#I had some stupid idiotic shit ass customers a few minutes before closing up shop

[greenshroomtea]

.

[so-writing]

Sugar, Honey, Ice and Tea - Matthew Tkachuk (10)

I posted a different part 10 a few days ago and hated it so I got rid of it and started over. This feels better, minimal editing though because I suck but you knew that, Enjoy!

all parts in the master list

--

The surge of confidence that had you messaging Brady Tkachuk on Instagram failed to remember what the bio section of your instagram read.

Your name.

Flames over everything,

Calgary or bust.

Of course he didn’t respond to your message, of course he told Matthew about it and, of course you had to deal with the wrath of the oldest Tkachuk.

You allowed yourself to sleep in late on the first day off you’d had in a while. Fully waking up at close to noon felt great, until you unlocked your phone.

You hit up my little brother? My brother? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me

Wake up and take responsibility asshole

You’re a fucking piece of shit

It probably pretty stupid of you to message Brady, knowing that Matthew would eventually find out at some point but this was just a little bit too aggressive for doing something as innocent as sliding into a stranger’s dms.

Having dealt with Matthew’s bullshit for far too many days in a row, you decided to ignore his messages. You searched for Brady’s name and sent another message, purely to fuck with Matthew.

Big brother is mad, gonna have to start DMing you even harder now!

That message got a response only a few minutes later, he really dislikes you that much, huh? Whatever you’re doing, keep that shit up.

You chuckled at his response before dropping your phone on the bedside table and heading for the shower to get your day started. 

++

Grocery shopping was the absolute bane of your existence. Children running wild, people standing in the middle of the aisle as they debated their choice of cereal entirely too long and people not knowing how to use the self checkout were only a few of the reasons why you started getting your groceries delivered years ago but it wasn’t an option today. 

Today you were going to have to venture into one of your versions of hell because there was no immediate availability for delivery you and needed to replenish your refrigerator. It was still pretty early and the parking lot was looking sparse so you felt slightly confident that the trip wouldn’t be too bad as you made your way inside with your list and grabbed a basket. 

It was going to be a quick trip, you were only there to get the essentials that would you get you through the day and you would place your bigger order for delivery for tomorrow. 

As you made your way toward the fruit and vegetable outer aisle, you caught sight of red curls and when you confirmed your suspicion, your stomach jumped into your throat.

He was the last person you wanted to see on your day off, but here he was, fucking Matthew Tkachuk was at the same grocery store at the same damn time you were and clearly he was also there to get the same fucking fruit—strawberries—you wanted too. 

You watched him as his eyes surveyed the plastic cartons, occasionally he’d pick one up and examine it before putting it back with the rest, and fuck, he was taking forever. 

“Jesus Christ, they’re all basically the fucking same, just grab a box and go.” 

Surprise lit up his features until he looked in your direction and realized who was talking to him and that surprised look grew into annoyance. 

“Shut up.”

“Fine, I’m not in the mood to deal with you anyway.”

You hurried over and stood right beside him, making sure to elbow him in the arm as you grabbed a carton of strawberries and threw it in your basket.

“There’s a bunch of mold on those but enjoy that I guess.” 

He didn’t look at you, continuing his seemingly endless quest to find the perfect bunch of berries. 

Thoroughly annoyed, you checked the box yourself and realized that he was right, there was a decent amount of mold on the fruit in the bottom left corner of the box. 

You had no idea what came over you or why you did what you did.

But you did it.

“Whatever, I don’t need them anyway,” you spat as you chucked the carton at Matthew as hard as you could. 

He wasn’t facing you and it hit him in the shoulder and neck area but the flimsy plastic broke and the box opened, sending strawberries flying everywhere. Some hit the side of his face, but most of them landed on the floor and also broke open, making quite a mess. 

“Holy shit,” you whispered in shock at your own actions, “holy shit.” 

“What the fuck?! Where the fuck are you going?!” 

You dropped your basket on the ground and speed walked away from him, toward the exit, as quickly as you could. It felt like you didn’t take a breath until you were out of the grocery store and in your car, slowly turning on the ignition and backing out of your parking spot with nothing in hand. 

*

He looked fucking ridiculous and he knew it. 

She had fucking bolted after pelting a carton of strawberries at his face and now he was alone with a mess. People were avoiding eye contact and he was standing there like a stupid fucking idiot with strawberry juice dripping down his cheek. 

“Sir,” an employee approached him, “are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m just,” he wiped his cheek, “i’m fine.”

“Some other customers reported it, and she was gone by the time we realized what happened. Your groceries are on us today, for the inconvenience.”

“Not your fault or your problem, I’m happy to pay for my stuff. I just kind of want to walk away from this,” he motioned to the mess around him.

“Of course, finish your shopping trip, we’ll clean this up.” 

“Thank you.” 

What the fuck just happened? It was supposed to be an easy day off. All he needed was a single carton of fucking strawberries.

*

Not cool, hated one. Wish I would’ve seen it, it was probably funny as hell

The text was from a number you didn’t realize but you had a feeling who the sender might be. 

It was, you responded, you probably shouldn’t be fraternizing with the enemy though, he’d hate that.

Who cares? This is highly entertaining and I’m not even there

I really just tried to enjoy my day off and there he fucking was. 

He’s good at popping up when no one wants it, it’s kind of his thing

You were settled into your couch, casually texting Brady, when someone began pounding at your door and, once again, you had a feeling who the sender—knocker in this case—might be. 

Looking through the peephole, you noticed that Matthew’s hair appeared to be wet, probably because you exploded a carton of strawberries on him but whatever, you hesitantly cracked the door. 

“It’s bullshit that Brady is finding my misery with your annoying ass so amusing,” he didn’t bother looking at you through the small crack, “he’s really fucking loving this.”

“I wasn’t really intending for him to get humor out of our messages,” you opened the door all the way, “but it still works I guess.”

“The strawberry thing was not cool,” he turned his irritatingly lovely blue eyes on yours, “at all.”

“I know.” 

“Messaging my brother on Instagram with shitty intentions wasn’t cool either.”

“I know,” you repeated and he rolled his eyes as he pushed off the wall next to your door and headed toward the elevator. 

“You’re so fucking hot and cold with me, I don’t know how to deal with it,” you shouted at his back. 

“Yeah,” he turned his head slightly and ran a hand through his curls, “I don’t know how to deal with it either.” 

Matthew didn’t look back at you as the elevator doors closed and took him back up to his apartment while you stood outside your front door feeling irritated and, once again, completely fucking confused by Matthew fucking Tkachuk and his fence sitting behavior.

[ellenripleysbelieveitornot]

What about an Akechi/Joker role swap AU where Akechi is still the detective prince and Joker is still the Shujin delinquent, but the major difference is that Morgana never lost his memories and found Akechi before he approached Shido with his metaverse assassination plot?

Like, imagine Akechi, bitter and jaded, who has just awakened Loki and felt the terrifying and thrilling rush of the berserk power. He's formed a plan to get back at his piece of shit father, even managed to set up a meeting, which he had to set up months in advance, and on the day he's going to present Shido with info on the metaverse, he winds up arriving a few minutes late, because even though he intended to be early, he was accosted by a talking cat (he's been in the metaverse, so he can hear him) on the way over, and in the whole wtf-ery of the moment, lost track of time. Shido, being Shido, refuses to see him and will not reschedule because he doesn't like having his time wasted.

Pissed off, Akechi leaves to find Morgana still waiting for him outside. So he doesn't look like an idiot yelling at a cat on the street, he brings Morgana back to his shitty apartment, where Morgana explains why he had found Akechi and whats up. He doesn't know about Yaldobaoth taking Igor's place, he just knows there's two champions, and Akechi was the one he found first, so he must be Igor's chosen champion. (It is my theory that it doesn't actually matter who was Igor's and Yaldobaoth's champions, it was more about the choices they each made and where they ended up.) 

Akechi has no interest in saving the world, but he knows that if he wants to get back at Shido, he needs to become someone of consequence, so he agrees to undergo Morgana's training, since Morgana clearly knows more about the metaverse than he does, and he can use it to solve cold cases, earning him a place as the Detective Prince. He changes a few hearts, to pacify Morgana, too. It takes a couple years, but during his senior year in high school, he makes it, earning himself the cooperation of the police and the spotlight of the public eye. He's getting so close to making Shido notice him that he can practically taste it. Also, what’s this ‘velvet room’ he keeps dreaming about?

Then Morgana finds Kamoshida’s palace and is like ‘heyo, you thought changing hearts in the metaverse was cool, check this shit out’ and Akechi is admittedly intrigued , so he takes a look. He sees the inside of Kamoshida’s heart and is appropriately disgusted and says to Morgana, ‘hey we should totally kill this guy’s shadow.’ Morgana’s like ‘why is your first suggestion always murder, we don’t know what would happen if we killed his shadow, Igor wasn’t very clear about that bit, we should try stealing the treasure instead’ and Morgana has been useful (and it’s been really nice to have the company these past two years, though he won’t admit that) so Akechi agrees ‘fine, we’ll steal the treasure, but if that doesn’t work, then I’m killing his shadow.’

And that’s when Ryuji and Ann make an appearance (’ohmigawd, goro, be more careful with that damn app, i s2g.’) Ryuji’s mom apparently thinks Akechi is pretty neat and watches all his interviews, so Ryuji knows who he is and is delighted to find out that the lame-ass detective his mom has talked about is actually a grumpy badass in the metaverse, with this shadow that has some kind of insane power, and hey, he helped them bring down Kamoshida (alive,) so maybe he is actually pretty cool, even though sometimes he spaces out and talks about evil twins and some longed-nose dude. He decides then and there that he’s going to be Akechi’s best friend, since he apparently has none, and Ann is all too happy to join in for the ride, and all of Goro’s protests have fallen on deaf ears, and they know about the whole detective prince thing being a facade, so he might as well indulge them for now. 

The ‘Phantom Thieves’ (a name that makes Goro want to roll his eyes whenever he hears it, and why is everyone calling him ‘leader?’) gain fame and change hearts, gaining new members such as this weird-ass artist dude who fights with ice, and oh, god, one Nijima is bad enough, don’t tell me there’s two! and she uses nukes, wtf?!

Around this time, he also meets Shujin’s delinquent, enigmatic transfer student whose talk of hope and justice never quite seem to reflect in his stormy grey eyes, and he and Goro are clearly birds of a feather in a way, he can tell, there’s just something about him, and he thinks this guy might actually be his best friend, but don’t tell Ryuji that, he’d never hear the end of it.

Akechi learns the truth behind Akira’s arrest and Shido’s involvement and he is disgusted to find that he genuinely wants to help this guy, and he can’t do that if Shido’s dead, maybe he doesn’t want his revenge as badly as he thought??? Oh, ew, I have feelings that aren’t anger and it’s all my friends’ fault, I can’t just leave them and go off to get revenge, they’d literally die without me, those lovable idiots. Also, when Ryuji saw his home, he pretty much insisted he stay with him instead, and Ryuji’s mom reminds him of the good times he had with his own mother, and he honestly doesn’t think he has the strength to disappoint her like that. So, he decides to change Shido’s heart, but he knows that there’s no way that this little group of miscreants is strong enough to take on the fucked up bullshit that he’s seen in Shido’s heart, so let’s hit pause on that for now.

Shido had Wakaba killed via completely non-supernatural ways and stole her research, same as before, so Futaba still has a palace. He found out Akira worked at Leblanc a while ago and started dropping by, and then somehow Ryuji found out about it, and now all the Phantom Thieves know, so much for a peaceful place to get away, but he actually doesn’t mind that much, and Akira lets Akechi keep an eye on the shop when there are no customers so he can go out and do errands and Boss doesn’t mind, so they’ve ended up hanging out there as a group from time to time and talking Phantom Thief business, so Futaba knows who they are, and asks for their help.

Okumura’s palace pretty much goes the same, Okumura dies somehow, are we responsible, why does murder actually make me feel kinda bad, stupid friends and their stupid good influence. 

Goro attends the Shujin student fair as guest speaker, whoa, the class president being friends with Akechi does have its perks, doesn’t it? Akira finds them all there together and approaches them, tells them he saw them go into the metaverse, awakened his own persona, and saw a guy in a black mask kill Okumura’s shadow, hey why don’t I join you, you probably need all the help you can get, who’s heart are we stealing next, how about Sae, she knows my probabtion officer and has been giving me hell, plus I already checked, she definitely has a palace.

They agree, and oh, hey, Akira can hear Morgana talk now, but WAIT A MINUTE?! Didn’t he hear Morgana talk before when he told Goro that Leblanc didn’t sell sushi, even though Goro hadn’t asked for any?

They hack Akira’s phone, learn that Shido (Akechi recognizes that voice) will have thugs waiting to capture them when they leave the palace. They plan around it, pull the metaverse switch and manage to sneak a heavily drugged Akechi out of the warehouse Shido stashed him in by traveling through the metaverse. Shido’s lackey’s have written a fake suicide letter from the leader of the Phantom thieves, and the chief of police, under Shido’s orders, delivers a statement confirming its authenticity, and look the plan succeeded. All they need to do know is take down Shido.

Things are going great, until they get to the engine room, where Joker, having realized what happened, is waiting for them. Joker, who lost everything after he transferred, who discovered the metaverse completely alone, who didn’t mean to kill that guy’s shadow, but he attacked him first, and Shido had somehow known, had been keeping an eye on him, had him convicted for a crime that he didn’t commit in the hopes that he would break because he needed an agent in the metaverse, and so far he’s had no luck. Joker, who had nothing left to lose and had accepted the only hand that had reached out for him.

They fight, and when it looks like things are going badly for Joker, he pulls out... a second persona?!?! At least, it looks like a persona, but something about it is off. it looks familiar somehow. And then Akira asks if they knew it was possible to fuse personas and Akechi realizes what he’s looking at. These aren’t the clean executions that Caroline and Justine perform, these are personas that have been ripped apart and haphazardly thrown back together with no thought to form or elegance, look, there’s a Yaksini’s arm, and that bit right there clearly used to belong to a Rangda, and I think that piece might have belonged to a Seiryu, and Akechi should stop listing personas now because Ann thinks she’s going to be sick.

They keep fighting. Joker can’t understand the difference in power between them. After all, aren’t they the same? Unloved, unwanted, soldiers pitted against each other by some bullshit higher power?

When Joker shoots the bulkhead door closed and Futaba reports that she’s lost Joker’s reading, Akechi vows then and there that he’s going to kill Shido after all. And he almost does. He stands there, with his gun pressed to the head of the shadow of his father, his friends can’t blame him, and even Morgana knows better than to try and stop him. But he doesn’t. He remembers Akira’s madness there at the end, and wonders what he would have become of him if it weren’t for Ryuji, who somewhere along the way, he’d realized he’d stopped tolerating and started actually liking. Ann, who shared his woes about being in the public eye and swapped tips with him about how to handle the press. Yusuke, who, although he was still completely bizarre to him, appreciated the beauty in life and didn’t tease Goro for his taste in Grandpa clothes. Makoto, who knew the importance of hard work and who, between herself and her sister, had caused Goro to pick up some healthier coping mechanisms. Futaba, who made fun of him for his food blog, but liked the same nerd bullshit that he did and would bombard him with memes until his day somehow became a little less shittier. Haru, who dreamed of starting her own business and actually cared about Goro’s opinions, and could threaten someone with a smile in a way that even Goro was jealous of. And Morganna, who had reminded him what it was like to not be lonely, and demanded more sushi than he could afford, but always made sure Goro ate his fill, instead of getting so focused on his work that he forgot.

Akechi guesses that he must have turned soft somewhere during the past several months, but after seeing what happened to Akira, he can’t help but be grateful, knowing with certainty that if things had turned out differently, that would have been him. Hey, Morgana, you know that world-saving bs you talked about two years ago? Let’s leave this piece of shit here to rot and focus our attention on that instead.

And you guys know the rest.

Or, at least, that’s how I thought it would go. Feel free to share your thoughts. :)

[rainydayhogwartsimagines]

here to request fluffy fred as asked!! i was thinking about plant shopping, like it would be really fun taking fred magical plant shopping and he has no idea what anything is because he never paid attention in herbology and reader just laughs at him as he gets nipped n squealed at by everything

"I still don't know why we need a plant." Fred sighed. "Would you prefer to be selling kids dead Pygmy puffs? Is that what you want? Traumatizing events?" You asked. "No. But I still think that we should just go out and buy the feed ourselves." He whined as you drove. "It is cheaper to grow it and plus, I'm good with plants." You reminded. "Then you're taking care of this because I don't know a damn thing when it comes to plants." He admitted. You rose a brow as you pulled in and parked. "You took a class on this." You reminded. "I'm aware. And if I remember correctly I had a very very sexy partner who was distracting." He said. You snorted. "Babe... You're getting potions mixed up with herbology." you reminded. "then who was my herbology partner?" He asked. "....Neville." You said making him get out the car as you wheezed. "Still... Why must I come along for this?" Fred asked. "Because if I'm not available one day to do this, you need to know what to grab." You said. He huffed as you walked in. You seemed to already know your way around, moving through the aisles quickly. Fred cocked his head to the side, looking at a bouncing bulb. "What's this?" He asked. "Bouncing bulb. Careful... it will attack you if you get to close." you warned. "plants shouldn't attack anything." Fred shuddered, following you. "But they do. Wait till you see what we're actually going to be buying... I wonder if they have steel cases or something." You pondered. "What the fuck does it do for it to need a steel case?" Fred asked. "That's actually the tamest of the plants. Just makes you dizzy. Actually more of an equivalent of being drunk, I think it's used in truth serum" You said. "That's tame to you!?" "Fred we literally took care of screaming plants that would make you pass out without protection over the ears." You reminded. "I really should've gone to class." He said making you smack your head against a wall and let out a long groan. "....You've got to be kidding me." You sighed. "Remember that you love me." Fred said. You groaned. "I knew that would come back to bite me in the ass." You grumbled as you pushed the cart forward. 

You got a ton of questions from Fred. "Love, what the fuck is that?" or  "Princess, why does that look like it's ready to kill me?". You answered them, best to your ability but he still had a nasty habit of trying to touch the plants. You swore up and down he was mentally five. You finally found the plant and sure enough it was in a case. Which Fred opened. And oh boy.

He was stumbling around like a moron. "Baby... I feel so weird right now." He said looking at his hands as you paid for the plant. "...He opened the case didn't he?" The cashier asked. "Yep." You nodded. "Babe... I have hands..." He said making you snort. "Yes, we all do Fred." You said. "Woaaahhh" he gaped as you dragged him to the car. You put the case in the trunk and you sighed, looking up at how long the effects were for this. "Fifteen more minutes. Oh boy." You muttered. "I love you Y/nnnn." Fred said. You looked at him and laughed. "I love you too Freddie." You said. "You're so good to me-- and patient-- God I want you in my life forever." He said holding your hands. You chuckled. "Careful Fred, those effects are going to wear off soon and you're going to regret saying something." You warned. "No I'm not! I have a plaaannnn." He said making you raise a brow. "What?" You asked. "A pllaaaaannnnnnn" he repeated waving his hands around before playing with his seatbelt. You rose a brow and he chuckled. "I have a ring and eveerrryyytthhhinnng" he waved making you gape. "Fred stop talking." You said. "Do you not want to get marrrrieed--" "No I'm trying to stop you from ruining your 'plan'" you said putting a hand over his mouth. "RIIGGGHHTTT the plaaaannn" Fred nodded before conking out in the passenger seat.

Fred had no recollection of the conversation you had or why you were suddenly acting very strange around him. "Y/n, darling is everything alright?" Fred asked. "Ahahaha! Yesss. I am perfectly A okay!" You said, eye twitching slightly. This was mainly going to your head. When on earth was this happening!? How did you not see this coming!? I mean, of course you were going to say yes but honestly the idea of a proposal in a crowded restaurant terrified you. I mean what if you tripped mid proposal or some shit? What if you did something stupid-- WHAT IF YOU SNEEZED IN THE MIDDLE OF IT AND PEOPLE WERE WATCHING!? "Did you inhale some plant fumes or something--" "NOPE. I'M GOOD. EVERYTHING IS GOOD." you said making Fred confused. "Did I... Do something?" He asked. "No! No you're perfect! I'm just nervous about... My mandrakes! I should get a sign so that when I'm working you don't walk in and... Pass out or... Y'know. Die." You lied. "Is that that weird screaming plant you mentioned?" He asked. "Look at you paying attention!" You said with finger guns. What the fuck are you doing?

"Right... I was wondering if you wanted to go to the Burrow tonight?" Fred asked. "Yeah! Yeah sure I am coolio with that!" You said. Could you chill? Please? "... Alright then... I'll leave you to the screaming plant children." Fred said before kissing your head and walking out.

The door closed and Fred was confused even more. What the fuck was that? "Does she know?" George asked. "I don't think so? She's acting very strange though... She used finger guns at one point." Fred said. "Are you sure she doesn't know?" George asked quietly. "No I don't think--" then it hit him... "Oh no." Fred winced. "What?" George asked. "I fucked up." He groaned. "What did you do?" George asked. "Fucking plant fumes made me high and I think I let it slip that I had a plan." Fred groaned. "Fred calm down. We're used to improvising. So how do we go about this?" George said. "Uhmm... Hmm...."

You walked out a couple of hours later and Fred was looking at papers. "Look at you looking all professional over there." You chuckled. He smiled and blinked a few times. "What the hell happened to you?" He asked. "Mandrake bit me... Fell back on the devil's snare and almost got high from plant fumes-- the usual." You sighed, sliding off the apron you were wearing. You used a simple spell to clean yourself and stretched. "You said we were going to the burrow?" You asked. Did you not suspect anything? "Yeah, Charlie, Percy and Bill are visiting." Fred said. "...So... Your brother are going to... Be there..." You realized. Fred noticed the suspicion. "Percy is down because he has finally lodged the stick out of his ass, Charlie is down on business, something about a welsh dragon nearly attacking a muggle and Bill just likes to see mum every now and again." Fred said. You nodded but clearly still suspected something was happening. "I uhm... What will we be doing exactly?" You asked. "Mum wants you to teach her how to make pizza apparently." Fred said. Oh... Oh that's like the least engagement-y thing to do. Okay, stress gone. "Let's roll then. Is George riding with us?" You asked. "Yep." George said walking out of a backroom.

You all rode in the car in silence and George was looking at Fred like "Dude. Say something." Fred swallowed and fiddled with the ring in his pocket and you drove. "Soooo... Charlie found a common Welsh dragon?" You asked. "Oh don't tell me you freak out over dragons too!" George whined. "They're cool, but I most likely don't freak out like Charlie does." You shrugged. "you got that right. That man could go on for HOURS about fucking dragons." Fred nodded. "Meh. It's better than Draco's ass rambling on about 'pureblood customs'." You shrugged. "that's always true." George nodded. You pulled into the burrow and walked in. "Goodness darling you smell like pesticide." Molly said after hugging you. "I am so sorry--" "Would you like to shower upstairs? I'll wash your clothes while you do." She suggested. "Honestly... A bath sounds great." You nodded. "She can just borrow some of my clothes." Ginny shrugged.

And so the plan was afoot. Fred and George had to act quickly while you were taking a shower, telling the family to ACT. NORMAL. You soon came back down in a comfortable dress that wasn't too fancy and Charlie was rambling about dragons. "Change of plans, mom is making pot roast apparently." Fred said. "And the there's the hungarian Ridgeback--" "Charlie I love you. You know I do. But shut up." Bill winced. You snorted and Charlie looked over. "You must be Y/n!" He said hugging you. "Charlie right? Dragon obsessed?" You asked. "That's me!" He nodded. "We've met once right? You were Fred's plus one to my wedding?" Bill asked. "Yes, Fleur correct?" You asked, looking at her. "Yes that is me." She nodded. "She's getting better with her English." Bill said. "pas besoin de s'inquiéter. Je connais le français." You nodded making Fred and George raise a brow. "You know French?" George asked. "I usually have to order certain plants internationally so..." You shrugged. "oohh" George nodded. Ron came downstairs with Harry. "Hey you two!" You waved. "Y/n!" Both boys said before hugging you. "Boy this is a nice get together... Where is Percy?" You asked. "With Dad looking at something to make sure it is 'of the ministry standard'." Charlie gagged making you laugh. "Any special occasion I'm not aware of here orrr?" You asked. "....I caught my fiftieth dragon!" Charlie said. "congratulations. Was it the common Welsh that Fred mentioned earlier?" You asked. "Oh no." Bill winced. "You know dragons!?" Charlie asked. "Read about them... And had to help that idiot over there during the competition." You said pointing to Harry. "So what's you--" "PLEASE. DO NOT. START. WITH THE DRAGONS. AGAIN." Bill groaned. See this? This was normal. Hermione came down with a smile. "Thought I heard you!" She said. You hugged her and let out a relieved breath. "God it feels good to be around other females." You said. "Hey!" Fred and George said. "I can only take so much testosterone." You said. "testoster-- what?" George asked. "Science George. It's science." Ginny snorted.

You and the girls talked for a while and soon dinner came along. "So, how's business?" Molly asked George. "It's good. Y/n has figured out ways to save us money so we're doing REALLY right now." George nodded. "She's bloody brilliant." Fred said smiling at you. You smiled and shook your head. "Though her plants are freaky." Fred said. "They are not freaky." You laughed. "They are! What kind of plant screams!?" Fred asked. " A mandrake." Everyone at the table answered making him groan. You laughed and he shook his head. Arthur smiled watching you. "Ginny did you leave the pygmy puff unattended?" Ron asked. "Uhm... Yeah, it's in my--" there was a thud upstairs and she grumbled. "Room." She finished before going upstairs. "I better help her... Puffers tends to be aggressive after waking up." Hermione said before walking up. "Puffers?" You asked. "He was the first successful Pygmy puff we made. We just gave him to Ginny. Glad to see he's handling mating season well." George explained after hearing another thud. "RON. GET THIS THING PLEASE." Ginny called. Ron sighed and walked upstairs. "Wanna take a walk?" Fred asked after another loud thud. "Absolutely!" You nodded before walking outside. You two walked for a bit in silent, shivering as the air got colder. Fred took the ring out of his jacket pocket and switched it to his pants pocket before giving you the jacket. "It's pretty tonight." You breathed as you huddled into the jacket. He smiled. "Yeah, yeah it is." He said. You smiled and he kissed you, holding your face close. "I've got to know this before I ask you something." Fred said making you raise a brow. "Any reason why you've been nutty lately?" He asked. "Uh... No?" You lied. He gave you a "really?" Look and you sighed. "When the plant got you... Intoxicated? You kind of... Said something pertaining to marriage." You admitted. "Is that so bad?" Fred asked. "What? No-- no I'm just... Look, I am a fuck up. I am a clutz and I trip over air. I am terrified that if you proposed to me in a crowded area I'd literally fall on my ass." You admitted. "... That's it?" He asked. "Yeah." You nodded. "Y/n I know you hate crowds. Why do you think Ginny made an excuse for us to leave the house?" He said. "...Wait.." "Why do you think my family knows that we're out here and trying to make you feel comfortable?" Oh my God. "Why do you think I made sure you knew we were going to be away from other people?" Fred asked. "... You're a serial killer?" You joked, tears already forming. He chuckled and got down on one knee. "Oh my God." You breathed. "Y/n I love you so much. And I want you to always feel safe and always feel comfortable telling me things." Fred said. "And I want to spend the rest of my life making you feel safe." He added. "Will you marry me?" He asked. You nodded and cried as you wrapped your arms around him. He slid on the ring and he kissed your head, holding you close. "Oh don't cry princess! We're going to have cake! Or alcohol... Or both." Fred said making you laugh. "I'm so happy holy shit." You laughed. He smiled and then had an idea. "wanna screw with my family a little?"

You two walked back to the house and everyone was standing around as if they were waiting. "...Nice walk." Fred nodded. "Yeah, kind of cold though." You nodded acting nonchalant. Ron and Hermione exchanged a confused look. "here's your jacket." You said, making a point to show your hand with the ring on it as you handed back the jacket making them all scream. "MY GOD WERE YOU JUST GOING TO KEEP GOING WITH THE ACT!?" Molly said. "maybe?" You said before being engulfed into a hug with her and Fred. "Okay-- air mum-- air!" Fred said. You looked at the family around you with small smile tugging at your lips "Champagne? Anyone?" Bill said holding up a bottle. "Aayyee my brother knows me so well." Fred said laughing. You rolled your eyes as Fred linked his arm around you and pulled you close. You looked in his eyes and smiled. This was safe. This was your home. This was your family.

[flatstarcarcosa]

favors and heists

notes: i gave myself brain worms while roping @dadbodsandbots into my mass effect insert shenanigans by using her mans so I had to shake some of them loose. this turned out to be kinda fun, actually, for a change :3

also tags @jackals-ships while making pspspsps noises

summary: what's the point of your best friend dating a galaxy-renown mercenary if not for the favors you can squeeze out of the deal?

or

zaeed takes a charity case.

ship(s): stubborn goddamn jackasses, cat/digs (boomcat? harcat?)

******

The door alarm has been chiming for four minutes. Pressing the override button on his omni-tool shuts it off for a few scarce seconds, only for whoever is outside to activate it again. Finally, Zaeed gives up on ignoring it and wrenches the damn thing open manually. The metal squeals in protest before the hydraulics correct themselves.

"The hell do you want?" he asks, frowning. Cat stands in the door way with barely contained tears in her eyes.

"My final thesis is due next week and the whole argument hinges on this 18th century painting and-"

"Dooooon't care," Zaeed drawls as he goes to manually pull the door shut again. She lunges forward, getting a shoulder and half a leg across before the safety catch feels an obstruction and stops.

"-and it got stolen and if I have to report it to my boss I'm not only gonna fail the program but I'll never work in this industry again!" she blurts. Zaeed has already turned his back towards her and is cussing at his omni-tool's refusal to force the door shut.

"Don't caaaaaaaaare," he says.

"You gotta help me get it back!" she cries, "That fucking asshole Harkness stole it and if he gets too far I'll never see it again!"

Zaeed stops, shoulders sagging. He holds up a finger and turns.

"When you say Harkness-"

"Yeah, Digger," Cat sniffs. "You know, Captain Boom-"

"Will willingly shoot my other eye out before I call him that, thanks," says Zaeed. He goes silent for a moment, and then lets out a frustrated growl and runs a hand over his face. "All right, fine. But only because I've still got a grudge against that jackass I've been meaning to settle."

She looks up, elation flashing across her face.

"Really?! I mean, I can hire you, too, so-"

Zaeed snorts.

"You don't make near enough to hire me," he says. "Especially not if you want him alive, although honestly, that part isn't up to you." He steps out of sight into the other room, and Cat wanders into the kitchen to blow her nose on a wad of paper towels.

"Where was he last?" Zaeed asks.

"I mean, my office," she calls back. He steps back around the corner, the top half of his armor undersuit hanging around his waist.

"I meant where was he before he stole the painting?"

"Oh!" she pauses. "I...dunno, some hotel down on Silversun."

Zaeed hums, and pulls his arm through the sleeve on his suit. He drags a footlocker over to the sofa and plops down, bending over to unlock the lid.

"How'd Harkness get into your office, anyway?" he asks. "It's not exactly publicly accessible."

"Uh- I...I don't know," she stammers, "he's a thief, that's what he does!"

Zaeed quirks an eyebrow at her as he laces his boots.

"Uh-huh," he says. "And he just happened to have decided to specifically case your office for one painting..."

"Yeah."

"Your office, which is in a moderately secured area in the Citadel Tower," he continues. He raises an eyebrow at her. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other.

"Yeah," she says again, voice tight. "Why?"

"No reason," he says. Motorized armor joints lock into place with mechanical whirring, and she watches him strap a pistol and a sniper rifle in place. "Here's the thing, if he's already jumped ship and left the Citadel, I'm not chasing him all over. This lasts until I decide the amusement isn't worth the lack of money. Matter of fact, you knowing Reese is the only reason I didn't tell you to fuck off and throw you out."

"A fact which I am heavily aware of," says Cat.

"Long as we're on the same page," says Zaeed. "Might as well wait here, I doubt this is gonna take too long."

"Hey," says Cat, "wait a second. How do you know him, anyway?"

Zaeed clicks his tongue.

"Got unlucky enough to be on a job with him once," he says. "Stupid little fuck nearly got me killed. Spent four weeks healing from that."

"Oh," she says.

"Granted, wasn't the same as getting half my face blown off," he adds, "but it was still enough that I've had it in for him ever since."

"You're not actually going to kill him, are you?" she asks. Zaeed shrugs as the door slides open.

"That depends on him, love," he says.

"Oh," she says. Before she can get another word out, Zaeed steps into the hall and leaves her alone. She sighs and sits down on the sofa. "Well, that's just fucking great."

******

It takes less than five hours to track Harkness down. After checking out of his hotel earlier that morning, he'd stuck around the Silversun Strip rather than booking a flight off the Citadel.

For some reason that Zaeed can only chock up to the man being an absolute fucking idiot, he didn't consider that wandering around with a medium sized painting under his arm was going to make him stick out to the residents.

Only on the Silversun Strip would one get away with that without C-Sec getting called and dropping down on your ass. Try it up on the Presidium and every rich asshole with a penthouse would be ringing the emergency numbers for 'suspicious activity' while triple locking their doors.

Tucked away in a back alley and away from the main attractions of the Strip is a little pawn shop run by, who Zaeed assumes, are the only Batarians to have a permanent residence on the Citadel. There's an old fashioned bell hanging above the door and it jingles when he walks through. It catches his attention for a moment, and he glances up at it, wondering where the aliens picked up that detail about human stores.

Behind the sales counter, a bored looking Batarian is standing with his arms crossed over his chest and glowering with all four eyes at the man in front of him.

"Come on mate," says the Australian. He's leaning over the painting, so focused on his attempts at hocking it that he either didn't hear the door bell, or isn't interested enough to turn around. Zaeed catches the gaze of the sales clerk, and holds a finger to his lips.

"I said no," the Batarian growls, looking back at the would-be customer.

"All right, fine, screw giving me what it's worth," the man continues, "we'll settle for 60% and then I can be on me way."

"You think I'm so stupid or naive I don't know stolen merch when I see it?" asks the Batarian. "I know enough about you humans and your squabbles to know there's no amount of credits worth getting involved in this kinda shit.

"Harkness, why don't you do something useful and stop pestering this poor Batarian?" Zaeed asks, interjecting only when he's close enough to Digger Harkness that the sound of his voice makes the man jump. "Bad enough the poor bastard has to walk around looking like that every day of his life, he doesn't need you coming in here and cocking everything up for him."

The Batarian sighs and rolls his eyes.

"Is it asshole human day today and no one told me?" he asks. "Oh wait, I suppose that's every day, isn't it?"

"Goddamn right it is," Zaeed says. Harkness turns around, nervousness clear on his face.

"Zaeed," he says, slowly, "well, I'll be...funny running into you out here, eh?" He reaches behind himself, fumbling his hand across the counter as he searches blindly for the painting. Zaeed is faster, and snatches it out from under him.

"Lets go," he says, gesturing towards the door. "You know why I'm here."

"Aw, c'mon-" Harkness' protest is cut short by Zaeed grabbing his wrists and slapping a pair of electrified cuffs on them. He shoves the man forward, and then tosses a credit chit down onto the counter.

"You see a couple of human males today?" he asks the Batarian. The alien grunts, considering him for a moment before reaching down and snapping up the chit.

"Been a slow day, I haven't seen anybody," he says, shrugging. Zaeed nods.

"Good man," he says. He shoves Harkness towards the door again. "Get moving."

The bell above the door rings as the two leave, and Harkness turns, walking backwards with his arms locked in front of him as he addresses Zaeed.

"Well, I'm simply stumped," he says, "can't for the life o' me figure who I pissed off enough to hire you." Zaeed says nothing, and simply motions with his pistol for him to keep walking.

Harkness faces foward and catches sight of the skycar parked at the end of the alley. It's not the best area to try and make a mad dash for freedom, but that doesn't mean he's not gonna give it a go.

"How'd you even get into the Citadel Tower to get a hold of something like this, anyway?" Zaeed asks, holding the painting up to get a good look at it. He's never understood fuck all about art and it's not one of those especially famous pieces that he'd even recognize anyway, so he doesn't bother theorizing on why it's so important to Cat's thesis.

"Oh, you know," says Harkness, "made a friend."

"Find that hard to believe," Zaeed drawls as he tucks the painting back under his arm.

"Oi, I'm quite suave when I want to be!" Harkness stops walking again, turning with a shit-eating grin on his face. "Though, some people are just easier to woo."

"Yeah, that sounds more like you, doesn't it?" Zaeed narrows his eyes. "Making a mark out of some poor girl that always sees the best in people."

Harkness blinks.

"Hang on," he breathes, "how do you know that? Don't tell me she's the one that hired you!"

"Course not," Zaeed snorts, "like I told her, she can't afford to hire me. This is a favor for a friend."

"Well shit mate! In that case, why don't you an' I work out a deal, yeah?" The grin is back, and Zaeed makes a point of ignoring him as he opens the skycar door and lays the painting in the back seat. "You ain't on an official contract, I see no reason why you an' I as two consummate professionals can't come to some sort of arrangement that benefits us both!"

"There's an exhaustive list of reasons why that won't be happening," Zaeed says, crossing his arms. "At the top of which is simply the fact that I can't goddamn stand you."

"Fair enough," says Harkness, "But Zaeed, come on, mate! As it happens right now, you're not making any money on this! That's a problem for you, and I can fix that real easy. You just slip these bracelets off me, let me be on my merry way, and recoup credits for your time. Anyone asks, I was too slippery to get a hold of, we all move on."

"No," Zaeed says. "Get in the goddamn car before I knock you out and shove you in the trunk."

Harkness groans, and bounces on the balls of his feet in frustration.

"Come on," he says again, "we both know at the end of the day lining your pockets is the only thing you really care about, so why don't you-"

Zaeed lunges faster than a half blind old merc has any right to move, and Harkness lets out a strangled yell as he punches him in the kidney with enough force to knock the wind out of him. He's wheezing as Zaeed shoves him into the alley wall, hanging onto him by the collar of his coat and lifting him off the ground.

"Listen to me, you stupid fucking jackass," Zaeed growls, "I'm not remotely young enough or stupid enough to not know exactly how you got access to Cat's office. That girl is the only person Reese knows that isn't a killer or a junkie or some fucked up combination of both, and the last thing she needs is to be caught up with likes of you and I."

Harkness says nothing as he gasps again, and waits on his lungs to remember how to take in air.

"I care about her well-being for my own selfish reasons because of her proximity to Reese, and I recognize that doesn't put me in a position of dictating to her who she spends her time with," Zaeed continues, "but so help me, you cause so much as a minor inconvenience for her and I will carve out your goddamn eyes, sew your mouth shut and sell you to Batarians as discounted slave labor, are we goddamn clear?"

Harkness manages half of a choked, garbled word and gets his head bounced off the wall for his effort.

"That didn't sound like a yes to me," Zaeed growls.

"Y-yes," he says. Zaeed slams him against the wall once more for good measure before dropping him.

"Get in the goddamn car."

******

The rental apartment Reese and Zaeed have been staying in isn't much to come home to. Far from the worst place they've ever holed up, sure, but that's never been a very high bar to begin with.

Regardless, as he pushes Harkness through the doorway and pauses long enough to set the painting down on an end table, he does reflect on the warm lightning in the corners and the smell of a beef roast being pulled out of the oven.

It's temporary and it's barely big enough for the two of them to move without tripping over each other, but it is home.

"You found it!" Cat appears in the archway to the kitchen, and Reese looks up over the counter. Their eyes glance between Zaeed and Harkness and the painting, and they quirk an eyebrow in his direction. Zaeed responds with a subtle shake of his head.

Later, he mouths, reaching up to undo the clasps on his armor.

"Wasn't too much trouble," he says aloud. "Helps when you're being sent after a goddamn moron. I should take more offers like this, actually."

"Caaaaaat," Harkness purrs. He goes to hold out his arms, and stops when he meets the resistance from the cuffs. She bypasses him entirely to scoop up the painting and make sure it hasn't been damaged.

"You know, on a hunch I looked into something on the way to the Strip," Zaeed says casually. "C-Sec has multiple active bounties on him at the moment. Cashing in on just one of them would likely pay more than, well...whatever it is you even do currently."

Harkness lets out a nervous laugh and looks between Zaeed and Cat. She sets the painting down and regards him for a moment.

"Right now I'm more worried with getting this back before anyone notices it was gone," she says, causing Harkness to puff up slightly. He winks at Zaeed, only to stop at the look the other man sends his way. "It's unlucky for me the building is locked down for the day, though..."

"Sounds to me like you could use someone who knows his way 'round security systems," Harkness offers. Zaeed snorts, and Cat frowns. Silence stretches out for a moment, broken only by the sound of Reese turning on an electric carving knife.

"Okay, fine," Cat says when they've turned the knife back off. "But know that if we get caught, I'm telling them you kidnapped me and I can cry on command."

"Well now you're just talkin' dirty to me," Harkness says.

"Really?" Reese barks from the kitchen. "Some of us still gotta eat tonight."

Zaeed remains silent and utterly unreadable as he taps at his omni-tool. The handcuffs beep a few times before popping open and falling off. Harkness massages at one of his wrists, and manages to ignore the bait when Zaeed shoves into him on the way to the kitchen.

"If we leave now we should make it in and out without too much trouble," Cat says. Reese offers a wave.

"Call me when you get in," they say, "mostly so I know if anyone's gotta kill him later."

"Sure!" says Cat. She tucks the painting safely under an arm, and drags Harkness out into the hall by the collar of his coat. The door beeps as the automatic lock powers on, and Reese turns to lean against the kitchen counter.

"What?" Zaeed asks, opening the fridge and pulling out a bottle of beer.

"Do I even want to know?"

"Probably not."

Reese rolls their eyes and turns their attention back to the roast. "I leave for 20 minutes to get fucking dinner, and I swear to Christ..." they say, trailing off when Zaeed reaches around and snags a slice of beef.

"You do realize she's got absolutely horrid taste in men, right?" he asks. The top of the beer bottle pops with a resounding hssss, and he flicks it across the kitchen into the garbage can.

"Yeah, well, that's just something we got in common, I guess," Reese says.

"Oi," Zaeed protests. He takes a swallow of beer and reaches for another slice of meat, then stops. "Hang on, she can cry on command?"

"Yeah, fucking wild actually," says Reese. They frown. "Why?"

Zaeed is silent for a moment as he takes another sip of beer before answering.

"Goddammit."

[jeonbots]

dead end ⁑ jungkook

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: angst / drabble

words: 2.1k

contains: lots of angst lololol, one sided pining/love

warnings: mentions of sexual acts (very minimal), drinking, swearing, this is very sad i guess i'm sorry, a lot of crying

summary: to stop the constant hammering at your heart or to keep your friendship? you can choose only one and you can’t be selfish

notes: just a quick one shot that i wrote last week when i was bored uhhh enjoy i guess :))))

-

Reorganizing the shelves is one of the painful downsides of your job. You’d think after four months of working there you’d get used to it but it’s still a pain in the ass. Riele got you this job when you needed money badly for this internship you’ve been dying to do for years. Her mother’s boyfriend is the owner of the small shop and when she not-so-subtly slipped your name one evening during dinner, Ben only chuckled before asking her for your number under her mother’s amused stare. And here you are, replacing articles stupid teenagers seem to love misplacing for no reason. Dicks.

You sigh loudly.

“All good in there, Y/N?”

You turn around only to find Ben walking your way, his gentle smile only fuelling your annoyance. Even in his fifties, Ben is still a good-looking man, his wrinkles only proving that he’s growing old. You remember the first time you two were introduced; Victoria, Riele’s mother, had organized that charity cook-out, to collect money and clothes for the local orphanage. She had been divorced for two years and when your father introduced Ben to the three of you, she became instantly infatuated with the man, spending the whole day talking, eating and drinking until you received a text from Riele the next morning with written in capital letters ‘ma got her coochie wet last night!!!! beyond disgusted!!!’ followed by another one ‘ngl she getting more dick than i am’. You remember laughing as she told you the next time you had seen her how she found Ben asleep on her mother’s bed that morning, eyes bulging out of their socks at the sight of his naked body under the sheets, her mother walking out of the bathroom attached to the room with a towel wrapped around her body and another one in her hands, drying out her hair.

“Yeah, peachy.” You plainly state.

You wince at your tone as you put the Led Zeppelin vinyl back in the ‘rock n’ roll’ section and he raises a brow before walking around you, amusement painted all over his face. Maybe you should be more grateful. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright, kiddo,” he ruffles your hair and heads to the backdoor. “I’m just glad you’re not stealing from the cash register.”

“Davis was a wild one, huh.” You snicker as he laughs wholeheartedly.

“Yeah, little brat.” He mumbles as he disappears behind the door, closing it behind him and leaving you, once again, alone in the shop.

Your father and Ben have been best buddies ever since they were in college together, majoring in business studies. Even though they had lost touch at some point, they had found each other a few years later, working in the same marketing company. And they’ve been inseparable ever since. So naturally, your father thought it was time for his family and closest friends to meet his best friend. Ben has been treating you like his own daughter ever since.

He reappears a few minutes later, hands full with some colored files. “How’d it go last night?”

You shudder at the question, quietly rummaging through the album section to distract yourself as the frustration and sadness you’ve been feeling ever since you woke up with a hangover this morning creeps up in your stomach. Riele thought it was a good idea to get shit-faced with tequila and vodka in your shared dorm to celebrate the end of your exams, and it was one. Until you guys decided to go out to the nearest club and get even more fucked up, only for you to run out the entrance a few hours later, tears staining your dolled-up face and chest heavy with a broken heart. Riele had tried to catch up to you only to vomit all the food and alcohol she swallowed the whole day on the sidewalk.

“Routine, y’know.” You shrug and he eyes you worriedly as he caught onto your knowing silence.

“You guys had fun, right?”

“Yeah.” You swallow and blink back the tears threatening to come out. God, you really hate when you get all sensitive for shit.

“Y/N–”

“I’m done here,” you mumble before moving to another section, cutting him off swiftly. He sighs before walking to his office on the other side of the shop, deciding to leave you be. If you want to talk, you’ll talk. And he knows it too well.

Fifteen more minutes of rearranging the shelves and you’re back behind the counter. You lean on it with your elbows, chin propped on your palm as you glance aimlessly around the shop. You take a random key chain displayed on the counter and fiddle with it as you sigh softly, replaying the images of last night in your head. When you recall the way his lips peppered kisses onto your friend’s neck, her hands grabbing at his strong shoulders as his knee was nudged in between her legs, pressing his thigh against her most sensible spot, that sickening feeling settling in your belly makes you want to puke right here and there. You don’t remember much after, but you do remember the way your stomach had made flips and how you stumbled out of the club, almost collapsing on the sidewalk as your body felt too heavy and your head too light-headed. An almost deadly combo.

You’re too far lost in your thoughts that you don’t notice the tall figure hovering over the counter until you hear a distinguish cough, pulling you out of whatever state you were in. You jump slightly and mumble a ‘I’m so sorry!’ as you snap your head up, and your breath gets caught in your throat.

Fuck.

“So,” his familiar voice starts, an amused smile dancing on his lips, “slacking off at work?”

“I– uh, yeah I was just– you know,” you awkwardly laugh as you rub your arm. You mentally slap yourself at your idiotic behavior.

Jungkook chuckles before settling a basket filled with all sorts of stuff he found in the shop. “I’m gonna take that Malboro packet too,” he nods towards the shelves behind you and you turn around to retrieve the small box from the top shelf before putting it on the counter. By the time you turn back he’s focused on the tiny trinkets on sale right next to the key chains and it gives you the time to properly look at him. His black hair are messy around his head, he has a black shirt on that showcases his tattooed arms and collarbone with tight blue jeans that mould his godly thighs and your heart skips a beat when you take notice of the purple bruises adorning his inked neck, a result from the probable sex session he had last night. You swallow harshly before looking down at the basket as you count every product.

“It’ll be 26.72$,” he glances at you and raises an eyebrow.

“With the cigarettes it’s supposed to be more than that.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you send him a small smile as he lets out a breathy chuckle.

“Stop doing this, Y/N. You’re gonna get yourself in trouble.” He warns but you can see his playful smirk. He digs in his jeans pocket and gives you the money, pulling out another ten dollar bill and stuffing it in your other hand. “This is for the quality service,” he winks at you.

“Jungkook–” You start to protest but he tuts, wrapping his tattooed hand around yours and closing it in a fist, the bill warming up in between your palm and fingers. The touch sends electricity from your fingertips to your whole being, slightly shivering at his warmth.

You sigh. “I don’t need tips, Jungkook.”

“That’s not what that empty tip jar says,” he points at the jar placed right next to the cash register with your name written on it, empty and untouched for what seems like decades.

Your cheeks redden and he notices, a toothy smile taking place on his handsome face. The warmth of his hand is lost and you feel disappointment stir in your stomach. You look away from him and start putting his stuff in a plastic bag.

Silence engulfs the both of you. You cheeks feel too hot under his gaze and you force yourself to look down, not wanting to give away your flustered state. But something tells you he already noticed and it makes your face even warmer. As you put last of the products in the bag, your hear him shift a little before he clears his throat and you hesitantly raise your head, a brow cocked at his agitated form.

“You– uh, sorry about last night.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “What are you talking about?”

“I was supposed to bring you and the girls back home after the party but uh– I got a little carried away.” Your heart jumps at the sudden confession as he sheepishly scratches the back of neck. “I hope you got home safely. That’s what I’m trying to say.”

You plaster a small smile on your face, one he doesn’t know masks a broken one as the tears start to pool at the brim of your eyes after twelve hours of successfully holding them back. You try to blink them away but it doesn’t do much, your chest growing heavier by the second. “Oh, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

He exhales, almost relieved at your words. “Okay, good. Good.” He smiles softly and your heart clenches. You glance back down quickly, eager to finish your job and get him to leave before you break down, humiliating you in front of your long-time crush. A crush that bloomed in the most beautiful yet painful love you’ve ever experienced, crushing you under the heaviness of your heart every single day for five years.

The door's bell rings signalling that a customer came into the shop. You look up to give him the bag but when your eyes settle on the new customer, your stomach drops.

“Babe,” the brown-haired girl comes up from behind Jungkook and wraps her arms around his middle, tip-toeing to reach his height and whining the pet name into his ear. He turns his head sideway and pecks her lips, smiling into the kiss as he murmurs a ‘hey’ softly.

There it is. That sickening feeling again. You quickly look away, busying yourself with putting the cash in the register as you feel the tears coming back, your throat squeezing painfully.

“Hey Y/N,” she smiles at you and you glance up, swallowing before forcing a smile on your face. “Thea, hey.”

Jungkook looks back at you and down at the bag before you shove it in his arms, the weight in your chest becoming unbearable. You want to scream. You want to cry. You want to throw up.

“See you around, yeah?” Jungkook grabs the bag and nods at you, not waiting for an answer before taking Thea’s hand into his and walking back to the shop’s entrance. Thea waves you goodbye and when they’re out of the shop, you eventually burst into tears. The salty water is streaming down your face as you sob loudly, clutching the counter tightly. When you collapse on the ground right behind the counter, head low and tears coating your chin, you don't hear the quick footsteps as everything around you is muffled and seconds later you are engulfed in strong arms. Your head instinctively lies on a shoulder, your eyes closed from all the crying.

Three years have passed and you still wish you had said something back then. You wish you hadn’t chickened out on prom night and maybe you would have been the one holding his hand, kissing him as he would make love to you every day, whispering sweet praises in your ear as his cock drags against your walls in the most pleasurable way. You would be the one his heart sings for, and not the friend who had been oblivious to your reddened cheeks and stuttering words whenever Jungkook was around. But the past is the past, what’s done is done. He will never be yours and you have to accept it, for the sake of your friendship with Thea.

Maybe it’s a sign to you don’t deserve good things in your life, after all.

© jeonbots. all rights reserved.

[unrestedjade]

Mermay Kuwameshi nonsense

Damn, the month’s half over already! I’m rereading Pet Shop of Horrors, rewatching Yu Yu Hakusho, and coincidentally obsessed with Kuwabara/Urameshi. So! Half-assed crossover time. Maybe Count D has a second location in Japan?

 Kazuma wasn't sure how long the pet shop had been there on the edge of Chinatown. It looked like it had been in that storefront for years, but he couldn't remember seeing it until a few months ago. Maybe he'd just missed it, but he didn't think so. He liked animals. If the place had been there the whole time, he'd have gone inside at least once, just to check it out.

He also wasn't sure why he hadn't checked it out. He tended to pick up his pace when he passed by, trying to put space between himself and the shop for no reason his rational mind could come up with. It was just a pet shop. Yet for some reason it hit him the wrong way, sending a cold shiver up his spine whenever he neared it.

Today he was feeling it again, the unpleasant tickle crawling through his nervous system urging him to go, walk faster, get away. It was getting irritating, to tell the truth. Was it haunted, or something? A haunted pet shop? That could be a thing, right?

Regardless, Kazuma wasn't about to have his rep endangered by a place that sold goldfish and bunnies. Today he was gonna go in there. He'd settle these creepy-crawlies once and for all, and get his walk home from school back to normal.

Yep. He was gonna walk inside in just a minute. Just a few seconds. Gonna walk right in!

Boy, it was darker in there than a pet shop really should be, wasn't it?

Growling at himself in annoyance, Kazuma forced himself to step forward. It was just a pet shop, for god's sake.

It was dark inside, for sure. Heavy curtains draped over the windows and walls cut not just the light from outside, but the noise, too. Kazuma could hear the sounds of traffic and activity outside, but it seemed so far away, like the inside of the shop was in its own little world. Weak lamplight played across the deep red drapery, the corners of the room vanishing into shadow.

The shop had all the expected stuff. Bird cages with canaries and parakeets. Cages for the rabbits and puppies and...ferrets? Did pet shops have ferrets? This one did, apparently. What was weird was the rest of the furnishings. Aside from the animal cages, there was a kind of seating area-- a sofa, a couple chairs, a fancy coffee table. The place looked more like a fortune teller's place, or a brothel out of one of his sister's romance novels that he definitely didn't sneak to read and then skip over half the pages because he got too embarrassed. Covering the smell of animals was the heavy scent of incense.

There was no sign of the shopkeeper that Kazuma could see. Was this place actually open?

A hallway led farther back. Way farther back, with fancy, painted doors leading off to the left and right every few meters. The place was a lot bigger than it looked from the front. Kazuma called out a tentative hello, in case someone mistook him for a thief, or something. God, he hoped this place wasn't actually a front for a brothel, or he'd be so mortified he might die on the spot.

Someone answered him. "Hello?"

Kazuma jumped at the sound of a male voice, and felt immediately foolish. Of course someone else was in here! The door was open, wasn't it? Following the voice, Kazuma found himself in a side room filled with fish tanks on heavy iron racks. Though he'd sworn he heard someone speak, there didn't appear to be anyone in here. Just the tanks.

There was no lighting in the room other than the lamps on the fish tank hoods. They cast greenish, shifting light across the floor, the ceiling, and Kazuma himself. The light flickered, making the whole room look as though it were submerged underwater. Most of the tanks were occupied. A few contained what looked like koi, others held angelfish, guppies, or fighting fish. A few others held fish Kazuma couldn't identify other than they were ugly and off-putting, with mouths crammed too full of teeth and oily black scales. Some fish seemed to change somehow when he looked away from them, shifting and melting at the corner of his eye.

There was one enormous tank running the length of one wall. The glass was overgrown with algae, shading the water emerald green. Something moved inside. Something big, pacing the length of the tank back and forth. Was it a shark? It seemed large enough-- a little longer than Kazuma was tall.

"Who are you?"

There was the voice again! Kazuma looked for the speaker, and nearly leaped out of his skin when a guy popped his head over the side of the enormous tank.

"Wh-what are you doing in there?" It was a stupid question, maybe. But what else were you supposed to say to a guy who suddenly yelled at you from a fish tank?

The guy pushed a mess of dark, wet hair from his eyes. He looked about Kazuma's age. A part-timer? "What are you doing in here, stupid?"

Kazuma's temper flared, but the question was a fair one. He was the one who'd decided to poke around. "No one was out front, so I thought I'd look around." Maybe this was a back room only employees were supposed to be in, but it wasn't Kazuma's fault that this shop was run so sloppy. There wasn't even a sign posted. If the place was open, then the shopkeeper should be where customers could see them!

"Heh." The guy leaned his bare arms on the rim of the tank. Scum from the tank stuck to his forearm. It looked like it was a real mess in there. "Not much to see, is there? This place sucks."

"It kinda does," Kazuma agreed. He ventured a little closer, looking for the shape of the huge fish through the murky glass and not finding it. Wasn't this guy worried about it biting him? "What are you doing in there, cleaning? It looks like shit."

The guy laughed. "Tell me about it! Nah," he said, grinning. His teeth looked weird, like they were sharper than they ought to be. Or probably they were just crooked. "If the owner wants it clean, he can do it himself. Not like I'm getting paid to be a maid."

Okay, now Kazuma was really confused. Did the guy work here or not? If not, what the hell was he doing splashing around in a fish tank?

"You here to buy something?" The guy's smile wilted, like it wasn't an expression he was real used to making and he couldn't keep it up long.

Kazuma shook his head. "Just curious," he said. He didn't mention the creepy feeling he got every time he walked by this place. Or the fact that the tickle up his spine hadn't gone away yet. If anything, it was getting stronger, harder to brush aside.

The guy seemed to perk up a little at that, which was weird if he was an employee after all. Shouldn't he want Kazuma to buy something?

"What's the weather like today?"

Kazuma blinked. That was a weird question. "Uh...sunny? Why don't you go outside and look?"

"Can't," the guy said simply, leaning his chin on his arms.

"Your boss that much of a slave driver?" Kazuma asked, frowning. "Won't let you walk outside for a minute? There aren't even any customers in here right now."

The guy smiled again, briefly, and his teeth definitely weren't normal. Kazuma stared without meaning to. Had he filed them down? Why were they...pointy?

"Hey," the guy said. "What's your name?"

"Kazuma Kuwabara," Kazuma said. "Do you go to school here? I haven't seen you around before."

"Nope," the guy said, shaking his head. His wet hair sloshed along the surface of the water. It was really long, for a guy. Or a girl, for that matter. "Name's Yusuke. You got somewhere to be, Kazuma Kuwabara, or can you stick around for a few? I'm bored as shit in here."

Kazuma had homework to do, in fact, but it wasn't like that had ever been a pressing concern. It wasn't every day he met someone new, much less someone who seemed kinda cool. Sarayashiki wasn't a school people wanted to transfer their kids into. "I guess," he said, still looking out for any sign of that big fish. Had it hidden somewhere in the tank?

"You scared of water, or something? You don't gotta stand all the way over there," Yusuke said, chuckling. There was a swishing sound, like he was kicking his legs under the water.

Kazuma wasn't scared of water. He just had a weird feeling about the fish in that tank, that was all. Still, it wasn't like it was gonna launch itself over the side at him, right? This wasn't a Jaws movie. If Yusuke was safe where he was, Kazuma could get closer. So he did, moving to lean on the glass. The tank came up to his chest, and the glass was seriously thick, almost the width of his palm. It must have weighed a ton. He peered into the water, but it was just more murky green. He could make out what he thought might be sea grass or something, and a few chunks of driftwood for decoration, but no fish.

"What are you looking for?"

"There's a big fish in here, so..." Kazuma trailed off, finally taking a look at Yusuke up close. His teeth really were sharp, it wasn't a trick of the light. Serrated, like steak knives. The dim, shifting light from the tank lamps glinted too well off slimy skin, and with his arms raised Kazuma could see three long gashes following the curve of his ribs. They weren't bleeding, just flexing in time with his breaths. His long hair fanned out behind him in the water. Beneath the surface, where Yusuke's body was shrouded in murky green, a massive tail swayed lazily back and forth.

Yusuke watched Kazuma's eyes widen, smirking. "Find that fish yet?" A tail fin as wide as Yusuke's shoulders gently broke the surface of the water, gray and sleek. Softly, it slapped back down, splashing some water on Kazuma's uniform jacket.

Kazuma could give a shit about the jacket right now. "Um," he said, blinking while his brain tried frantically to catch up with his eyes. "Are you...a mermaid?" It felt stupid to say it out loud.

He felt even stupider when Yusuke burst into loud laughter. "What? I'm not a mermaid, you idiot!"

Kazuma could feel his face redden. Great. He'd met this guy all of five minutes ago and he was never gonna live this down. He knew he'd never let it go if someone said something off-the-wall crazy like that to him. Mermaid? If he was lucky, Yusuke would just assume he was drunk and not terminally stupid.

After a minute, Yusuke got a hold of himself, reaching up to dab tears from the corners of his eyes. "I'm a merman. Genius."

"Whatever, I was just joking anyw- wait, what?"

Yusuke pushed back a little from the glass, pointing one clawed finger at his own chest. "You see any boobs? I'm a guy."

Kazuma sputtered. "I know you're a guy, stupid!" Alright, he was gonna wake up in the middle of math class any second now. This shit had officially gotten too weird to be real. 

"Seemed pretty confused to me," Yusuke said, with a smirk and a shrug.

"Are you really half fish under there?" Kazuma didn't have space in his brain to get too mad about accusations of being dumb right now. He was too transfixed by the dark shape of Yusuke's tail moving under the water. Was it a trick? A...a costume, or something? They had to do that for mermaids in movies, right? There was no way it was real. Even if Kazuma's Bizarre Crap Warning Tickle was now a full-body shiver.

"I'm all me, not half fish. But whatever." Yusuke shifted his grip on the rim of the tank, pulling himself closer to Kazuma. "You want a better look?"

Kazuma nodded brainlessly, and had a half second of utter confusion as Yusuke gripped his shoulders. Then he was pulled forward, down into the water, a cold shock slapping him in the face and a moment of vertigo as his feet left the floor.

It didn't occur to him to hold his breath. In unconscious panic, he tried to take a breath, choking on cold water instead. Yusuke floated just below him, his laugh ringing through the tank, surrounding Kazuma in mocking sound. Sure enough, tan skin gave way to two-tone gray just below his waist, a large tail bumping against Kazuma's thrashing legs. It looked pretty damn real from here.

Yusuke's grip on Kazuma kept him from reaching the surface, only a few inches overhead but still too far. Panicked from lack of air, Kazuma lashed out, landing an awkward punch square on Yusuke's nose. The merman's head snapped back, his hair tracing the arc of his movement, but he didn't let go.

"Aw, quit freaking out, will ya?" Yusuke's voice filled the tank as he shook his head to clear it. A trickle of blood drifted from his nostril to dissipate in the water. "Thought you said you weren't scared?" He pulled Kazuma closer, like he was gonna take a chomp out of him. Kazuma froze, bracing for teeth, but Yusuke only pressed their lips together.

Kazuma knew he wasn't getting any air, but at once the water stopped burning in his lungs. He could breathe, somehow. Which was a lot to process on top of his first kiss and also maybe drowning, and also this guy was a goddamn mermaid. Too close to focus on properly, Yusuke's eyes glittered with mischief.

A hand grabbed the back of Kazuma's collar. He was hauled from the water, coughing and sputtering. He dragged air back into his lungs, though it almost felt too harsh. Too dry. The man who'd saved him helped him clamber over the rim of the tank to collapse to his hands and knees on the floor.

"I'm sorry," the man said, voice smooth and lilting as Kazuma heaved up more tank water. "You'll need to stay well back from the displays. Some of the animals are dangerous."

Water streaming from his hair and every stitch of his clothing, Kazuma blinked up at his rescuer. The shop owner was a tall Chinese guy, dressed in fancy silk robes and wearing...was that red lipstick?

"Did you have an appointment?" the owner said, polite and distant, like he hadn't just saved Kazuma from drowning or getting eaten or whatever had been going on. Casually, he flicked water from the sleeve of his robe and pushed a lock of his straight, black hair behind one ear with manicured nails. "I'm afraid you'll have to come back another time if not. I'm quite busy at the moment."

"It's your own fault for leaving me stuck in here with nothing to do," Yusuke chimed in, looking at Kazuma over the edge of the tank once more. He smiled like he'd just gotten away with something, or like he'd just told a real groaner of a joke. Kazuma stared back at him, unsure how to feel. 

The owner shot Yusuke an exasperated look that seemed to say 'I'll deal with you later.' His eyes were different colors, one dark and one light. Kazuma had been too surprised by the lipstick to notice at first. The guy was like a creepy, pet-shop-owning David Bowie. His presence filled the room. With slight surprise (because most of his sense of surprise had already been taken up by Yusuke) Kazuma realized he was kinda scared of this guy.

"How come," Kazuma rasped, throat aching. "How come you got a mermaid in a damn pet shop?"

The owner turned his attention back to Kazuma, frowning down at him. "That's a very rare and very aggressive species of shark from the Japan Sea. You shouldn't have approached the tank so carelessly."

Knees shaking, Kazuma pushed himself to his feet. "Bullshit," he said, wringing out his jacket. "I may not be the smartest guy around, but I know that's not a fish. Fish ain't people. That's a damn mermaid."

"It's merman," Yusuke grumbled. "Dumbass. Get it right." He was still staring at Kazuma as if he were the only thing worth worrying about in the whole room. It was a little intense, but Kazuma found himself staring right back. Now that he wasn't under the water, he wasn't scared anymore. Not that he'd been that scared! It was surprising, that was all! Anyone would have been just as put off as he was!

The owner took a small step back, putting distance between the spreading puddle of dirty water and what looked like very expensive shoes. "I see." He studied Yusuke for a moment, thoughtful. "Have you ever kept saltwater species before, young man?" he said, addressing Kazuma. "The initial setup can be somewhat onerous, but it's quite rewarding. Many people find that watching fish swim helps alleviate stress."

True enough, Kazuma hadn't been stressed about school or anything else when he'd been pulled into the tank, except for getting eaten or drowned. Real soothing. More importantly... "You're trying to sell him?"

"This is a pet shop," the man said, as though Kazuma were five years old and also incredibly slow. "The shark seems to have taken a liking to you, or there wouldn't have been much left of you for me to pull from the water. What do you say?" He stroked his chin, completely at ease with this insane situation. "We can discuss a fair price, along with a care guide and contract you'll need to abide by, of course."

For some reason, the idea of someone buying Yusuke outright was even more unbelievable than the whole being-a-mermaid thing. "You can't just sell him! He's a person!"

Yusuke leaned out over the edge of the tank, a curtain of black hair dripping onto the floor. "Aw, c'mon! Don't be a cheapskate! Just get me outta here before I go outta my mind. It's boring!" He was leaning so far out, one hand clutching the edge of the tank while the other reached to tug on Kazuma's sleeve. His gills were already starting to wheeze awkwardly in the dry air.

"And what am I supposed to do?" Kazuma shot back. "Carry you home and hide you in the bathtub? You're huge, man!" It was stupid anyway. Even if Kazuma had a whole swimming pool at home, it wasn't right to keep Yusuke locked up like that. If mermaids were real-- which apparently they were, and Kazuma wasn't going to be over that for a long time-- then they should be in the ocean, right? Of course Yusuke was miserable in this stupid little tank in a room with no windows, and no one to talk to! He wasn't some goldfish, or something!

The man smiled, small but genuine. He turned to Yusuke, gently shoving him back to the water when it looked like he was about to overbalance and fall from the tank. "It seems your mind is set on this one?"

"Yeah, this guy's an idiot, but he's alright." Sulking, Yusuke lowered himself in the water, wetting his gills. "Anybody else you shove at me is getting eaten, got that?"

"And just like that," the man said, with a helpless gesture, "the decision is made for me. As you can see, this particular specimen is something of a liability, so I'm willing to offer you a favorable deal to take it off my hands."

Kazuma had just about enough money in his wallet for a sandwich from the convenience store. He knew he wasn't gonna be able to cough up the cash to get Yusuke out of here. Still, he couldn't walk away. Yusuke's eyes were burning a hole through him.

"It's gonna have to be a hell of a deal, mister," Kazuma said, finally dragging his eyes from Yusuke to look at the shop owner. "I don't even have a job, and I'm pretty broke."

The shop owner only smiled. "I'm sure we can reach an agreement."

[kickstillkickin]

Klance Month 2020 Day 2 -  Coffee Shop

Keith had never been more exhausted in his life. The bar had kept him late because some asshole thought it was a splendid idea to throw up all over the bathroom and not tell any of the staff. Then Shiro had called him in a panic, because it was his and Adam's two year anniversary tomorrow and the dolt had forgotten to get a present. Cue a caffeine-fueled run to Walmart, accompanied by his dumbass brother, to purchase a photo album for all Shiro's spare copies. Upon finally arriving home, he discovered that his upstairs neighbors had been arguing themselves halfway to a divorce and seemed determined that the whole complex be made aware of it. He spent all of twenty minutes trying to fall asleep before he gave into his lesser self and took a couple doses of NyQuil. The medicine netted him a grand total of two hours of sleep. It felt more like negative twelve. He was completely awake when his alarm went off and felt like death.

The sun was too bright when he stepped outside the apartment, wearing a work shirt that had a stain and two different shoes. Keith wondered if it was because he hadn't noticed or because he hadn't cared. He pondered the answer during his commute until even rational thought proved too exhausting. Fifteen minutes later, he stepped off the bus in a daze and glared at the bright neon sign, declaring this hellhole of a location to be Beans N' Stuff, a local eclectic's personal venture into the coffee business. He didn't usually mind working there. Then again, he didn't usually show up looking paler than a ghost and more interested in digging his own grave than interacting with another human being.

A little bell rang when he opened the door. He paused a moment to glare at it, contemplating the consequences of ripping it from the door frame. Then thinking hurt too much again. He trudged into the back and collected his cap and apron. As he was signing in to the register, a familiar presence appeared over his shoulder. Ignoring it, he finished his task and moved past his coworker to the coffee machine.

Pidge didn't even have time to express their totally expected and completely warranted "you look like shit" before Keith flipped open his thermos, added no less than four shots of espresso, a 5-hour Energy that appeared out of thin air, and filled the rest with black coffee. He closed the lid and downed half the thermos in a few swallows. Pidge amended their statement. "What the hell happened to you?"

"Do not speak to me. I have seen hell and will murder anyone who speaks too loudly," he snapped.

"You know what, that's valid, but Matt isn't here and Coran says I'm not allowed to operate the register," they informed him.

Keith glared at his thermos. "If God exists, he is a cruel being. And as soon as I get some sleep, I'm gonna kick his ass."

"I'll be in the back," Pidge said diplomatically. They weren't touching anything about the situation with a ten foot pole.

Keith sipped his thermos and resigned himself to an eight-hour shift. He opened up shop, took orders, and answered customers' dumb questions like a good little employee. When his thermos was empty, he refilled the same order and chugged it again. To keep a poker face, he tried to think happy thoughts. Like murdering his brother, or maybe his neighbors. The longer he stood listening to out-dated pop songs, he added the owner of the damned shop to the list. Customers came and went in a blur. He thought he remembered Pidge asking if he needed a break, but couldn't recall his answer.

Then he walked in. The most attractive creature to ever grace the earth. A customer that was not quite a regular, but Keith had seen him more than once. He seemed to be nothing more than a harmless flirt, and someone who could only dish it out, at that. But those blue eyes were going to be the death of Keith's gay ass. Just, they were going to be the death of him tomorrow. After he died of exhaustion today.

"I'll have a salted caramel white chocolate mocha with whipped cream."

Though physically repulsed by just hearing how much sugar was in the order, he punched it into the computer and kept a straight face. "Can I get a name for the order?"

"The name's Lance," Handsome Almost-Regular said with what seemed to be a flirty undertone.

Keith nodded and typed the name in. "Your total is $5.67."

Lance paid and Keith informed him that his order would be ready momentarily. Pidge prepared it in record time, and even went so far as to nudge him rather aggressively with her elbow. Keith was both confused and offended. He took the cup to the front counter. "Lance," he called out in a dead monotone.

"You know, that's not how people usually call out my name," Lance purred as he leaned over the counter.

Keith was exhausted, barely functioning, and not paid enough to deal with things like this. He did not think about the words that came out of his mouth. "Sorry, I'll try to sound more disappointed next time."

The look on Lance's face was akin to that of the surprised pikachu meme. Pidge hung out the doorway from the back, shocked beyond belief. Unbothered, Keith handed him the coffee cup, mumbled something about having a nice day, and moved on to helping the next customer. It was not until Lance had left the coffee shop near tears, leaving behind a dumbfounded audience and an exasperated coworker, that Keith's lagging brain finally processed the whole conversation.

"Shit!"

"I think that was some kind of record. Most idiotic gay barista turns away interested party and gives him emotional trauma, all in less than five minutes," Pidge told him.

Keith had thoroughly and completely fucked up. Oh, and he needed a nap.

. . .

By the time he trudged into work the next day, Keith had come to the conclusion that God was not only real, he was also dedicated solely to fucking with him as much as possible. Despite having the night off from bartending, he'd hardly slept, too tormented by the idiocy of his own stupid actions. Pidge had texted to make fun of him no less than seven times, and had undoubtedly told their entire circle of friends about it. At the very least, Matt didn't say anything when he walked in looking like death twice over.

"You want the front or the back today?" Matt asked as Keith signed in.

What if Lance came back? Keith should be working up front so he could apologize. Then, a second, more horrifying thought occurred to him. What if Lance came back? He couldn't allow himself to be seen. Lance needed to think that he'd crawled into a hole and died, never to be seen by the general populace again. He would willingly go down in history as the world's dumbest and least functional gay if it meant never having to make meaningful contact with Hot Coffee Customer ever again.

"The back," Keith said solemnly, though it felt more like he was reading out his sentence then answering his coworker's question.

"Yeah, that's probably a good idea," Matt told him, patting him on the shoulder.

Keith resigned himself to a shift with this older, subtler brand of Pidge insults. As he turned to start prepping the machines, he caught Matt whipping out his phone. His coworker typed out, "u owe me 20 bucks" and hit send with a bit too much satisfaction. So Pidge and Matt had taken bets on his answer. Smart of Matt to pick the more cowardly option, he thought to himself as he washed his hands. Dysfunctional gays tended toward dysfunction, after all. He busied himself with cleaning out the coffee pots while Matt opened up shop.

As much as Keith tried to drive the catastrophic events of yesterday from his thoughts, he still flinched every time that damned bell rang. Matt greeted customers like a goddamn proper employee. Something Keith was apparently not. No, he just insulted them and moved on. But only if they flirted with him. Everyone else just got the monotone customer service voice. Lance? Emotional trauma for him, of course. The same train of thought played in his head on a loop as he prepared orders and sent them out. He tried to ignore the handful of female customers that flirted with his coworker and grit his teeth whenever Matt flirted back. Something else he was evidently incapable of.

Just a few hours into his shift, the strangest order came in. A salted caramel white chocolate mocha with whipped cream. Why was that familiar? Had an obnoxious white girl ordered it? Keith racked his brain and found himself drawing a blank. The only thing he remembered was-

Of course! Another look at the screen told him the customer's name was Lance. How many Lance's lived in one city, went to the same coffee shop, and ordered the exact same disgusting sugar-filled drink? Keith prepped the order, determined to make amends with the world's stupidest and most inept attempt at flirting: a bad pun on the coffee cup, written over his phone number. Matt took the coffee from him and handed it to the customer. He prayed to whatever deities were willing to listen that he hadn't just made the second biggest mistake of his life.

Matt found him like that a few seconds later when he stepped into the back for a moment. "Hey Keith, I think that was the guy insulted yesterday," Matt informed him. "Pidge's description was spot on."

"Was it? I had no idea," Keith said with a shrug, preparing the next order.

Disappointed that he'd failed to get a rise out of his coworker (and probably more disappointed that he had nothing to report to his gremlin of a sibling), Matt returned to the front and left him alone for the rest of his shift.

Keith felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Even if Hot Coffee Stranger forever hated his guts for his complete social ineptitude, he'd managed to apologize. Now, of course, there was plenty of room in his chest for anxiety over Lance's response. Would he text? Would he call? Would it be right away? Would he wait? Was he going to report him to the police and get a restraining order? It was truly a coin toss. At the very least, the unsettling feeling in his chest was better than the heavy knowledge of his own stupidity.

Closing came sooner than he expected. Keith waved Matt off as he walked the short distance to the bus stop. As he settled into his seat, his phone vibrated in his pocket. It was a text message. From an unknown number. Keith couldn't help the stupid grin that was stuck on his face all the way home.

. . .

Lance let out a huge sigh of relief as he exited the coffee shop. His plan had been to look for the barista through the front window. If it was the same asshole as yesterday, he would walk right on by and mournfully purchase his morning pick-me-up from another shop. He hadn't recognized the employee working, and didn't even see so much as a mullet-shaped hair of He Who Shall Not Be Named. Then, right as he went to take a sip of his delicious, precious coffee, he saw writing. 

I regret yesterday a latte

Call me?

XXX-XXX-XXXX

It was the dumbest pickup line he'd ever heard in his life, and some of the competition were pickup lines he himself had used. But it made him laugh. And, now that he thought about it, that barista had looked a little worse for wear. He was definitely cute enough to be given another chance. Any gay idiot who wrote bad coffee puns on a coffee cup was definitely someone Lance could spend some time getting to know. The barista didn't need to know that, though. He'd probably wait a few hours before texting him. And then a few more, just to make him sweat.

Lance took a sip of his coffee, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. Maybe he'd even wait a few more after that.

[lucastheunlucky]

latched secret || blanche&luke

Location: Yum!Pizzeria Date/Time: 5/27/20 @harlowhaunted Summary: Blanche takes a lunch at the pizzeria but finds it being cleaned and worked on. Luke gives her pizza anyway (cause this is canon we know it) and they become acquainted over ghost vibes after realizing they share a few of the same friends.

Yum!Pizzeria had been operating okay without him thanks to his wonderful neighbor Mrs. Lee and Orion. But the seventy year old woman really should be retired now, and Luke felt in debt to her for keeping the place open while he healed up. Luke walked into the shop today, leaving the door open to air it out. They were technically closed today, and he had a few people in there today cleaning the place out and deep cleaning every inch of the shop. His left arm was no longer bandaged but stitched up in thick staples and coated in medicine to keep infection out. Lucas was getting a little bit of his mobility back to his fingers, the tendon and nerves were having a hard time connecting even with his accelerated healing. It would be okay though. He was able to hold things now, and that was progress. Luke was sitting at a bench while staff cleaned the place, paperwork spread out as he organized his accounts, and looked over the business expenses while he was gone to be sure everything lined up.

Exhaustion clung to her as she shuffled into Yum!Pizzeria on her lunch break. The paperwork she had been working on for Mercy was left abandoned, waiting for her when Blanche would come back after she had found something to eat. At least she was being good - at least she was remembering to be a person and to eat and to go to work and to just have some semblance of normalcy. Or, as normal as everything could be. The paranoia that the fucking hunter would come back to finish the job on Nell had never left, and Winn was still being a dramatic ass motherfucker and she hadn’t heard from him either. But, as Blanche slid into the pizza joint, she resolved to not think about any of that for the next 54 minutes she had. “Hey, sorry, are you guys not open?” Blanche realized she had been zoning out  and things didn’t exactly look up to snuff. She rubbed her neck sheepishly. “I wasn’t paying attentio - uh?” Blanche frowned. The hairs on the back of he neck were standing up and - oh shit. She ripped her eyes off the man on the bench, looking around for the ghost. Come on, where the hell was it?

“Mhm?” He lifted his gaze from the paperwork, the place clearly in disarray with the chairs up on the tables and people cleaning, if definitely wasn’t open, but the beast could only smile at the other woman. “Technically no,” he said, and nodded to his staff to move towards the kitchen so the cleaning wasn’t so noisy. It had been a help to hire a few more people this week and with group inside to get it clean and redorated, new parts getting replaced or upgraded, Luke was excited to see the changes. The Pizza shop needed to stay for a little bit longer, just until he knew what was going on with Gotch. “But, come here, sit down--” he gestured in, sitting on one of the tables was stacks of pizza’s everyone had been munching on while working. “Take a break, you look tired-- plates are here.” He slid one over. 

“Oh shit,” Blanche said sheepishly. If there was a ghost here, then she absolutely did not want to be here. And she definitely didn’t want to be that asshole customer that came in on closed business days. Except he was shoving a pizza box towards her, telling her to grab a plate while the cleaning crew drifted off into the kitchen and they were alone. Blanche frowned, and realized now that her ghost senses were stronger when she got near the man. Fuck. Was he possessed? Blanche had frozen slightly, unsure what she wanted to do. Well, she knew what she wanted to do, and that was turn, run, and never show her face back here out of embarrassment, and maybe call Rebecca or Cassie to come deal with it. But it didn’t quite feel like he was possessed, and she wished she hadn’t dipped on Rebecca’s lesson. “Are you sure?” Blanche finally said, resigned. “Um, I’m sorry I came in while you guys were cleaning, I just - I’ve been a little out of it.” She gave him a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Um, I’m Blanche, by the way.”

“You do look tired. I get that, we’re closed temporarily this week cause I’m healing up from an injury and taking the time to revamp things a little bit,” Luke tilted his head at the name. Having received multiple texts from Noah about a Blanche deal with a missing Winn. Did Winston or Ariana also say her name? He couldn’t remember well. “Eat up your fill, there are a few different ones in there, new flavors too, so you will get a sneak peak at some new menu ideas. Highly classified.” He joked, and quickly typed a few things down, and then closed up the laptop and leaned back. He actually needed a break himself, he’s been at it for hours, his back creaked from going the other direction. “Hey, can I ask if you know a Noah? He’s trying to be a vet?-- I just feel like I’ve heard about a Blanche in the grapevine of my friends, and you sorta fit the profile. I’m Lucas.” 

“Oh, I’m glad you’re healing up!” Blanche smiled slightly, before doing as she was told and grabbing a slice of pizza. She was too tired to refuse food right about now, and she was admittedly more and more curious about the ghostly presence around the man. She examined Lucas closely as she say down on a bench. He knew Noah? Her eyebrows knit together in concern for just a moment - what had Noah said? Did Ariana or Noah spill what she was to someone? Or did Lucas know Winn. Blanche supposed that she didn’t rightly care if people knew that she could see ghosts anymore, even if there was still a swirl of anxiety in her at the thought of it. She was just too tired to keep the secrecy up. The bad excuses, everything. So finally, she said, “Yeah, I know Noah.” After considering another moment, taking a bite of her pizza and swallowing, she rested her plate in her lap. “Does that mean you know what happened with Winn Woods?” Blanche asked. 

“Ah, it’s nice to meet you then,” Lucas said with a friendly vibe. He hadn’t known if it was her, but relief was easily seen on his face that it wasn’t going to be awkward. “Know what happened? Not entirely— no details, Noah is just mad right now and yelling at me through text so I’m trying to keep a neutral front to it. However, I’m glad you’re fine. It’s the only reason I heard your name, everyone seemed worried about you between the yelling.” Luke got up and pulled out some sodas and a water bottle from the customer fridge and set some down near her to pick what she liked. “I don’t know anything about you though. Just a name. You know how friend circles are. Do you work close by?”

Blanche almost laughed at Lucas when he mentioned that Noah was yelling over text. “He seemed to keep from yelling at me, but he thinks I’m a big ol’ idiot,” she said, gratefully taking the bottle of water with a quieter thank you. “And he’s not wrong, mind you. Winn and I both made stupid decisions, I just… I needed to blow off some steam, you know,” Blanche shrugged, giving him a small smile. She didn’t elaborate. He either knew what Winn was or he didn’t, and now that she thought more about it, she didn’t think Noah would shoot his mouth off about the details. “Yeah I work at Valfrey Investigation Services. I’m the apprentice there,” she explained. “I came into work today and decided to actually take my lunch break.” The feeling hit her again, and she faltered slightly. Shit. “Hey, uh, can I ask you a weird question? You don’t happen to, uh, believe in ghosts, do you?”

Lucas really understood the sheer need to blow off steam and how rationality could be a little fuzzy with it. Wolves were sturdy and Lucas always worried about hurting others on the football field when he was younger because of it. But the loss of control— well. Luke wanted to understand that bit more. “Winn means well. I feel like all his intentions are usually close to being good, but I just met him a few weeks ago so it’s just first impressions from my end. He was there for me though, when I was in a low spot. I don’t want to come at him over it. It wasn’t on purpose, he should say sorry though.” Lucas commented, but noticed her falter. “Eat, eat.” He said a little worried, taking it as being hungry or exhausted. “Sure— of course. Lots of things exist in the world. Why?” 

Blanche waved it off. “Winn’s a good person, but a bit of a bonehead. Clearly I’m not much better. It was both our faults. I’m just a little pissed he ran off, but…” Blanche sighed slightly, shrugging. “He’ll be back. We can deal with it then.” And maybe, hopefully, things will have calmed down by then. With Bea and Nell and Luce… She took a bite out of the pizza when he encouraged her to eat, trying to figure out the best way to put this. Shit, she needed Granny. Then again, Granny was always pushy and in people’s faces. She didn’t give a shit if people believed her or not, just like she didn’t give a shit now about what people thought of her. “I - At the risk of sounding insane,” Blanche said, looking at him apologetically. “I, uh…” Well if he was friends with Winn, then he probably knew about the wolf thing. Blanche decided then to take a risk. “Can see them. And feel them. And I think there’s one... “ Blanche winced. Possession wasn’t the right word, it didn’t look or feel like that. At least, she was pretty sure it didn’t feel like that. “Here.” Blanche finished lamely. She fidgeted anxiously. “Are you feeling okay?” Blanche asked. 

Lucas tilted his head in that puppy dog way that he never could work out of his instinct while she talked. “See them? That might be quite the burden, huh?” Lucas’ brows wrinkled a little bit. He wasn’t overly familiar with ghosts, usually one to fight beasts or monsters that gave him a decent fight. His mind briefly touched on the face he saw sometimes, the young girls, but he had always taken that as trauma with Gotch. When she asked if he was feeling okay, and the almost sweet, concerned delivery Lucas huffed an honest laugh. After weeks of wolves yelling at him, and worrying over him in their aggressive, all in love way, that was the nicest way anyone asked about him. “I’m never quite okay, so you think one is here? Or one with me? I’ll be honest,” he bit the inside of his mouth a little. “I’ve sometimes seen something just in the corner of my eye.” 

Quite the burden. Blanche almost laughed at him, but quickly controlled herself by taking a big swig of her water. Burden was definitely a word for it. She was feeling overly negative today, too, so she could have added on isolating, life-ruining, pain-in-the-ass, relationship-ending, bullshit. But she didn’t. Because that was her being dramatic, and neither of them needed dramatics today. Instead, Blanche shrugged like it didn’t matter. “It could be worse,” Blanche said, giving him a strained smile. Never quite okay. She related to that, but she was curious. She wasn’t used to being believed so easily, thought there was the possibility that he was only entertaining her. “Something like that,” Blanche replied with a frown. “I don’t… see anything. Which is unusual, but I definitely feel something. Do you - Uh, do you experience black outs?” Blanche asked, almost apologetically. It would at least rule out possession. “Lost time? Waking up in places where you’ve never been before, confused? What sort of things have you seen out of the corner of your eye? Or even just when you’re really tired, and think you see something there and it goes away in a blink.”

“No, no blackouts,” Lucas wasn’t entertaining her at all. One to believe usually anything that sounded a bit strange, but also, he was a kind person and didn’t need to make someone feel bad for telling him something about themself. Kinda like Regan and her need to keep sending dead animals to people. A bad feeling was surfacing while she inquired more, and he realized, while he’s always been depressed and suffered with dissociation since he was a teenager because of Gotch, he didn’t always have these extra bits. Maybe it all wasn’t his head being hard on him. “Hmm, alright. I’ll be honest with you, okay? Since you are being forthcoming,” he offered a smile, trying to make sure she wasn’t over concerned about his feelings towards it. “But I have heard whispers sometimes, they tell me to walk away? To just keep going, and going. Sometimes it will catch me while I’m on a roof, and something in my head tells me to walk off the edge. Or travel down a road until I die. I, honestly, just assume I’m having a bad moment mentally. I’m not the best sometimes with stuff? So I just laid down or whatever,” he thought about it more. “The only thing I have seen is sometimes when I’m in a particularly bad state-- I see a little girl just in the edge of my vision. You think that it’s not always been me? Like, maybe something else is there?” 

Blanche listened to Luke closely. There was something in her that had woken up - an old anxiety that wanted to rear its ugly head. How nervous this shit made her. Talking about the dead so easily was supposed to be something that Granny was good at, it was never supposed to just be her thing… Except, it was her thing. This was what she had been born with, and she spent too long trying to convince herself to ignore it or hide it. None of that was going to work now. She could do it with Bea and she could do it with Lucas, and she didn’t have to think too hard about it. Well, probably. She frowned slightly as Lucas told her what these voices were whispering to him, and she tried to nod encouragingly. “A little girl?” Blanche asked, pressing her lips together in a thin line. Could a spirit of a little girl do that? In horror media, Blanche was pretty sure little girls were often projected as bad spirits or demons, mostly because they were creepy and had that horrible high pitched laugh. It could be a malicious spirit, but Blanche wasn’t sure. She just knew that she could feel it, and the longer she explored that feeling, the more she didn’t like it. “I believe you,” Blanche assured him, quickly. “That must be really hard. I’m so sorry,” She wondered if a spirit could really be whispering those intrusive thoughts to him. She considered a moment. “I know a couple exorcists who know more about this kind of thing than I do. Would you mind if I spoke with them? About this situation and tell them what you told me? So I can see if I can help you?”

Lucas nodded to her inquiry about the little girl. At least, that was how he kinda saw her when he saw her, which was difficult being that it was just out of sight. “It’s not, well. It is hard, thank you. But I’ve got practice in that department. Maybe, if this is what’s been making me feel so hopeless-- I’d very much like some help. So, of course. You may ask whomever.” Lucas reassured, and was grateful for it. He wanted to explain that it was challenging to separate the intrusive thoughts from his own bad ones, but Blanche seemed serious, and Lucas would take it as such. “Here,” he pulled one of his business cards out for the pizzeria, and wrote his number down. “Just so you know. I’m not exactly out in the world. I’m in hiding, a little, no--- a lot. So, do me the smallest favors and keep my name close. Especially lately, with--” he waved his arm a little. “The person who did this is, well. Yeh. Still out there.

Blanche listened to his explanation, eyes flicking up to the scar on his head. More questions were on the tip of her tongue, but she refrained. Lucas was in hiding from someone that hurt him. It was a somber reminder of everything that had happened - with Nell and Bea. People could get hurt, whether it was supernaturally motivated or not. “I’ll keep your name close to me. I promise. I understand how important it is to keep people’s safety close,” Blanche said grimly. She nodded, gently taking the business card from him as she stood, since she had finished a slice of pizza, and it was probably time she should get back to work anyhow. But she did pause, grabbing a pen from her purse to write her own number on a napkin, sliding it over to him. “That’s my number too. You let me know if anything else pops up, you can text me whenever or call me or find me online, okay? And leet me know if you see anything so I can ... Figure out what’s going on. Okay?”

Lucas nodded. “Okay, thanks-- and it was really nice meeting you. Putting a face to your name and everything.” He smiled, and politely stood up when she did and accepted the number. 

[ohnojustimagine]

Beauty To My Eyes

Tyler Bate/Reader 3220 words; Smut/Explicit

This was a request from possibly the very best and nicest person in the whole of tumblr, @oreillyskyle and I am SO SORRY it took this long to write. (I am catching up on requests, finally, it’s just been a slow process for various reasons.)

***

You’ve been working at the vegan speciality grocer’s for about a year now, and you’ve actually grown to like it. Retail is what it is, of course, but this isn’t just some mindless standing behind a till, you’ve had to learn about things like nutrition and protein and legumes versus soy, because people are always asking questions. You’re not vegan yourself, but you find the science behind it all pretty interesting.

The shop is mostly busy enough to keep both you and your boss occupied, but you’re not constantly rushed off your feet, which feels like a luxury compared to your last job. There’s a good mix of regular customers, and the nature of the place unfortunately means that some of them are obnoxious hipsters, but the nice ones are nice enough that they almost make up for the others.

And your favorite nice one is Tyler, who’s super-polite and knowledgeable and has a smile that can make you feel like you’re melting. He’s cute and blonde and not so tall (though a good few inches taller than you) but he’s built. The guy is like, deliciously thick, and you often have to remind yourself not to creepily stare at his thighs while he’s browsing the aisles. You’re kind of curious how on earth he finds jeans that fit him, what with the way the fabric strains over his quads, but you’re not going to complain.

Sometimes he seems to disappear, and there’ll be no sign of him for a month or so at a time, but he always returns eventually.

“Been a while,” you say, casually, when today he approaches the counter with a basket of items but truthfully your heart might have just skipped a beat or two at the sight of him.

“Yeah,” he says, smiling at you, “I was in the US for work.”

“Cool,” you reply, looking down as you scan a package of tofu, and you don’t want to be intrusive, but you feel as if you know him well enough now to ask, “What’s ‘work’, then?”

He tilts his head slightly to one side, like he’s assessing you, just for a moment, and says, “I wrestle.”

You nod, because you have a vague idea what that probably means. “Olympic wresting or like, Hulk Hogan wrestling?”

His smile widens out into a grin. “Hulk Hogan wrestling.”

“My brother’s into that,” you say, and you think to yourself that next time you see him you should ask him if he’s heard of Tyler, but you know you’ll forget. “All done,” you say, handing him the bag you’ve filled with his few purchases.

“Thanks,” he says, and as he takes it, his fingers brush briefly over your knuckles. You’re certain the touch is accidental, but you still can’t help blushing, your face burning hotly as you glance down at the floor. When you look back up, Tyler’s still standing there, giving you a curious, studied stare, but he doesn’t say anything else, simply raising his hand slightly as a goodbye before he walks away.

And ugh, you scold yourself, he must think you’re a total fucking idiot, going bright red at the slightest touch like some simpering schoolgirl. There have been times in the past when you’ve let yourself wonder if Tyler’s flirting with you, but you know it’s only wishful thinking, just a pleasant daydream, because you’re sure you’re not his type.

You’re not ugly, you’re aware of that, but you’re also aware that guys like Tyler don’t go for girls like you. He’s probably dating some instagram-worthy fitness model with abs as impressive as you imagine his are, one of those girls who does triathlons for fun and actually likes kale. And while you’ve got nothing but admiration for girls like that and how hard most of them must work to stay like that, it’s not you.

You’re soft and curvy, with breasts and hips and a generous ass and a stomach that is not exactly flat, let alone anything resembling a six pack. And yeah, you like your body, you don’t hate yourself, not at all, but you do hate how insecure you sometimes feel about the way you look.

The door of the shop closes behind Tyler, and you sigh to yourself, going back to work.

The weeks pass, and you don’t see him again, and you wonder if he’s gone back to the States or if he’s realized how pathetically bad your crush on him is and doesn’t want to further embarrass you. Probably the last one, you think, and resign yourself to it, because that’s pretty much how your love life goes.

***

You’re a few minutes from shutting up shop one evening when two kids wander in, and you can tell they’re going to be trouble just by looking at them. They’re both similarly skinny, though one’s taller than the other, and their loud voices and identical sneers give you a sinking, uneasy feeling.

Usually you wouldn’t be alone this near to closing, late and well after dark, but your boss has had to go home early as his daughter’s sick, so tonight you’re by yourself. You’ve found in the past that the best way to deal with these kinds of assholes is to be direct, so you check your phone’s in the pocket of your apron and then approach them, saying, “Can I help you?”

“You got any chips, love?” the taller one says.

“Over there,” you say, pointing, though you know that’s not what they mean. “There’s vegie chips and some gluten-free crisps.”

“Chips,” the other one says, enunciating the word like you’ve simply failed to understand. “Not your fucking hippie food.”

“Sorry,” you say, “but there’s a fish and chip shop just around the corner, I’d suggest you try there.”

“You’d suggest, would you?” he replies, taking a step towards you, and it takes every ounce of mental strength you have not to back up. His eyes are hard and glittering, and he doesn’t look away from you as he reaches over to the nearest shelf, hand moving along as he knocks several jars of tahini onto the floor. You don’t flinch at the sound of the glass shattering, strangely loud in your ears yet still quieter than your own racing heartbeat.

“Oops,” the kid says, leering. “Why don’t you clean those up for me, darling?”

The other laughs, and adds, “Nothing better than a fat girl down on her hands and knees, scrubbing the floor where she belongs.”

You swallow hard, but hold their gazes, knowing if you show any weakness, they’ll be quick to take advantage. They both move closer, looming over you, and your hand is ready on your phone when a voice says, “Is there a problem here, lads?” And when you look across the shop, shocked, it’s Tyler.

The kids turn, giving him the once over, and you can see their attitude immediately change as they take in the size of him, the solid bulk of his muscles. “No problem, mate,” one says.

“Yeah,” the other adds, “we were just going.”

As they head towards the door, Tyler takes a few quick steps, positioning himself between you and them. His shoulders are squared off, hands clenched into fists at his sides, and it’s only when the door is closed and the boys are out of sight that you see his stance loosen, the tension visibly seeping from his body.

“Thanks,” you say, exhaling a shaky breath, as Tyler turns to face you.

“You’re welcome,” he says. “Pair of right little shits, they seemed like.”

“Yeah,” you say, staring down at the mess on the floor. It’s not too bad, so you find some paper towel, tearing off a few large handfuls and beginning to scoop up the tahini and glass.

“Is there a mop somewhere?” Tyler asks.

“Don’t worry about it,” you tell him. “You’ve already helped enough.”

“Don’t be silly,” he replies. “Where’s the mop?”

You look at him, and you’re suddenly too tired to argue. “Out the back, behind the counter.” Tyler nods, and heads off to fetch it.

You’ve picked up the worst of the mess by the time he gets back, and he swirls the mop over the floor, dipping it into the bucket and squeezing it out several times.

“There,” you say, dusting off your hands as you toss the paper towels in the bin. “At least they didn’t break something that smells bad, I guess.”

“True,” Tyler agrees. “You headed home now?”

“Yeah. Closing time, thank goodness.”

“Would it be okay if I walked you to the tube or the bus or wherever?”

“My flat’s not far,” you reply. “Honestly, I’m fine.” And you’re not, but you don’t want to take advantage of his kindness any further.

He frowns at you, seemingly concerned, and there’s a tiny little wrinkle between his eyebrows that’s distractingly adorable. “If you don’t mind,” he says, “I’d feel better if I saw you home safely.” You open your mouth to protest, but he holds up one hand and adds, “Just indulge me.”

You shrug, allowing yourself a small smile. “Proper knight in shining armour, aren’t you?”

He smiles back at you. “That’s me.”

“Fine,” you say, taking off your apron and hanging it up before grabbing your coat and bag, locking the door of the shop as Tyler stands patiently beside you.

Your flat’s only ten minutes or so away, and neither of you say much on the walk. But it’s nice, you muse, to have someone beside you as you make your way home, especially someone like Tyler. Usually when you walk home after dark, you’re careful to be at least somewhat aware of your surroundings, trying to be alert. But with Tyler at your side, you relax, striding along in step beside him, his arm occasionally jostling against yours.

“This is me,” you say, stopping in front of your building.

He stops too, standing next to you, and he’s waiting, you can see that. “I mean…” you start, and you want to tell yourself you’re being stupid, but he’s not leaving, and he’s looking at you, and you don’t want to assume, but…

He’s looking at you, and his eyes are soft and serious, and you feel light-headed, and maybe it’s just the adrenaline, but you chance it. “If you wanted to come up for a beer or a coffee or something.” You laugh, awkward. “Cup of tea, even.”

“That would be good,” he says. “Yeah.”

He follows you up the stairs in silence, and you’re so nervous your hands are trembling, but you manage to unlock your door.

Your flat’s only small, just a tiny one-bedroom, and you put down your things and head straight to the kitchen area, trying to keep your voice even as you ask, “What would you like?”

And you can feel him behind you, even before he speaks. You turn to face him, and he’s so close it’s almost agonizing, that he’s not yet touching you. “This,” he says, leaning in slowly. “This is what I’d like.” And then he’s kissing you, his mouth covering yours, tongue licking past your lips as you open up to him, closing your eyes. His hands are on your waist, and as the kiss starts to deepen, they slide down to grab your ass, stroking and squeezing.

You gasp into his mouth, and he pulls back, his pause just long enough that you begin to question things, doubt yourself. Perhaps this is just him feeling sorry for you, after what happened earlier? “You don’t have to,” you say, compelled to give him an out, an excuse if he needs one. “I’m all right.”

“I know,” Tyler says. “But I want to.”

You take a deep breath, and say, “Okay,” and you don’t know what it is about him, but somehow you’re ready to believe him, able to trust him. “Come on, then,” you say, and lead him into your bedroom.

You don’t turn the light on as you enter, but Tyler walks straight over to your bedside table, switching on the lamp you keep there. It’s not bright, but it casts a soft glow over the room.

“Oh,” you say, suddenly feeling shy. You’ve never been one for having sex with the lights on, finding it makes you so self-conscious you struggle to enjoy yourself. “Do we need that?”

“Yeah,” Tyler says, with a smile so dirty it sends a shiver through you, pulsating hot between your legs, “we do.”

He kisses you again, then grabs the hem of your t-shirt, dragging it up and over your head. His fingers trace down between your breasts, over the soft swell of your stomach, worrying at the waistband of your skirt, before pulling it down, past your hips, falling to his knees as he slides it slowly off your legs. He doesn’t stand up, and you tentatively rest your hands on his shoulders, fingers tracing the outline of the hard arcs of muscle.

Tyler kisses your stomach, licking and biting there, making small noises of pleasure with every movement, gradually making his way back to his feet, leaving a warm, wet trail over your skin. You reach behind yourself, swallowing nervously as you unfasten your bra, letting it slip off your arms, and you can hear Tyler inhale sharply as he stares down at your breasts. And you know if you start to think too much you’re going to lose your courage, start letting your doubts about why he’s doing this again creep in, so you quickly slide off your panties, standing before him naked.

“Fuck,” he says, and there’s no question of what’s in his voice, that he wants you. “God, you’re beautiful.”

You blush as he takes your hand, guiding you, positioning so you’re lying back on the bed, and then stands there for a moment, looking down at you. His mouth is slightly open and you can see him breathing, his chest rising and falling. With most guys you’d be resisting the urge to cover yourself, especially with the light on, but Tyler stares at your body with worshipful, hungry eyes, gaze raking over you, his desire so blatantly raw that it’s like electricity across your skin.

He toes off his shoes, hurriedly pulling off his t-shirt, and then lies down beside you, jeans still on.

He rests his thumb and forefinger on your chin, tilting your face up towards him, kissing you, softer this time, and after a few minutes his hand slides downwards, caressing your breast. He lowers his head to suck on your nipple; at first with delicate, pursed lips, but then opening wider, taking more into his mouth, sucking harder as his tongue flicks over the tip. His teeth scrape tentatively across your skin, and you hiss lightly at the sensation.

“That okay?” he asks, and you nod fervently in reply. He grins and moves back in, biting harder this time, moving across your body to your other breast, not holding back, and you arch up into it, moaning as his hand moves down to the slick heat between your thighs, stroking, exploring.

Your hips jerk up as his thumb finds your clit, rubbing firm circles over it, his fingers sliding through your wetness to push inside you, fucking in and out, the pressure just right.

And you grab hold of his arm, trying to steady yourself, thinking that maybe you should wait, not be greedy, but it’s clear Tyler’s aware that you’re close, as he leans in, biting your ear lobe softly before he whispers, “Let me see you.” You’re always embarrassed by how loud you are when you come, but Tyler only urges you on, his hand not stopping as he murmurs dirty encouragements, telling you how good you are, so hot, so lovely, just like this, just for him. And you can’t wait, not anymore, orgasm slamming through you so hard it’s like an impact, breaking you apart in the best possible way.

You lie there, trying to get your breath back, and Tyler licks his fingers, one by one, sucking the taste of you away until he’s satisfied.

He rolls off the bed, standing, and you prop yourself up on bent elbows, sated but somehow still wanting more, watching as he unfastens his jeans, pulling them down along with his underwear, bending to get them off from around his feet. And when he straightens up, you can’t stop staring: at his thighs, his cock, his body, all of it, and he’s so gorgeous you can hardly believe he’s real, let alone here in your bedroom about to fuck you.

“Condoms?” he asks.

You gesture at the bedside table. “In the drawer there,” you say, secretly smug that it’s not so very long since you restocked. Tyler finds the box, hurriedly taking out one, biting it open, and there’s an edge to his movements, enough that you realize he’s not so calm anymore, that he needs this, needs you in a way you hadn’t anticipated, and it sends a shocking little thrill through you, knowing you’re affecting him like this.

He rolls on the condom and climbs back up over you, kissing you again for a minute, his tongue forceful and desperate now, and you spread your legs wide beneath him. He stops, looking at you, then reaches down to grip himself, sliding his cock into you, and you moan, finally unashamed, letting yourself fall into the feeling as he begins to fuck you.

And he knows what he’s doing, hips rolling smooth, moving, building up, and mostly you can’t ever come twice in one session, and never this fast, but his cock is something else, going harder and faster and hitting all the right places. He thrusts into you, hissing out a long, bitten-off groan as he comes, and at the same time, your cunt clenches around him, the orgasm not as powerful as the first, but still so good it leaves you breathless.

Tyler lies over you for a minute, face buried in your neck, and for a second you think he might have fallen asleep, but then he sits up, pulling off the condom. “There’s a bin there,” you say, pointing, and he knots the condom off, tossing it before lying back down with a sigh, wrapping his arms around you.

You run your hand across the broad expanse of his chest, snuggling up beside him. “I can go,” he says, after a bit. “If you’d rather.”

“No,” you say, “stay.”

“Okay.” He nods. “I’ll take you out for breakfast in the morning, yeah?”

You laugh briefly, the sound muffled against his skin.

“What?” he asks.

“It’s just…” you say, shaking your head. “I think you might be perfect.”

“I’m far from perfect.”

“I don’t believe you,” you say.

“Nah,” he replies, voice lazily satisfied. “I’ve got plenty of flaws.”

“Like what?” You’re curious, raising your head to look at him.

“Maybe you’ll have to find out,” he says, hand cradling your jaw, thumb stroking along your lips. You suck the tip of it for a moment, biting down gently. Tyler smiles at you, then adds, “Might take a while, though.”

You shrug. “I’ve got time,” you say. “I like a challenge.”

“Yeah,” Tyler says, softly. “Me too.”

[andrewjostenzarchive]

until we go down

So, the loml, @jeremykonx has her bday today and she loves Kevineil and coffeshop!au’s. So why not combine both?

I apologize in advance because this should’ve been just a one shot and I think it’s gonna be a multi-chaptered fic, thus making this chapter one. I still hope you like it! <33

Also shoutout @gangseyys who is the best beta in the world. <3

Dawn already settles outside and yet the queue doesn't seem to get any shorter. Kevin feels himself getting grumpier, slacking slightly whilst writing names on the coffee cups and ignoring rants about how some people want a unicorn frappuccino, or whatever they call it.

He longs for his bed at home.

“Welcome to Starbucks, what's your order?” he says, repeating this sentence for what must be the four hundredth time that day. He doesn't get an immediate answer and lifts his head with a frown, examining the boy in front of him closer.

He's not very tall, perhaps reaching Kevin's chest. His hair is a dark shade of brown, uncannily similar to that of his eyes. He looks slightly nervous, constantly checking the door.

Kevin clears his throat impatiently. The guy snaps his head back to him and blinks a few times. “Um, just a coffee, please.”

“Which size?”

With that he stares at Kevin like a deer caught in the headlights.

"Normal?”

With a sigh Kevin takes a cup. “To-go, right?”

He nods silently, glancing back to the doors again.

“Your name?”

“What?” the small boy asks, unnerved.

Kevin's patience is clearly declining radically. “Your name? For the cup.” He lifts the pen in his hand and raises his brows.

“Neil.”

Since Kevin is too tired to think of some witty way to change the name, he simply writes it onto the cup as it is. The exchange of the money is quiet, and as soon as Neil gets the cup, he vanishes to the back of the store, heading into the toilets. Kevin is suspicious, but hell, some customers are even weirder.

Once there was one who sat on the floor and wanted to tell people their future by touching their tummies. Not only did it put off other customers, but they were certainly in the way.

Kevin is quickly distracted by the next order, though this 'Neil' does not leave his mind.

Suddenly, he feels the mood in the shop changing. He looks up to discover two grim men, covered in black from head to toe, stalking towards him. They completely ignore the other customers, shoving them roughly aside but gaining only weak protests. Kevin's hair stands on end. “Have you seen a kid? Around your age, 5 foot, brown hair?”

He looks at them, outwardly seemingly calm. His fast heartbeat betrays him, however. “No, I'm sorry.”

One of them comes closer to the counter and observes him with cold eyes. “Sure?”

“Oh, now that you mention it -" he starts, feigning recollection, "I saw someone like that walk by like an hour ago? Maybe two?” he lies, forcing himself not to glance towards the bathroom in which the boy was – yeah, what? Hiding, perhaps?

To escape the man's gaze, he nods towards the entrance. “Yeah, I think it was an hour ago.”

They both stare at him and he feels his skin crawl. “Uh, so did you wanna order something? Our coffee is really good.”

Without another word they turn around and leave. Kevin holds his breath until the doors finally swing shut behind them. There is a short silence before many customers start mumbling about those men, some shocked and others simply annoyed. Kevin, however, simply stares towards the bathroom door and the boy beyond it, wondering what the fuck he just got into.

Two hours later the shop begins to empty – finally. Kevin moves towards the doors, hoping to lock them, as his co-worker Alex stops him. “Wait, could you do me a favour? I have a date in twenty minutes and I look like a mess. Could you clean alone?”

“What the fuck, no, Alex, that's -”

“I owe you, man. Thanks!” Alex says and quickly leaves. He stares after her grimly, but sighs and locks the doors.

He gets the cloth and bucket out of the small room next to the counter, fills it with water and starts cleaning. Mid-cleaning his gaze falls to the bathroom door. Did Neil ever come out? He had to, the window is too small to get through. With a frown he puts the cloth down and opens the bathroom door. He checks the stalls and bingo! - the last is locked. The one right under the window, through which – Kevin suppresses a snort – Neil is clearly trying to get out at this very moment. But like he guessed, it's too small.

With crossed arms he leans back against the wall. “You won't fit through that.”

Neil's whole body flinches. As he spins around, he loses his balance and seconds later Kevin only hears a thud.

He makes a face and snickers slightly, leaning closer to the last stall. “You okay in there?”

Silence.

“Don't worry, they are not here, whoever they are. I sent them away.”

Still silence.

“Do you wanna stay in there forever?”

More silence.

“I still know you're in there, even if you're not talking, by the way.”

The stall door opens slowly. “I'm fine,” Neil says, rubbing his forehead and eyeing Kevin warily.

Kevin snorts. “You're bleeding on your temple,” he says, nodding towards his face.

“I'm fine,” Neil insists and goes around him to leave.

Kevin rolls his eyes and follows him back into the store. “You said that already. Wait and I'll get you something to clean the wound with.”

He hears the rattle of the door. “Why is it locked?” Neil asks suspiciously.

Kevin takes a clean cloth and lets a bit of water run over it. “So no one gets in while I'm cleaning.”

“Let me out.”

He sighs, turning around. “I saved your ass. They won't come here again. I don't even wanna know what fucked up shit you had to have done for people like that to come after you.” He throws the cloth at Neil who catches it with a confused expression. “Just clean up before that gets infected. Then you can grab the broom and help me.” He doesn't wait for a response and turns around, picking up a bucket and another cloth.

After a minute of him wiping the table in silence, he glances back at Neil. He still stands there, cloth dripping, staring at him like he is some kind of alien.

“Why are you helping me?”

“Call it a whiff of stupidity or whatever. I don't care. Now clean that cut and start tidying.”

They stare at each other before Neil lifts the cloth to his temple. Satisfied, Kevin gets back to cleaning. Still in silence, Neil eventually starts helping Kevin. There is no need for communication, neither getting in the way of the other.

As Kevin starts emptying the shelves that are filled with different kinds of food, Neil's stomach starts to grumble. “Did you want to eat something?”

“No, I'm fine.”

It was already the third time that the boy had said it, and Kevin had the feeling it was his standard answer.

“Seriously, take something. I'll only have to throw it away anyway.” Reluctantly Neil steps closer. “Free choice! The cookies are pure sugar, but the salad's really good, though it may be slightly soggy by now.”

From this close, he could see that his cut is still not clean. This boy, what a mess.

He leaves him to make his choice and goes back to the small room. Surely they had a first aid kit in here somewhere. He discovers it high up on a shelf, hidden behind countless other boxes. While trying to get it out, he triggers some kind of chain reaction that ends with him covered in dust and a box landing on his head. “Fuck!” he curses and rubs his head, grateful at least that he found the stupid first aid kit.

As he reenters, he sees Neil searching the room for something.

Kevin raises his brows. “I carry the keys with me, idiot.”

“What happened to your head?” Neil retorts, ignoring his comment.

He mutters something undecipherable under his breath. “A box fell on my head when I was looking for this," Kevin answers, holding up the small box to show him. "It's not nearly as bad as yours. Now sit down with something to eat and I'll patch you up.”

Why is he even tolerating this guy?

Neil begins to protest, but having glimpsed Kevin's glare he quickly stops.

"Just don't ask any questions, okay?" he says simply, sitting down to eat a sandwich while Kevin cleans the cut with a pad. Neil is clearly tense and again Kevin wonders who this kid even is. He can't be much older than him.

Absentmindedly he tugs at a few strands of Neils hair, pushing them away in order to get a better look at the cut. Instead, he sees a long and thin scar, starting roughly on Neil's temple and ending behind his ear. Stopping his movements, he looks Neil directly in the eye. The boy's warning glare reminds him of his promise not to ask questions, so he shuts his mouth and continues cleaning, his mind whirring.

He finishes cleaning the cut, properly this time, and checks for any other grazes before finally leaning back. "That is how you clean a cut, dumbass. I'd have thought you would have learnt by this age."

"Thanks," Neil grumbles quietly, barely decipherable and looking away sheepishly.

Acknowledging this was likely the best Kevin would get, he nods and puts the box away.

Finally he walks towards the main entrance, opening the door slowly. Neil quickly pushes past him, but turns for a moment to look back at him, his expression unreadable. At last he shakes his head and jogs around the corner, Kevin watching the boy until he runs off into the distance.

[sickdaysofficial]

Anywhere but here!... Too late.

My OC submission for this prompt. I wrote this while in pain from four fricken shots and also didn’t proofread so it might suck, but whatever. The others will hopefully be better. Mild language warning.

—–

“Hi, what can I get you?”

Jesse usually doesn’t mind his job, repetitive phrases and all. The coffee shop is small and locally owned, so the customers are nearly always polite and undemanding, and hectic days are uncommon. Today, though, he’s struggling to make it through his shift, which still has an hour and a half left.

The girl ordering gives a charming smile. “Just a hot chocolate is fine.”

“What size?”

“Medium.”

It takes Jesse a second longer than it should to remember what comes next. “Your name?”

“Mallory.”

Silently hoping to himself that he’s spelled it right, Jesse scribbles the name on the side of a cup. “Coming right up. That’ll be $3.49.” He sets the cup on the counter next to him for Rhiannon, who was filling the orders.

The girl hands him a five, and Jesse carefully counts out her change. He’s messed up the last three times, and his coworkers were starting to notice.

Rhiannon in particular is suspicious. As she grabs the two cups waiting for her on the counter, she shoots him a sideways glance.

“Jesse, I really think you should sit down.” Jesse only shakes his head. There’s no need to defend himself to her; he’s fine to work the rest of his shift. Anyway, it’s none of her business.

Rhiannon bites her lip. She doesn’t say anything more as she moves to fill the orders, but instead gives her friend a silent once-over. Now that there’s nobody in line, Jesse has leaned up against the counter with his eyes closed. He’s seemed a bit shaky on his feet, and she notices for the first time that he looks flushed - a faint pink tinge stands out against the pale skin beneath his eyes.

Rhiannon’s coworker, Missy, gives her a nudge. “Those are done, yeah? Put ‘em on the counter.”

She snaps out of it. “Right, yeah, sorry. One hot chocolate and one black coffee!” The two who had ordered walk up to get their drinks, nearly crashing into one another. Rhiannon and Missy watch the ensuing awkward apology with some amusement.

Before the situation can be totally resolved, a dull THUD catches Rhiannon’s attention. She turns on instinct and stiffens when she sees Jesse sprawled facedown on the countertop.

“Crap,” she hisses under her breath, rushing over to check on him. Missy follows behind her, worried and uncertain.

“Is he okay?” one of the customers mutters. He shuffles a bit, looking like he wants to do something but isn’t sure what.

Rhiannon lays a hand on Jesse’s shoulder, followed immediately by a fierce scowl. She can feel just how hot his body is through his shirt, but just as concerning is the slight, constant shivering.

Missy takes one look at Rhiannon’s expression and reads the whole situation immediately - there isn’t much that makes Rhi angry like this. “How bad is he?” She comes around to Jesse’s other side and attempts to lift his so that she can support his weight. Her eyes widen as soon as she touches him. “Pretty bad,” she finishes, answering her own question.

“You idiot.” Rhiannon sighs and looks over at Missy. “Let’s take him to Jeff’s office.” The two women heft Jesse’s limp body and carefully maneuver around the equipment and towards their manager’s office, followed by the quiet buzz of gossiping patrons.

Jeff looks up with his usual genial smile at the sound of the door opening. Upon seeing the three workers, though, his face immediately crumbles into a look of concern. “What happened?”

“He passed out,” Rhiannon mutters. “He’s running a crazy fever, I’m pretty sure he’s sick.”

Jeff comes out from behind his desk and hefts the younger man easily in his arms. “Mmm, I can feel it. Poor boy.” He carries Jesse over to the couch in the back, usually reserved for employees on break, and lays him gingerly onto the plush cushions.

“Now, let’s see here,” he begins, turning to face the girls and placing his hands on his hips. “We ought to call someone to pick him up, he can’t be allowed to work like this.”

“I’ve got his boyfriend’s number,” Rhiannon offers.

Jeff smiles at her. “Perfect!” The simple statement exudes pride, far more than most would feel for a simple phone number. “Why don’t you call him and then sit with Jesse while we wait for him. Missy, you and I will take over for now.”

Missy looks relieved that the situation had been handled with such ease. “'Kay.” Jeff strides out without another word, Missy right behind him.

Rhiannon sinks down beside her sick friend, leaning up against the couch. As she searches for Matt’s number in her contacts, she uses her other hand to feel Jesse’s forehead, frowning in consternation when she does so. She slips off Jesse’s glasses and pushes herself up from the floor, heading for the bathroom to wet a paper towel.

Simultaneously, she presses her phone to her ear, silently praying that Matt would pick up despite also being at work.

—–

Matt is surprised when his phone rings. He doesn’t get many calls at work, or in general, really, so he has no idea what this might be about.

“I - sorry, can I take this real quick?” He meets his frazzled manager’s eyes. Brent sighs but nods, waving him away.

“It’s fine, just make it quick. Your break ended a minute ago.”

Matt nods and steps outside. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he frowns when he sees “RHI” emblazoned across the screen. She should still be at work - why would she be calling him now of all times?“

"Rhi? What’s up?”

“Your boyfriend’s an idiot.” Her uncharacteristically angry tone catches Matt off guard, but what really surprises him is the worried undercurrent.

“Why, what happened?” Matt knows he’s more of a risk-taker than his boyfriend is, so if either one of them would do something stupid and get hurt, it would usually be him.

“He passed out at work. He’s running a fever and he hasn’t stopped shivering since I’ve been sitting with him.”

“Seriously?” He feels himself tense up. “Why didn’t he tell anyone before it came to that?”

“That’s what I’d like to know. It doesn’t matter now, though, you need to come get him. We don’t have medicine or anything here, I can’t take care of him like this.”

“Shit, uh, okay. Hold on a second.” He dashes back inside, dreading the conversation he’s about to have with his manager.

“Hey, Brent? I’m really sorry - ” As soon as the work sorry leaves his mouth, Brent’s expression morphs into one of frustrated resignation. “ - but my… my roommate passed out at work and I need to go get him.”

Brent sighs, dragging a hand down his face. “There’s no one else who can get him?” Matt shakes his head. “No one who can look after him until your shift ends?” Another shake. “All right. I’m going to assume that I won’t be seeing you back today. Call as soon as possible if you can’t make it in tomorrow. And kick his ass once he’s okay. You realize this is less pay for you and a busier time for the rest of us.”

A twinge of guilt runs through him, but Matt knows that his boyfriend needs him more than his coworkers right now. “Yeah, I know. Sorry again.”

“Not your fault. Just get going.”

—–

The bell above the door tinkles cheerily when Matt walks into the coffee shop, contrasting with his mood. The shop is mostly empty now - just a few patrons engrossed in their laptops.

The man working the counter looks up when Matt walks in; Matt recognizes him as Jesse’s boss, although he can’t remember the guy’s name. “Where’s Jesse?” he asks without preamble.

The man smiles kindly. “You must be Matt. Jesse’s told us a lot about you.” He points to a door behind him. “He’s back there. You can come around that side of the counter.”

“Thanks.” In the blink of an eye, Matt is behind the counter and stepping through the doorway. Rhiannon looks up when he walks in.

“Hey,” she says. “Good timing. He just woke up.”

“She won’t give me back my glasses,” Jesse mutters in irritation, voice raspy.

Matt kneels down next to him, brushing Jesse’s cheek with his thumb. He frowns upon feeling the feverish heat. “You won’t be needing them anyway. You should still be asleep.” His initial thought had been to chew his boyfriend out about hiding his sickness from everyone, but the sight of Jesse lying stretched out on the couch, clearly miserable, soften him. “C'mon, sit up. I’m gonna bring you home.”

Rhiannon lends a supporting arm around his shoulders as Jesse eases himself into a sitting position. He turns so that his feet are on the ground, but hesitates to stand. “I’m… I feel kinda dizzy,” he admits. “I don’t know if I can stand.” The words are laced with embarrassment, and Matt’s heart goes out to him.

“Here, I’ll carry you.” Matt carefully works an arm under the crook of Matt’s knees, cradling his warm, lightly trembling boyfriend close as he lifts carefully. Despite his earlier cover-up, Jesse has fully embraced the fact that he’s sick; it’s a testament to how badly he’s feeling when he buries his face between Matt’s neck and shoulder.

Rhiannon follows them out, holding onto her sick coworker’s glasses. Missy and Jeff wave as Matt makes his way toward the door. “Feel better, Jesse,” Jeff says genuinely. Jesse makes a weak noise of assent, not lifting his head.

When the group of three reaches Matt’s car, Rhiannon opens the passenger door so that Matt can deposit him there. She wordlessly hands Jesse’s glasses over to Matt and leans over to buckle Jesse’s seatbelt. Matt walks around to the other side.

Once everything is situated, Matt rolls down the window. “Thanks for calling me. I don’t know what we’d do without you looking out for us.”

She sighs. “Die, probably.”

He offers a rueful smile. “You might be right.”

“Come on, we’re not that bad.” Jesse barely speaks above a whisper, but the faintest trace of a smile paints his lips.

“You kind of are.” Rhiannon softens her demeanor. “Rest up, okay? We all want you to stay away from work until you’re better. Customers included, they don’t want your germs.”

“Fine, fine.”

“Good. Bye, guys.” Seemingly satisfied, she turns and walks back to finish her shift as Matt rolls up the window.

The car is silent for the duration of the ride home. Matt is content to let Jesse rest. They are definitely going to have words once Jesse is more coherent - he still needs to kick Jesse’s ass for this, after all. But for now, Matt is all gentleness as he carries his ailing boyfriend to his room.

“Call me if you need anything,” he whispers, running a hand through Jesse’s sweat-damp hair.

Jesse’s eyes open, swiveling to look vaguely in Matt’s direction as a tiny smile appears. “I always will.”

—–

(If I can shamelessly plug myself real fast, my url is @swiggity-swump.)

[talented-headache]

A Sense for You

Pairing: HundarHD

Summary: Brett always seems to find Aleks when he needs him the most as he tries to navigate the criminal world. (Or 5 times Brett saved Aleks and the 1 time Aleks saved him)

[AO3 Link] [Link]

Aleks had done this dozens of times.

Of course, that was back in Russia, where the clerks were less likely to fire back at him first before making any returning threats. Not that he had to deal with a lot of clerks in the first place. He wondered what went wrong as he stared down the shotgun barrel; it could have been anything really, but his stupidity was probably what fucked most of it up. He was usually stealthy, never careless or brutal, preferring to instead sneak in after hours and get away scot-free. He was good at it too, but this time was different, he was desperate and needed the cash.

It was a dingy little gas station at the outskirts of the city, at some cross section in the middle of nowhere. Aleks went in thinking it would be simple. A dash of that Russian charm and a tiny old man, all kind smiles and soft-spoken words, nothing he couldn’t handle. Simple, like in the movies. At least it should have been.

There wasn’t anyone at the counter when he walked in so Aleks waited, choosing to take his time and think while he surveyed the little shop. As far as he could tell there was only the one camera, so he stayed near the chips where it could only capture the back of his head. He didn’t have his hood up, wanting to appear as non-threatening and inconspicuous as possible for the moment, blending in with the teenagers wandering around, as the random tourists perused the snacks and the homeless man huddled near the hot dog stand looking for warmth.

 Aleks almost wished he could be like those kids. Small house in the suburbs with those passive aggressive parents who actually cared for their children. No constant crippling fear of not waking up in the morning because the wrong boss got pissed off. Almost, being the key word. At the end of the day Aleks liked his life as it was.

The doorbell jingled and dragged from his thoughts. He looked over to note the departure of the few remaining customers. Oh good, he wouldn’t need to have a fucking staring contest with his ceiling tonight.

Now it was time to make his move.

 Grabbing some random chips off the shelf, and upon verifying that the teens had moved out of sight of the window, he made his way over to the register. He rang the little bell, subtly moving to grip the pistol in the pocket of his hoodie. Then he waited.

 The man that came out of the doorway was not what he had been expecting. He was old all right, if the white cropped hair and wrinkles were anything to go by, but tiny and frail were not the right descriptors. Oh no. His arms alone were about the size of Aleks’ head, fluffy hair and all. Right then and there Aleks probably should have just walked out, but he wasn’t one to back down after making the decision to do this kind of thing.

 “Is there anything else I can get you, kid?” The clerk asked moving around to scan the chips.

 “How about everything in the fucking register?” Aleks responded, his voice calm and his accent thick, levelling the gun to the man’s forehead.

 For a quick second the clerk froze, then, slowly, he raised his hands and moved to open the register. Too slowly. Aleks waived his gun at him, a clear indication to speed things up.

 Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, in the mirror behind the counter, Aleks saw someone rushing towards him. How the fuck did he miss him?! Without even blinking Aleks turned his body and shot, intentionally missing the homeless man who tried to tackle him. The ceiling would not get its way. He fell to the floor cowering with his hands over his dirty blonde head. He probably wouldn’t have done much damage, but Aleks felt a rush of satisfaction as he listened to the kid whimper.

 “Did not think you were stupid enough to try that. I have the gun so do not move.” Aleks commanded. Not yelling. Instead he kept his voice strong, just loud enough to be heard by anyone else who might want to play hero. Then came the sound of the shotgun pump, and what little semblance of control he had over this situation disappeared.

 Shock rippling through his body, heart beating a mile a minute, and with the world in slow motion, he whipped around to see the old man’s fingers tightening around the trigger, beady blue eyes glaring down the barrel at him. His mind raced to identify his mistake and a find a solution, any way to survive this. He came up empty handed. He was going to die. Then a force was slamming into his side pushing him towards the ground just as he heard the gun go off.

 His head hit the floor with an almost nauseating pain. Suddenly, while trying to shake the blurriness from his eyes, alarm flared through his chest as Aleks felt his gun being ripped from his hand. In a panic, he tried to wrap his legs around his assailant’s waist, in an effort to flip them over. Dread settled in when he didn’t move even an inch. The punch or bullet he was expecting to his face didn’t come though, and he looked on in bewilderment as his attacker instead turned to shoot the clerk. The bullet pierced his shoulder, knocking the old fuck back into the cigarettes that lined the wall and sending the shotgun flying across the floor.

 Aleks’s head snapped towards his attacker, maybe savior, and stared at him in shock. The other man was looking down at him with cold dark brown eyes that seemed to show a perfect mixture of amusement, annoyance, and disappointment.

 “We should probably leave.” The stranger said and Aleks was surprised by the higher pitched voice that came out of his mouth, seeing as the man was double his size. Before Aleks could even reply he was being hauled to his feet and dragged out the door. As he flailed about, trying to catch his balance, he caught sight of the slushy machine that had been right behind him, now burst open and spilling the sticky ice all over the floor and candy. He tried not to think about how that could have been his head and brains. The cool air hit him in the face and Aleks was able to shake the rest of the surprise from his mind.

 The calm didn’t last long. Just as he opened his mouth to confront the older man sirens started their piercing song across the city.

 “I hope you have a way out of this.” Aleks yelled looking around for an escape.

 “I’m sorry, but do I have a way out?” Aleks heard the other man scoff. “You just failed at robbing a convenience store like an idiot and you’re asking me if I have a way out?”

 “I wasn’t counting on the cops coming this quickly!” Aleks explained knowing his reasoning was flimsy. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Aleks had known what to do and where to go hide when he was just by himself, but now he had another person with him. His brains would have been all over the shelves if it hadn’t been for this asshole, so he had to return the favor somehow.

 The disbelieving look Aleks got from him almost had him basking in some weird sense of accomplishment. Their small stare off didn’t last long, as the flashing red and blue started to show over the buildings. Aleks felt a rough hand grab his wrist through his sweatshirt and they were running again. They sprinted into the small side parking lot and towards a car that was almost too sensible for a man who just shot someone.

 “Get in you fucking idiot!” The man snapped and Aleks did as he was told, opening the passenger’s side door. Aleks didn’t even have time to close the door properly before they were tearing away from the gas station. He relaxed into the seat as they drove, which had to be his second mistake this night, once he realized they were driving right towards the cops.

 “What are you doing?” Aleks screeched at him taking a moment to determine whether jumping from the car would kill or just extremely maim him.

 “Shut up and put on your seat belt. Hurry. We’ll be a little less suspicious and it’ll give us a few minutes before they realize they missed us on the road.” His rescuer calmly replied to him not taking his eyes off the road for a second.

 “That makes no sense.” Aleks huffed but did as he was told. He looked up just in time for them to pass the cops and he watched with wide eyes as they drove right past them. “Jesus fuck, dude.”

 “See? Nothing happened.” The man said in probably what was one of the most condescending tones Aleks had heard in a while making his lips curl into a sneer as he glanced away.

 For a moment a weirdly comfortable silence settled over the car.

“Nothing happened, but now I have no money.” Aleks whispered, but in the silence of the car it could have been a yell. He hadn’t meant for it to come out so sarcastic, but Aleks knew he had one of those voices that made everything sound snarky or angry.

 “Fuck off. ‘Oh, I’m sorry Brett, for almost getting my rookie ass shot because I’m fucking retarded.’” Brett mimicked in a really high-pitched voice, which didn’t sound that different from his already high pitched voice. Aleks wasn’t going to point that out to him. The other man’s torso was twice the size of his own and he’d much rather live to tomorrow. After all, this was some crazy ass luck going on tonight.

 “What?” the attacker-savior who is now named Brett, asked.

 “Nothing, just wasn’t expecting your name to be Brett.” Okay, admittedly Aleks was still a piece of shit. Just because a man could kick his ass didn’t mean anything really.

 Brett glared at him from the corner of his eye before sharply turning off the road. “Get out of my car.”

 “Sasha.” Aleks gave. It wasn’t his real name but it was close enough.

 “I don’t care. By the way, your accent fucking sucks.” Brett snorted, once Aleks had climbed out to the sidewalk, dark brown eyes returning to their state of annoyance and amusement, before driving off down the road.

 Fucking asshole. Aleks thought before turning to figure out his bearings.

 ~~

James and Sly fucking left him. Aleks didn’t really blame them but they still ran off without him. They were supposed to be infiltrating some rich guy’s house, something about their current client needing some information stashed in the old man’s office, which they could only get to during his fancy ass party. Aleks hadn’t paid much attention during planning because he wasn’t supposed to be there in the first place. They’d ended up needing a last-minute replacement though and that’s how he found himself in a ballroom, surrounded by pansies, and pretending to be the nephew of a guest who ‘conveniently’ didn’t show up.

 It had only been about a year since he started working with The Creatures, originally as hired help. Thanks to Sly, another thief he had meet over time and had worked a few jobs with, he eventually became an official member. He’s a good thief that didn’t have a problem with getting rid of witnesses or evidence which was always needed in their line of work. The fact that he didn’t make a fuss about anything was just a bonus. His temperament and lack of patience occasionally caused problems though, because undercover work while not a big part of their jobs always seemed to be needed and he was absolute shit at it. Despite that he remained an asset to the team. James probably factored into that somehow. His only saving grace on the job because while James seemed to have all the charm in the world he came with an extreme side of brutal honesty making him equally as shitty.

 Speaking of which. Where the fuck did those two go? Aleks thought, glaring at nothing. The last he saw of them was Sly walking towards the buffet table and James disappearing into the crowd near the fancy ballroom stairs. He didn’t know what to do or where to go while he waited for the signal he needed to start moving up the stairs. He looked around once again and immediately went for the bar. Fake IDs had become his best friend since moving to the States. Not that these rich fucks would actually check them.

 He probably should have expected it, but when a hand softly touched his back he jumped a mile into the air. He tightened his grip on the small glass in his hand, after all it wouldn’t be good for it to go flying at the newcomer’s head, and turned to look at them. It was a woman old enough to be his grandmother, if his grandmother had millions of dollars to spend on fixing her face. Cougar alert anyone?

 “You look like such a sweet young thing.” She said moving her hand from his back to grip his chin so she could slightly move his face about. The look in her glassy eyes made Aleks feel like a dog on a podium waiting to be judged. “What are you doing in a place like this?”

 “I’m here in place of my uncle.” Aleks put on the most charming smile he could muster while trying not to flinch away from her breathe. Unfortunately, Aleks could not remember the asshole’s name. Thankfully, she didn’t seem to care about it.

 “Those old geezers are always sending in new blood. Half the time they don’t even know how to properly talk business.” She sneered, red lips curling back to show her sharp smile. Aleks had to stop the chill that threatened to roll down his spine. This was the sneer of someone who had been in the business far too long. She could probably eat him alive.

 “But I don’t want to talk business with you.” Strike that. She was definitely going to eat him alive.

 “Now, now Buffy let the boy go.” A deeper voice cut in and Aleks nearly rolled his eyes. His self-control was all but destroyed with the effort to conceal the motion. He took a second to look over towards the voice. Grandpa! Stark gray hair against a black suit and equally dark eyes. While his smile was more fake reassurance then pointy bloodsucker he wasn’t any less intimidating than Buffy. This man wanted to be trusted, bu tAleks was young, not stupid.

 “Jenkins. Go away.” Buffy huffed but let go of Aleks’ face. He tried to look around for even a glimpse of his team but saw nothing. He was going to kill  them or at the very least stab them.

 “Now now, don’t be rude.” Jenkins laughed, causing the woman’s scowl to deepen. “We can’t have you sticking your fangs into every young person who comes to visit.”

 “Oh, but you can stick your d-“

 “Sorry, everyone, but he’s with me tonight.” Aleks heard the familiar high pitched male voice before he felt a rough hand slid around his waist, tugging him closer. Aleks turned to glare at Brett, his dark brown eyes looked at him with obvious go with it vibes and Aleks nodded reluctantly. The older man’s face hadn’t aged but he had cut the sides of his hair and his beard seemed fuller than before.

 “Damn you, Hundar. Can’t you ever leave the younger ones to us?” Jenkins laughed, taking a small step back and straightening up.

 “Fuck no.” Brett’s deadpan but amused voice seemed to cut the older man off. “Now if you will excuse us, Aleks and I have some other business to attend to.”

 Aleks didn’t even blink at the use of his real name, he figured that Brett had probably tried to find him just like Aleks used a few sources to learn about him. Before they could even say their goodbyes Brett was already leading Aleks away and for the nearest exit. Realizing this, Aleks waited till they were far enough out the grandparents’ sights before stopping and pulling away from Brett’s grip. The older turned to glare at him, managing to keep his arm around Aleks’ waist.

 “You shouldn’t be here, ‘Sasha’.” Brett said looking around to make sure no one heard him. It was brief motion and if Aleks hadn’t been looking at him directly he probably wouldn’t have even noticed. His voice too, especially around his fake name, was filled with exaggerated hate and exhaustion.

 “Don’t you even want to know why I’m here in the first place?” Aleks asked. If Brett wasn’t worried that someone was listening in than he wouldn’t bother looking around himself.

 “Not really. The fact that you’re even here is giving me a headache.”

 “Look, my friends are somewhere here.” Aleks started to explain before hesitating. He was nervous to bring Brett in on this, but he needed the help and seeing as how Brett seemed to know these people, it wouldn’t hurt to have him around. He leant forward to whisper. “Can you get me upstairs? That’s where we’re supposed to meet.”

 Brett hunched his shoulders staring down at the floor between them, he was either thinking or his head was about to explode. After a beat he finally sighed “Fine, but you are out of this building by ten. Understood?”

 Aleks just nodded and smirked up at him slightly.

 Later when he was back in his apartment removing his suit, a feeling almost like shedding a second skin wrapped around him, he found a little card in his pocket  with a simple phone number written on it. He smiled softly, not at all thinking about the ways he could annoy Brett. Definitely not.

 ~~

 If there was one question that never failed to repeat itself in his life it would be: How did I end up here?

 That is exactly what he asked himself on a Saturday night, in some rundown nasty-ass bar not that far off main street, while swinging his fists around like a madman. Things are a bit fuzzy, but he was pretty certain he’d started the fight.

 It hadn’t been the best week, or month, or year even. As things got worse everything started to blur together. Spending most of that time not sober probably didn’t help.

 It was like everything was crashing down around him and there wasn’t anything he could reach out to hold on to. He hadn’t seen Sly in years, Brett was currently off the radar, and everybody else was in some version of that boat or another. He could call James, but his partner was probably dealing with it worse. Closing himself off from the world probably only exacerbated it. Aleks hadn’t seen him in a few days; their last conversation was tense as they stood over Joe’s bleeding body. The smaller man was fine now, but the attack had left them all bruised, bleeding, and thinking about their futures. A dark feeling of uneasy and betrayal had seeped into their bones.

 There wasn’t actually a reason for this fight, Aleks had simply been angry and while he wasn’t one to lash out he’d been very drunk this evening, and honestly had just wanted to feel someone’s face under his fist. Even if it wasn’t the right face. What started out as him punching a guy for bumping into him turned into the whole room throwing chairs, bottles, and fists.

 Aleks caught the dull glint out of the corner of his eye, as he saw the man’s other hand disappear. Already prepared for the attack, he twisted his body around to catch the wrist carrying the knife, knowing that he was leaving his face vulnerable. A punch was better than a stab wound though. Before he could even prepare himself to try and block the man’s arm a tan hand caught it for him, pushing it back behind the attacker’s back.

 Aleks watched as Brett used his other hand to push the man’s head down, hard enough that it whacked against the counter and bounced back up before resting on it again. The man went limp and when Brett let him go he slid off the counter, hitting the floor with a soft thump.

 Before Aleks could deliver a kick at the unconscious man, Brett was dragging him out of the bar. The Russian initially fought against the pull, but when the cold air hit him he stopped and let himself relax as he was guided across the parking lot to lean against a familiar car. He glared back at the bar. Through the window he could still see people beating the shit out of each other.

 “Where are you going?” Brett asked. Aleks didn’t even realize he had taken a step forward until Brett’s voice stopped him.

 “I’m going to go light the bar on fire.” Aleks replied bluntly making to move forward, but he stumbled and had to brace a hand against the car to stop the world from spinning.

 “I don’t think so.” Brett moved quickly, pushing Aleks back against the car before heading to the driver’s side. “Get in. We should talk.”

 “Do you just fucking stalk me?” Aleks drunkenly glared at Brett over the roof of the car. The older man had beefed up since they’d last seen each other a few months ago, more muscle than the chubbiness Aleks recalled from the meeting that had had him flying out to Los Santos. No one knew he had used his down time during the trip to see Brett and he didn’t let himself feel guilty about the lies he told. He had also let his beard grow a little wild and Aleks wondered what the mission had been to make him do so.

 “No.” Brett’s soft voice cut through Aleks’ head and he watched as Brett [EH(12] moved back over to stand in front of him. “I must just have a sense for when your dumb ass is about to do something stupid.”

 “Yeah, well, I think you missed a few times.”

 “So I’ve heard.” Brett chuckled moving to stand next to him, arms folded and one leg over the other. The picture-perfect image of casual. “Look, I came back to see if you needed any help. I know things are going down the drain.”

 “Nope. Everything is fine. I’m fine, we’re all fine.” Aleks snapped turning his head away from the older man so he couldn’t look at him. There was a difference in talking to a crew member about what was happening and talking to someone who didn’t even know them, but Brett always had a look in his eyes that made Aleks want to spill all his secrets.

 Of course, the movement of his head, the nausea he was feeling, and the fact that his eyesight was already blurry and dark made him sick. He couldn’t stop himself from vomiting, just barely missing himself and the car, except for the small amount of splash back from it hitting the pavement. Aleks felt a strong arm around his waist; he hadn’t even realized he was on the verge of collapsing into his own puke. He groaned as another wave hit him.

 Brett didn’t say anything, at least nothing that Aleks could hear over the thumping in his head, not that he’d remember much of anything the next morning. It was all flashes after that. Brett carefully maneuvering him into the backseat of his car, and not so carefully pushing him to lie down. The lights as they moved through the city and the silence of the ride were all comforts as he allowed himself to relax for the first time since the heist had gone wrong.

 The next morning, when he woke up in his bed, fully clothed and with Mishka curled up on his pillow, he didn’t need to think about how he got there. Brett seemed to learn everything about him over the years. He managed to make his way into the kitchen for water and pain killers where he found the note.

 We still need to talk. Aleks crumpled it up in his fist before throwing it away, not ready to think about what he was going to do just yet.

 ~~

 “This is all your fault!” James yelled at him, and Aleks scoffed and rolled his eyes in return. But he didn’t deny it. He had been a little reckless over the last few months and Aleks didn’t want to admit that it had started not long after his last bar experience with Brett.

 James continued to yell, but this time it was directed at the cop tightening the cuffs around his wrists. Aleks stayed perfectly still as he was manhandled into the car. He had been arrested before, but James was good at getting off their radar, it helped that Aleks had the younger of the duo. The Russian smirked as he watched James’ head hit the hood again before being thrown in next to him. The older officer just laughed with his partner as they shut the door.

 Aleks and James angrily shouldered each other as they tried to make room in the small backseat. Hopefully they were able to make enough of a distraction to let the others get away. Before long they were being driven towards the police station, which was across town and gave the two time to figure out a plan of escape.

 The static of the radio cut through the silence of the drive, a female voice calling in about a robbery at a convenience store not that far away from them. Aleks risked looking over at James to see that they shared the same calculating look.

 “Shouldn’t we be getting these guys to the station?” The younger one asked as the other officer changed course.

 “Nah, besides if they happen to get shot in the cross fire it’s not gonna be any skin off my back.” The older cop chuckled, before laughing louder when James growled at him and roughly kicked the cage.

 “Okay, sir.” The rookie sounded unsure about it. He turned on the siren and Aleks tensed looking for a way to get out of the cuffs. While he didn’t feel like he was heading to his death he’d rather not test his abysmal luck.

 By the time they made it to the convenience store Aleks could feel James working his cuffs. He was close to breaking his thumb if the pained look on his face was any indication.

 “Looks like we missed it.” The rookie said and if Aleks hadn’t been a seasoned criminal he might have believed him. There was another squad car but no cops, likely already inside. But shots weren’t being fired, so they had probably gotten the robber and were waiting for the response.

 Or this was all a trap set up by the robber. In this case Brett, because his dumb practical car was waiting for them right across the fucking street.

 “Stay here. I’m going to check it out.” The older man moved out of the car gun already drawn and pointed ahead of him. He was silent as he made his way into the store.

 “He’s going to get fucking killed, dude.” Aleks caught the rookies’ eyes through the review mirror. He turned to glare at the Russian and Aleks could even feel James’ piercing stare on him. His head barely moved as he gave James the indication, so that he knew to shut up and let him work.

 “What are you talking about?” The officer said turning to stare back at them. Before Aleks could even open his mouth to reply two loud gunshots rang out from the store.

 They turned to stare as Brett calmly walked out of the shop. The rookie barely had time to react in the duration it took Brett to make his way over to the car. He fumbled for the radio, before dropping it in fear as Brett casually, well as casually as could be managed in this situation, tapped the window with the tip of his gun. The two stared at each other, no one making a move, before Brett finally pointed down.

 “Roll down the window.” Brett yelled. In all honesty that was probably the loudest Aleks had ever heard him get and it wasn’t even that loud. Nowhere near the level that was James’s normal talking voice. Completely shocked the rookie, slack jawed and wide eyed, did as he was told.

 “Thanks, now get out of the car.” Brett said pointing the gun at the cop. The rookie silently moved out of the car, all the while staring at the gun. Brett just clapped him on the shoulder as he took his place in the driver’s seat. “Good job, bud. Have fun with the mess. Uh, hope to see you never. Bye.”

 Aleks just smirked out the window leaning over James’ lap to see the rookie clearer. They sped off and Aleks could still picture the blank wide eyes staring back at them.

 “As for you fucks.” Brett snapped at them.

 “Who the fuck are you?” James yelled back and Aleks relaxed into his seat to get away from the angry men.

 “Dude, I’m Hundar.”

 “Brett.” Aleks said at the exact same time. He caught Brett’s glare through the mirror and just smiled innocently back at him. The older man just huff-laughed at him through the glare.

 “Whatever, I’m the guy that just saved your asses. Now, I heard you were looking for a new gig.” Brett raised his eyebrow at them and Aleks smiled back at him.

 “I may know a few people.” Aleks replied thinking of what’s been happening. He looked at James with a raised eyebrow and while he looked stoic and calm Aleks could see the slight nerves in his dark always angry eyes. It had been a rough few months as they watched their old crew start to collapse in on its self. While Aleks was already on his way out with a few friends he had started to collect on the side, people like Trevor and Aron,  James had tried to fix everything, but Aleks could see how it was slowly killing him to stay.

   “Good, now how do you feel about Los Santos?”

 “Like the Fakes?” Aleks asked completely baffled. Why would the Fakes want anything to do with them? They had people in every major city in the country, why would they need a broken gang in Danver?

 “Exactly, I have this exciting new business plan you two idiots may like.” Brett explained not sounding that excited at all. But he did just kill a bunch of people, kidnap a couple criminals, and steal a cop car.

 “What the fuck is going on?” James cut them off, but even he seemed intrigued by the proposition.

 ~~

 It had to be a bad luck charm or maybe a curse. Aleks was convinced of that. Every time something good happened and things were staying on track, something horrible happened to him. He’d say it was karma, but in all honesty, he probably deserved worse than a little kidnapping and torture.

 Not that they were any good at either of those anyway. He was more terrified of Joe than these idiots. With the official and now noticeable split from The Hub a few of the lower gangs had started getting ideas, thinking they could take over the city.

 The only problem was that Fake Chop was less than a week away from their move to Los Santos. It had taken months of work moving their shit, finding bases and places to stay, working with Fakehaus so they weren’t killed the second they moved in. They probably wouldn’t have been able to have done it without Brett, who lived in the larger city, and James’ bank account, beefed up from years of work.

 They no longer had warehouses or secret bases throughout the city. Most of the things outside their personal effects had been moved already.Of course, when Aleks told his lovely kidnappers that, they didn’t take kindly to it. Which had been the plan, but he really didn’t appreciate the feel of the new bruise on his jaw.

 He had been biding his time, hoping his crew would get here, so he could handle a few hits and dunks into the water basin. But from the heat entering the crappy warehouse Aleks could tell it was well past noon and he had been taken around midnight while on a job. He fucking knew they should have waited to take Trevor’s equipment until the last day.

 “You are one stubborn fuck, aren’t you?” Asshole #1 said moving back and shaking his hand out. Aleks just glared at him from his one good eye. God, he wished he could punch the smirk off his face, but his hands were currently cuffed to the sides of the wooden chair they decided to put him in.

 Had they even done this before? Aleks couldn’t help but think as he watched # 1’s fist come at him again. He just grunted against the pain and kept his head as still as possible. #1 shook out his fist again and before Aleks could prepare himself a hand grabbed his hair and turned his face up. There was Asshole #2 with #3 still by the door.

 “I told you everything. Fake Chop doesn’t work here anymore.” Aleks explained through gritted teeth.

  “Then why are you still here?” # 1 asked like a broken record. It’s been the same questions for about an hour at this point.

   “I’m lazy and haven’t moved everything from my house yet.” Aleks replied. They needed new questions. Of course, all he got was a slap from #2. “Fuck.”

   “Fake Chop. If you were really with the Fakes you think you’d be better off. Or at least have them looking for you.”

  Wow, so original. Aleks thought as he rolled his eyes at them but kept quiet. Maybe if they didn’t like his answers he’d just be silent. Obviously not, as the grip on his hair tightened and yanked.

  “Stop.” Asshole #1’s voice came, causing #2 loosen his grip and eventually let go. He looked like he wanted to protest but #1 stopped him with a wave of his hand. “Get out. I’m taking this to the next level.”

  “We’re not supposed to actually hurt him.” #3’s voice popped up from the door. It was softer than he expected.

  “Well, if he wasn’t an annoying piece of shit I wouldn’t have to. I’ll keep it tame.” Asshole #1 snickered but his voice remained firm. He pointed at the door. Both henchmen exchanged a nervous look before finally leaving the room.

 Aleks and #1 watched them go, although Aleks made sure to do so from the corner of his eye. Never fully losing sight of the main man.

 He clenched his jaw when #1 turned slowly back towards him. What a dramatic fuck. He dug his heels into the ground. Happy it was rough and old. Now if he could just get out of the chair he’d be golden. He could find his crew. He refused to acknowledge the voice in the back of his head suggesting something had gone horribly wrong.

 “Now things are about to get a lot more painful.” #1 said leaning over Aleks. He slowly pulled a small pocket knife from his back pocket; at least Aleks thinks it was slow, the concussion he was sure to have probably didn’t help with his perception of time. He tried to stifle a laugh. The tiny blade was nothing compared to his growing collection. This thing probably couldn’t do any real damage if the dulled blade and its size were any indication. Even a stab wound could be walked off.

 #1 growled angrily at him and spun the knife to stab down at Aleks’ thigh but the Russian was too quick. He kicked at the ground, rocking the chair back and bringing his knees up to kick at the asshole’s chest. Using the momentum to both push his kidnapper away and propel himself and the wooden chair backwards.

 He felt the chair begin to break before he made contact with the ground. He didn’t allow himself time to catch his breath, rolling away from the splintered wood. His chest burned and his back ached as he tried to reorient himself and get to his feet, wrestling with his handcuffs as he slid them off the arms of the chair.

 #1 started to get up so Aleks didn’t hesitate to take the most impact part of the broken chair, the seat by the way, and swung it at his head. The asshole crumbled to the ground and Aleks took off towards the door. He was fast, but not fast enough because right before he could grab the knob his captor collided with him. He screamed out in pain as he was simultaneously shoved into the door and thrown to the ground by a fistful of his hair. Aleks was pretty sure he was now missing a chunk of it.

 The asshole loomed over him and Aleks tried to kick at his legs but #1 just kicked back. His attempts to crawl away were cut short when the man jumped on top of him to straddle him, preventing him from moving. The anger on his face meant he probably felt nothing as Aleks wrestled with and hit at him. One of #1’s hands wrapped around his throat and squeezed. Aleks did everything he could do loosen the grip: clawing at his wrists, kicking and bucking his hips, but the other man was too strong and too angry.

 #1 said something but he couldn’t hear it over the roar of blood in his ears.

 Aleks felt himself weaken, his sight a mismatch of brown and black haze. He didn’t really know what happened, but he could suddenly breathe and the asshole was no longer hovering above him. In a small last minute panic, he tried to scoot away and hide, but his body hurt so much he could hardly breathe let alone move.

 He didn’t even flinch when a hand grabbed the front of his shirt and lifted his dead weight up. He was brought into a familiar chest and Aleks let himself relax into it. Brett’s familiar, calm brown eyes were filled with relief when they caught his and it took everything he had to not pass out.

 “You’re late.” Aleks gasped out instead.

 “Yeah, well, I was in Los Santos. Took me a bit to get here.” Brett chuckled, but there was something in his voice that Aleks couldn’t identify. He passed out not long after.

 Later, when he woke up in his bed and after taking the time to cuddle with Mishka, he walked out to find Brett sleeping on his couch. He didn’t need to wonder how long he’d been there, but knowing Brett had stayed close made the aches in his body feel a little less painful.

 ~~

 Aleks slammed into Brett sending them both toppling behind a car. Thankfully, it wasn’t his gorgeous baby, but one of theirs. They had been trying to close a deal for explosives with a buyer who’d been passed up by everyone else in town. In hindsight that made a lot of sense.

 It was a weird-ass deal and Aleks almost put his veto in on it, but the merchandise was high quality, so he chose to ignore the feeling. Besides, when did they not deal in the weird? One of the dealer’s big stipulations was that only two members of Fake Chop could show up or be around the area and that the one leading the deal, Brett, couldn’t have any weapons. They had been able to barter down the members the sellers were allowed to bring, but they didn’t think ahead on the weapons part.

 They both gasped as they hit the pavement, Aleks landing on top of Brett’s chest. He used his body to cover Brett as much as he could; even though he’s gained some mass over the past year he was still thin when compared to the older man.

 “Isn’t this how we met?” Aleks laughed, the adrenaline making him giddy.

 “I’m pretty sure it’s a little backwards, but at least this time it wasn’t because of your stupidity.” Brett grumbled and grabbed Aleks by the hips so he could roll the blonde off of him. “Now start returning fire!”

 Aleks threw him a thumbs up before doing as he was told. He could hear Brett on the phone, with whom he guessed was either James or Trevor by the tone of his voice. Aleks took a brief look at him and flinched when he saw Brett’s gray shirt sleeve turn red.

 Fucking idiots, Aleks thought. Don’t they know to always take headshots? Just to prove a point he shot the guy standing next to the dealer. Aleks briefly watched him fall before taking cover again.

 “Will you just fucking get here?” Brett sighed angrily into the phone. James then. He, Asher, and Anna were staking out the bank on the South side neighborhood, only a few miles away. There had been rumors of increased security there and James wasn’t one to be interrupted while working.

 “How much time?” Aleks yelled over the gunfire not taking his eyes off the other gangs, but knowing Brett was safe behind cover.

 “Ten. Maybe fifteen. Think you can hold them off for that long?” Brett replied and Aleks just nodded leaping up to take a few risky shots. He saw two go down with only four still standing.

 “You okay?” Alek kept his voice low as he watched Brett rip his shirt to make a tourniquet, using another part as a bandage.

 “I’m fine, it’s shallow. I’ll handle this you just focus on getting us out of here.” Brett growled as he tightened his tourniquet.

 “I have a plan.” He said ducking back down and turning to Brett. The older criminal nodded and remained quiet letting Aleks take control of everything. Which was new for the both of them. Brett was usually the mastermind in their group, with Aleks and James being the ground operation.

 Aleks popped his head out and let out a brief scream before ducking down behind his cover. When Brett raised an eyebrow at him Aleks shushed him quietly. The other gang quieted down and they could hear as they ordered one of their men over to check. Aleks pulled his knife, gorgeous and red, and waited until he could see the person’s legs.

 He slashed, cutting the man’s ankle, but he didn’t take any time to relish in the man’s scream before he was yanking him over to use as a human shield. The kid squirmed and whimpered in his grasp, but couldn’t speak with Aleks’s arm around his throat. They weren’t that far away from the stairway to the exit. He felt more than saw Brett move to stand directly behind him.

 “Now, kid, don’t do anything reckless.” The dealer yelled and honestly Aleks wondered if he was talking to him or the hostage.

 Aleks kept quiet as they moved towards the door, Aleks never taking his eyes off the enemy. Even when he wanted to look back at Brett to make sure he was moving. No one talked during the stand-off and when Brett yanked the door open Aleks threw a quick look at him, not really seeing him, telling him to run. Brett sent him a slight fleeting glare in return before sprinting away.

 “You shot mine, I shoot yours.” Aleks yelled out, pushing the hostage hard enough to make him stumble, and shooting the kid in the back of his head. He heard the dealer yell out and Aleks slammed the door shut, not looking back at the gore he had caused. There wasn’t a lock so he just took off down the stairs. He was already down a few flights when the door slammed open and the yelling started again. Along with the gun shots, he kept his head down as they fired at him.

 “Aleks?” Brett’s voice yelled out to him and Aleks caught a glimpse of him as he turned the corner on his flight of stairs.

 “Keep running, they should be here any second.” Aleks yelled back at him, yelping when a bullet put a hole in the wall in front of him. He looked up to see the last remaining men, one firing down as the other two continued down. “Fuck.”

 He looked down over the railing. Moving quickly, he flipped over the side and jumped to the flight below him. It may not be the safest way to do it, but it would get him down there much quicker than running could. He yelped as he landed, but didn’t stop his running.

 By the time he hit the bottom floor the door had been jammed open by Brett, door stop kicked so far into it he wondered if they’d ever get it unstuck. Thankfully though, a familiar car was peeling around the corner so he didn’t have to see Brett awkwardly stand there as they waited for their team.

 “Hurry!” Anna said bluntly from the driver’s seat, smiling brightly as ever, and Asher pushed the back door open. She refused to be a passenger anymore when James was in the car. He grinned at her as Brett got in. Aleks turned to take a final few shots. He could hear James yelling from the passenger seat as Aleks covered them.

 “Get in the fucking car.” Brett snapped and grabbed the back of Aleks’ shirt yanking him into the car. He landed awkwardly, legs thrown across Brett’s lap and his head in Asher’s. Brett held him down lightly as they peeled off. Aleks finally got to actually look at the older man, he was still bleeding, but it had slowed down thanks to the bandages and he was smiling. Probably from the left over adrenaline, but it was still nice to see.

 “You fucking assholes.” James muttered but he wasn’t heard over their laughter, which Aleks honestly wasn’t even sure of who had started it. While James glared at them over the seat Aleks couldn’t bring himself to care. He just moved his legs from Brett’s lap, instead moving to lean into him and make sure he wasn’t bleeding to death.

 “Next time listen to me.” Aleks grumbled while he tried to stop his laughter. Brett raised an eyebrow at him and Aleks glared back in return not happy to be in such a reverse situation. Brett just huffed and continued to chuckle at him. With that the laughing fit in the car started up again as they drove off leaving the remains of the dealers behind.

[jamesnovakwinchester]

Passive-Aggressive Undertaking

Title: Passive-Aggressive Undertaking Link Pairings: Dean/Ketch/Meg (poly v), Dean/Ketch, Dean/Meg Square Filled: Enemies to Lovers Tags: Prank Wars, Business Rivals, Enemies to Lovers, Hate Sex, Rough Sex, Frottage, Polyamory, Poly V, Open Relationships, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Aromantic Dean Winchester, Aromantic Meg Masters, Pansexual Arthur Ketch, Biting, Hair-pulling, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, funeral homes, Morticians, Fist Fights Summary: Dean hates Arthur Ketch. It's bad enough that the asshole keeps stealing his clients, but once they get caught up in a prank war the bastard has the audacity to actually be good at that, too. Meg thinks they should just fuck it out, but Dean's determined that he's going to win this one. 

“That motherfucker,” Dean hissed, jerking away from the blinds. He turned away from the window, crossing his arms over his chest, huffing.

“What’d Arty do now?” Meg asked. She was across the room, polishing the dark wood of the china cabinet across the room.

“The Adlers,” Dean said, “he sniped the Adlers.”

“Ouch,” Meg said, pulling a butterscotch candy out of her pocket and plopping it in her mouth.

“I’ve been waiting five years for that bastard Zachariah to die and what happens? Fucking Ketch swipes him right from under my nose. I was this close!” Dean held up two fingers, less than a centimeter of space between them.

“Yeah, well, you don’t have exclusive rights to dead folks, Dean,” Meg said around her candy.

“They picked out a casket!”

“Yeah, but they didn’t start paying for it,” Meg said.

Dean sighed. For years, he and Meg had been the premier funeral providers for Salina and the surrounding small Kansas towns. Most people didn’t want to drive all the way to Wichita to handle the care of their dead relatives, and Dean had found himself dealing with entire lines of families, arranging for caskets and funeral plots for entire generations of families, like his grandfather before him. It was a morbid business, but it wasn’t as bad as it seemed. For the most part, all he had to do was provide a solid and sympathetic presence, guiding grieving family members through the final decisions they’d ever make for their loved ones. He didn’t do the embalming; that he left to Meg and Ash, who always made sure to make the departed look as life like and peaceful as possible.

It was a good business, and one he didn’t have to worry too much about competition in – that was until Arthur Ketch moved in across the street. Ketch decided to open up his own funeral home about a year prior, and he’d been steadily creeping on Dean’s business the entire time. It wasn’t even like he had better services or lower prices or anything like that because Dean had checked. If anything, he was gouging the hell out of people with the price of cremations and transportation. It was probably that fucking accent. Stupid British dude and his charming accent and his charismatic “I’m so good at this and you should trust me because I’m posh and shit” attitude. Fuck him.

Dean turned around, parting the blinds again and glaring out the window. There was Mrs. Adler, all dressed in black and walking into her car, trailed by her many children. The Herse was already waiting at the end of the parking lot, ready to drive out into traffic and take Adler to the graveyard. Damn. That man had wanted a massive headstone, too.

“That’s at least $20,000 driving away from us right now,” Dean said.

Meg scoffed. “You know, the way you talk people would think you’re some kind of dirtbag mooching off grieving old ladies.”

“You know it’s not like that,” Dean said.

“I know,” Meg said, coming up behind him, setting her hand on his shoulder, “still. It’s not that important. This is what? One account this month? We’re still in the green. It’s just one client.”

Dean shook his head. “Yeah, I know, but it’s the principal of the thing.”

“Dean, hon, we make stupid money off grieving people who only need a few minor prods and pokes to buy ‘hermetically sealed caskets’” she used freaking finger quotes and everything, “that just blow up anyway. We’re not the most squeaky clean in terms of truth and fairness. So this dickhead snapped up one of your clients, it’s not the end of the world.”

“You have a knack for making everything sound way worse than it actually is, you know that?”

“One of my many talents.”

Dean rolled his eyes, leaning over to kiss the top of her hand.

“Ugh,” she snorted, batting Dean’s head away playfully.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Don’t you have a stiff to look after?”

Meg snorted. “Fine, fine. Be that way. I’ll be in the back if you wanna bitch about your boyfriend some more,” she said, letting her hand slip down Dean’s back. She sauntered off towards the back room.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Dean hollered back.

~~~~~

“Goddammit!” Dean shouted, throwing the morning paper down on the kitchen table.

“What now?” Meg asked. Though he didn’t sigh or scoff at him (this time) Dean could tell by the flat tone of her voice that she was absolutely exasperated by him.

“Ketch did it again.”

“Did what?” She pushed the pedal down on the toaster, leaning back against the counter and sipping her coffee.

“You remember Naomi Milton?”

“Not especially.”

“She was a state senator for a while. Not important. Anyway, her memorial service is going to be at Ketch’s.”  

“Ouch.”

“I buried her mother!” Dean put his coffee cup to his lips, but it was empty. He glared down at it like it was somehow the cause of his distress.

Meg shrugged, grabbing her pop tarts as the toaster shot them out.

Dean pulled a face, mocking her shrug. “Is that really all you have to say about it?”

She sighed, plopping down in the chair across from him. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I’ve commiserated. I’ve offered advice. I gave you a blowie. I don’t know what else you want me to do. Ketch is a dick. A weirdly hot dick, but a dick. You’re gonna lose business to him and that’s just the way it is.”

Dean scowled at her. “He’s not hot.”

“You don’t think so? I figured he’d be right up your alley. Dark hair, strong jaw, looks like he could throw your subby ass around…”

“Okay! Not the point! The point is: I need to figure out what to do about this.”

“You mean other than spending more on advertising and moving on like a grown up?”

“Yes, other than spending money on ads. I’ve got to do something to keep him from stealing business.”

“Like?”

“I dunno yet.”

“Just don’t get arrested,” Meg said, biting into her pop tart, “I’m not bailing you out of jail. Again.”

“That was one time.”

Meg shook her head, brushing the crumbs away from her lips. “So, what are you thinking?”

“Yelp reviews.”

Meg snorted.

“What?”

“Yelp? Seriously? I don’t think anyone looks at Yelp when they’re looking to bury grandma.”

“Maybe I should send him a glitter bomb.”

Meg cackled at that. “You’re gonna send glitter to a funeral home?”

“Yeah! Why not? That’s a good idea right! No one gets hurt. Well, maybe his stupid fucking suit gets hurt. Plus no one is gonna want to deal with a dude covered in glitter when he’s not supposed to be.”

Meg shook her head, licking cherry pop tart filling off her fingers. “Whatever trips your trigger.”

Two short weeks later, Dean was pleased to see, while he was chatting with the landscaper in the parking lot, Ketch walking out of his funeral home, suit jacket off and tucked under his arm, the faintest glimmer of pink reflecting light in his hair. Dean waved, smirking.

~~~~

“Sonofabitch!” Dean yelled. He really should have known.

Meg rushed in, mask and gloves still on when she pushed through the door of his office. “What the fuck happened?”

Dean sighed, picking up the small cardboard tube on his desk, spring hanging out of the open end. “The fucker got me back,” he said.

Meg sighed, leaning over the desk and picking up one of the shiny purple cut outs. “He sent you dicks.” She chortled.

“Yup.”

“He sent you glittery purple dicks.”

“Yes, thank you, I’ve seen then,” Dean said gesturing to his front. There were glittery little dicks clinging to the front of his pants and his suit jacket. Thankfully they were better than the usual, microscopic craft herpes he’d sent Ketch, but this was almost worse. Greeting customers with glitter all over you made you look like an idiot, but greeting customers with glitter dicks all over you made you look like an immature idiot.

“You think you could stop by the house and get me some pants when you go for lunch?” Dean asked.

“No way, dude. You got yourself into this mess, you get your own pants,” Meg said.

“But you’re getting lunch in like,” Dean glanced at his watch, “fifteen minutes.”

“So you want me to waste my lunch hour getting both of us food, then go out of my way to get you pants when you could just go do it yourself?”

“I can’t go out in public like this.”

“You won’t be in public. All you have to do is walk to the parking lot.”

“Yeah, but…”

“Not gonna happen,” Meg sang, walking out the office door.

“You’re the worst, Meg,” Dean called out.

“Eat me!”

Dean sighed, looking down at his lap. He could probably get out of and into the car relatively easily, but then he’d track glitter dicks into the car, too.

When he got to the door of the Impala, he noticed Ketch, standing in his own parking lot next to his bike, smirking but not looking directly at Dean.

“That’s it,” Dean said once he closed the Impala door, “I’m sending him a dick.”

~~~

Dean was kind of an asshole. He could have chosen to send Ketch a dick from one of those internet sex shops, the ones that only shipped things in discrete packages, but there wasn’t any fun in that. How would he know that Ketch even got it if he didn’t get to see the aftermath? Plus he doubted it would cause the significant embarrassment he’d hoped it would. So, instead, Dean went to his usual place and bought a whole ten inches of realistic rubber cock complete with suction cup. It set him back about forty bucks, which was probably a little too much to pay for a little passive-aggressive revenge, but fuck it.

Shortly after the funeral home opened at seven in the morning and all the employees were in their places, Dean sprinted across the parking lot, licked the suction cup, and stuck it to the leather seat of Ketch’s bike.

Yeah, Dean was an asshole.

~~~~

It had been a long ass day. Dean had spent the day dealing with a couple of new clients, of them a young couple with a child who was way too interested in the caskets for a normal four-year-old, an old woman and her daughter who was more interested in keeping costs down than she was what her mom wanted, and a family that wanted to bury their son who’d recently died in a car accident. Needless to say, it was not a great day.

Dean was ready to just go home and pass out on the couch for a week. When he pulled onto the highway, however, that all changed. There was a strange, humming noise coming from inside the car. Dean immediately turned off the radio and shushed Meg, even though she wasn’t saying anything.

“Do you hear that?” He said, leaning into the dash as much as he could without taking his eyes off the road.

“Is that… humming?” Meg asked.

“That’s what it sounds like,” Dean said. Fuck. That’s just what he needed today. “I’m gonna pull over,” Dean said.

Meg didn’t have a chance to object before Dean was pulling off to the shoulder and flicking on the hazards. The humming stopped before Dean shut off the car, but Dean stepped out anyway, peeling his suit jacket off and rolling up his sleeves. He lifted the hood, peering down at the engine. Nothing seemed amiss. The fan and fan belt were fine, the engine block seemed okay, and all the hoses were fine. There wasn’t anything wrong with anything, as far as Dean could tell.

Dean got down in the dirt, looking under the car, just on the off chance that something had gotten lodged under the car. Nothing. Dean shook his head, sighing and getting back into the car and starting it up again. It didn’t take more than a few minutes for the humming to return.

“Fuck,” Dean hissed, slamming his palm against the steering wheel. “You’re hearing this right?”

Meg nodded, and Dean pulled off to the shoulder yet again. This time, Meg go out of the car with him.

“What do you think it is?” Meg asked.

“I don’t fucking know,” Dean grumbled. Still, nothing seemed off. “What time is it?”

“Six,” Meg said, glancing down at her phone.

“Fuck,” Dean grumbled. “Bobby’s garage isn’t gonna be open.”

“It’s not gonna blow up on us if we just drive it home, is it?” Meg asked.

“I don’t know. Probably not. I have a toolbox in the trunk. I wanna check the tire pressure real quick.”

Meg stepped back, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms over her chest. “Tires? Really?”

“I just wanna check,” Dean said, leaning into the open car door and pulling the keys out of the ignition. “I wanna make sure it’s not something stupid before I start looking at other shit.”

He had the trunk open when Meg spoke again. “What’s that?”

“What’s what?” Dean asked.

“This thing, here in the grill right here.”

Dean set the small toolbox down in the dirt. “What thing in the grill?”

“This thing,” Meg reached down at the grill, pulling at something. “I think it’s taped.”

“The fuck?” Dean walked over, leaving the trunk open as Meg pulled up whatever was stuck there. She laughed, holding it out to Dean.

“What?” He took in the little lump of tape and flimsy white plastic. It had several rectangular holes along the front. Dean scowled. “It’s a fucking harmonica.”

Meg burst into laughter as Dean took the harmonica, doubling over on herself.

“A fucking harmonica! You’ve got to be kidding me! That dick!” He chucked the tape covered toy towards the open field on the side of the road.

“Okay,” Meg said, catching her breath, “but you’ve got to admit, that was really fucking clever.”

“It was fucking cruel is what it was.”

“Oh come on. It’s not like he really fucked with your car. That’s funny.”

Dean huffed, pouted as he slammed the hood closed a little topo hard. “Get in the car, Meg.”

Meg giggled the whole way home while Dean sulked, coming up with his next plan.

~~~

Two months later the feud between Dean and Ketch was still in full swing with no real signs of stopping. Things had steadily increased as well, though they were thankfully just short of need to get authorities involved, even if writing “Honk if you’re Horny” on the windows of the hearses in paint marker was technically vandalism. Also, thankfully, their vehicles had remained off limits after Dean retaliated for Ketch’s cling wrap around the Impala trick by putting Ketch’s bike in the bed of someone else’s truck. Dean sure was glad that he caught the intercepted floral arrangement one, though. It would have been beyond mortifying to show up to a funeral with a wreath that read “Congratulations on your Engagement”.

Dean also had a suspicion that Ketch had figured out a way into his business, in fact, he was positive of it, if for no other reason than that he had done the same damn thing. Granted, his was just to plant whoopee cushions in the best strategic places (under couch cushions in the lobby, wedged in the hinges of a few of the caskets of sale, and, of course on Ketch’s desk chair). When Dean walked into his office and slammed his knee directly into his deck, he’d known without a doubt that he’d been infiltrated as well. (Okay, so that was technically breaking and entering, too, but Dean wasn’t going to call the cops on Ketch for moving his freaking furniture.)

It had been three days without any sort of retaliation from Ketch when Dean found him in the casket showroom.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing in here?” Dean asked.

Ketch turned around, leaning up against one of the solid walnut caskets, bottle of scotch in hand.

“I wasn’t aware there was a rule against being in here during business hours,” Ketch said.

Dean rolled his eyes. “What do you want, Ketch?”

“I propose a truce,” Ketch said, raising his right hand and the bottle of scotch therein.

“You givin’ up that easy?” Dean asked, “Didn’t think you were the type.”

“I suppose you haven’t found the tarantula yet, then.”

“What tarantula?”

“Never mind. The point is this has gone on long enough wouldn’t you say?”

Dean snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. “Sounds like something someone would say when he’s all out of ideas.”

Ketch huffed. “Right. I could easily drag this out until kingdom come if that’s what you really want. But as it is we both had to deal with each other. We see each other every day and unless you want to continue to drive us both insane with pranks and retaliations and potential clients turned away I’d say it’s in both of our interests to act like adults and sort this out.”

“So this is you being the bigger man then?”

“Naturally.” Ketch’s eyes skimmed up and down Dean’s form and Dean couldn’t help scoffing.

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that, Art. Sounds to me like you’re just certain you’re gonna lose but whatever. You wanna call and end to this, fine, we call and end to it, but you need to quit sniping my business.”

“Your business?”

“Yeah. The Alders, the Milton’s, the Richardson’s. They were practically done deals until you showed up and grabbed them right from under my nose.”

“Perhaps you’ve just grown complacent. You were the only funeral home in the area for quite some time. Maybe your former customers enjoy having an option.”

“Please. You’re not special. If anything you’re more expensive than I am.”

“Perhaps. But I’m charming.”

“You’re somethin’ alright.”

“As I was saying – “

“Nope. I’m not dropping this. You stop swiping my customers or I’m going to continue sticking cellophane dicks to your windows and whatever else I can think of.”

“That’s mature of you,” Ketch said, smiling.

“Oh, fuck you. You started it with the dick glitter.”

“Only because you send me glitter first.”

“Because you swiped my clients!”

Ketch rolled his eyes, setting the bottle of scotch down on the closed lid of the coffin he’d been leaning on. He strode over and walked right into Dean’s space. “What do you expect from me? Should I ask your permission before I can take on any new clients? Perhaps you just can’t handle the fact that I’m better at this than you are.”

Dean squared his shoulders, staring Ketch in the face. “Maybe you’re just an asshole.”

A small smirk lifted the corner of Ketch’s lips. “I might be an asshole but at least I can keep my clients.”

Dean shoved Ketch’s shoulders. He swayed on his feet but kept standing. “Is that the way it’s going to be then?”

Dean didn’t say anything, he just sneered and stepped right into Ketch’s way as he tried to slip past Dean.

Dean wasn’t sure what he was expecting or why he felt the need to get physical. He wasn’t even sure who technically threw the first punch, all he knew was that he’d thrown his jacket on the floor and unbuttoned his wrist cuffs and Ketch had done the same. They were mostly dancing around each other, ducking and swinging until Dean overextended and lost his footing. Before he knew it he was thrown against the back of a casket, his face flat against the polished wood.

“Really, Dean? A fist fight in your place of business. I thought you’d be better than that,” Ketch said.

Dean thrust his hips backward, his ass brushing against Ketch’s groin.  He hooked his ankle around Ketch’s and pushed backward, harder. Ketch lost his balance, falling to the floor with Dean in his lap. Dean swung his legs around, knees on either side of Ketch’s waist before grabbing his wrists and pinning them to the floor. They were both a little flushed, their chests rising and falling with each deep breath.

“You give yet?” Dean asked, panting.

Ketch scowled up at him, planting his feet on the ground before thrusting upwards and jostling Dean enough to make him lose his balance and fall forward so their chests pressed together.

“At least buy me dinner first,” Dean laughed. His laughter dissipated, however, when he could feel the hard line of Ketch’s erection against his hip.

“Oh, sorry,” Dean said, letting go of Ketch’s wrists and rising up. Of course, Ketch took the opportunity to flip them so that he was looming over Dean, the two still connected at the hip.

“Really, dude?” Dean asked.

Ketch raised an eyebrow, self-satisfied smirk on his lips. “I saw an opportunity and I took it.”

“You’re an asshole,” Dean said rolling his hips. Ketch’s smirk fell and a soft groan fell from his lips.

“You don’t exactly play fair either. Though, if you didn’t have a girlfriend…”

“Meg’s not my girlfriend.”

Ketch perked up a bit, still looming over Dean. “No? You live together, don’t you? Sleep in the same bed?”

“Yeah well, she’s not… It’s a platonic life partner thing but we also have sex.”

“So a girlfriend?”

“Well, I guess if you wanna call it that but we’re not exclusive. We’ve both had other partners.”

“So she wouldn’t mind if I did this?” Ketch’s lips were on Dean’s in an instant, hot and demanding, his tongue flicking against Dean’s lips. He ground down into Dean’s crotch, brushing against his growing erection, causing Dean to gasps. Ketch then slide his tongue inside, licking at the inside of Dean’s mouth but never giving Dean the chance to reciprocate. He pulled back, hovering just out of Dean’s reach.

“Yeah… she’d uh, she’d be okay with that.”

Ketch smirked, leaning down to bite at Dean’s bottom lip.  Dean squirmed, groaning. Ketch chuckled, thick and heavy against Dean’s skin.

“Dude, let me up!” Dean said.

“Why? I’m enjoying you like this.”

“Yeah, but if you don’t let me up this ain’t gonna get very far.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Ketch said, grinding his hips down and making Dean gasp, “I’m enjoying myself.”

“Asshole,” Dean huffed. “I’m not ruining these pants.”

Ketch rolled his eyes but released Dean’s wrists, his hands then pulling at the buttons on Dean’s shirt collar. Dean attempted to roll them over, but Ketch wasn’t budging, and Dean gave up in favor of tearing at Ketch’s belt and pants buttons.

Ketch wasted no time sucking on Dean’s neck and collar bones as soon as the skin was bare, biting down a little too hard and making Dean groan. He pulled Ketch’s hair, jerking him off, only for the man to stare down at him with wide eyes after his eyelids stopped fluttering. They kissed again, fighting each other the whole way.

There was more biting, most of which Dean was certain was going to bruise but he didn’t especially care. He liked the fight. Meg was good at being rough when he wanted it, but it was always an illusion of power when he was with her. Neither of them forgot the fact that Dean could easily throw her off him whenever he wanted, but Ketch was different. He was firmer, more solid. He really could pin Dean to the floor and make him fight for it.

Ketch let out a loud moan as Dean bit into his shoulder. He pushed Ketch’s shirt up and out of the way as he scraped his nails across his ribs. Dean unbuttoned his own pants before slipping them and his boxers halfway down his thighs. Ketch sat up, following suit before pouncing on Dean once again and rolling his hips. Their cocks ground together, and Dean threw his head back against the hard carpet, moaning.

He bucked up to match the rough pace. It was almost too fast and too hard, but it was what he needed. He could do much more than scratch and claw the skin of Ketch’s back digging in and hopefully leaving marks.

“Fuck!” Dean barked, digging his nails into the meat of Ketch’s ass.

Ketch groaned then chuckled, his breath hot and warm against Dean’s ear. “That all you got, Winchester?”

His words came out more as a series of pants than as a sentence, but Dean took it as a challenge nonetheless. He grabbed on to the globes of Ketch’s ass, pulling him hard into his own hips. Ketch hissed as Dean bit down on his neck, not hard enough to mark but hard enough to warn and pulled him in as he thrust upward. Ketch’s balls slid up and down against Dean’s cock and Ketch shuddered.

Dean then flipped them, this time successfully, planting his hands on either side of Ketch’s head. Dean rolled his hips hard and fast and Ketch clutched at his arms before whimpering pitifully. The buttons on Dean’s open shirt kept smacking against his stomach, hard enough to sting up not nearly hard enough for Dean to stop.

“This good enough for you?” Dean taunted, gasping when the heads of their cocks rubbed together.

Ketch groaned through gritted teeth.

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you.”

“F-fuck you.” Ketch hissed. His grip on Dean’s arms tightened, and his hips jerked in an uncoordinated pattern as much as Dean would allow.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought you said.” Dean leaned his weight on one hand, using the other to take both of their cocks and once and jerk them together. It only took half a dozen strokes of his hand and a few halfhearted jerks before Ketch was coming with a strangled moan. Dean jerked himself as fast as he could before he was coming, too, all over Ketch’s bare stomach. Luckily, he had the forethought to fall to his side and land on the floor.

It took a few minutes of gasping and deep breathing for Dean to register the slow clapping coming from the doorway of the showroom.

“Nice job, boys,” Meg said, leaning against the doorframe.

“Aw, fuck,” Dean groaned.

Ketch sat up but didn’t move to cover himself. “Oh. I didn’t know you were here.”

“Yeah, well, you’re damn lucky I was because someone had to make sure the closed sign was up. Not that that wasn’t worthy of an audience.”

Fuck. Dean didn’t even think about it. As bad as the stupid shit was there was probably no way to lose business faster than to get caught fucking on the showroom floor. “Thanks, Meg.”

“Yeah, yeah. You want a towel or something?”

“That would be appreciated.”

“Oh, but first,” Meg said, smirking, “there is something I need to hear.”

“Please?”

“Nu-uh.”

Dean rolled his eyes and threw his arm over his face. “This changes nothing, Meg. Hate sex does not negate business rivalry nor does it put a halt on the prank war.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Ketch piped up, “I was willing to call the pranks to an end before all this. And perhaps the rivalry could be dealt with by more… productive means.”

Meg snorted. “Oh come on, that clinches it.”

Dean sighed. “Fine. You were right, Meg.”

“And?” There was an obnoxious lilt in her voice and Dean just knew she was smiling.

“I was wrong.”

“Thank you,” Meg said. “I’ll get you a towel and you two can put your dicks away. And you better let me know the next time you feel like fucking it out. I might just hate both of you enough to tie you to some furniture.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ketch said.

“Now that’s what I liked to hear,” Meg said. Her footsteps grew distant as she left the room and Dean groaned. He was likely never going to hear the end of this.

“What was she right about?” Ketch asked.

“Fuck. Don’t even ask.”  

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