback and move on to the next cupcake.

Surprisingly, Sue smiles.

It’s kind of creepy, but it happens all because of their Matcha-inspired cupcake which represents their midday beverage.

“I hate cupcakes, but this one might change my mind,” Sues says after taking a bite.

Kurt tilts his head in confusion while Santana shoots Sue a look of disbelief.

“Wait so you hate cupcakes yet you’re on a show based on cupcakes?” Kurt questions, “How does that work?”

“Talk to my lawyer,” Sue answers shortly.

Kurt is taken aback and looks to Santana, “What?”

“I don’t know,” Santana shakes her head dismissively and gets back to judging the cupcake, “Once again, you’ve chosen another mainstream trend. Maybe if I was on My Weird Cravings and liked the taste of grass mixed with frosting and topped with dusting of seaweed, I wouldn’t mind this.”

Blaine and Tina cringe upon hearing Santana’s remarks.

\\

Brittany and Sugar both bust out laughing and it’s so loud that the camera pans to them.

“You made…a cupcake…for a goat!” Brittany giggles between words. She’s close to tears and Sugar’s going red in the face.

“Way to go, losers!” Sugar adds as she tries to catch her breath.

\\

“I – I’m so sorry, we-“ Blaine began but Santana just held up here hand to stop him.

“Don’t apologize. If you’re going to bake something and present it to me, you better be pretty damn proud of it to the point where even if you don’t get the response you’re after you still think it’s the best thing you’ve ever made,” Santana tells him sternly, “Confidence is important in this industry. Grow a backbone and own it.”

Blaine just gulps and steps back in line with Tina as the judge’s move on to their final cupcake.

Again for Santana, it tastes somewhat above average and their high skill level is evident and they do all the right things but there’s no risk taken.

She’s bored, they’re boring.

On the other hand, Kurt and even Sue are blown away by everything they’ve put forth so Santana is out numbered this time around.

Blaine and Tina look relieved when Sam dismisses them back to their station and they hold their heads high as they pass Brittany and Sugar. They don’t say a word, just give their best attempt at a cocky grin before crossing the aisle to their kitchen.

\\

The final team Sam calls up arrives to the judges’ panel wielding only two of their three cupcakes.

“What’s going on here?” Santana asks as she looks down at her plate.

“Our final cupcake didn’t cook through completely…” Artie replies guiltily.

“Time management not a strong point for you, huh?” Santana comments the nods to the first cupcake, “Tell us what you’ve made then.”

Mercedes takes over for Artie and goes on to explain the first cupcake, the coffee inspired cupcake to represent the start of their day. Presentation-wise, it’s on point and when it comes to taste, they kill it!

Santana is actually surprised by how much she likes it, “The espresso is really pronounced here which is something bakers fall short on a lot, but you nailed this. Coffee and chocolate is kind of a weakness for me so I’m glad that this doesn’t taste horrible.”

“I agree,” Kurt adds, “This is a very good take on what you were aiming for. Great job.”

Their second cupcake receives similar praise; great flavor, beautiful presentation and fits with the theme.

Brittany would be a little worried if they hadn’t only come up with two cupcakes.

“So which one of these cupcakes contains an ingredient from the curveball pantry?” Kurt asks once they finish tasting.

“Well,” Artie starts nervously, “It was in our final cupcake which would’ve been our take on a tequila sunrise. It contained tequila.”

“Obviously,” Santana quips then she starts to frown, “It’s really disappointing that you weren’t able to finish on time. You could’ve had this challenge in the bag.”

Brittany and Sugar share a look upon hearing those words; were they just saved by another team’s missteps?

\\

“Okay bakers, only two teams will be moving on to the final round. Do you think you’ve made the cut?” Sam asks as he stands next to the judge’s panel, “This round was a little bit of a challenge for most of you but…Blaine and Tina…you’ve made it to Round 3!”

“Oh my God!” Tina squeals as she jumps into Blaine’s arms.

“We made it!” Blaine cheers and they bounce around their kitchen. It’s like every step they take is a jab at Brittany and Sugar.

This can’t happen, they can’t lose to them. Brittany crosses her fingers and her toes as she shuts her eyes tight and begins to wish and hope that Sam calls out their name next.

“The final team that will move on to Round 3…will be…Brittany and Sugar!” Sam announces and the lights dim over Mercedes and Artie, “Sorry Team AJs Bake Shop, your fight is over.”

Brittany lets out a sigh of relief and pulls Sugar in for a hug, “That was too close.”

“The judges agreed that you put up some tasty cupcakes,” Sam goes on to explain to Mercedes and Artie, “But the fact that you didn’t provide three cupcakes was unfortunately a critical blow in your case.”

“Oh hell to the no,” Mercedes snaps and points over to Brittany and Sugar, “They made only one cupcake in Round 1 while everyone else made two and they won the round! So we do the same and now we’re getting cut? How is this fair? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“What is with everyone testing our decisions today?” Kurt grumbles.

Mercedes is still going, “All of our cupcakes fit the theme, meanwhile Brittany and Sugar just picked random-”

“Let me stop you right there,” Santana stands up.

Brittany looks from Mercedes to Santana and prepares for the worst. She’s got that look in her eyes again, similar to when she smacked Rachel down like the hand of God. There’s this determination mixed with pure fury and Brittany knows she shouldn’t be thinking about how good she looks up there, but it’s impossible not to.

“Britt and Sugar put their personality into their work which is something I have not seen from any other team here today,” Santana starts and Brittany instantly perks up upon hearing her nickname, “They didn’t do anything by random. They put thought behind everything that they’ve done and they actually take risks. Sometimes it’s a hit, sometimes it’s a miss but at least they’re swinging for the fences. Don’t come at them just because you messed up.”

Brittany can’t help but smile at how highly Santana is speaking about them and the use of baseball references just makes her feel warm all over. Her heart thuds hard and her stomach fills with crazy butterflies again. She’s overcome with this sudden urge to rush over and –

She stops herself from thinking such a thought. She doesn’t even know the woman like that and it would be so out of line. But then when she glances up, she just barely catches Santana looking her way before she sets her gaze back on Mercedes. It’s quick, too quick for Brittany to interpret. She just listens to whatever Santana says next.  

Santana grits her jaw, “The challenge for Round 1 didn’t specify the number of cupcakes required, everyone just assumed it meant two. Everyone except, Team Batter Up Cupcakes. This round specifically stated that you were to make three cupcakes. You made two, or do you need a recount? Can you even count? Should I break out the counting blocks and have you practice for a bit?”

Mercedes quiets although she looks like she is going to go off at any moment now.

Santana hopes she does.  

“You also left out a curveball pantry ingredient,” Kurt adds, “That’s too many errors to overlook and that’s why you’re being sent home.”

Mercedes and Artie swallow their pride and exit the arena without another word.

\\

Santana takes the moment to finally sit back down, but not before glancing over at Brittany one last time. The blonde is looking at her like she has put every single star in the sky. Oddly enough, the look makes Santana blush and she has to look away quickly before the camera catches her.

What she doesn’t evade is Kurt’s quizzical eye and when Santana finally sees that she has been caught, she does her best to fake it until she makes.

“What?” She scoffs.

“I totally get it now,” Kurt says as the dots all finally connect, “You like her.”

“You’re delusional.”

“You do like her!” Kurt squeals, “I knew it, that’s why you let her touch your boobs!“

“Boob,” Santana corrects, “Singular and I didn’t let her. She did that on her own.”

“Same thing!”

“Don’t start with me, Kurt,” Santana snaps, “I’m still full of rage.”

Kurt only smirks, “That’s not all you’re full of…”

“Huh?”

“You’re full of shit too.”

Upon seeing the wide grin Kurt wears, Santana rolls her eyes, “You’re really trying to get your scrawny ass kicked, aren’t you?”

\\

The camera drags up Sam’s torso to settle in close as he makes the final announcement of the round, “Another team bites the dust here at the Cupcake Battles’ arena! The two remaining teams that will battle it out in the final round are: Brittany and Sugar from Team Batter Up Cupcakes – “

The camera pans to Brittany and Sugar who are all kinds of intimidating. They both growl at the audience and flex their muscles, alternating from different poses, before they point over to Blaine and Tina and yell out, “We’re going to break you in half like a pop tart!”

“Oh, that’s violent…” Blaine frowns.

“And facing off with them will be Blaine and Tina from Team Baking Dreams Come True!” Sam adds as the camera points to the contestants.

They’re remaining polite and do the whole smile and wave which surprises no one because they’re so boring.

“Stay tuned to see who comes out on top for our third and final round in,” Sam takes a long dramatic pause, “Cupcake Battles!”

#Cupcake Battles #Brittana #brittana fanfiction #fanfics #baking au