#but I love making bundt cakes.... like. I love it.

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 14: Don't Be A Bundt Cake

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV, Soldier Boy POV

Summary:  When you decided to work with Butcher and his merry band of supe hunters to take down Homelander, you never expected to be saddled with a sullen, grumpy, jerk like Soldier Boy when the job was done. The more you're around him the more you hate him, but you can't help but wonder, is he really as big a jerk as you think? Reader is a supe with plant powers. This takes place in an AU about a month after the end of The Boys Season 3, in which Butcher has let Soldier Boy continue to work with him on his team.  (I'm real bad at summaries, please forgive me!)

Tropes: Enemies to Lovers (Not in this chapter), Slow Burn, Age Difference (Reader is in her 20s), Soft Ben/ Soldier Boy, Protective Ben/Soldier Boy, Miscommunication Trope

Word Count: 13.1K

Warnings: I'm going to label this 18+ because Soldier Boy (he's a warning and everyone knows it), Swearing, Mentions of Sex, Sexual Innuendo, Talks of Death, DENIAL, Idiots in Love, Pining by the Reader (and SB, but he won't admit it) Depressing Thoughts, Mentions of sexual assault/rape (not detailed at all, really just in passing) Talks about weed, Sexist comments, Ben makes derogatory comments, Threatening Ben/Soldier Boy might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

A/N: I am so sorry this one took me a bit longer. The writers block was fighting me the whole way, but we are very closely nearing the end of this series and the moment the reader and Ben stop being so stinkin' stubborn.

Reader POV

You lean your forehead against the cool window, watching the world flash by in a flurry of color. The wooded forests had vanished hours ago and all that was left were the yellowed sprawling fields of corn and grain and family farms that were laid sporadically along the interstate. Each one a little world that caught the flecks of golden sunlight as the sun began to peak above the horizon.

The bus rolled smooth and steady over the weathered pavement towards it's destination and was filled with an odd assortment of people young and old. There was man with a brightly colored parrot that had been singing "It's A Small World After All" since you left NYC, a woman with a little boy playing with an iPad and who refused to turn down the volume no matter how many times his mother asked him to, a group of teenagers a few seats up that continued to pass around a flask, and due to how far back you were sitting on the bus an uncomfortable smell emanated from the bathroom each time the door was opened.

But you didn't notice any of it.

The only thing on your mind were the events that happened almost twenty hours ago. They continued to circle your mind, playing over and over again like a perverted cassette tape making you sink further into the worn cloth covered seat at the back of the bus. The images were haunting, some new and some old, but all the more still horrible to re-live.

The song "Nights In White Satin" floating into the backseat of your family's car, the flash of unnatural light you knew was never lightning, the caskets at your parent's funeral covered in flowers that were much to pretty to lay on something so morbid, Elijah's body succumbing to the poppies that ripped him apart, the proud sneer on your brother's face when he admitted to killing your parents, Darren's broken and bloodied body strewn in pieces over the street with the creature standing over him with a dripping red maw, the ruined building that housed "Please Don't Die" reduced to nothing more than rubble, and the look on Ben's face when you turned your back on him and fled the scene.

For some reason that particular image seemed to cling on to you and refused to fade. You'd never seen him look that way, almost… helpless and a little fearful. In all the time you'd known him, Ben had never looked at you that way. Sure you'd seen him proud, angry, cocky, lustful, mischievous, but never fearful. And you were sure that it wasn't an emotion that he was used to feeling, but that begged the question… why?

Why was he looking at me like that? Why wouldn't he let me go? And what was he afraid of?

The creature curled in your lap snorts something in it's sleep, turning it’s head further into the cradle of your elbow to shut out the brilliant early morning sunlight. It was now the size of a toaster and had warranted several odd looks whenever you got off to change buses, but you didn't care.

You weren't sure about anything anymore. Everything your brother confessed to you made you feel like you were living a lie and the revelation of exactly what your powers could do- take life from plants to heal yourself, create whatever the hell it was on your lap, and speak to plants… it scared you.

You thought for so long that you knew everything about your powers, that you were in control, but now you weren't sure.

You felt different, as if something had unlocked deep down that you couldn't shut up again.

You'd felt different after you killed Elijah, but this was more alive, weaving and twisting in the pit of your stomach. You felt more connected to the earth, to the world outside the bus even though you were divided by glass and metal. You could feel the energy that thrummed through the body of the creature on your lap, bending to your will, the life force of the plants it was formed from molding with you, becoming a part of you.

You felt so different than the person you had been before Darren entered the shop, so uncertain, and there was only one place you wanted to be when you felt like this… home. You couldn't wait to run up the worn front steps of your grandmother's house and into her arms. She always knew what to say in times like this.

And you desperately needed the comfort of her embrace.

The phone in your pocket buzzes again and you flip the screen to see the ridiculous selfie Annie and you had taken on Halloween last year. The one that you'd both spent dressed up as the two brothers from your favorite paranormal tv show. It wasn't the first time she'd called. Annie had called and texted you more times than you could count over the past twenty hours but you didn't answer her. You didn’t want to.

It was the first time that you didn't want to talk to her, but talking to her meant that you'd have to re-live all of it again and you were clawing at the last shred of sanity you had left to keep it together.

The overwhelming waves of emotion kept pummeling you, dragging you deeper beneath the white surf. Each one brought the memories of what happened surging over you and were followed by everything that Darren said to you. Years of taking care of Darren and doing whatever he wished were tearing at your soul, years of giving up little things in your life to make him happy, and years of taking care of a man who you thought cared about you, but hated you enough to kill your parents and try to kill you too.

It made your skin crawl. Each time your brother told you that he loved you was an even bigger lie and now that you knew the truth and saw him for what he was, it felt like you were drowning. The darkness that ebbed just on the edge was begging you to leap into the abyss, but you were resisting the best you could.

The tears had stopped falling miles ago, but you couldn't stop the memories or the emotion that formed a cold ball in the pit of your stomach.

A sigh works it's way up and you pull your legs on the seat underneath you, jostling the creature on your lap that raises it's head for a moment to blink it's black eyes at you sleepily.

It was surprisingly docile right now, especially considering that twenty hours ago it had ripped your brother to shreds. In fact it seemed to understand how upset you were and had spent the better part of the last twenty hours rubbing it's head against your arm as if trying to bring you some comfort. It was settled on your lap, the weight of it a comfort, almost like a weighted plushy that gave you something to focus on.

"It's alright buddy." You whisper, scratching him under his chin. "We're almost home."

The phone in your jacket pocket buzzes again, but when you pull it out to turn it off, you catch a glimpse of the screen, and you hesitate. Because this time it's not Annie who's calling, it’s Ben.

The picture that flashes on the screen under the contact name "Gramps" is the picture of Mr. Fredrickson from Up. It always made you smile whenever he called you and you saw the picture because Ben did often remind you of him. He was certainly just as grumpy as Mr. Fredrickson and just as out of touch, but you thought it was cute.

Your thumb hovers over the answer button and you think about talking to him.

But what would I say?

You weren't sure what to say to him, or why you wanted to speak to him so badly, why you wanted him to be sitting here on the bus with you as you went home, and why you wanted him to hold you against his chest while you allowed yourself to break, but you did. You wanted to feel his awkward shoulder pat and his awkward version of hand holding and you wanted to hear him try to tell you to "buck up" or whatever he thought that a comforting word should be.

He's really not the best at that.

You smile to yourself at the memory of how he tried to comfort you back at the hospital, but the longer you sit there and look down at the picture on the screen the worse you feel.

Maybe that scared you more than your newfound powers, how much you were realizing that you needed him, how much you depended on him when things got too much for you to bear. The memory of him appearing as soon as you needed him back at the shop, another of him grabbing Darren and throwing him into the street as soon as Darren insulted you comes in a flash, and finally followed by the memory of Ben carrying you out of Elijah's office while you curled into his chest. You couldn't remember too much from that moment, in fact you'd thought that Ben had kissed you on top of your head, but you ascribed that to the haze of pain you'd been in from your broken arm.

What you did remember was how wonderfully warm he was after you'd been trapped in that damn freezer and how nice it felt to be in his arms. Another memory of Ben sleeping on the couch at the hospital bubbles up and you feel something in your chest begin to crack open. And you try your best to tell yourself the same thing that you always do when you feel like Ben might care more about you that he was letting on.

Ben doesn't want that. He's made it perfectly clear. He doesn't want a relationship. He's only wants one night, that's why he goes out with all those women-

You hesitate, thumb still hovering over the answer button as you do, the memory of the week you'd spent at the apartment with him flickering in the back of your mind. The week where he refused to leave you alone in the apartment, where he refused to do any jobs for Butcher, where he took care of you the best way he could, when he sat with you on the couch and made you laugh with his ridiculous movies, and the week where he hadn't had one date.

Your finger itched to answer the phone, but you couldn't, because you didn't want to feel this way about Ben, not when he'd told you countless times that you kept romanticizing him, not when he told you that he didn't want a relationship, and not when you could feel yourself beginning to fall for someone you thought was the wrong man.

For just a moment you tried to pretend that it was different, that he was different, but you didn't want to. It only made it hurt more.

The phone stops ringing, but the pit in your stomach still gapes open at you and for the first time in twenty hours you feel tears begin to fall. You didn't know why you were crying about this, why the thought of not picking up Ben's phone call seemed to hurt more than everything that had happened, but something made it hurt.

The bus driver announces over the overhead that you're reaching your final destination as he takes the exit for your hometown. The familiar buildings that line the streets are sheathed in a honeyed glow from the sun, the long shadow of the bus darkening them momentarily as it rumbles down the small streets to the bus station.

When it rumbles to a stop at the bus station you wait for everyone else to get off, trying to summon the strength to stand, and swipe the back of your hand across your face to rid yourself of the remaining tears.

The bus station was about a thirty minute walk from your grandmother's house, and you still hadn't called her. You didn't know what to say, didn't know how to tell her that Darren was dead and that he was the reason why your parents were dead.

The creature crawls up your body to drape it's warm body over the back of your neck as you stand. It wasn't bothering to hide, besides the people in your hometown already thought that you were odd because you were a supe and you'd always welcomed it. You give him a scratch on top of his head and his warm tongue flicks on the bottom of your earlobe as if thanking you before it curls further into the side of your neck, seeking warmth.

The first few steps on solid ground are shaky, but you find the strength while taking in a deep cleansing breath of the outside world, letting the gentle warmth of the sun and the tickle of the autumn breeze pull at your coat. You hadn't stopped at your apartment before coming here, instead you had stumbled your way to the bus station covered in dust, flecked in blood, and demanded the first ticket back to Illinois. It was lucky that the next bus was leaving immediately, because you didn’t want to spend another second in NYC, not when all you wanted was to be home.

Plus you were worried that someone had recorded what exactly happened outside the plant shop and you didn't want to get arrested.

It was self defense anyway. Maybe Jake would represent me in court.

The thought of Jake makes you twinge. You hadn't checked to see if he was alright before you ran from the scene. Not to mention you'd destroyed the shop he'd put all his life savings into after he stopped being a lawyer.

Oh fuck, what if he sues me? He can't exactly sue Darren…

You hear someone call your name and you open your eyes.

Your grandmother is standing in front of the same baby blue pickup truck that she'd had longer than you've been alive, wearing a long multicolored skirt and a pressed white blouse tucked elegantly into it. Her silver hair is loose and long, curling over her shoulders in gentle waves. She looks the same way she looked one week ago when she left, and you've never seen anything so beautiful in your life.

You're running before you can stop yourself, crumbling into her warm embrace, with more tears streaking down your face, but she doesn't mind.

"Shh. It's alright honey." She whispers, rubbing her hand over your back, her embrace steady and surprisingly strong. "Let's go home."

Her home is the same as it's always been. A two story Victorian house painted in a happy yellow shade, with a white wrap around porch and two white rocking chairs sitting empty on the front porch. You'd spent more nights than you could count rocking silently beside her with a crochet project in your lap listening to the rain fall and soak the world outside, while the plants sang praises with every gentle bend beneath the heavy droplets.

You could barely remember the home you spent in your early years with your parents, not when you'd spent most of your childhood spending the night here and after your parents died living here permanently. There was still a large oak tree were a wooden swing swung in the slight breeze on the left side of the yard, a gardenia bush that stretched as high as the second story on the right side of the house and brushed it's soft leaves against the sunshine colored outer walls, a garden filled with both flowering plants and herbs that perked up on both sides of the front yard as you walked up the path, and a cobblestone path that Annie and you had spent hours of your shared childhood covering in chalk art.

Neither of you were good, but when the rain would fall and smudge the clean lines, you'd jump in the puddles that pooled along the walkway singing the lyrics to ABBA's "Cassandra" not quite understanding what it meant.

Standing here outside your house made you miss Annie and feel worse about not calling or texting her back, but you didn't feel like talking about what happened and you were sure that Butcher filled her in. The only thing that you wanted was to collapse in your bedroom upstairs and curl under the comforters.

Despite everything the house was a welcome sight, but at the same time it was different. You could feel the plants calling out to you, asking for you, bending towards you just to touch your shoes as you walked by. You'd never felt so connected with them before, not even when you were in your apartment or working at the shop.  It was overwhelming.

And although a part of you was frightened by it, another part of you rejoiced in it. You didn't feel alone, didn't feel weak, and you knew that you never would ever again.

The creature nuzzled into the side of your neck with a sigh, soaking up the sun's healing rays as you walked up the front steps with your grandmother following behind you silently. She hadn't spoken since she picked you up at the bus station and you hadn't supplied anything in the ten minute car ride back to her house.

You didn't know where to start and you were still trying to process everything yourself.

The inside of her house was just as cozy and warm as it was the day you moved out. There were photos of your parents and you covering the walls (Darren's had been placed in the closet long ago), half-finished knitting projects sorted in different baskets on both the dining room table and the living room coffee table, spools of yarn were strewn over the couch sorted by color, and the fresh smell of gardenia wafted through the open windows on the breeze.

It was home. This was what you'd been missing the moment everything began to crash over you, but as you stood there in the familiar living room it felt like something was missing. Something tugged at the back of your mind, but you couldn't put your finger on it.

There was something or rather someone that should be here, but you didn't know what or who. And your mind supplied Annie, but you weren't sure that's who you meant.

"Let's have some tea." Your grandmother says from behind you and you feel her soft hands come down on your shoulders to steer you through the familiar creative chaos and into the large kitchen at the back of the house.

The kitchen isn't spared from the madness, it rarely was. There are boxes upon boxes of cookies in different stages of being packaged all over the counter, dirty bowls and a measuring cup stacked in the sink, and a large opened bag of chocolate chips spilling over the flour covered kitchen island.

It wasn't unusual to find the kitchen or the house in a state of chaos, your grandmother always said that a house should look lived in and that the mess was part of the fun of any major project as long as you were responsible enough to clean it up.

"Bake sale?" You ask as you sit down in the breakfast nook, uttering the first words that you'd said to another human being in twenty hours.

The next breath that you inhale was supposed to be cleansing, but you can still feel a weight pressing down on your chest, the same one that settled in the moment everything happened with Darren.

You contemplate again how you're going to tell her that Darren is dead and was the reason why your parents died.

Damn it Darren.

"Mhmm." She hums, filling the well used red kettle. "Annie's mother practically cornered me in the supermarket yesterday and begged me to make cookies. I love Annie, but her mother needs someone to pull that stick out of her ass. It's been up there for so long that I'm sure it's rotten."

The creature crawls down from your shoulders and down your arm to sniff at one of the chocolate chip cookies nearest you. It hadn't eaten since…

Darren.

You wince slightly at the thought and hope that you hadn't created something that needed and craved human flesh. The last thing you wanted to unleash on the world was Audry two especially in the wake of Homelander.

Truthfully you were waiting for the guilt at killing your brother to come, but it never had and you wondered if it ever would.

Probably not. He deserved that, he killed our parents, he tried to kill me, he tried to kill Ben.

The thought of Ben again makes a lump form in the back of your throat. You didn't know what was happening to you only that you felt guilty for leaving him like that, for yelling at him to let you go, and just vanishing on him when he probably thought that you were going back to the apartment.

He doesn't know where I am. Maybe that's why he tried to call, because he got back to the apartment and couldn't find me there and he was worried. You press your lips together. Yeah. Worried. Right.

"Honey?" Your grandmother says in a soothing voice

You look up from the box of chocolate chip cookies that you didn't remember picking up. Even the creature is looking at you with an expression that you can only explain as worry.

"Yeah?" Your voice shakes slightly.

She's leaning back against the counter, arms crossed over her chest, head tilted slightly to the side, her beautiful grayed hair pulled up in an elegant bun, but in her eyes you can see genuine concern. "Fuck." She sighs after a minute.

You blink in surprise. It was the first time that you'd ever heard her say that word in your entire life.

"I shouldn't have left." She breathes. "I told Ben to look out for you. I told him, that little bastard was bound to show up again and what did he do? He left you at that plant shop alone with no protection!"

You'd only seen her really angry a handful of times in your lifetime. Like you, your grandmother often had a gentle disposition and didn't get angry unless the situation called for it.

I mean, Darren admitted to killing our parents and then got fucking ripped apart. But how does she know about any of that? I haven't told her…

"How did you know that he left me there? Did Ben call you?" You ask putting down the box of cookies.

An odd expression crosses her face, as if she's contemplating something. "No." She hesitates again. "I saw it."

"No." Your grandmother hesitates. "I saw it."

"You saw it?" You repeat, confused.

What's going on?

"Too late of course, but I'm a little rusty. I was able to warn Ben that Darren was coming back. That's how he got there so quickly or rather-" She shrugs sheepishly. "He got there in time to make sure that Darren didn't get you to forgive him. Which you shouldn't have at all, but I know he's always had a talent for manipulating you."

"What?"

Is she saying what I think she's saying?

Instead of explaining further your grandmother walks out of the kitchen, leaving the kettle behind on the stove and you in a state of utter confusion.

Is she saying that she can see the future? Because that would mean that she's a supe and there's only one supe in history that I know of that can do that. A supe that no one has seen in over forty years.

You can hear her open the door to the closet under the stairs and the sound of her sifting through all the junk that the two of you had shoved in there over the years instead of finding the right place to put it.

When she comes back into the kitchen, she's holding a giant cardboard file box that you'd never paid attention to each time you opened the closet to find something. Your eyes shift from the box to her still not comprehending exactly what she was saying.

"I probably should have told you this a while ago, but…" She trails off and nods her head at the box before turning back to the kettle on the stove that has begun to scream. "I kept putting it off."

The box is old, worn at the edges, and theres a musty black fabric beneath a collection of yellowed photographs. You pull out the one on top to examine it.

Ben is standing there in his full Soldier Boy regalia outside of Vought tower and the woman standing next to him is Soothsayer. The outfit she wore was familiar, a black-skin tight suit with a blind fold tied over her eyes.

Soothsayer was a supe who could see the future and who was apart of Payback, a supe that had vanished a year before the mission in Nicaragua and no one knew where she went. There were rumors that she'd died and that she'd been a Russian spy, but you'd never believed them. You'd heard Butcher talk about how he tried to find her when he was trying to figure out what happened to Soldier Boy, but he never had. Said that the trail went cold.

But now you knew where she went, because she was standing directly in front of you.

She's Soothsayer? Holy fuck that's why Ben kept accusing her of cheating in the poker game because he knew that she could see the future.

"You were Soothsayer?" You gasp. "But why didn't you say anything? Why didn't you tell me?"

She continues to measure the tea leaves. "I didn't tell anyone."

"Grandpa didn't know? But he was alive when you were a supe?"

Your grandfather had never spoken about a history with supes that you remember.

"No." She turns to look at you, a hurt expression crossing over her face for a minute. "Well, I know that I said I was going to have tea, but if we're going to talk about this I'm going to need something a little bit stronger."

Your grandmother opens a cabinet under the stove an pulls out an enormous bottle of scotch. Truth be told you'd never seen her drink more than just a glass of wine, to see her like this was about as shocking as seeing a polar bear sunning itself on a Florida beach.

"Do you still want the blueberry tea or do you need something a little stronger?" She looks back over her shoulder at you as she pulls down a glass for herself.

"I think I need something stronger." You answer honestly.

Learning about everything Darren had done was one thing, but finding out that your grandmother used to be a famous supe and that she never told you about it was another thing. It was like looking at another person. You'd always loved your grandmother's gentle way, her care for her community and her family soft, but now you weren't sure you really knew who she was.

She sits down across from you and hands you a glass of the amber colored liquid. There's a heavy silence that hangs between the two of you as she tries to find a way to start. The photo of her and Ben is laying on top of what you realize is her uniform inside the box and she smiles down at the photo, just a little twitch at the corner of her lips.

"I met Ben when I was twenty three years old." She begins taking a sip from the glass. "Legend 'discovered' me. I had the injection of Compound V maybe two years before that, not when I was born, but I hadn't gotten popular. Other powers were much more flashy and by then there were so many heroes coming out of the woodwork that someone with the ability to see the future didn't seem as marketable."

There's something reflected in her blue eyes, the same eyes your father had, that you can't place. "I had just moved to New York, I had no money, and the way I was getting it was by pretending to be a fortune teller and betting on some sports events on the side. It wasn't hard to prove that I could see the future, the past was more difficult, but Legend somehow stumbled into my shop and figured out that I was a supe. And he didn't think I was too bad looking so he helped me get big."

"You pretended to be a fortune teller?"

She snorts into her glass. "Mhmm. People really will believe anything if they're desperate enough and back then there was so much turmoil going on with Russia that people were scared and wanted to feel comforted. My job provided some of that."

"But why did you walk away from it if you were such a big hero." You ask. "Everyone knew your name, you were-"

Your grandmother raises an eyebrow at you and you fall silent so she can continue. "When I got onto Payback that's when everything exploded for me, the films, the commercials, the ridiculous ads." She sighs. "That's also when I met Ben."

You take a sip from the glass in front of you, sputtering slightly. It was stronger than you were expecting. "And you two were-"

Please don't say dating, please don't say dating, please don't say…

"Friends. Just friends." Diana sits back against the back of the breakfast nook, sinking into the navy blue pillows. "But he is almost as charming now as he was then."

You cringe at the thought of Ben coming on to a younger version of your grandmother.

She taps her glass with her index finger deep in thought. "But I think that I was the only person that Ben actually talked to, the only person that he was comfortable being around."

"What do you mean?" You ask confused. "Didn't he talk to Countess and to Legend?"

Her expression hardens at the mention of Countess's name. "He didn't talk to her the way he talked to me. Ben is difficult, he always has been and I think that most of the people he meet him write him off as this asshole with a chauvinistic look on the world, but he's not. At least, not all the time. There are so many people that he's met that are never willing to take a chance on him. To trust that there is really something beneath all of that bravado."

It was what you had been thinking for the past week, that there was more to Ben than he was willing to let people see, but you were slowly realizing that Ben was letting you see those parts. In the quiet moments at your shared apartment when he sat with you while you read or made you laugh or walked you to and from work you saw another side of Ben that you never saw when he was around anyone else. The guilt rises again when you think of how you ran from him, how you turned your back and left him standing there to clean up your mess.

I shouldn’t have done that, but it was all just so overwhelming and I didn't want to talk to anyone.

"I think that Ben is the most loyal friend I ever had. No one ever seems to believe me when I say that. That we were just friends, but nothing happened between us."

"You didn't date? Or sleep together?" You ask cautiously. It was difficult to imagine Ben being friends with a woman and not having a sexual relationship with her.

Well. We're friends, but that's different.

The last thing you wanted to think about was Ben and your grandmother having sex.

I would need so much therapy after that. You sigh. Yeah, because after all the shit I've been through and found out about my life in the last twenty hours, the knowledge that Ben fucked my grandmother is what's going to push me over the edge.

"No." She shakes her head with a small smile. "About a week after I met Ben, I was running late to a movie shoot and I stepped off the crosswalk without looking. There was a car coming and I didn't see it. Ironic isn't it?" She laughs at herself. "I can see the future and I didn't see a car coming, but your grandfather did and he grabbed the back of my jacket and yanked me onto the sidewalk, saved my life. And the second my eyes locked with his I saw our future. I saw our wedding, our first house, I saw our son take his first steps and I saw how much I would love him and how much he would love me." She clears her throat for a minute, her fingers tighten on the glass, and her gaze drops to the wedding ring on her left hand. “The future is never set in stone, it’s fluid. It morphs and shapes with your decisions, but in the future I saw, I was so happy. And I didn’t want to lose that.”

Your grandfather had passed a few years ago, but you knew it weighed on her everyday. She had spent the week after he died in her room not saying anything to anyone. And sometimes she'd look out the window into the backyard with an odd expression, but you knew that meant she was thinking of him.

Growing up you'd seen how in love the two of them were, more so than your parents. Seen the flowers your grandfather always brought home just because he was thinking of her, watched him do little things around the house without being asked, saw how they never walked away angry from one another, and seen the soppy expression he'd get when he watched your grandmother move around the kitchen baking with a grace that you'd never possessed.

You reach across the table to touch her hand and she takes it gratefully.

"I didn't want to tell him that I was a supe, and at the beginning I thought I could balance it all, but then Ben started dating Countess." She takes another sip from her glass. "She hated me."

"What? Why?" You ask. The creature crawls across the table to sniff at the glass in front of you, before it snorts and falls into your lap, curling into a ball.

"Countess was a bitch." Your grandmother says mirthlessly, her expression hardening. "She wanted to possess Ben completely. Only loved how famous he was, how popular it made her, and he threw himself at her feet, in his own way, not understanding that love didn’t look that way. He’s never had a good example of it in his life. And she never understood that Ben and I were just friends. By then I had been dating your grandfather for a few months and things were getting serious. It was about a year before everything that happened in Nicaragua."

She presses her lips together as if remembering what happened to Ben there. "She was jealous, possessive, and she came to me one night. Ben was out of town for a film so she knew we wouldn’t be interrupted. She threatened to tell your grandfather who I really was and threatened to kill him.” Her jaw sets. “My powers were never really as offensive as hers were. And she said that Ben wouldn’t ever protect me over her because he loved her and would do anything to make her happy. So I left and I never looked back.”

And here I thought I couldn't hate Countess any more than I did for what she did to Ben.

“You didn’t talk to him ever again?” You wonder out loud.

She left without telling him goodbye?

“There was the occasional phone call. Sometimes Ben would ask me to see who was going to win a ball game or something so he could make a few bucks. He stopped by to say hi a few times because he was in the neighborhood. One time he brought your father a baseball glove that was way too big for a one year old.” She snorts, the memory flashing in her eyes. “I always thought Ben would be a good dad some day. But I think seeing your father was when Ben realized how much he wanted to have kids. And I think seeing the way your grandfather treated me made him start to feel conflicted about Countess. But he respected that I walked away, he saw that I was happy.”

“But what about Nicaragua?"

A dark look crosses her face followed by something that looks suspiciously like guilt. “I saw what they were going to do to him.”

“What? But why didn't you tell him what they were planning? Why didn't you-"

"I tried." She snaps, shoulders tense, but then they drop. "I called Ben, but Stan answered. By then your father was turning two, your grandfather had opened up his practice, and Stan threatened me, he knew where we were and knew everything about us. So I kept my mouth shut and I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.”

You could feel your heart breaking for her.

Ben was her best friend and she had to sit by and watch them do that to him. She saw what they were going to do and they were going to kill her for it, kill my family for it.

The anger that surges in your chest makes the creature in your lap stir and grow a few inches, but you tamp it down before it gets bigger than a small dog.

“Does Ben know?” You ask her to distract yourself.

You didn't want Ben to hate your grandmother for this, didn't want him to hate her for something that wasn't her fault.

She nods. “Yes. I told him everything.”

“When?”

“The moment I saw him in your hospital room. I couldn’t keep it in any longer. I wasn't expecting him to be there, but it all poured out of me. I was so surprised to see him there. I hadn't seen a future where he came back."

“Was he mad?”

I mean… he didn't seem mad when I woke up, not to mention he was upset when she left to come back to Illinois.

“Not at me.” She shakes her head. “He knew how much I wanted a normal life and how much I loved your grandfather. He doesn’t blame me for any of it.”

“Good. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

The glass in front of you is still more than half-full but you don't want to risk another sip of what you're sure is gasoline packaged to look like Scotch. Your grandmother reaches to pour herself another glass.

“I didn’t want to until you were ready.”

“And when would that be?”

Your grandmother shrugs. “Maybe on my deathbed.”

You weren't angry for her not telling you, more surprised, but now that you knew everything about her it was hard to see her the same way you had.

 You snort. “And no one knew?”

“Your dad figured it out.”

“How? When?”

“The moment you made that strawberry plant grow from your high chair.” She shakes her head with a smile. “It skipped a generation. Don’t know why, but you got it all somehow.”

“I was never injected?”

“No. That was a lie your father created. He knew that your grandfather didn't know and he knew that I didn't want your grandfather to know."

“Darren thought I was.”

“I know.”

At the mention of your brother's name, you watch her expression harden and she takes another swig from the glass in front of her, not flinching as the liquid goes down her throat.

“Did you see everything that happened?” You ask in a small voice.

You still weren't 100% sure how it was her powers worked, but you figured that she was able to see some of what Darren did and what he said.

“Yes.”

“You heard everything Darren said?"

“Yes.”

You chew the inside of your cheek for a minute hoping that she didn't take it as hard as you did. “Did you know that he killed them?”

“No.” She breathes, rolling the glass between her hands for a moment. “The night they died, I got a vision a few minutes before the car ran off the road. I was the one who called the police and who told them where to look, but I never saw that it was Darren or that it was anyone causing the accident. All I saw was the three of you in the car. I should have known.” Her voice breaks.

“It’s not your fault.” You squeeze her hand.

“And it’s not yours either.” She squeezes your hand back.

The memories are beginning to float up from the recesses of your mind and your teeth clench together as you try to keep them at bay.

“I know.” You breathe. The memory of the ruined shop flashes through your head. “I didn’t know that I could do something like that.” You gently touch your healed right arm and glance at the creature that is nibbling on the edge of the cardboard box with its sharp splinter-like teeth. “I feel so different and I don’t know how to go back to the way I was.”

“I don’t think you ever will.”

"Really?"

The thought was unwelcome. You were hoping that all of this was going to blow over, but you knew it wouldn't. Your powers had changed. There was an energy that thrummed in your veins now, stretching out of the house to the plants that grew in the garden. You could feel them all if you concentrated.

She frowns. “When you told me that you were working for Butcher I was worried about you getting involved in the supe world. I didn’t want that life for you, didn’t want you to suffer the way I did-“

“Was it really that bad?"

“Not all the time, just at the end. But I think that’s why I loved your grandfather so much. Because he was different than all the supes. He was down to earth, not just normal but-“ She shrugs. “I think Compound V does something to our minds, makes them more susceptible and when you’re surrounded by people using their powers and thinking that they’re gods it’s easy to lose who you are. I was glad I left when I did."

“Great." You huff, thinking about how your powers had grown exponentially since you killed your brother. It was scaring you to think that you would reach a point where you acted like Homelander, where you saw yourself as a god and killed anyone who stood in your way.

As tired as the stereotype of you only being able to make the flowers grow, you liked doing that. You liked healing plants, tending to them, and helping them grow. For you it had never been about using your powers the way that you had to kill Elijah and your brother and had always been about spreading a little more joy and love like your grandmother did with her kindness in her community.

Your mind flashes back to the first night that Ben stayed with you in your apartment and he'd asked you why you worked for Butcher and told you that he thought you "didn't fit."

Before you hadn't. You knew that. You weren't intimidating to look at or fueled by revenge or had a bone to pick with supes. You'd joined because you thought it was the right thing to do and because you wanted to be closer with Annie. She had been so involved in the supe world and you'd felt like you were losing your best friend. When in reality being at "Please Don't Die" was the only thing that felt natural for you.

You could feel yourself changing and you weren't sure that you wanted to and you weren't sure if you were changing for the better. Deep down you still felt like you, despite everything Darren had revealed, but your powers were greater than you'd thought they could be.

“No.” She squeezes your hand pulling you out of your head. “I don’t see you losing yourself in this.”

“You’ve seen-“ Your eyes widen.

“The future yeah.” Her lips twitch up at the ends in a smile. “It is what I do.”

“That’s so weird.”

You hadn't meant to say it, but you really didn't want to know too much about your future.

Well, not all that much. Maybe just a little.

“You of all people have no right to judge what’s weird. Not with Godzilla sitting in your lap.”

"Godzilla" yawns, flashing a mouthful of his pointy teeth, before settling back down on your thighs.

You smile for the first time in twenty hours, but then it drops. “I don’t like losing control. I thought I knew who I was but now I don’t-“ The emotions were bubbling up again, chest tightening, and lungs beginning to gasp for air. “I don’t know who I am anymore or what I am or what I can do and-“

“There’s nothing wrong with not being in control.”

“But what if I hurt someone? What if I kill-“ You body shakes as you think about all the important people in your life, Annie, Hughie, Butcher, Kimiko, MM, Frenchie- and then your mind stutters on Ben.

“Your powers are growing and there’s nothing to be afraid of or ashamed of. If you’re afraid of them it won’t get easier for you. You have to embrace the fear to see the lights that line the path through it.”

"I killed Darren, I killed Elijah-"

"Not because you lost control. You did it because you were protecting yourself and protecting your friends."

"But-"

"Who is it that you're scared of hurting? Annie?" Her expression turns sympathetic. "Annie is a supe and understands what it's like to lose control. None of us are in control all the time and it's ridiculous to believe that you won't lose control at least once."

Your throat clenches tightly, because when she asked the question you didn't see Annie's face, you saw Ben's. You knew that it was probably ridiculous to worry about hurting a guy with a nuclear reactor stuffed in his chest or a guy who'd been through every torture known to man, but you were. And you weren't entirely sure if you meant hurting him with just your powers.

Tears crest and fall down your cheeks as you sit there, throat thickening. "I don't want to hurt Ben."

"He's a little more indestructible than us sweetie." She cracks a smile, but you can't smile back and you don't answer because you're unsure how to.

She sits back against the breakfast nook and sighs, examining your face and slowly realizes what you mean. "Ben is complicated. He always has been. I like to think that most of it, is his father's fault. Has he told you anything about him?"

You shake your head.

"He was a dick. Made Ben think that he was a disappointment his whole life. I don't think that Ben has had someone love him unconditionally since his mother died. And loving Countess only made it worse for him. Her love was jealous, possessive, and I don't think that he's really come to terms with what real love should look like." She lets out a breath, tapping her index finger against the glass. "I never saw him as more than a friend, but I do love him. It's not a crime to love him."

"I don't love him." You say it immediately.

"Why not?"

"What?" You sputter. "I don't know what you're-"

"Tell me why you don't love him." Your grandma says methodically, as if she's trying to talk you through it.

"Because I-" The pressure was back in the back of your throat and you couldn't quite meet her eye. "Because-" You scramble for the answer, trying your darndest to keep your heart from clenching in your chest. "I want what you and grandpa had, what Annie and Hughie have, and what my parents had. A strong relationship with someone who sees all my flaws, the little parts, and the darkness and still choses to fall in love with me anyway. I don't want just one night I want every night. I want something real and Ben has said countless times that he-"

"So you've talked about it with Ben?" She raises an eyebrow.

"Only because he kept trying to sleep with me and I told him that I didn't want to have sex with him." You reply exasperated.

"You don't?"

"Gran!"

"What? He's attractive."

"It doesn't matter. None of it does. Because Ben has said that he doesn't have relationships, that he doesn't care about feelings, or emotions." Saying the words that Ben had told you countless times made something inside begin to shrivel up and die. "And I do. And I don't want to manipulate him into being something he's not or force him into a relationship that's doomed from the beginning. Ben is Ben. He's not changing or-"

"He has." She interrupts.

"What?"

"The Ben I saw in your hospital room is not the one I knew." She says it so matter of fact that makes it hard to breathe. "And neither was the one that I saw in your apartment when I stayed with you. I mean he is in essence Ben, but-"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"He is changing. Not completely, but he's acting differently than when he was with Countess. I mean, I saw all the things he did for her. The way he was around her."

"Why does that matter?"

"Because he loved her."

The words make your heart seize in your chest. "Ben doesn't love me. He's my roommate and my friend-" It was the same thing that you kept telling yourself on repeat to beat back the other feelings that you hadn't quite identified yet. "And he's told me that he doesn't want a relationship and that I should try to meet other people."

That last part was a lie, but you honestly didn't know where she was going with this conversation or why it was getting so hard to breathe.

"Have you thought that maybe Ben doesn't want to love you because he's scared?"

"He doesn't love me and Ben isn't afraid of anything."

"He is. It might not look the same way on him as it does on everyone else, but if you pay close enough attention you can catch it." She hesitates. "And I think if you pay attention to you, you'll see what it is that you're afraid of too."

What does she mean? What the hell am I afraid of? Ben isn't afraid of anything, he's practically shouted that from the mountaintops like Julie Andrews.

"I already told you what I'm afraid of."

"I'm not talking about you hurting someone honey. There's something else that you refuse to admit to yourself because you're scared." She smiles sadly at you. "You should though, because when you embrace it, what comes after is really beautiful." There's a far off look in her eyes and you realize that she'd seen something further ahead that she wasn't letting on.

"And it's all I want for you. To be happy." Your grandmother stands from the other side of the booth "I think you need some rest. You drove all night long and I doubt you got any sleep. And I have to package all of these before Annie's mother calls down the four horsemen of the Apocalypse on me."

"Wait-"

"Please sweetie." She lays her hand down on your arm. "I think you'll feel a little better about all of this when you've had some rest." Her fingers raise to push back some of the hair that's fallen forward into your eyes. "Hmm?"

You didn't want to rest, you wanted to talk about this, but you knew better than to argue with her. Not to mention she was right, you hadn't slept.

"And when you wake up I'll make your favorite for dinner, alright?" She smiles, but there's something behind it that you can't place.

"Okay."

And this time you don't argue with her. You go up the worn staircase that you have your entire life and collapse onto your bed, wondering exactly what it was she saw your future hold, and what it is that you won't admit to yourself.

Soldier Boy POV

There was no light in the apartment save from the burning red tip of Ben's blunt and the bluish glow emanating from the tv that caught the dips and sharp edges of his face. But it was nothing more than background noise.

His hand absentmindedly stroked along Bean's back, his eyes focused on the ceiling above the couch. He hadn't moved in hours. It had been over twenty four hours since everything that happened at the plant shop, since you'd summoned a creature from the depths of the store, since Darren had thrown Ben through the plate glass windows of the bakery, and since Ben had last seen you.

He didn't understand why you hadn't let him take you back to the apartment and why it was that you had to leave. Ben hadn't liked the feeling that stabbed him in the chest when you turned your back on him and ran away. He'd felt the urge to comfort you the way he'd watched Hughie do for Annie in the car a week ago, but you hadn't let him.

Instead all he'd done is stood there and watched you run, still covered in dust, rubble, and blood. Worse was you hadn't let him check you for injuries and Ben hated the thought that you were hurt somewhere and he didn't know where you were.

You were so much more fragile than he was. He was realizing that more every day, was acutely aware of it after everything that happened with Elijah. Honestly, sitting there in the hospital with you laying there asleep with nothing that he could do, but wait for you to wake up had been agony. Not to mention that looking at the bruises around your throat, over your eye, and the bright green cast only made him feel worse. He'd never felt so helpless in his entire life and he hated it. Because Ben wasn't some helpless damsel in distress, he was a man and a man shouldn't wait on anyone or feel out of control, or at least, that's what he told himself.

Ben hears someone walk down the hallway outside the apartment and he perks up to listen, hoping that it's you finally coming home. Ben's mind stutters on the word "home." He'd lived many places in his life, apartments that felt more like way-stations, and the drafty cold mansion back in Philadelphia where he grew up, but neither felt like home. And although he hated how small your apartment was, it was the first place that Ben liked living in. He was starting to understand the word home.

But the feet keep moving past the apartment and Ben sinks into the couch cushions. Even Bean seems to be disappointed. "It's alright buddy." Ben mutters. "She'll come back."

But he wasn't sure.

Ben also wasn't used to feeling this way. It was close to the way that he felt when he went to Boston and was sitting in that damn hotel room waiting for something to happen and he still didn't understand what it meant. He didn't understand why he couldn't stand it that you weren't back yet. It made him feel like a woman waiting for her husband to get home from work when he told her that he was "running late." He'd tried to distract himself by looking at some possible prospects on Tinder, but just like the week after you'd come home from the hospital and just like the date he had in Boston, no one held any appeal.

His mind was awake and roaming around, pacing back and forth. The blunt was supposed to help, but it hadn't.

His phone chirps and Ben picks it up to look at the screen, but it's not you, it's Jake.

Jake: I know that I'm not your favorite person, but thank you for what you did.

Ben huffs and turns his phone face down on the couch once more. "What a fucking pussy."

When you left Ben had realized that Jake was still inside the building and as much as he wanted race after you, he understood that you'd be even more upset if you'd killed Jake. So Ben had tromped back through the building and found him trapped beneath some rubble. Jake was okay, just unconscious, but Ben had carried him out and put him on the sidewalk before he high tailed it out of there. The last thing that he wanted was to be caught with a shredded body outside a ruined building.

I didn't do it for him. I did it for her. Ben thinks to himself, looking down at the text message.

As much as he hated the thought of saving your future boyfriend, he didn't want to see what it did to you if you found out that you killed Jake, so he'd done it to avoid watching you cry again.

Ben didn't understand why he hated watching you cry.

Women cry. They're damn emotional all the time. He tries to reason with himself taking a puff from the blunt pinched between his thumb and forefinger. And she fucking cries way too much.

The image of you crying outside of the shop in the wake of everything that happened pricks something under his ribcage. Fuck.

Ben didn't feel remorse for what happened, well, the only thing he regretted was not getting there sooner and getting to fuck Darren up himself. When Diana had called him to tell him that Darren was coming, Ben had practically ripped the apartment door off in his haste to get back to you. He hadn’t wanted to leave you at the plant shop, but Butcher had told Ben, that he had a possible location for Darren, but it came up empty and Ben had been at Butcher's apartment chewing him out for sending him on a fucking wild goose chase.

It only made Ben more angry to allow Darren to speak to you, but he was trying to let you handle it even though he wanted to handle him. But it had brought him an unholy amount of joy to throw Darren in front of that minivan and to watch that creature tear him apart while the final whitish blue pulses of electricity jumped and crackled down the street making the streetlights shower sparks everywhere.

But Ben was more upset that Darren had been able to land a few hits on you before you killed him.

Ben remembered the giant lizard that crawled out of what was left of "Please Don't Die" and felt his lips quirk up into a smile. As much as he hated the entire situation, Ben couldn't help but feel a little surge of pride at what you'd done to your brother. He'd never seen you look so powerful standing there in the street, your eyes glowing a brilliant green, arms outstretched, and the ground trembling around you as the world begged to be unleashed.

Of course he'd been just as surprised as you were at the fact that you'd healed your broken arm. He wasn't sure if you'd noticed it yet, but you looked different too. There weren't as many lines on your face and your hair was more springy, the few silver hairs that Ben had noticed in passing were no longer there.

He wasn't sure what that meant, but there was something that felt suspiciously like hope tingling in his stomach, hope that you weren't as fragile anymore and hope that it meant you wouldn't die.

When Diana had told Ben that her husband had died, he saw the pain in her eyes when she said it, saw her relieving the memory, and for some reason as soon as she said that he was dead, the first thing Ben thought about was you. Ben hadn't considered his inability to age as much in the past, hadn't cared about outliving anyone before. Seeing Countess as an older woman had made him more aware of it. Looking at the woman who he once thought he loved, had showed him what that was like. Not that he had a problem with daring older women, Ben always thought that women really did get better with age, but it was what came next that Ben wasn't fond of.

And for some reason thinking that one day he'd wake up and see the marks of age on your face or one day he'd wake up and he wouldn't be able to annoy you or hear you yell at him made his chest tight.

Ben takes another hit of his blunt. The longer he sat there the more then unnatural feeling stirred in the pit of his stomach, thrumming through his veins, the feeling that he was trying to avoid. He thought that the joint would calm him down, but he found himself jumping at every creak and footstep in the apartment building, perking up each time and hoping that it was you coming home.

He didn't know where you were. You hadn't answered any of his texts or calls and Ben was ashamed at how many times that he had tried to call you.

Get a fucking grip. He'd thought to himself when he typed out another text message to send you, stopping himself from sending it.

But he'd been so desperate to hear from you that he'd actually gone to talk to Annie who seemed upset that she couldn't get ahold of you either. When Hughie and Annie had seen how upset Ben had been, Hughie had laid his hand on Ben's arm and told him not to worry. Ben had yelled at him that he "wasn't fucking worried and to mind his own business" and had shaken off Hughie's comforting hand before stomping out of the shared apartment.

No one else seemed to be as concerned about finding you. Butcher, MM, and Frenchie were all deeply involved in trying to figure out the cover-up for what happened outside the plant shop. By some miracle no one had caught a picture of your face, but there was little they could do about Darren's body that had been strewn across the street. Annie was having to deal with the repercussions at work, trying to handle what the news was calling a "super villain threat."

Personally, Ben thought that since they froze Homelander, the Seven looked weak and Ben believed that the superhero team that represented America shouldn't look weak. Of course before Ben had also thought that they looked like a bunch of pussies and again felt himself sink deeper into the couch when he thought about what his supposed son had become.

He shakes off the feelings he has about it and his thoughts turn back inevitably to you.

Ben wasn't used to thinking about someone as much as he thought of you, but each time he settled back into the apartment and you weren't there he was hyperaware of how quiet it was.

Maybe I should call Diana. She might know where she is.

As soon as Ben thinks that, his phone begins to ring, but Ben doesn't bother to look at who it is before he answers it. 

"Hello?" Ben huffs out a breath of smoke that hangs in the air in front of his face, catching in the bluish light coming from the television.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" The voice on the other side of the line yells at him.

"Di?"

"Yes it's me. Who did you think it was? Santa Clause?" Your grandmother snarks.

"Why are you calling me and why the fuck are you so mad? What did I do?" Ben answers slightly annoyed.

As much as you got under his skin, your grandmother had been the same way. He actually thought that it was amusing that even before he figured out that she was your grandmother that he had often compared you to her in his mind. You had the same mannerisms, the same defiant and stubborn attitude that drove Ben up the wall, and you were just as beautiful as she was.

Ben was okay with admitting that he was attracted to you. To him that felt normal, it was the other feelings that he was conflicted about, the ones that he'd never felt before stirring in his chest that made him feel "too emotional" and "woman-like."

Truthfully, Ben was sure that if your grandmother had given him a shot that maybe he would have felt that way about her too. She was the only person that Ben actually trusted in the 80's, the only person that was brave enough to call him out on all his shit. You did that now. But he liked her husband also, so Ben was content with letting her go. He liked how happy that Henry, your grandfather, had made her. He knew that she wasn't happy as a supe and seeing her so happy and in love made Ben feel something that was close to happiness.

And it was seeing the way the two of them were together made Ben wonder if what he had with Countess was the same thing. Because he did have feelings about her that were different, but each time he went to visit Diana and saw your father playing on her lap he felt that there was something missing in his life.

It was the same way that he thought something was missing when you weren't in the apartment, but Ben hadn't realized that yet.

"Because I don't understand what the hell you're doing!" Diana replies and Ben honestly doesn't know why she's angry with him.

"About what?"

"My granddaughter."

Ben sits up the blunt in his fingertips forgotten. "Is she there with you?"

"Yes." Her voice softens for a moment.

Ben relaxes and leans back onto the couch, sighing in relief. "Good.  That's good." Relief swelled in his chest when he thought about you staying with her, safe.

That's what she meant when she said that she wanted to go home. Home is with her grandmother. Ben stopped the next thought before he could go there.

The thought that home wasn't with him.

Ben was trying not to think about that or think about you hating him. He didn't think you did, well, didn't think you did anymore. At first it really was touch and go, but now he was almost eighty percent sure after you'd told him more than once that you weren't afraid of him and didn’t hate him that you sometimes wanted him around.

"No, not good."

"What do you mean? Is she okay?" Ben's grip on the phone tightens so hard that he's sure that he hears the screen cracking.

"No."

"What happened?" Ben's voice is a growl, the feelings of relief evaporating as soon as they had begun to bloom in his chest. He mentally calculated how long it would take him to get to you.

"Her entire life fucking fell apart and where are you? Not here!"

Oh. Ben relaxed a little bit.

"I don't need to be there." He says on an exhale of smoke.

"Yes you do!" Diana presses.

"No, I don't. She a big girl she doesn't need me there, she's-" Ben takes a puff from the joint.

“If you were any denser you’d be a Bundt cake Benjamin!” She says exasperated.

"What the fuck are you talking about doll? I am not-"

“Let me guess." She interrupts and Ben can imagine her tapping her foot. He hated when she did that. "You’re moping around smoking a blunt on the couch probably with a glass of something that you're hoping to numb whatever the hell it is you're feeling."

Ben's eyes shift to the bottle of whiskey on the coffee table that he hadn't touched in a few minutes.

“I’m not fucking moping and stop spying on me!” He snaps back at Diana.

He hated how well she knew him. She was his best friend in the 80's through all the shit, she had seen him at his worst and at his best too many times to count.

“I don’t have to use my powers to know what you’re doing. I know you Ben.”

"Sorry to disappoint you sweetheart.” Ben grits his teeth, temper flaring hot. “But if you know me as well as you fucking say you do then you then you know that this is-“

“You avoiding your feelings by acting aloof and brooding like a fucked up version of Mr. Darcy.” She interrupts.

She certainly hasn't changed.

“I am not avoiding-“

“She needs you here Ben.” Diana stamps her foot, the same way you do when Ben pisses you off, and Ben can hear it.

“She doesn’t need me! She said that she wanted to go home, that she didn’t want to be here with me! I tried to-“ Ben shouts back standing up. It was the exact thing that he'd been thinking for the past twenty four hours, that you didn’t need him and that you didn't want to be any where near him.

That last thought made an uncomfortable sensation prickle in his gut when he thought it, because all it did was remind him of how you acted when the two of you first met, when you didn't want him to live with you and tried your darndest to make him go away.

He didn’t want to and he wasn't sure why that was.

“Try harder.” Diana interrupts him again and frankly it was pissing him off.

Ben clenches his jaw. “I think that you’ve confused me with someone else baby.”

“Don’t you 'baby' me Benjamin! We both know that you’re doing what you always do when things get hard for you.”

“And what’s that?”

“You pretend not to care and shut out everyone who tries to care for you. Not to mention you drown yourself in drugs, booze, and women.”

“She doesn’t care about me!” He spits.

“She does!” Diana snaps back. “And believe it or not she needs you here and she wants you here.”

"But-"

"Ben please." It was the first time that he'd heard Diana sound softer and almost pleading since the conversation started. "Don't do this to her. She's worth more than Countess and all those other women you've fallen into bed with."

"Do you really think I don't know that?" He roars. The answer surprises himself. "Do you think I don't know that she's different?"

Wait what?

"If you know that, then why aren't you here?"

He hesitates.

Everything you said to him the night of the party comes roaring back. You looking beautiful in a dress that made his throat tight, and you telling him that you just wanted to be friends and that you understood that he wasn't the type of guy to have relationships. He didn't understand why it stung a bit when you said that, but it had.

Ben thinks about the week that the two of you spent together after Diana went home, when he tried his best to take care of you, distract you from everything that happened with his movies, and would sit with you and try to make you laugh. He'd never wanted to take care of someone before.

Not to mention he kind of liked the way you laughed. He wouldn’t admit that to anyone, but each time you did, it made him want to laugh too. That had never happened to him before. But he wanted to make you laugh to forget everything that happened with Elijah. His fist clenches when he thinks of exactly what Elijah tried to do to you and it makes him feel so mad that he feels close to spontaneously combusting. Ben might not be the best role model when it came to women, but he couldn’t imagine the type of man who would force himself on someone else.

It had made him angry when he thought that you were suggesting that he would try something when he first moved in, because he wasn't that type of man.

Ben was trying to be better for you. He wasn't admitting that, but he really was trying to be better. He didn't understand why. You'd told him countless times that you didn’t want to be with him, that you wanted to be with someone else like Jake.

Ben frowns when he thinks about the man he'd pulled from the rubble of the shop. And again thinks to himself that you should be with someone different, someone who was a supe and could understand you. Ben had seen how difficult it was for Diana when she was keeping her supe life a secret from your grandfather and he didn't want you to have to do that with someone.

"Because I'm not-" Ben begins to say, but he holds his tongue. It was too honest, too raw, too unlike him to admit this to anyone.

Because I'm not this guy. Because I'm not the one she wants. Because I'm not some knight on a white horse. Because she's everything right with the world and I'm just a fucking asshole who sleeps on her couch.

"Ben." Diana breathes and he can practically hear her pinching the bridge of her nose. "In all the years I've known you, you've never done what you did for her with anyone else. You carried her out of that warehouse, you stayed with her in the hospital even after she woke up, you took care of her when she came home, you protected her from Darren. You can't ignore all those things."

"I'm not ignoring them. She's my friend." The word sours in his mouth as he says it. "And she would have done the same thing for me." He knew it was true.

She's a good person and she wouldn't let me chase her away if any of that shit happened to me and I told her to leave me alone.

"Yes she would. Because she cares about you." Diana sighs.

"She doesn't."

"Why don't you believe me?"

"Because she's told me what she wants!" Ben shouts so loudly he can feel the room shaking. "She wants to be friends-“

"Because she doesn't think that you want a relationship you nitwit!"

"I don't." Ben spits the words before he can stop them, but as he does something tightens at the base of his throat.

"How is it that it's been forty fucking years and you're still able to dance on the grave of my last nerve?"

Ben chuckles. "I missed you too sweetheart."

She sighs into the phone again making it crackle in Ben's ear. "She needs you.” Diana repeats. “And I think you need her too.”

His temper was flaring again, the thoughts that his father pressed into him surging up before he can stop the words. “I don’t need anyone. I’m Sol-“

“If you say that you’re Soldier Boy, I’m going to reach through this phone and slap you silly.” She snaps. “And you do need her, but you’re still just too stubborn to admit it.”

“I-“

“Ben I know that everything that happened with Countess was fucked up, but my granddaughter she-“ Diana pauses before she changes the thought.  “You say that you know she’s different, but right now you’re treating her the same way you treat all those other women.”

“I’m not-“

“My granddaughter has decided you’re important to her and once that’s happened it’s hard to make her let go. You saw the way she was with Darren and that guy was a manipulative asshole. Imagine what she thinks of you.”

“I-“

“Stop making excuses!”

“You didn’t even hear what I was going to say!” Ben shouts.

“And I don’t need to! Think what you want Ben but if you’d stop acting so stubborn and so ridiculously blind to what’s right in front of you. I promise that what comes next is worth the risk.”

“Don’t go all fucking mystical on me doll.”

“And don’t go all macho- no feelings asshole on me! So stop being so damn stubborn, get on a plane and get your ass here.” She retorts. “Don’t fuck this up Benjamin because if you do I’ll fuck you up.”

The line goes dead.

Ben sat there for a minute in the silence still holding the phone up to his ear, listening to what your grandmother said to him ring around in his head for a second.

No one ever spoke to him that way. In fact, Ben had never allowed anyone to speak to him the way that she did, well, not until you came along. You reminded him so much of her that it was astounding and he wasn't going to admit that maybe it's why he liked being around you so much.

Ben frowns at what Diana said, thinking about the unusual feelings that were swirling in the pit of his stomach. He felt wrong and the feelings were odd for him. He hadn't felt anything remotely like this ever in his life, not even for Countess.

And although Ben refused to be afraid of anything, the feelings he was having scared him. He didn’t understand and he wasn't sure that he wanted to. He wasn't sure that he wanted to see where this ended up. He felt like he was in too deep.

As much as he wanted to go to you like Diana ordered him to, he wasn't sure that he should. Something was holding him back, digging it's heels in and refusing to budge.

But why do I feel like-

His phone rings and he doesn't look at the caller ID when he picks up, expecting it to be Diana again, yelling at him.

"Di I-"

But it's not Diana.

"Hello Ben. It's nice to hear your voice again." The familiar voice says, sounding calm and collected.

"What the fuck do you want?" Ben snarls.

 "I thought it was time the two of us had a chat.”

A/N: At this point Diana is really just trying to give both Ben and the reader the kick in the pants they need. And yes I know another cliffhanger, but you know you love it. 🤭😉 We are quickly reaching the end of this series, but that means the confession scene is coming and I am so excited about it!!

As always thank you so much for reading! Reblogs, likes, and comments are not required, but are always appreciated. I love hearing what y'all think! If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series let me know. 😊

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[imwritesometimes]

I wish I could just get paid to make bundt cakes :/

[dollsahoy]

You can have your pumpkin spice blend. I have this.

[icktoriasims]

✨ Very Vintage ✨

A set of vintage-inspired stand mixers, tableware, and deco food!

I originally meant for this to be a Thanksgiving set, but after the OVERWHELMING response to my first CC set (seriously, thank you SO MUCH for all the love!), I became a bit… perfectionistic. Lots and lots of checking items in-game, then making tiny mesh and texture tweaks over and over. I still don’t exactly get how spec maps work, but I’m learning. 🥲

I'll likely expand on this set in the future (Crockpots, anyone?!), but for now, the elves and I are hard at work on a retro-inspired Christmas set!🎄✨

Includes 18 items with lots of solid, floral, and diamond-patterned swatches:

✦ 6 bowl/plate sets ✦ Casserole dish ✦ Salt & pepper shakers ✦ JELL-O chiffon pie & slice (plus the box itself) ✦ Vintage Reddi-wip can ✦ Dollops of whipped cream ✦ Bundt cake pan (one empty, and one with raw batter/cooked cake)

Find by searching “icktoria” or “very vintage” in-game

TOU | DOWNLOADS

MORE INFO & FREE DOWNLOAD (Patreon)

CREDITS

✦ Myshunosun for OG mixer mesh and plate side textures ✦ Tuds for bowl overlay/shine ✦ Franzilla and ajaysims for Simlish fonts ✦ Procreate for hand-drawn textures ✦ Sims4Studio for giving my life purpose

[rafesfavgirl]

gurl i neeed a part 2 of stop asking me to stay, that broke me😭😭😭

you ask, i deliver :) hope you like it!!

i don't regret a thing — r. cameron

part 1.

❝ we're not the only ones,  i don't regret a thing every word i've said, you know i'll always mean ❞

pairing: ex-bf!rafe x fem!reader

context: you and rafe have been dating for seven months, and while the relationship started it out well, as soon as the honeymoon phase ended (about 3 months in), everything went to shit. you've been trying to put up with it, knowing the situation with ward, but tonight, you realize you've had enough.

words: 2.4k+

warnings: swearing, toxic relationship, mentions of drug use, mainly fluff, a little angst, might still make you cry. rafe being an absolute simp for you, basically.

rafe wakes up the next morning, faced-down on topper's living room couch with almost no recollection of what happened the night before. except one thing—you'd finally walked away from him.

"not enough to choose me. you give in every time." your words echo in his head, as he opens his eyes.

fuck. what did he do?

"good morning sunshine," kelce comes down the stairs and greets rafe, who looked as if he couldn't move from the couch. "you sleep well?"

"i slept like shit," rafe groans, finally sitting himself up. "what the hell happened last night?"

"you mean other than you getting coked out and royally screwing things over with y/n?" kelce sasses him. "not much bro."

rafe shoots him a glare. "i did not royally screw things over with y/n."

"are you sure about that?" kelce raises a brow at him. "cause i had to drive her home last night crying, bro."

rafe's ear perk up at kelce's confession of you crying over him. you wouldn't have. you were the one who broke up with him.

"she was crying?" rafe asks.

"do you seriously even have to ask?" kelce replies. "i can't even count on two hands how many times you've made her cry the last few months."

no, that couldn't be true. surely he hadn't made you cry that often.

"shut the fuck up kelce," rafe gets up from the couch in complete denial of how shitty he's treated you the last few months and makes his way over to the kitchen.

rafe opens the fridge and grabs a bottle of water, while kelce joins him in the kitchen.

"you know it's true," kelce says, leaning back against the counter and crossing his arms. "you just never see it, because she won't let you."

was he right?

"you know how y/n is, bro," kelce adds, as i take a sip of water. "she'll never let you know you're hurting her, because you fear nothing more than being the cause of her pain and losing her. but she's also not going to beg and cry for you to stay and fight for her."

i did know that. that's what i loved about her. she didn't necessarily play hard to get when i tried asking her out on a date after months of texting, but she didn't give in too easily either. she wanted me to prove i was serious about her before giving me a real chance. she knew her worth.

i recap the bottle i'm drinking from and set it down on the counter beside me, my eyes focused on kelce. "so what should i do?"

kelce holds his hands up. "if you don't know by now, i can't help you."

—

rafe wasn't an idiot. he knew what he had to do.

so, after going home and taking a shower to freshen up and get a change of clothes, he drove to the flower shop in town to get you a bouquet of lavender and baby's breath, then nothing bundt cakes to get your favorite treat—a white chocolate raspberry bundt cake—and finally, your house.

once he parked his truck in front of your house and got out, he went through his usual routine of rounding around to your backyard, where he moved the ladder the gardeners used towards your bedroom window.

he climbed up and knocked, balancing the flowers and bundt cake in one hand.

you were sitting in bed watching after we fell on your laptop with a box of tissues beside you and puffy, red eyes when you hear the knock on your window.

without even thinking about it, you already knew who it was. this was just what he did. and against your better judgment, you got up from your bed, and walked over to pull the curtains open and find rafe outside with a regretful look on his face, a bouquet of flowers and a small box of your favorite treat.

slowly, but surely, you unlock the window and pull it up.

"i'm sorry," he speaks before you can, and you scoff.

"you know, i'm getting real sick of hearing you say that," you reply, turning around to walk away and reposition yourself back on your bed, while he slips in through your window.

"i got you flowers," he offers you a small smile and holds both items out to you. "and your favorite bundt cake. white chocolate raspberry."

your eyes shift from the gifts in his hand to his piercing blue eyes. they were no longer dark like they were last night, but there was a sense of uncertainty in them. like he wasn't sure he could win you back.

"so what? am i suppose to just forgive you? just like that?" you retort.

he lets out a sigh, and takes a seat at the edge of your bed, placing both items down on your bed next to your box of tissues. he finally gets a good look at you—from the messy bun on your head, to the bags under your eyes from barely getting any sleep last night, to your red, puffy eyes—and realizes just how badly he's messed up this time.

"i should've just fucked all those other girls. at least they know how to have fun." he still couldn't believe he said those words to you last night.

"i don't deserve your forgiveness," he admits. "i know that. but i want it, y/n. and i'm willing to work for it."

while those words were music to your ears, you were apprehensive. he apologizes every time. and while things do change for a while, they're never permanent. and a week or two from now, you'd be back in this same situation again. was that really worth it?

"i know i don't deserve any more chances," he continues, his eyes only focused on yours. "but i promise… i promise just give me one more and you won't regret it."

your eyes shift between his. he looked a little… scared? was he really that afraid to lose you?

"i don't know, rafe," you say honestly, shifting a little. "you've hurt me so bad… i don't know if i can take you doing it one more time."

"i'm not going to," he immediately shakes his head and reaches out to take your hands in his, fiddling with your fingers and glancing down at them. "please, baby, please. just let me show you i'm the guy for you. that i can be the guy you need and want me to be."

"how?"

"you'll give me a chance?" he asks, his eyes lighting up at the idea of being given another chance to win you back. 

despite your brain screaming at you not to, your heart wins over and you nod. you couldn't help it. every part of you yearned for him. and if he was willing to show you that he really could be the guy you knew he was—the guy you fell in love with—then maybe it would be worth it.

"wear something nice," he says. "i'll come back to pick you up at seven."

—

at exactly seven on the dot, you hear rafe park his car in front of your house, and look out your bedroom window to see him dressed in skinny black slacks and a long sleeve, white button down carrying a bouquet of red roses as he walked towards your driveway and front door.

you can't help the small smile that forms on your face as you hurry to strap your heels on and look at yourself in the mirror one more time, before grabbing your purse off your vanity and heading down the stairs.

"where are you heading off to?" your mom asks when you pass by the living room, all dressed up.

"date with rafe," you reply, walking towards the front door.

your parents had never been rafe's biggest fan—they weren't exactly unaware of how often he's made you cry the last couple of months—but they also knew they couldn't stop you from dating whoever you wanted, so they never fought you on it, and you were grateful for that. it was comforting to know they'd support you no matter what happened.

taking a deep breath, you place your hand on the doorknob, and finally open the door when the bell rings.

rafe's eyes instantly widen at the sight of you, his eyes trailing down your body wrapped in a tight, short, satin red dress. "wow," he gasps. "you- you look…"

your cheeks redden at his loss of words. "you don't clean up too bad yourself, cameron."

he smiles at your use of his last name as a nickname, and holds the red roses in his hand out to you. "these are for you."

"you already got me flowers this morning, you know," you joke, taking the bouquet from him. your mom was gonna be pleased to know rafe was back to filling up all her flower vases.

"i know, but…" he trails off. "you deserve the best."

the blush on your cheeks deepen at his words. "give me a second," you turn to walk back towards the living room, and set the bouquet down on the coffee table in front of your parents. "don't wait up."

they don't even get a word in before you're walking away again to join rafe outside.

"shall we?" you ask, looking up at him through your lashes, as you closed the door behind you.

"just… one more thing," a sly smile comes across his lips, as he reaches into his back pocket to pull out a black blindfold.

you stare at it, your mouth agape. "you're kidding, right?"

he shrugs, "i want it to be a surprise."

you groan, but give in anyway. "fine. but if i trip in these heels because i can't see where i'm going, consider us broken up for good."

he laughs at the threat, even though a part of him was afraid you still wouldn't forgive him after tonight. "you know i won't let that happen. turn around."

you do as he says, and he ties the blindfold around your eyes, before taking your hand in his and leading you down the driveway towards his car parked up on the curb. he opens the door for you, and carefully helps you into the passenger seat, before closing the door and rounding the car to get in the driver's seat.

the second the engine comes on, your romantic taylor swift playlist plays through the car's speakers.

"you didn't," you say. he would always complain when you had aux because she was all you'd ever play.

"i guess she's not too bad," rafe shrugs, chuckling as you began singing along to the lyrics of wildest dreams.

rafe continued driving through the island for another ten or fifteen minutes, before he finally pulled the car to a stop in front of his family's beach house on the edge of figure eight, completely secluded from everything else.

he gets out of the car first, and helps you out, taking your hand in his to lead you through the house and out to the back porch.

"are you ready?" he leans in towards your ear, and goosebumps rise along your skin at his proximity.

you nod, and he reaches his hands up to the back of your head to untie the blindfold.

it takes a little while for your eyes to adjust, but once they do, a feeling of warmness fills your heart at the sight in front of you.

red rose petals were scattered in the sand of the private beach, along with fairy lights, a candlelit table for two set up in the center of it all, as acoustic instrumentals of taylor's best love songs played through the speaker situated on the porch.

"you like it?" he asked.

you turn your head to look at him. "rafe, i… it's perfect."

"that's what i was going for," he shrugs smugly, and nods his head towards the set up. "come on."

you both remove your shoes, before he takes your hand in his again and leads you down the back porch to the table in the middle of the beach.

"i can't believe you did this for me," you say, as he pulls a chair out for you to sit in.

"i'd do anything for you," he smiles, taking the seat across from you once you're seated.

—

after a three course dinner and a bottle of wine, which was all served to the both of you by a waiter that rafe hired from the country club, the night slowly came to an end, an endless amount of stars filling the night sky above you.

but while you were focused on the stars, rafe was focused on you.

"god, you're beautiful," he says, causing you to look at him now.

you chuckle, "shut up."

"no, i'm fucking serious," he replied, standing up from his seat.

you watched him carefully as he walked over to you, and held a hand out.

you glance at his hand and tilt your head up at him, "what are you doing?"

"dance with me," he says.

"you're asking me to dance?" you raise a brow at him.

"mhm," he nods. "you gonna say yes?"

"well how can i say no?" you reply, a small smile forming on your lips as you put your hand in his.

he leads you a few feet away from the table, and rests a firm hand on your waist, as you trail a hand up to his shoulder.

he locks his eyes with yours as you both begin swaying to taylor's timeless, and scans your face.

"what?"

he shakes his head, "i don't deserve you..."

"rafe…"

"but i'm gonna do everything i can to make sure i become the kind of guy who does," he cuts me off. "i want to be better, y/n. not only for you, but for myself too."

you smile, and pull him closer, your hand snaking to the back of his head.

"i'm sorry for being such an ass the last few months," he says, and you close my eyes, taking the moment in as he continues. "i know i haven't deserved all the chances you've given me, but i'm not gonna disappoint you again. i want to be the guy you think i am."

you pull away, just enough to have your eyes lock with his.

"you are that guy, rafe," you tell him, and you mean it. "you just need to let him show more."

he smiles, "you're pretty damn amazing, you know that?"

"so i've been told," you shrug jokingly.

he chuckles. "i love you, y/n."

"i love you too."

reblogs and comments are deeply appreciated <33

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[minhosimthings]

Bewitched ft LHS

Two lovers and the adventure of dried lilac

Pairing: bf!heeseung × fem!reader

Warnings: fluff, mention of food and bacterial infection (don't question it), kinda cringy ig? hee being down BAD for reader

Song: Bewitched by Laufey

A/N: Hello everyone! This is my submission for @flwrstqr My World event. Congratulations to Danielle for 3k followers! Now sit back, relax, and read my cringey poetry.

I didn't know that much at all 'bout love before

But now, I think I'm learning

"Are you absolutely sure this will work?" Heeseung eyed you nervously.

You were trying to figure out how to stab open the extremely restrictive packaging of the box of dried lilac flowers, so without even looking up at him, you scoffed, as if you were offended that he was trying to undermine your amazing box-opening skills. 

 "Of course it will." You stated, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, "Plus, I did a lot of research for this."

"By research you mean the first three search results you got?" Heeseung chuckled, wrapping his arms around your waist and placing his chin on your shoulder. You shuddered at the cold touch of his skin on yours. 

"Be careful,Lee Heeseung, I have a weapon in my vicinity." You threatened him, waving around the dying scissors in your hands. The countertop was littered with scraps of cardboard and a crumpled up bill. The dried lilacs from Japan took three weeks to arrive and boy were you excited when it came. You almost hugged the poor delivery boy with how giddy you were. 

Your monthly tradition of doing something new with Heeseung was today and you were determined not to mess it up. Ever since the tradition started, something or the other has gone down the gutter. Like last August, when you had booked a seat for bungee jumping, which had to be cancelled due to heavy rains. Or the February of the year passed, when you wanted to make a bundt cake with him, which unfortunately never came out of the pan due to the absence of butter. 

But this time was different, you thought. This time, nothing could go wrong. After all, how can making lilac tea out of scratch ever go wrong in any possible way? There was no butter and no rain, except for the slight drizzle outside, which announced the end of the monsoon season and the start of September.

You bewitched me

From the first time that you kissed me

"Finally..." You muttered under your breath, as your hands reached for the flowers. They were tiny little buds packaged in an airtight ziplock packet. The colour was less lilac-y now, with hues of dark purple staring at you and Heeseung.

"Is it supposed to look rotten?" Heeseung asked, his eyes set on the packet that you were toying with possessively in your hands. You rolled your eyes at him playfully, and let out a dramatic sigh.

“How many times must I tell you-” You started dramatically, turning your body to face him, you could see the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, “-that cooking is the art of turning a duck into a swan?”

“Calm down Shakespeare.” heeseung chuckled, his fingers teasing you by drawing shapes on your waist, “And ducks are really cute for your information!” He put his hand to his chest as if he were clutching his invisible string of pearls. A giggle erupted out of your mouth as you stood on your tiptoes to quickly leave a chaste kiss to the tip of his nose. Heeseung’s smile only widened as you did, a slight red mark lingering on the spot where your lips touched his skin. The calm scent of the evening, combined with the quiet of your kitchen sent a wave of absolute relaxation into Heeseung’s being.

“Hmm,” you hummed thoughtfully, your eyes rushing through the words on the lavender-hued instruction manual, “The recipe I saw on the internet said we can just boil them and the tea will just seep out.”

“But?” Heeseung’s chin returned to its rightful place on your shoulder. He was like an overactive cat, which would rub itself against its owner to show its affection.

“But-” you looked worried, much to Heeseung’s concern, “-this thing says we should wait for three goddamn months so there’s no-’ you cleared your throat and read from the manual, “‘threat of bacterial infection.’”

“Ominous.” Heeseung laughed, “I like it.” He smiled at the sight of a pout forming on your pretty lips, “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“I guess we have to wait then.” You sighed, a real one this time, “I mean, unless you want to get sick.” 

Great, you internally thought, another month gone wrong again. You wondered to yourself whether there will ever be a time when you actually get it right, when something that you and Heeseung do works out without any hiccups.

“Can I tell you something?” Heeseung smirked mischievously, garnering your attention. The pout on your lips melted his heart completely and his eyes visibly softened when he looked at you.

 “I actually like bacterial infection.”

 A moment of silence followed, before the both of you were convulsed with laughter. Your hands gripped the  edge of the counter to balance yourself, when Heeseung stuffed his nose into the nape of your neck, effectively putting half of his weight onto you.

“Hee, I’m gonna fall, get off me!” You laughed, but he only held you closer to him, as if you’d float away if he let go, “Ok, ok fine!” You giggled, raising your hands in mock defeat, “We can make the tea!”

“Yipee.” Heeseung cried in an adorably high pitched voice, that stretched your smile out even wider. If Heeseung were to die because of someone’s expression, then he knew it would be because of your smile. It was something that could make him forget all grief and suffering, no matter if he had the worst day ever, no matter if he had spilled hot coffee all over himself or accidentally snapped at someone, that smile of yours would be there to fix him.

Then we ran down the street in the late London light

The world froze around us, you kissed me good night

“Hee. Hee. Earth to Lee Heeseung.” Your words were half consumed by laughter, bringing him back to reality as he realised he had been staring at your face, “What are you looking at, idiot?”

Heeseung didn’t respond to your words, instead choosing to merely send you a lopsided smile. “Your idiot right?” he asked, to which you put your hands on top of his and squeezed it.

“My idiot.” You said, sacrificing your toes once more, to plant a kiss on his cheek, making Heeseung mentally kick his feet in the air for the fiftieth time that evening.

You set Heeseung about to do some kitchen duties, while you carefully extracted the dried flowers. Heeseung watched the surface of the water dance with the bubbles as it heated up. It reminded him of all the times you two had danced with each other. On particularly long nights, when the moon shone in all its majesty, bathing lovers all around the globe in her glamorous shine, both of you would find your hiding places in each other. Both of you would find your home, in each other, with arms wrapped not only around each other’s body, but around each other’s hearts.

“Is the water ready?” Heeseung heard you call out. He turned to see you, carefully sweeping the last of the petals into a bowl. 

“Yes, your highness.” He responded with a laugh. You tottled over to the pot of boiling water, slowly dropping your flowers in. You and Heeseung let out a collective gasp of wonder at the burst of colour that engulfed the colourless water. Hues of purple and lavender now coated each part of the pot, seeping out from the petals. 

“Woah…” You exhaled, not even knowing you had been keeping a breath in, “That’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.” 

“It is.” Heeseung responded, to which you nodded, not taking your eyes away from the concoction. Unbeknownst to you, Heeseung was no longer even looking at the water. He was instead, gazing lovingly at you, with eyes so full of affection, you’d think he was looking at the last person on earth. In that moment of silence, he couldn’t help but trace his eyes over you, over every detail of yours that made you, you. The you that he loved so much. The you that he would go to the ends of the universe for, if you had asked him to.

Cursing at the moon and losing all control and crying

'Cause I think I'm falling

“This better be the most amazing thing that I’ve ever tasted or I’m never even touching a satchet of tea again.” You said, sinking down onto your sofa, with a mug of pinkish-tea in your hand. The sofa sank down further when Heeseung plopped down next to you, an identical mug in his hands.

“Shall we have a toast then?” Heeseung asked, raising his mug, “To hopefully not catching bacterial infection!” You chortled at his enthusiasm, before responding with a “Hear, hear!”

Clinking your mugs together in a ‘cheers’, you put your lips to the edge of the mug, wholly prepared to take a sip of your concoction and taste something that is equal to the nectar of the-

“We forgot the sugar, didn't we.”

You caught Heeseung’s eye and doubled over with laughter, almost spilling some of the tea onto your lap. In the midst of you admiring the pretty liquid, and Heeseung admiring the pretty you, you had forgotten the key ingredient which actually made the tea drinkable.

“Well, you kept distracting me with your beauty so much!” Heeseung defended himself, setting his mug down on the table, “How could I ever remember the sugar?”

“Do you really think flirting is gonna get you out of this?” You said, putting your mug down and glaring playfully at Heeseung.

“Depends.” He shrugged his shoulders, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, “Is it working?” He didn’t have time to say anything else, before he was practically tackled onto his back by you. Heeseung wrapped his arms around your waist and you lay down on him, using him as your mattress, though there was plenty of space for the both of you on the sofa. 

“Welp,” You said, pressing your ear to his chest to listen to his heartbeat, “At least we won’t be getting a bacterial infection anytime soon.”

Heeseung chuckled, bringing his lips down to your forehead to leave a kiss. In the sanctuary of his safe arms, you forgot all about the fact that tonight’s attempt had turned out to be an utter fail. But you realised that it didn’t matter to you anymore. For in the warm cocoon that Heeseung had spun around you, all that mattered was the unnoticeable seconds that had drifted away in failed attempts of lilac tea, and successful attempts of love. In the pale cast of the full moon’s light, you and Heeseung drifted off to sleep, as the world came to a silent halt, waiting patiently for another tomorrow. 

You wrote me a note, cast a spell on my heart

And bewitched me

You bewitched me

Dividers by @strangergraphics

[kcrossvine-art]

Hi friends! Just a day after this years Yule and a few days out from Christmas, regardless of what you celebrate during this winter months, we're gonna be cooking a tangy tango between two traditional english staples-

Yule Plum Pudding and Wassail from Lord of the Rings Online!

(You can find the cooking instructions and full ingredient list under the break-)

MY NAMES CROSS NOW LETS COOK LIKE ANIMALS

SO, “what goes in to this Yule Plum Pudding?” YOU MAY ASKPlum Pudding is not a "pudding" as us americans think of it; its closer to a fruitcake but less shit.

Cranberries

White raisins

Macerated prunes (in brandy)

Chopped candied peel

Blanched almonds

All-purpose flour

Cinnamon

Nutmeg

Cloves

Sugar

Breadcrumbs

Lemon zest

Unsalted butter

Eggs

Whole milk

Half a bottle of brandy

It also doesnt contain any capital-P plums! it actually does contain plums im so fucking stupid i never connected the dots that prunes were dried plums oh my god. But they still ued any dried fruit, and "Plum" here is just referring to any dried fruit. And what about the birth of todays wassail?

4 cooking apples

2 pears

Brown sugar

Cinnamon sticks

2 lemons

A bottle of sherry

The other half bottle of brandy

Wassail is very similar to apple cider drank in the fall, with a few differences like the addition of pears and different alcohol source. It was commonly drank while "wassailing" which was a Yuletide predecessor to christmas carolling. People would go door-to-door with a big bowl of wassail, play music, and give well wishes- offering drinks from the wassail in return for small gifts!

AND, “what does Yule Plum Pudding and Wassail taste like?” YOU MIGHT ASK

The puddings like a fruitcake but if a fruit cake tasted good and wasnt a brick

Its thick and rich, and somehow actually tastes like plum despite that not being intended or making sense

I love the macerated prunes so much. Juicy berries to forage for. Enrichment

The icings reminiscent of buttercream but more savory than sweet

The wassail is like drinking the golden edges off the clouds at sunset

Its got a little bit of the dryness from the sherry that makes your mouth water the moment you stop drinking it

You just want to keep drinking more to sate yourself

Even without eggs its surprisingly full bodied and thick

I had to make a few substitutions from traditional elements due to either being not available or too expensive, but with a little problem-solving nothing was too hard to do.

. Used a bundt cake pan instead of a pudding tin .  Suet (animal fat) was historically used for plum pudding. I couldnt find any and used butter instead . Used golden delicious apples when called for . Used concorde pears when called for . Some wassail recipes fold in egg whites before serving, to make the drink creamier. I didnt do this, but if you do, the recommendation to drink it fresh still stands (and strongly)

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

I gotta admit, I was nervous approaching this recipe. Not only because I didn't own and couldnt find a "pudding tin" without ordering online, or because the concept of steaming a pastry(?) feels foreign and odd, but also because of how old and storied this dish is. You always run into the issue with historical foods who date back to the times where oral history was the only history. The issue of people being combative that their recipe is the only true variant of the recipe, and all the others are mucking the whole thing up.

Its good to remember that like with most dishes, cooking is something that evolved and continues to evolve overtime. Unless someones trying to rewrite history and claim that ants on a log is a creme brule in which case you should run them over with a '98 Pontiac Sunfire.

Theres a few things I'd do differently when cooking again, like chopping the blanched almonds. They were a bit too big when left whole. And adding some amount of heavy cream to the icing? Maybe? To give it a fluffier/milkier feel? But the proces of cooking itself was very straightforward and I have no real complaints or modifications to make. When having leftovers of the pudding it did seem to "mature" and taste better and better the more days i kept it in the fridge, so thats something to keep in mind! But it tastes great a day after all the same.

I give this recipe a solid 10/10 (with 1 being food that makes one physically sick and 10 being food that gives one a lust for life again.) Happy winter everyone! Congrats to another year of staying alive!

🐁 ORIGINAL RESIPPY TEXT BELOW 🐁

Yule Plum Pudding Ingredients:

16oz cranberries

12oz white raisins

9oz macerated prunes

4oz chopped candied peel (any fruit)

2oz blanched, chopped almonds

4oz all-purpose flour

Measure spices with your heart (cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves)

8oz granulated sugar

8oz fresh white breadcrumbs

lemon zest (one lemon)

4oz grated unsalted butter

4 eggs

8oz whole milk

Pudding Icing Ingredients:

1½oz unsalted butter

1½oz all-purpose flour

10½oz whole milk

3oz granulated sugar

2 tablespoons brandy

Yule Plum Pudding Method:

A week before making, macerate your prunes in brandy.

Mix together all the dried fruit, peel, and almonds. Sieve flour and spices together then add to the fruit mixture along with the sugar, breadcrumbs, rind, and grated butter.

Beat eggs and then blend with 8oz of milk.

Stir the egg/milk mixture to incorporate into the dry ingredients. Add prunes, and stir some more.

Put batter into a well-buttered pudding basin, with parchment paper to cover.

Get a large pot and place a kitchen towel or something similar at the bottom- then place the pudding basin on top of the towel, inside the large pot.

Fill the outer pot with water until it’s halfway up the side, cover the pot with a lid (or foil).

Steam on the stovetop at 210f for 4-6 hours depending on size of pudding basin. If the water gets too low, add a bit more.

After steaming, uncover and allow to cool to room temperature. Do not remove it from the pudding basin! Cover with fresh parchment paper and foil and store in a cool, dry place for at least a day.

(optional) to reheat; steam for 40-80 minutes, until warmed through.

Pudding Icing Method:

Place butter in a medium saucepan with the flour, pour in the milk then whisk everything vigorously together over a medium heat.

As soon as it comes to simmering point and has thickened, turn the heat to its lowest setting, stir in the sugar, and let the sauce cook for 10 minutes.

Add the brandy and stir to mix. Keep warm until required.

Wassail Ingredients:

4 cooking apples

2 pears

Brown sugar

4 Cinammon sticks

2 lemon

1 bottle of Sherry

½ bottle of Brandy

Wassail Method:

Core the apples and pears, leave the rest intact, and set in a baking pan. Fill the hollow centers with brown sugar.

Add about an inch of water to the pan and bake at 350f for 30 minutes, or until the fruit is soft.

Move the fruit to a large pot, add a bottle of sherry, half a bottle of brandy, lemon peel, and 4 large cinnamon sticks. (Feel free to use less booze!)

Bring the pot to a simmer for about 45 minutes, stirring occasionally. Strain before serving!

[vainvenus]

꒰ The Café ꒱

Hello! Well to Vainvenus' Café! I'll be your host, Vee. Make sure to order a nice beverage to go with any desserts you end up choosing, don't be scared to ask for a little something extra on top of that dessert or in your drink!

The current fandoms that I'm writing for and that you can request characters from are: Formula one, OBX, PJO, TBOSAS, Hunger Games, Harry Potter, The Black phone, The Outsiders, Marvel and DC. You can request characters from other fandoms, these are just my favorites/what I'm familiar with!

Make sure that when you're requesting you include the Driver/character, who you want saying the quote and which pronouns/gender you would prefer for the reader! Do not request smut/lime for minors or drivers ( I just don't feel comfortable with it lol ) and don't request anything extremely weird! I will not write pedophillia, incest, dubcon or any extremely weird/illegal kinks!

꒰ Beverages ꒱

Hot Chocolate: Fluff

Cold Brew: Slow-burn

Black Coffee: Angst

Chamomile Tea: Hurt + Comfort

Latte: Lime

Coffee Cocktail: Smut

Amaretto: Royalty Au

Cappuccino: College/University Au

Chocolate Milk: Soulmate Au

Lemonade: Fantasy Au

Water: Au of your choice

Americano: Strangers to Lovers

Espresso: Enemies to lovers

Frappuccino: Friends to lover

Latte Macchiato: Opposites attract

Flat White: Fake dating

Earl Grey Tea: Secret Relationship

Green Tea: Unrequited Love

Mocha: Dark!Driver/Character

꒰ Desserts ꒱

Chocolate soufflé: "I trusted you. How could you?"

Blueberry muffin: "Just tell me the truth."

Banana nut muffin: "Are you breaking up with me?"

Strawberry-nutella crepe: "I'm sorr-" "I don't want your apology."

Strawberry cheesecake: "You don't mean that."

Strawberry shortcake: "I don't wanna say goodbye. Not now."

Raspberry cheesecake: "Shhh. It's okay, I'm here."

Classic cheesecake: "Look me in the eyes and tell me it meant nothing."

Strawberry rhubarb cake: "We're not friends anymore."

Molten lava cake: "Can we still be friends?"

Coffee cake: "You promised."

Caramel cake: "Just leave."

Blueberry bundt cake: "Are you...crying?"

Angel food cake: "Don't look at me like that." "Like you love me."

Carrot cake: "I wish you could see yourself like how I see you."

Red velvet cake: "Did you ever mean it when you told me you loved me?"

Chocolate cake: "I can't lose you."

Tiramisu cake: "I wish we never met."

Fruitcake: "For what it's worth, I'm proud of you."

Pumpkin pie: "Can I...hold your hand?"

Cherry pie: "Please don't say you love me."

Apple pie: "Don’t. Don’t promise me anything. It’s not like you keep them anyway."

Pecan pie: "You still love me?" "I never stopped."

Key-lime pie: "Shhh don't apologize."

Lemon meringue pie: "Stop pushing everyone away!"

Coconut creampie: "You're dead to me."

Tres leches: "You liked me this entire time!?"

Parfait: "Staring is rude." "I'm just admiring."

Macaroons: "I could be a better boyfriend/girlfriend than them."

Cinnamon rolls: "Do you want me to stay?"

Oatmeal cookies: "Please don't leave me alone."

Chocolate chip cookies: "For someone who hates me you're not pulling away."

Snickerdoodle cookies: "Stop looking at me like that..it's hurting my feelings."

Gingersnaps: "I love you so much, do you know that?"

Chocolate donuts: "How long has it been since someone hugged you?"

Hazelnut donuts: "Please don't be scared. I won't hurt you, I swear. I'm here to help."

Pancakes: "Breathe, just breathe."

Butterscotch pudding: "Are you sure you're fine?"

Brownies: "Do you hate me or something?"

Blondies: "Does somebody have a crush on me?"

Vanilla ice cream: "You're my priority."

Chocolate ice cream: "I'm not crying, I have allergies."

Strawberry ice cream: "But I don't want them! I want you!"

Neapolitan ice cream: "I got you cherry perfume!" "They like vanilla."

Cookies n cream ice cream: "You're cute when you get angry."

Mint chocolate chip ice cream: "Me? Jealous? Don't make me laugh."

Churros: "I'm gonna fuck you until the only word your little brain can form is my name."

French toast: "That's it, fuck, that's a good girl/boy."

Cream puffs: "You look so pretty like this."

Lemon bars: "Oh c'mon you can give me one more."

Nanaimo bars: "Uh, uh, look at me."

Scones: "Use your words."

Biscotti: "On your knees. Now."

Belgian waffles: "Please, I need you."

Banana pudding: "You'd sound so good begging for me."

Banana bread: "Go on, fuck yourself on my cock."

Banana split: "Is this okay?" "Yeah, that—more than okay. Please—keep going."

Chocolate truffles: "Relax, I've got you."

Chocolate covered strawberries: "Don't do that, I wanna hear all the pretty noises you make."

Puff pastry: "I can't-” “Yes you can."

Baklava: "You're such a fucking slut."

Chouquette: "You either get off on my thigh or nothing."

Creme brûlée: "You're so in for it when we get home."

Flan: "Swallow. All of it."

Chocolate eclair: "That's so fucking hot."

Beignets: "Let's put that mouth to better use."

Chocolate mousse: "So noisy tonight, do I need to gag you?"

Chocolate croissant: "Just relax for me, I'll make it feel good."

Croissant: "You're mine. All mine. Say it."

Strawberry tart: "Please stop teasing me."

Peach Cobbler: "Look at you. Taking me so well."

Madeines: "Oh c'mon you can be louder than that can't you?"

꒰ EXTRA ꒱

Espresso: Rough Sex

Creamer: Gentle Sex

Whipped Cream: Possessive/Obsessive behaviour

Chocolate Chips: Cockwarming

Strawberries: Dumbification:

Coconut shavings: Semi/public sex

Hazelnut drizzle: Dirty talk

Caramel drizzle: Praise

Strawberry drizzle: Degradation

Vanilla drizzle: Edging

Chocolate Drizzle: Overstimulation

Nutella: Kink of your choice

[faerygrant]

As he locked up the car Carmen couldn’t wait to get home and see you. He wondered what cute set you might have put on for him tonight, couldn’t wait to hear all about your day. Which usually consisted of playtime at the park with the baby, a Pilates session you usually went to during her nap time, your weekly blowout that he was always happy to pay for or maybe just some online shopping for homeware and overpriced shoes. He loved having you as his pretty little housewife, coming home to a clean and tidy house, being fed cutesy desserts you’d insist on baking him, and i seeing his beautiful daughter and most of all his pretty little wife.

He walked through the doors, smelling like cigarette smoke and steak tartare to find the house glistening clean, the floors polished and a fresh Bundt cake sitting in the dessert dish. He smiled, before making his way to your shared room where you sat at the edge of the bed, dressed in the lacy light pink, agent provocateur set he’d bought you for Valentine’s Day. Your hair was freshly blown out from your appointment earlier in the afternoon, as your manicured nail gripped the gold plated crucifix he’d bought for you and your daughter to celebrate her christening. He stopped in his tracks, as his eyes met yours, as you gave him those not so innocent fuck me eyes. He couldn’t help but smirk to himself, knowing exactly what it meant. You were feeling submissive.

“Hi daddy, how was work?” You tucked your voluminous curls behind your ears, batting your eyelashes at him.

“It was fucking stress-full, but I think you’re about to make me forget all about it, right?” he smiles, coming towards the bed and playing with your hair.

“Mhm” you nod with a half smile and pout.

“Your hair looks pretty, did you use daddy’s card to pay for it?” He asks as his hands roam down from your hair to grip at the crucifix around your neck.

“I did, I know how much you love taking care of me” you smile up at him, enamoured by how handsome he looked even after a 10 hour work day. His curls all disheveled and blue eyes so piercing.

“Ofcourse I do, you just take care of the house, let me use you whenever I need and have my babies and you’ll always be taken care of.” He smiles, the hand that was playing with your necklace had now moved down to the front of your bra, as he pinched your nipples, causing you to whimper.

“Fuck Carmy, feels so good.” You say through laboured breaths.

“Yeah? Need you to turn round for me, gonna make me a daddy again.”

[tahthetrickster]

a recipe for pound cake

i was born and raised in the deep south. food has always been one of my love languages. making food for someone, accepting food someone made for me, sharing meals, sharing recipes, to me, all of these are different ways to tell someone i love them.

this is especially true for any sort of treat, as i call them. any sort of confection tbh. some of them are baked, some of them are just "fixed," they are all just Treats to me. i have a vicious sweet tooth, and that comes out in the treats i like to make.

this particular recipe comes from my late grandmother's recipe book. she compiled it years ago, had multiple copies printed through some on-demand make-your-own-cookbook printing service she found online, and gave them out as christmas gifts to multiple family members. this specific recipe, she mentions in the book, comes from my great-grandmother, her mother, who we all called mi-ma.

and if there is anything that little old southern ladies know how to do, it's make a mean cake.

INGREDIENTS:

1/2 pound (2 sticks) of butter, room temperature (~227 g)

2 1/2 cups, plus 3 tablespoons, of sugar (~672 g)

6 eggs, separated

3 cups all-purpose flour (~375 g)

1 cup sour cream, room temperature (~240 g)

1/4 teaspoon baking soda (~1.5 g)

1 teaspoon vanilla extract (~5 ml)

1 teaspoon lemon extract (~5ml)

DIRECTIONS:

cream the butter and sugar together

add the egg yolks

add the baking soda to the flour

alternate mixing in the flour mixture and the sour cream to the sugar mixture

add vanilla and lemon extracts to the egg whites, and beat to soft peaks

fold the beaten egg whites into the batter; mixture will be thick

grease either a bundt pan or a loaf pan about twice as much as you think you will need to. i am not joking. this batter is so incredibly sugary sticky and you will hate your life trying to get it to release if you don't grease the hell out of your pan.

put the pan into your COLD OVEN. COLD. DO NOT PRE-HEAT IT. PUT IT INTO THE OVEN COLD. then turn the oven to 300 degrees F (~149 C). bake 1 1/2 hours

let cool on a baking rack

be annoyed because you probably didn't grease the pan well enough

this is a dense, deliciously savory vanilla pound cake with a very lightly caramelized outer crust. they freeze well for make-ahead purposes, and they ship well for i-have-a-long-distance-friend-who-needs-a-treat purposes.

the first time i made this cake was after my grandmother died days before my father's birthday. it was my birthday cake for him that year, and i thought (hoped) that a cake from his mother's—his grandmother's—recipe might ease the heartache for just a moment. i did tell him as i cut each of us a slice where i got the recipe from, and joked that i'd never made it before, so it might not be as good as mi-ma or grandmama made it. he laughed and cut into his slice with a fork and—his eyes closed when he took a bite. and another. and then he smiled for the first time i'd seen in several days.

since then i've made the cake several more times, for friends and family in grief: frightening medical diagnoses. losing other friends. depressive bouts. and while i will not be boastful enough to claim that this pound cake actually cures anything, i WILL say that being sad with a slice of pound cake is a much nicer feeling than being sad without one. and you know what? that seems to be the general consensus among the recipients, too.

this is a pound cake that tastes like love.

i hope that this recipe helps other people to pass along some of that love too, whether to themselves or to someone else.

i think mi-ma and grandmama both would've liked that. :)

[delopsia]

delly 🍓✨ i’m glad you’re feeling better 🌻

let’s say rhett and bobby are late coming back from the stadium… reader has hopped in a bath with all the fixings when—just as they’ve reached maximum relaxin’—the beloved husbands come (lovingly) barging in with a big basket of goodies from the mortons (y’all missed the first farmer’s market of the autumn season), and bobby (for once) is trying to get one (let’s be real, two) of those giant chocolate chip pumpkin cookies right now. that is, until they see you, looking pretty as a picture, glistening in the warm glow of the lights. are they trying to climb in the tub with reader, or are they content to sit beside the tub and hold reader’s hands while telling them about what they missed down at the stadium with archie?

💐 t

ps. OMG THEY (WE? lmao) GOT MARRIED!! I’M SO HAPPY!! I LOVE THESE THREE AND THIS STORY AND YOU FOR SHARING IT WITH US OMG 🌻💛🌻

pps. i love your CREEPIN IT COUNTY header omg 🧡

I'm glad that you like the Creepin It Country thing because that was my first and only attempt at making my own header 😭🧡 But yes!! Omg, I'm just glad that the wedding is finally over 😭 because now I can finally move on to expanding on the rodeo stuff and formally introducing the Floytt family critters.

I have this image in my head of Bob freezing mid-bite when he sees the Reader in the bath. Full on deer in the headlights type thing. Just a few seconds ago, he was half-assedly trying to evade Rhett (because, for some reason, that menace doesn't want one of the cookies in the container; he wants Bob's cookie), and now he's just barged in on the Reader's bath.

Rhett's the one that breaks him out of it. Finds the perfect chance to swipe in and steal a bite big enough to take a fourth of the cookie and just bounces right on in. Watcha doin'? How long you been in here? What all did you use? He's already curled up next to the tub by the time Bob remembers that he can move.

Truth be told, Rhett really wants to climb in, but he waits to be invited, sits there like a big ol' puppy dog until the Reader actually opens their mouth and tells him that it's okay to join them.

Bob very well could fit, too. Technically speaking, this thing can fit Reader, Rhett, Bob, and Mr and Ms. Morton (this was learned when y'all were experimenting to see if this tub would be big enough before buying it), but Bob is a little more content to watch and show off everything they brought back.

There's all kinds of stuff in this wicker basket. A little gnome with leaves on his hat, a tiny pumpkin, three of those locally made ceramic mugs that sold out in the first hour, a few bath bombs from the little business across the street from the farmer's market.

Pumpkin bread, apple cobbler, pumpkin bundt cake, way too many cookies to count, oh, and Willow (Archie's wife) sent a whole tray of her homemade maple cinnamon rolls!

There's so much that they nearly forget about the rodeo in its entirety. They had a bull nearly break through the fence, and another one decided that he was not going to be wrangled out of the arena. Rhett brought Maeve, Isabella's filly, out for the first time to try and get her used to the environment, and she...may have gotten into trouble for poking her little head over the fence and trying to bite the horse Bob was on.

"She's still a baby," Rhett grumbles.

But Bob just glares at him. "She's a menace."

...he says as if he didn't just buy her a new custom halter because she outgrew the other one. And there's definitely not a bag of treats for her downstairs...and he definitely did not buy those for her right after the biting incident...definitely not.

The bickering about how he's unintentionally spoiled that little horse continues long after Reader has gotten out of the bath, crawled into some comfy pajamas, and snuggled up in bed to watch a movie.

[imwritesometimes]

I made the blueberry compote cake filling and gave my brother a little to try and immediately he was like 😯 'this is really good!!!'

[ssuperficialspacecadett]

Have Your Cake And Eat It Too

Chapter Nine of the Through the Scope series | Chapter Ten

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5.5K

Chapter Overview: Wednesday brings a date and Friday brings an unwelcome fate

TW: Oral (f&m receiving), Fingering

Notes: hey everyone !! sorry for the delay to my unofficial posting schedule ! i was battling writers block and life threw a bunch of bullshit at me this week. in better news...i got a kitten today ! my friends were fostering four kittens and I fell in love with one and now we are basically soulmates. ANYWAY... there has been a small resurgence for my One Condition (reader x Din Djarin) fic recently which has made me smile ((: i updated the tag list so let me know if i missed you/ you want to be added ! as usual...my asks are always open & happy reading <3

*no use of y/n & female presenting reader*

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Frankie’s house hasn’t been this clean since he first bought it. He isn’t a dirty man, he is probably one of the cleanest he knows if he's being honest, but suddenly everything looked dull compared to your sparkle. The chemical fumes from all of the products he is using have made him light headed. He just cracks open some of his kitchen windows and keeps on working. He has been deep in soap and suds since he got off work today at 7:30 P.M.. So far he has managed to vacuum off of the carpets and rugs, wipe down all the sinks and scrubbed the toilet (he even made sure to put the seat down), cloroxed the stove and the countertops, fluffed the couches pillows, and put fresh sheets on his bed.

Last night after his ‘work meeting’, he ran to the grocery store to pick up some ingredients for your date this Wednesday. You both decided on a quiet night in since your weeks have been surprisingly busy. Neither one of y’all had the energy to battle the busy crowds of a restaurant. He left the store with chicken, potatoes, asparagus, and some extra spices he didn’t already have. As soon as he got home that evening, he began making a marinade for the chicken so it could soak overnight. He spent his entire lunch break today sifting through dozens of different recipes on how to best prepare asparagus and calculating how much time he would have to put all the food together before you arrived tonight. When you texted him to confirm that 9:30 was still a good time for you to come over, he answered quickly saying ‘yes, but take your time closing with Benny’. He was filled with a combination of happiness and stress when you told him that Benny graciously told you that you didn’t need to help close tonight because you had a date. Damn, there goes the extra padding of time he thought he might have. He wanted to see you so badly, but he also wanted to be finished before you arrived so he wouldn't be distracted by cooking. You were the only thing that he wanted to give his undivided attention to. 

***

You’re practically vibrating in the front seat as you pull up to Frankie’s house. Much to your dismay, he refused to tell you what he was preparing for dinner. If you didn’t know what the two of you were eating, the option of buying a wine to pair with it was obviously out of the question. Well, when in doubt, make a chocolate chip bundt cake. Your only worry now is that he had already made something sweet. You park in his driveway like he told you and you take the cake’s carrying case from the passenger seat out of the car with you. After setting the dessert on the roof of the car, you look down at the casual dress you decided to wear. It’s comfortable and flowy which fits the warm Florida weather perfectly and the color of the fabric compliments your skin effortlessly. You didn’t want to over dress since the date is only at his house, but you still wanted to look nice for him to show that you care. Figuring that there isn’t any point in dwelling on your clothing choice since there is no time to go home and change, you pop your trunk to grab the overnight bag that you packed. Frankie not so subtly mentioned that by the time dinner was over it would be ‘too late to drive home’ and that it would be ‘much safer’ for you to spend the night. Who were you to argue with his bulletproof logic? You swing the bag over your shoulder, collect the cake, and walk yourself up to his front door. The mouth watering smells coming from inside have managed to leak their way past the door and tease you and your empty stomach. You knock with your foot as your hands are a bit occupied by what you’re currently carrying.

When he opens the door the two of you are quiet for a split second as you take each other in. His hair is on full display now with the absence of his cap. You suspect that it might have something to do with the shower he took. The ends of his curls are still damp from the water. He’s wearing jeans that you don’t think you have seen him in before and a crisp looking white henley. 

“Wow.” Frankie feels exactly the way he did when he first saw your photo on Benny’s phone. “You’re beautiful.”

“You don’t clean up too badly yourself.” You blush.

He leans down and kisses you, but as he pulls away you notice that he slipped the cake carrier out of your hand.

“Hey! You don’t have to-”

“But I want to. Remember?” He gives you a playful wink before waving you inside.

If you thought it smelled good on his front stoop, there are hardly words to describe how it smells inside. The whole house is warm with the scent of cooking chicken. It’s the kind of smell that feels like it's wrapping your whole body in a hug. While restaurants are wonderful, nothing compares to homemade cooking. The two of you walk into the kitchen and you spot an electric grill on the counter with four thick chicken breasts cooking on it. As you walk further in, you see that he has two trays of food heating in the oven. 

“You did all of this yourself? It looks amazing!” You say walking over to set both your purse and your overnight bag down by the couch. “Can I help with anything?”

“Uhhh,” An alarm goes off on the oven as he starts to flip the meat on the grill. “Actually, help would be great. Would you mind taking the potatoes and asparagus out of the oven for me while I handle this? I have mitts that you can use to grab them in that drawer right there.”

You locate the drawer and take out a set of oven mitts and two pot holders. The pot holders you place on the counter beside the oven so the trays will have a place to be set so they can cool. You open the oven and take each tray out carefully and set them down in their respective spots.

“Okay, what next?” You ask.

“I printed out the recipe I’m using for the asparagus. It should be over there by you.”

“You printed out the recipe?” You laugh, turning to look at the man next to you.

“What? I like to have a physical copy of things. The text on my phone is just too small to read sometimes and it's annoying that it turns off when I’m in the middle of looking at it.”

“Those aren’t bad reasons.” You confess as you pick up the paper. “Have you thought about getting glasses? You know, so you can see your phone better?”

“I don’t want to get glasses.” You have to stifle another laugh because he sounds like a grumpy child right now.

“And why is that?” You walk around him to grab the lemon in his fruit basket that the recipe calls for.

“They are going to make me look…” He mumbles the last word in the sentence so you can't hear it clearly.

“They are going to make you look what?” You press while slicing the lemon in half so you can squeeze its juice over the vegetables.

“Old.”

“Frankie!” You stop what you’re doing and face him directly. “You are not going to look ‘old’ with glasses! You aren’t even old to begin with.”

“I’m almost 45.” He counters. “Hold that plate for me, please.”

You do as he asks, but you aren’t done with this discussion. “I’m a few years shy of 30. Do you think I’m old?”

“No! Of course I don’t think that!”

“Then what’s your point? You only have a couple years on me.”

“A couple?” He raises his eyebrows.

“Shut up and finish plating the chicken will you? The bottom line is that you won’t look old. If anything you’re going to look even more handsome. I like the way glasses look on men.” You smirk.

“I’ll think about it.” He blushes. “For you.”

“Do it because you want to see, Frankie! Now help me over here.”

The two of you talk back and forth while you finish the asparagus and he prepares the baked potatoes. This is a different kind of intimacy than you are used to. The intimacy that you had come to associate with partners was skin on skin contact and hands tangled in hair, but this is seemingly more personal. You could have sex with anyone you wanted at any time you wanted, but fucking someone doesn’t make you compatible with them. You don’t have to talk during sex, like really talk. Standing shoulder to shoulder with someone while you cook and casually talk about summer vacations you each went on as children or pets you had growing up was intimacy that you didn’t know you were lacking, that you were craving. This was the kind of intimacy that you only thought lived in between the pages of a book. 

“Oh my God! This is so good! I haven't eaten like this in forever!” 

Dinner finally found its way to each of your plates along with a cold beer to wash it down. 

“It’s just a hobby, but I’m glad you like it.” He smiles, cutting another bite of food for himself. “The guys and I sometimes take turns cooking dinner when we go over to each other's places when we watch the game or before beach trips.” 

“Benny was telling me about those a few weeks ago actually! He said that y’all haven’t had one in a while because life has gotten in the way. What would you say if we went during a weekend in March? My friend Robbie, the one I told you about last weekend, is coming down to visit me then and what better way is there to introduce her to Florida?”

“That sounds really nice. It will be great to go with you, Robbie, and the guys. God knows we could all use a break.”

Speaking of the guys,” Questions that have been plaguing you since you first looked at the contents of his room swim to the tip of your tongue. “What did all of y’all do when you were in the service? Like your jobs?”

“What a question.” He reclines back in his chair. “Let’s see…Pope was the man with the plan. He was always plotting the best entry and exit point for us on missions. He was usually the one that found us the job in the first place too. Will was the one who kept us all on task and on time. I've never met another person alive who keeps track of things the way he does. He has actually kept count of every single speech he has given at the VA.” He chuckles.

“Why am I not surprised?” You love how he looks when he is discussing his friends. He’s so full of love and pride.

“Benny was the guns. We can all shoot really well, I mean that's what we were trained to do, but Benny can shoot ridiculously well.” He stops to take a sip of his beer. “We had a captain as well. His name was Tom, but he was Redfly to us. He was the one who led all of the missions we went on.”

“Is that the man in the group photo that you have in your bedroom?”

“You saw that, huh? Yeah, that’s him. He,” Frankie clears his throat. “He moved away about a year ago and unfortunately we fell out of touch. But, that's what all our jobs were.”

“And you?” You’re resting your head in the palms of your hands with the look of curiosity painted across your face. ‘What did you do?”

“I was- I was the pilot. Whatever needed to be driven or flown on a mission, I was the man to do it. Vehicles are nice, don't get me wrong, but flying? God, there isn’t anything else like it in the world.”

“What does it feel like?” Your dinner grows colder, but your heart grows warmer as he talks. 

“I don’t think I can do it justice, but I’ll try. When I’m in the cockpit of a helicopter, I feel so at peace. It sounds weird to say that operating a machine that weighs tons of pounds can give me that feeling, but it's the truth. Nothing can take it away either. Not the guys yelling over the headsets that we have to wear inside, not the chaos of whatever mission we are currently on, not even the millions of beeping sounds coming from the controls. It's just me and the open sky.”

“What’s been your favorite view?” You could listen to him talk about this for hours.

“Apart from the one I currently have right now? That's going to be hard to pick.” You have to temporarily look away from him to hide how hard you’re blushing at his comment. “I would have to say it was when I was piloting a helicopter over some mountains. The mountains themselves were beautiful, but as soon as we got close enough, the sun peaked out from behind them. It made the mountains look like they had halos.”

“I would give anything to see something like that.” You say wistfully.

“I could, if you wanted, show you sometime.”

“Oh my God! Really? Frankie, are you serious? You would do that?”

“Of course I’m serious! I want you to experience it first hand.” His million dollar smile slips for a fraction of a second. “It might take me a while to get my hands on a helicopter though.”

“I don’t mind waiting.” You rest your hand over his on the table. “At the risk of sounding corny, the best things in life are always worth the wait.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” He turns his hand over so that your palms are touching. “Do you want to cut some slices of cake and curl up on the couch to watch some TV?”

He takes your squeal of excitement as a ‘yes’. You work together to pack up all of the leftovers and load the dishwasher. He tries to cut the cake himself, but you shoo him away.

“You have done enough work for one day. Let me take care of the cake at least. Why don’t you go relax on the couch and find something for us to watch?”

You cut two hearty pieces and set them on plates for the both of you. It's shocking how natural it feels to exist with him like this. There isn’t a label on what y’all have, but you don’t mind right now. All that matters is that you’re enjoying yourself and you wouldn’t want to spend your Wednesday night any other way.

“Alrighty.” You set down the plates along with two forks on the coffee table. “What did you find?”

“How do you feel about Narcos Mexico?

“I’ve been meaning to start that one actually!” You plop yourself down on the couch next to him. “Robbie and I binged Narcos when it first came out. We finished it in a matter of days. It was probably a little unhealthy now that I think about it. She had the biggest crush on Murphy, but I was partial to Peña.”

“Should I be worried?” He hits play and adjusts his arm so that it drapes over the back of the couch. His fingers are able to brush over your collarbone rhythmically. 

“I wouldn’t say so.” You look up at him. “Lucky for you, I prefer the real thing over something fictional any day.”

“Lucky for me indeed.”

He takes the hand that is toying with your collarbone and uses it to gently tilt your chin up towards him. Your lips are captured by his in a kiss. Without warning a low moan comes from your throat. It had only been two days since he had touched you last, but why did it feel like a lifetime? His free hand slides up your thigh, taking the hem of your dress with it. He can feel your pulse quicken and your breath hitch when he moves your underwear to the side and starts to rub circles on you. His voice is strained and raspy when he speaks to you.

“I missed the way you felt around my fingers, mi estrella.” One of his fingers finds its way inside of you. “So tight I can barely move.”

His words have you clenching around him and gasping for air when you feel yourself stretching to allow another finger in. Your back arches off the couch as he makes contact with the spongy spot inside you. 

“Do you know what you’re doing to me? I could hardly get any work done these past few days because you’re all I can think about.”

Your head falls back against the plush pillows of the couch. He presses sloppy kisses along your jawline as your mouth parts to allow shallow breaths and quiet moans to escape. 

“Look at this beautiful neck.” His tongue charts a warm, slick path up it. “God, I wonder what it would look like with my hand wrapped around it?”

You stretch your neck out for him as if to silently say ‘come and find out for yourself’. 

The hand that he initially used to tilt your head up comes to snuggly wrap around your throat. With each squeeze, pump of his fingers, and rub of your clit you can feel yourself start to gradually lose control. 

“That’s it, pretty girl. I want you to soak my fingers.”

Even with his hand restricting your airway, your moans have gone from quiet to boisterously loud. You can hear him groaning in your ear as he watches his fingers disappear inside your wet pussy over and over again. 

“That feels so fucking good.” You gasp out.

You can feel your legs starting to shake and the fire in your lower belly aching to be put out.

“Let go for me.” He whispers.

You cry out as your orgasm rips through your body. He guides you through your bliss with honeyed words.

“So fucking pretty coming all over my fingers. Such a good girl for me.”

When he reluctantly takes his fingers out of you, you grab his wrist with your hand and bring his drenched fingers to your waiting lips. You can see him watching you with lust clouded eyes from your peripheral vision as you take them in your mouth. You allow your tongue to glide across and lick them clean of the mess that you just made. After you are content with your work, you pull them from your mouth with a satisfying pop and lazily roll your head so you can face Frankie. 

“It’s your turn.”

“Oh?” He’s breathing almost as hard as you are.

“I want you in my mouth next.”

“Oh.”

Without breaking eye contact, you lower yourself onto your knees and situate your body in between his legs. He scoots down deeper into the couch and opens his legs wider. His lids hang low on his eyes as he undoes his belt for you. When he’s done, you take over by unbuttoning his jeans and pulling the zipper down. Your mouth starts watering when you pull him free from his boxers. As you take him in your hand a guttural moan comes from the man in front of you. You tap the tip on your tongue a few times before wrapping your lips around it. Beads of pre come dissolve in your mouth as you begin to suck.

You take your time with him. Only taking him deeper into your hot mouth every once and a while. His hand comes up to pull your hair out of your way. His words go from slurred to unable to understand when you attach your lips to his balls. Your hand continues to pump him while you kiss and suck below the shaft. His thighs twitch and jerk with every touch you grant him. Licking a long stripe up his length, you connect your mouth to him again while your hands work in tandem. You dare to take a peek at the man coming undone above you. God, he’s breathtaking. Once perfect hair, now going every which way, sweat making his forehead shine, and plump lips being pushed out by his ragged breathing. You can feel yourself grow wet for him all over again. 

“Fuck, I love the way you look with my cock in your mouth.” He fumbles out. “It feels like your mouth was made for me.”

Even with your hollowed out cheeks beginning to burn, you keep pushing yourself. You want him to feel as good as he makes you feel. When his stomach starts to heave, you know he’s close. You take him all the way down your throat. The coarse hair at his base brushes against your nose and you can feel tears trickling their way down your cheeks. 

“I’m gonna come.” He speaks frantically.

You place your hands on his thighs and keep him deep inside your mouth. Immoral sounds erupt from him as he spills down your throat. You hum as you feel it going down. You pull off of him, but softly lick him clean as he lays disheveled against the cushions. He watches with intense infatuation as you use your finger to gather some of him that is left on your lower lip and push it to your tongue. You smile contently at him as he reaches down to pull you into his lap. He wastes no time tasting himself on you. In some possessive corner of his brain, he can’t help but feel like you are his now. He hasn’t said it out loud yet, but he hopes you can feel the genuine care he has for you in the way he kisses you. He hopes you can feel it in the way that he touches you. 

“Let’s go to bed.” You breathe into him.

“Something tells me we won’t be getting much sleep.” He says standing with you in his arms. “I don’t mind one bit.”

***

The majority of your Friday shift is spent selling tickets for the fights this evening. You were excited to attend this week's match on Frankie’s arm. Honestly, you were excited to see Will and Santi as well. Between juggling your dad and trying to see Frankie as much as possible, you hadn’t had any quality time with your other two friends. 

“I have a problem.” Benny pokes his head around the brick wall that separates you from the rest of the gym. “But I think you can solve it. If you don’t kill me first that is.”

“I feel like I’m going to regret asking this, but,” You spin your chair around to face him. “What can I do for you, Benny?”

“So you know my regular ring girl? The one that has those cool purple streaks in her hair?” You nod in confirmation. “Well, she just texted me sayin’ that she has the flu.” 

“You’re kidding.” You know exactly where he is going with this.

“I wish I was.” He’s now standing awkwardly in front of you. “However, like I said before, I think you can help me.” 

“Are you asking me to be your ring girl for the night?” 

“Please!” He has his hands clasped together as if he’s praying. “It would only be for one night! I know that you were plannin’ to hang out with the other guys, but I really need you!” 

“Benny, I- I don’t even have clothes to wear.” You gesture down to your current attire. “I don’t think this would suffice.” 

“That’s where I come in.” He says proudly. “My other ring girl is about the same size as you and the new outfit that I ordered for her just so happened to be delivered to my house last night.”

“You’re the one that orders the outfits?” 

“Well, she technically picked it out, but I just ordered it so I could put it on the company card. So, what do you say?”

“Let me see the outfit first.”

Much to your chagrin, he heads back into his office and comes back with the package and a pair of black thigh high boots. “Go change! I’ll be waitin’ right outside for you!” 

You snatch the items out of his hands and head back into the locker room. As much as you hated that so few women came to the gym, it was nice to have the whole room to yourself. You set the boots on the ground and tear open the package. The top is an extremely high cropped white collared shirt that ties in the front and the skirt is pleated with a red and black checkered pattern. You can’t do anything else but laugh when you finally pull the fishnets out. The things you do for friends.

“Okay! I’m coming out!”

Benny can hear you before he sees you. Your new heeled boots echo throughout the locker room as you exit.

“God damn.” He lets out a low whistle. “Fish is one lucky man.” 

“I feel like Britney Spears in her ‘...Baby One More Time’ music video.” You rest your hands on your hips.

The skirt's short length is accentuated by the fishnets and how tall the boots go up on your thighs. The shirt’s tie sits above your belly button. This whole look leaves very little to the imagination.

“Well, I think you look great!”

“It’s not too much?” You twirl to give him a 360 view. “It’s kinda fun to wear.”

“See?! I promise it’s just for tonight, unless you want to give it another go?” 

“Let’s just take it one week at a time, okay?”

“I can live with that.” 

He starts to head to the front desk when the doorbell chimes out, but you call after him.

“Benny?”

“What’s up?”

“Can you- I don’t really know how to ask this- can you watch me tonight? Like make sure no one tries to bother me?” 

His face softens at your request. You know that he understands who you’re talking about. “I promise that the guys and I won’t let anythin’ happen to you. You’re our girl and we’ll watch you like a hawk.”

“That means a lot to me.” 

You hurry yourself back into the sanctuary of the women's side of the locker room before you give the guest waiting at the front desk a preview. Before you take your new outfit off you take a picture of yourself and send it to Robbie. She responds by firing off multiple messages that should never be allowed to see the light of day. Robbie always had a unique way of making your ego flair up. Armed with your newly gassed up confidence, you send the picture to Frankie. He responds almost instantly.

Frankie: What are you wearing?

You: What? You don’t like it?

Frankie: I never said that.

You: Benny’s usual ring girl is sick. You’re looking at Brass Knuckles ring girl for the evening.

Frankie: I’m looking alright. I hope Benny knows that he’s not getting that outfit back after tonight. 

You: And why is that?

Frankie: Because I’m going to tear it off of you piece by piece. There won’t be an outfit to give back.

You rub your thighs together anxiously as you see another text bubble pop up.

Frankie: How am I supposed to focus for the next few hours with this photo of you living in my head?

You: You better figure it out because if you don’t, you will be to busy playing catch up to fuck me after the fights.

Frankie: You’re going to be the death of me, you know that?

You: I know (:

Giggling to yourself, you change quickly so you can resume desk duty. Hopefully you can stay focused for the rest of the day despite Frankie’s words swimming around in your mind. 

***

You and Benny see the guys pull into the parking lot in their respective cars 15 minutes after closing. 

“Would you look at that? They actually got here on time to help.” Benny hums as he throws the last of the dirty towels into the basket.

“I’m gonna go say ‘hi’!” You shout over your shoulder, already darting towards the front.

You bust out the door right as the group of three are walking across the middle of the parking lot. 

“Hey Will! Hey Pope!” You rush out as you make a beeline for the man in the center. 

You leap into his arms and wrap your legs around him while snuggling your face into the crook of his neck. His exuberant laugh reverberates through your whole body as he clutches onto you. If it were anyone else, you would feel foolish for greeting them like this. But it just feels so right to be held in his arms. It doesn’t matter where you are. You feel him let out a heavy sigh into your hair as he cups the back of your head with his hand.

“What the fuck are we? Chopped liver?” Pope jokes. 

“I totally greeted you, you whiny baby.” You laugh, face still hidden from the world.

“Who are you calling a ‘whiny baby’?” 

You turn to face him, already knowing that he has his hands on his hips. “You!”

“You hearing this shit?” He turns to Will who has been silently snickering.

“Every word of it, Pope.” Will comes up and pats you on the back. “Good to see you, hon.”

“You’re going to let her talk to your best friend like that, Catfish?” Pope pouts. 

Frankie carefully sets you down and readjusts his cap. “I couldn’t control her even if I tried.” He shrugs. 

“Come on, Pope.” You lightly push him in the shoulder. “You know I love ya’.” 

Before he gets a chance to respond, a car pulls into the lot extremely fast. Frankie quickly scoops you up and moves over to the side of the parking lot that is closest to Brass Knuckles. You didn’t even have time to process what had just happened, yet the rest of them reacted just as quickly as Frankie did. 

“What kind of idiot drives like that?” You say, trying to get your bearings as you feel your feet touch asphalt again. 

“The kind of idiot with a bone to pick.” Pope mutters. 

When you look around, all three of them are watching the car park in a spot that's a few spaces down from theirs. Nervousness starts to rear its ugly head when you see them all exchange quick glances, followed by nods of their heads. Will is the first to break the silence.

“Why don’t we go inside?” His eyes look like they are pleading with you. “You can show me what still needs to be set up before people start arrivin’ tonight, huh?”

“Wait, what?” 

“That sounds like a good idea.” Frankie confirms, his gaze still fixed on the now unmoving car. He doesn’t sound like himself. “Take her inside.”

“Frankie? What’s going on?” 

He must have heard the quiver in your voice because he turns his attention to you. “I’ll be there in 5 minutes. I just need to take care of something first, okay? Everything is fine.”

“Let's go, hermosa.” You feel Pope's hand come to rest softly on your shoulder. “Please.” He whispers in your ear. 

You have never seen any of them act like this. It’s causing your stomach to turn violently. Three of the toughest men you have ever met getting skittish doesn’t sit right with you. 

“Al-alright.” Pope pushes your body towards the door, but your eyes stay on Frankie. “I’ll be right inside if you need me.” 

“I know, estrella.” A car door slams hard somewhere in front of y’all and his face hardens. “Get her the fuck inside the gym.” 

For the third time in a matter of a few minutes you’re being carried. This time it is compliments of Will. Before you know it, you’re being ushered inside and taken back into the gym. Neither Will nor Pope stop until they approach Benny who is in the middle of cleaning the heavy bags. 

***

The only thing that matters to Frankie is that you’re away from the catastrophe that he knew was about to ensue. He steels his emotions as he watches her round her car from the driver's side. With how quickly she is marching there should have been flames kicking up behind her.

“Francisco fucking Morales!” She screeches. “We need to talk!”

He starts walking towards her. “Yes, Rochelle. We do.”

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

{tag list: @cutesyscreenname @rsquared31 @smol-beb @bitchwitch1981 @avastrasposts @hoeslingz @saltybutteredtoast @javicstories @c-justhere @pimosworld @modernperplexity @beboldbebravethings @mxtokko @moonliqhtszn @tanzthompson @megcads @myloveistoolittle @casa-boiardi @jitterbugs927 @partyofone3413 @pedrit0-pascalit0 @golden-library @pati-et-vivere @mashomasho @lilmizmoz @angstylittlepascal @sofiparallel @selflcontrol @adriennemichelle98 @painitemoondust @pedritosgirl2000 @tpwkmera @romanarose }

[dontsteponthememeraths]

"Oh, I love you baby, so much!"

"I'm gonna get you guys some cake."

"Uh, I'll get some wine."

"It is official, right?"

"This lock is a bit tricky."

"Why would someone just leave this here?"

"We'll make it happy."

"Are you stressed about tomorrow?"

"Are you looking for a reason to de-stress?"

"We even have seances on occasion. I'll invite you."

"You know he killed someone? Over a game of tennis?"

"People get away with all kinds of horrible things."

"Wanna go to the pond?"

"Believe me, it looks very tempting."

"You know what they say about temptation. Easiest way to kill it's just to give in."

"I hear you've developed a cult like following already in our department."

"I thought I'd invite you and your wife over and see what all the fuss is about."

"That smell. It's...getting stronger."

"Please stop with the ghost stuff."

"You're a presumptuous fucker, aren't you?"

"Something's wrong. I can hear it in your voice."

"I...I'm starting...to see things."

"Yeah, he actually bloodied me up pretty good."

"You think because I fuck you I'm fooled by you?"

"That's a nasty thing to say."

"God, we are two smart people. We should've known better."

"We're all so inconsequential."

"I've heard wonderful things about you."

"We're not alone, are we?"

"Please tell me again why I'm carrying a bundt cake."

"Uh, more wine?"

"It's not the time. I don't want to ruin your party."

"God, I'm such a fool!"

"It's not our way to get involved with people's personal business."

"Tell me something about you I don't know."

"People really don't want the truth, and they certainly don't want to be set free."

"She's reaching out to me and I- I need to know why."

"So much death in my house."

"Evil only thrives in the house where it is welcome."

"Goodness always triumphs. Always. If not in this world, then in the next."

"I'm afraid this home has another spirit."

"I was told that you had moved away for good."

"If I had someone as good as you, I'd kiss the fucking ground she walked on."

"Are you officially stalking me now?"

"I know you were involved. I know it in my bones."

"Those who commune with evil will never win."

[sarahwroteathing]

Apples and Cherries

Part Three to Coffee and Cinnamon and Maple Latte

Word Count: 2048

Summary: A bakery mishap leaves Steve scrambling.

Warnings: More fluff and foolishness and a mistreated kitchen item

A/N: Sorry for the delay, my fine friends. They’ve got me working so much overtime, it legitimately feels illegal. Happy Valentine’s Day!

Steve was jittery as he made his way into the bakery that morning. There wasn’t really a good reason to be. He just felt… something. 

Things had been different between the two of you lately, since he started going in and buying coffee every morning.

The rivalry was still very much alive, but it had lost some of its edge. Your comments were more playful than biting, when you bothered to insult him at all. You smiled more. Genuine smiles instead of the dark eyed grins that he found more than slightly terrifying. You touched more. Overlapping fingers during the exchange of coffee cups and pastries. Nudges with elbows and knuckles and shoulders. An occasional arm squeeze. 

(Three of them, to be exact. Not that he was keeping track. That would be weird.)

The nervous energy buzzing beneath Steve’s skin didn’t seem to be affecting Sam in the slightest, who was humming happily to himself while loading his side of the pastry cases. It had been his turn to open this morning, and Steve could see trays of croissants and turnovers that he’d shaped and left in the fridge overnight now baked and cooling on a rack just over Sam’s shoulder.

“Gooooooood morning, sunshine. Did you know that I’m a genius? Actually, don’t answer that. Of course you know I’m a genius.”

Steve cracked a smile, leaning through the door into the kitchen to grab an apron - blue with white polka dots today. 

“What has the great and powerful genius that is Sam Wilson created this morning?”

Sam retrieved a small covered plate from the back corner, presenting it with a flourish.

“Taste it!”

“Gladly.” 

Not bothering with utensils, Steve lifted the beautifully glazed mini bundt cake off of the plate and took a hearty bite, smiling at Sam’s unimpressed expression. 

“Jesus, that’s good. Caramel apple? ”

“Yep. The cherries weren’t speaking to me today. I thought they’d be nice in the turnovers though since I used the apples.”

Steve froze, halfway to the sink to wash the sticky glaze from his fingers. 

“Oh, you used…”

“That okay? Mixing it up a little?” Sam raised a brow curiously at the low-grade panic he read on Steve’s face.

“Yeah, that’s… Are there any apples left?”

“Don’t think so. But we’re supposed to get more delivered tomorrow.”

This was stupid. There was no reason to be panicking about this. He wasn’t mad at Sam for using all the apples. He wasn’t. But like Steve, you were a creature of habit. Your order was always the same: one apple turnover, reheated if it wasn’t fresh from the oven. Only ever apple. 

Still, there wasn’t anything to be worried about. It’s not like you came in for a pastry every day, and he had yet to find a pattern in your visits. And while it was clear you enjoyed them, the happiness overtaking you on your first bite always enough to make Steve turn away to hide a proud smile, his ego wasn’t big enough to think it would ruin your day if your favorite pastry wasn’t in stock. 

But…

He didn’t love the idea of disappointing you.

And he was choosing not to think about that too much.

“I’m gonna run to the store. I’ll be back as quick as I can,” Steve said, fumbling with the apron ties.

Sam only watched his embarrassing attempts at speed folding for a couple seconds before snatching the fabric from his hands and waving him off.

“Go, Johnny Appleseed. I got it.” 

“Thank you!” 

He was out the door and halfway down the block before he reminded himself that he didn’t actually have to run. 

Thankfully, there was a tiny independent grocery store just four blocks away. The elderly woman at the register raised her eyebrows at his purchase of one single green apple, but mercifully chose not to comment. 

Sam, however, did not show that kind of courtesy.

“Are you really gonna make one apple turnover?”

“Yes,” Steve said, snagging his refolded apron that Sam had left on the counter. 

Sam stared at him for half a second more, opened his mouth, then closed it again.

“You know what? I’m actually not gonna say anything. We’ll see how this turns out.”

“She didn’t come by while I was out, did she?”

“Less pining, more baking.”

“I’m not-” Steve broke off with a huff, leveling Sam with a glare that had stopped being effective against him years ago and storming off into the kitchen.

Pining. Steve had never pined a day in his life. 

The tension eased from his shoulders as he began work on the apple filling, a recipe he’d been making since he was a teenager that contained half the spice rack and required measuring with the heart not the neatly labeled spoons. 

There was extra dough in the refrigerator, the way there almost always was. It made moments like this easier to manage and oven disasters or tragic clumsiness faster to recover from. 

Time passed differently when he was baking, faster and easier. The only thing on his mind was the next step. While the pastry baked, he easily occupied himself with cleaning up the mess he’d made. 

With two minutes left on his timer, he made the call.

“I don’t deliver.”

“What?”

“Your coffee. I won’t deliver it,” you said. “We had a deal, Rogers.”

“I know we did. That’s not what I - I have something for you. You can come whenever. I’ll be here.”

And then he hung up. Because Steve Rogers had many skills but carrying phone conversations wasn’t one of them. And maybe he was just a little bit nervous. Again. For no particular reason. 

Steve leaned out the kitchen door.

“I called Y/N,” he told Sam. “Let her into the back when she gets here, okay?”

Sam didn’t look up from his book.

“Or you could wait for her up here instead of hiding in the kitchen like a creep.”

“That’s…” Steve squinted. “Fair.”

He stepped forward, letting the door swing behind him, hovering just a few inches in front of it. 

“You have flour on your apron.”

Steve looked down quickly, swiping his hands impatiently over clean fabric before glaring at Sam again, who was smiling innocently. 

“What-”

The very childish argument was ended before it could begin, a cheerful jingle signaling your entrance into the bakery. You were wearing lipstick again. Because the universe enjoyed personally victimizing Steve. 

“Hi. Come on back.”

Without waiting for a greeting or your answer, he turned and disappeared through the swinging door. You stared at it curiously for a few seconds before turning to Sam.

“I was invited this time,” you said pointedly as you stepped around the counter.

“I’m getting you your own apron. This is getting ridiculous,” he sighed, rolling his eyes. 

“Better be a cute one.” 

The divine scent of freshly baked pastry greeted you when you entered the kitchen, instantly inspiring a smile.

 Steve was standing stiff and uncomfortable by the oven.  A baking tray rested on the stovetop, holding one extremely large turnover. 

Your smile widened.

“That’s a thing of beauty, and I’m very jealous. What did you call me over here for?”

Steve blinked at you.

“For… This is for you.”

“Oh! That’s very kind of you. What’s the catch?” 

“There’s no catch.”

“What’s the occasion?”

Steve shrugged.

“No occasion. Just… wanted to make you one. Sam used all the apples, so all we had was cherry. But you don’t… order… Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Keep talking.”

Steve narrowed his eyes in confusion but continued.

“You never order cherry. So I went to the store for an apple so I could make - What?” 

He’d seen you make all kinds of faces over the course of your strange and rocky friendship. 

Angry, challenging, suspicious. 

Amused, confident, joyful.

But this was different. There was a spark of something he didn’t recognize glowing in your eyes, lingering at the corner of your lips. 

You let out a breath. 

“Oh, God… I’m about to do something stupid.”

“What do you-” 

And Steve couldn’t even finish his question because you were looking at his lips. You were stepping closer. 

He had to be reading this wrong. Either way, he should almost certainly be saying something right now, but he never got a chance. 

Because you were feeling a little stupid and a lot impulsive, and this sweet and infuriating contradiction of a man had gone out of his way to make your favorite pastry when he should have been baking things he actually intended to sell, and honestly who does that?

So you kissed him.

Before you could think about it. Before you could talk yourself out of it. 

You kissed him. 

Your hands were on his shoulders, and his lips were far softer than you had expected where they rested against yours. But they weren’t moving. He wasn’t moving. 

It’s possible you stopped breathing for a moment. 

And you were about to pull away and make the fastest exit humanly possible out the back door when you felt the shift.

Tentative, as if half expecting a slap, as if this whole wonderfully stupid thing wasn’t your idea in the first place. 

A hand at your waist, one finger at a time before daring a full grip with his palm. So stupid and so very Steve, and as he felt your lips begin to smile at the gesture, he took it as further permission.

A delicate touch to your face, your neck, a skimming of fingertips over soft skin before this too solidified into something firmer. Holding your face, somehow both gentle and unyielding, keeping your still smiling lips exactly where he wanted them. And he did want them. That much he began to make abundantly clear. 

Apparently, Steve Rogers had other talents besides baking

Every touch was warm and respectful in a way that put butterflies in your stomach and made you want to stayed wrapped up in him for as long as you were allowed to. Every pass of his lips felt incredibly sweet, sharpened by the shock of new affection but still gentle, still careful. 

Your brain began to short circuit at roughly the same time you felt your hips back against the countertop. Though you’re certain you lost some time, you managed to recover enough of yourself to remember that you’d kissed him. He should be the one swooning, thank you very much. 

But he moved easier than expected beneath your insistent hands, hit the kitchen island harder than you intended, knocking a cutting board to the floor with a loud clatter that sent you springing apart with breathless gasps. 

As you both stared down at the cutting board like you’d never seen one before in your lives, the panic began to set in.

Steve’s eyes widened, his cheeks flushed. Your heart kicked into double speed. 

“I should go. I’m gonna go,” you said quickly, not daring to make eye contact.

“Don’t forget the-” 

Steve stepped forward, intending to wrap up the apple turnover for you, but you got there first, scrunching the parchment paper lining into a messy bundle and backing quickly towards the door. 

“Yep! Got it. Thanks for - Thanks.”

“Thank you.”

You left the bakery at a near run.

When Sam walked into the kitchen five minutes later to make sure his best friend was still alive, Steve was sitting on the floor, leaning back against the cabinets with a vacant expression.

“What just happened?”

Steve took a deep breath.

“Uh, well… I gave the… the thing, the…”

“Apple turnover?”

“Yep. That. That’s the one.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. 

“And?”

“She said… ‘I’m about to do something stupid.’”

“Running out of here without paying for it?” Sam guessed. 

“Don’t think so.”

“Poisoning you?”

Steve tilted his head, pursed his lips. 

“Little bit. Maybe. Probably.”

“Steve.”

He blinked a few times before lifting a hand to poke at his lower lip.

“Something stupid.”

“What does that - Oh! Oh,” Sam said, a wide smile taking over his face as Steve just nodded, still staring off into space.

Sam nudged his leg with his shoe.

“You good? You need your inhaler?”

The dreamy expression vanished in favor of a frown.

“Shut up,” Steve said turning his head away. “…Maybe.”

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

Well, well, well...

What are we thinking, friends?

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Tags: @shifutheshihtzu​ @internalbullshit​ @lilasiannerd-blog​ @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory​ @iwillbeinmynest​ @scotlandasshole​ @netflixa​ @hardcorehippos​ @singingprincessstudent​ @sophiealiice​ @blue1928 @tinuviel015​ @a-book-pressed-rose​ @bbparker​ @battlebunnyteardropsinthesun​ @feelmyroarrrr​  @orangespocks​ @multifandomgirl-us​  @buckybarneshairpullingkink​ @patzammit​ @pato-el-cerdito​

[vidavalor]

I know we're all keeping you from posting the major sexy metas by inundating you with questions but the stuff you post is just SO INTRIGUING lol. Sooo, you think they use toys too, then? ;-) Gosh, I think they are further ahead than most of us! We can probably learn a thing or two from them. Do you think they may have inspired the Kama Sutra? On that note, I wonder what your thoughts are on spirituality/divine love and sex, or sex magick, and what of that you see reflected in Good Omens perhaps?

hi @procrastiel how are you, my darling? Ask and ye shall eventually receive (sorry for the delay). Really fun questions-- thank you! :)

The sex toy reference in GO: Lockdown and some thoughts on Crowley and Aziraphale, mindfulness, and Tantric Eye Gazing under the cut.

<<further ahead than most of us>> They have a few thousand years head start so one would hope.

<<you think they use toys too, then? ;-)>>

Do with this excerpt from the forthcoming Cake meta on GO: Lockdown what you will:

The Bundt cake exploded in popularity in Buddy Holly's America of the 1950s when the Nordicware company developed the Bundt pan with its distinctive shape. To date, Bundt cake is really the only type of cake named after the pan-- one might even say, the device-- used to bake the cake, rather than after the kind of cake itself. While you can bake many kinds of cake in a Bundt cake pan, the traditional choice is... pound cake.

<<inspired The Kama Sutra?>>

I don't think they inspired it since they at least tried to be a secret for some time but there are some things tied to it that seem relevant a bit maybe? The most direct thing to tantra that I noticed is maybe an allusion to Tantric Eye Gazing (sometimes also called "Soul Gazing").

This one is fun because there's actually some science behind it as well. It's been proven that staring into a trusted partner's eyes for about 40 to 60 seconds causes your body to start to generate the hormone oxytocin, the bonding chemical that some people call "the love hormone." Look into someone's eyes a little longer-- a couple of minutes or more-- and your body starts to flood with oxytocin.

The effects include decreased cortisol (stress hormone) production-- so less anxiety-- and an increased sense of calm/peace, etc., but it also causes a deeper connection between partners. You can theoretically do it anywhere you both feel safe and comfortable enough to be a bit vulnerable and where you are probably not going to be interrupted-- so, the bookshop, for them. If you practice Tantric Eye Gazing in bed, the love hormone flood deepens intimacy between partners and contributes to a more pleasurable experience. The preoccupation with Crowley's eyes and his whole serpent gaze is potentially a nod to something like this as well.

Aziraphale is, as we know, obsessed with Crowley's eyes. He painted half the shop their color. He lives for kinky lunch and being gazed at... he even got The Bentley to take off its sunglasses lol. Meanwhile, Crowley's favorite song is that besotted pinefest "Pale Blue Eyes" so it's not like it's a one-sided thing. They could have kind of fallen into aspects of Eye Gazing without knowing it is a thing, honestly, but I'd wager since they've been around forever, they know what it is. Plus, well, there's also crepes, which winds up defined around it fundamentally being about eventually coming back to a position that makes it easier to kiss and emphasizes eye contact, which is a way of emphasizing a focus on intimacy.

You could also, if you want to, take Aziraphale's "you like waiting inside" comment below a bit in this direction as well, because the idea with Tantric Eye Gazing in bed is that it is meant to bring about a sense of a kind of hyper-awareness of the present and to feel grounding-- not at all things these two like or need lol-- but, just as you can try this outside of bed and it's a different experience, it is also different in bed, depending on when and how you and your partner try it. One way is just while inside your partner but before actively moving much. "You like waiting inside" is already "you like just hanging out inside me and taking your time and driving us both insane" so it's not really far off to throw the eye thing in there as well.

Aziraphale does mean on one level that Crowley just likes being in the actual bookshop, yeah, but Aziraphale also both used the bookshop as euphemistic for his body earlier in the season and says the comment in the Marguerite's scene with a suggestive tone, so it's not out there to go there with it, imo. There are other things it suggests as well, really, but none that I can see that directly conflict with the idea of it being also related to Eye Gazing.

Tantric Eye Gazing is basically a mindfulness exercise as well and they are both overtly into trying to combat the blahs of life with mindfulness in scenes we've already seen-- the way they both breathe in the magic shop in the present in S2 and Aziraphale with the sushi in 1.01, for a couple of examples. This isn't just a way of coping with anxiety and depression; they are examples of sensual living. They both are already highly sensitive but add in the openness to experiencing things like food and music on a deeper level and it's not hard to reach the conclusion that they treat sex the same way, if not even more so.

The sushi scene is also an example of tying that sense of mindfulness to sex directly. I mean, Aziraphale taking that peaceful, centering breath and breathing in the brine there and hearing the miracle chime and assuming it was Crowley apparating in beside him so he wasn't expecting to silently ADHLKDJEKJKFLE GABRIEL! when he opened his eyes and looked towards where he thought Crowley would be...

...and that look? Yeah, they've tried and like and frequently do the eye thing lol.

The actual Kama Sutra itself? When I read your question, the gif below was what I pictured-- just Crowley tossing the whole book up and them picking pages out of the air and the running commentary...

"Absolutely not." "Hm, maybe that one." "You're bendy enough for this one." "Was this one not legally torture in several kingdoms at one point?" "That can't be comfortable." "We're magical and I think that would kill us..." lol

They probably tried what of it looked fun, as they seem willing to give anything that interests them a whirl.

<<sex magick in GO>>

I've made a note to put together some more coherent thoughts and do a separate thing on this at some point. It's a very creative question & I'd like to devote some more thought to it first. Thanks for the ask. :)