#it looks like there will be a new brunch place opening next to my usual one maybe that'll solve it

[lostinlovingrevery]

Angst with a very sad reader who is deaf, she wished she could hear Logan, or be able to talk to him with her voice she can’t use, so he comforts his girlfriend

Hands

Logan Howlett X Deaf! F! Reader

Talking to Logan is different for you

A/N: The way this actually made me cry while writing this. A lil self healing. I'm not completely deaf, but I've grown up being left out of conversations, unable to hear or understand people, sounds, music, etc. I've actively worried about what it would be like having a partner having to "put up" with my hearing loss. Also it could be any Logan! I just used DOFP here bc he's so pretty <3 I hope you enjoy nonny!

Warnings: A bit angsty, reader is deaf, and uses ASL to communicate, feelings of loneliness, sadness, being left out, Logan being so babygirl <3

It was the same story as always

You sat next to Logan as you were in another outing with your friends.

It was a new place that opened this past week, a mix of a bar and a cafe. Filled with vibrant colors and pop culture references of the decades. The menus were filled with pun-named drinks and greasy meals.

You quite adored the atmosphere, and you were enjoying the Friday night outing after an incredibly long day. It just that your group of friends and Logan, were knee deep in a conversation that seemed incredibly funny- judging by their laughing faces, and Logan's usual thin-lipped smile when he's amused; and you had no clue what was being said.

He glanced at you, and you gave him a big smile. Reassuring that you were okay. He quirked a brow, about to say something before someone called his attention, turning his head, your smile faded, as you watched him converse with your friends. He finally leaned back to you again, noticing your drink was low. He tapped your knee, grabbing the glass off the table and signing refill?

You smiled and nodded, and he got up, taking his own glass too, as he walked over to the counter. You adjusted where you were sitting, waving for a friends attention. He turns and smiles, and you ask him for the context of the story.

"Oh-" You lipread, while he also signs. "It's not a big deal." He smiles shaking his head. You paused, and then nodded, leaning back into the sofa that looked like it came straight from the set of The Brady Brunch.

Dejected, but not surprised.

Logan came back, handing you your drink, leaning forward to peck you on the cheek, before putting an arm around your shoulder. One of your friends start talking to Logan- and from what you could tell was updating him on the parts of the story he missed.

You looked at Logan instead of bothering trying to pick up what was being told.

You watched his smile lines increase as he grins, the corner of his eyes wrinkling as he begins to laugh. Handsome, as always. You leaned into him, feeling the exertion of his chest as he laughs with each breath. You watch his lips move, and wonder for not the first time at what he sounds like.

He's told you that his voice was always described as deep and low. A friend has jokingly told you that it was the sexiest sounding thing ever.

Which both irked, and disappointed you.

You could pick up just by lipreading that he was talking about you. A funny story that happened to the both of you at the grocery store the other day. A small smile on your face, he looked at you. It was like it suddenly occurred to him you didn't hear what was going on. He moved, turning his body towards you, and began talking and signing, telling the story to both you and your other friends.

Your smile grew as you watched him, but the sadness inside you filled deeper, as you watched him sign- remembering the symbols and the placements, while also talking to your friend. He pauses, hesitates, and you help him with certain signs- wishing you could just say that words yourself- that you knew how to say the words yourself.

He's quite good at sign language, but as with learning any new language, there's room for a little inaccuracy here and there.

It isn't always like this, feeling lonely when you're surrounded by people who love you. A lot of the time when you hang out one on one, your friends full focus is on you, the speaking between you and the other is non-stop as you gossip about anything and everything. In outings like this though, you assume that maybe it's just too much, trying to focus on talking to a group- and remembering the words to spell out with your hands and talk to you simulataneously.

You never say anything. Just sit in quiet silence. It's an acceptance you found long ago. Being left out of conversations, or others not wanting to put in the work of including you, conversing with you, even if they already have the ability to do so.

When Logan came around, and you found yourselves entangled in the usual story of romance, you couldn't be happier. He was always patient, worked diligently at learning to communicate with you. He learned how to properly get your attention, to speak directly to you. He never once made you feel left out. Mostly because he wasn't a talker himself- at least with his voice.

You knew better, but you couldn't help but feel like it's work to communicate. Not just for you, but for Logan. Having to always find a way to get each others attention. You watched him struggle to remember certain words, and he'd have to say it to you and you lipread in order to translate properly. Moments you usually thought were cute - but this time felt bittersweet.

On the car ride home, you both sat in silence. Logan's hand rested on your thigh, his thumb brushing over the fabric of your pants soothingly. You looked at the radio- noticing it was on. The number you recognized as a talk station Logan has told you he liked to listen to. You turned to look out the window, and noticed street musicians performing on the corner.

The car was stopped at an intersection, so you got Logan's attention, and pointed, before signing,

Music?

He looked at what you pointing at. He nodded, before rolling your window down, and he tilted his head, listening. Then signed back to you.

"Rock." He says, and you make a motion as if you were playing the drums, he smiled and nodded. You turned to look back at the musicians playing. Curious.

He let off the brake and the car began moving. You left the window down, letting air blow over your face. You wondered what the talk show hosts were saying.

When you both got home, he followed you to the bedroom, getting your attention with taps to your shoulder.

"Hey-" He signed. You looked at him. "I'm sorry, I didn't speak- directly to you sometimes. It was loud and a little chaotic in there but I didn't forget you I just..." He shook his head.

Your face fell and you looked away. Then looked back up at him. You responded,

It's okay. I know it can be work to try to communicate with me.

He blinked as he watched your hands and shook his head, he stepped closer.

"It's not work to talk to you." You watched him say. His brows creased. "Not for me."

You purse your lips, as you felt emotion swell up inside you. An ache in your chest, as you let out an exhale.

I just wish I could hear you. That I could speak to you. That we could talk, normally.

He shook his head, "This is normal, baby." He paused, his hands in the air, as he seemed to be searching for his next words. "This." He motions the sign language, "Does not bother me. I like that we can talk like this."

You looked away, but his hand came up to your chin, making you look back at him, his expression firm as he stares into your eyes. For a moment, you softened, the focus and care he held in his hazel eyes for you.

How does it not bother you? You have to put more effort into speak with me. Everyone does. Isn't it tiring?

"No." He shook his head. His hand came up to cup your cheek, a small sigh escaping him. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to yours. A tear left your cheek, and he collected it with his thumb. Stepping back, and returning to signing. "You have given me a way to use my hands without violence. The way we can talk to each other, makes me feel closer to you, than just using my voice to talk to anyone."

Your lip quivered as you watched him play out his words.

"I never been good at talking." He grinned. "This though, I'm good at. I'm glad we can speak like this. It makes us...Connected. More than I ever been with anyone." he continued. "I feel like you and me...We can connect because we don't need words to understand each other. You look at me, and you just know me."

A few more tears escaped, rolling down your cheek as you nodded, you signed.

I wish I knew what you sound like.

His face softened, as he stepped closer again. "I...Know this isn't the same but..."

He reached for your hands, bringing your fingers to his lips, and your other hand to the base of his neck- where his collarbone met. You didn't need him to sign the next words for you to understand.

"I love you"

Tears streamed down you face, as you felt his lips move against your fingers. The muscles of his throat moved and vibrated against your other hand. He repeated it, over and over, allowing you to memorize the feeling of his words on your hands, the vibrations of his throat. It felt warm, and deep. You couldn't imagine sound, but closing your eyes made you picture his leather jacket, the curls of his chestnut hair, the weight of him on top of you. Maybe it wasn't his voice, but it was him you were feeling.

He only stopped saying those words when you reached up to kiss him, but you felt his lips brush over yours as he spoke it again. You moved, wrapping your arms around his neck and hugging him. He squeezed you in an embrace.

Maybe he was right, maybe this was nice. It still saddened a part of you that you couldn't hear his voice. Yet, another part of you appreciated how Logan still felt connected to you this way. He was right, in your entire relationship, he may have struggled with his hands,

He never struggled communicating with you, though.

[requiemforthepoets]

en garde! 𖦹 CL16

PAIRINGS: charles leclerc x fencer!leclerc!reader , f1 grid x fencer!leclerc!reader

SUMMARY: charles had been asking you to teach him fencing, and you finally did.

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WARNINGS: smau mixed with narrations, inconsistent photos, typos, not proofread, cursing, no use of y/n on the narrations, poorly google translated italian, and all photos are taken from pinterest

FACE CLAIMS: all from pinterest

WORD COUNT: 4.5k

AUTHOR’S NOTE: it’s been a long time since i added a new fic to my leclerc!sister series, so here it is hehe sorry, i’ve yapped a LOT about fencing on the narration part, so pls forgive me 😭 i hope i didn’t bore you a lot with fencing stuff 😭 i’m also accepting request for this series (i’m running out on ideas lmao 🥲) but i hope that you’ll enjoy this one!

ynleclerc

liked by charles_leclerc, yourbestfriend, sofia_rossi, marcoromano.fencing, landonorris and 783,984 others

ynleclerc E' passato un po' di tempo, Italia 💘

view all 12,837 comments

charles_leclerc when are you coming home?

ynleclerc idk, why?

charles_leclerc are you serious right now 😐

ynleclerc what…🧍🏻‍♀️

charles_leclerc check my messages for once 😐

username1 OH HOW I MISSED YOU 😭

username2 the y/n drought has finally ended!!!! 😭

username3 MOTHER IS BACK, MOTHER HAS POSTED 😭🎉

landonorris thank god you’re alive. i thought you’re already dead somewhere 😔💔

ynleclerc bro what 😭

landonorris anyways, when will you teach me how to fence for a new quadrant yt vid

ynleclerc you sure you’re up for it? don’t want you poking yourself with the foil

landonorris 😠😠😠😠

sofia_rossi CAN’T WAIT TO SEE YOU NEXT WEEK!!

ynleclerc 🥰🥰🥰

username4 OUR FAV FENCING DUO IS GOING TO SEE EACH OTHER SOON??? OMG 😭❤️

francisca.cgomes you’re in italy and you didn’t even tell me? 😠

ynleclerc I FORGOT IM SORRY IM SORRY!! but hey, i’m italy 🥰 hangout soon?

francisca.cgomes of course!!! just text meeee!!

username5 SHE REMEMBERED HER PASSWORD 🥳

ynleclerc posted a story!

liked by charles_leclerc, sofia_rossi, yourbestfriend, francisca.cgomes, marcoromano.fencing and others

charles_leclerc when will you teach me fencing 😔

charles_leclerc can’t believe it’s so hard to schedule one with you 💔💔💔

charles_leclerc i need big brother privileges 💔

ynleclerc USHCJJSJD CHARLES 😭

ynleclerc i’ll be home by next week! (hopefully you’ll be home as well 🤥) damn, can’t believe our schedules never really align

charles_leclerc ❤️❤️❤️❤️

francisca.cgomes i’m free tomorrow!! how about we go out for brunch?

ynleclerc KIKAAAA!! yes yes, ofc! ❤️

francisca.cgomes YAY!!

username6 OUR FENCING DUO WILL BE REUNITED SOON 😭❤️

username7 oh we pray for times like this (you being active on ig 😔💔)

MONACO

The sound of clashing blades echoed through the halls of the Club d’Escrime, a backdrop to your training session with Marco, your Italian coach. Fully suited in your white fencing uniform, mask tucked under your arm, you watched the double doors open, revealing your brother, Charles and his videographer, Antoine. The latter already had his camera rolling, and Charles, in his usual casual style—jeans, a dark hoodie, and white sneakers, looking like he had just stepped off a magazine cover.

“Finally!” You said, walking towards them with a smile. “Thought you’d never make it.”

Charles chuckled, spreading his arms in mock exasperation. “Don’t start! You’re the one who’s always impossible to catch. What is it this week? Tokyo? Budapest?”

“Home, for once,” you replied with a laugh, gesturing around the salle. “But that’s rare, as you know.”

“The place is very stunning,” Charles said, as he marveled the interior of the salle. “So this is where gold medals are made?” He teased.

“Something like that,” you replied, your voice light with pride. “Though Marco here deserves half the credit.”

“Ah, Charles! Finalmente ci incontriamo,” Marco greeted, shaking Charles’ hand firmly. His thick Italian accent added a charm to his words. “Your sister talks about you a lot.”

“È un piacere finalmente conoscerti. Lei non parla mai di me quando vinco, però.” He joked, shooting a playful look your way.

“Not true, and you know it.” You rolled your eyes at the comment.

Marco laughed, patting Charles on the shoulder. “Well today, we’ll see if athletic talent runs in the family, sì?”

“Okay, so here we are at the Club d’Escrime in Monaco. This is where my sister trains—when she’s not winning Olympic gold, of course,” he said grinning at you and turning towards the camera.

“We’ve been planning this fencing lesson for many months now, but with her busy training schedule and my racing calendar, it’s been almost impossible to find a day that worked for both of us. So finally, today is the day!” Charles added.

“Did you mention how excited you’ve been?” You quipped, folding your arms.

Charles smirked. “I may have. But, let’s be honest, you’re probably more nervous than I am.”

“Nervous?” You scoffed. “Why would I be nervous? You’re the one holding a weapon for the first time.”

“Ah, but I’ve seen the movies,” he countered, mimicking a clumsy lunge. “How hard can it be?”

You laughed at his theatrics, shaking your head. “We’ll see how long that confidence lasts when Marco puts you through the warm-up.”

“Speaking of which,” Marco interjected, “shall we start soon? Time is short, and I want to see if he can last more than five minutes.”

“You’re in for a workout.” You teased and smiled.

Charles gave an exaggerated sigh but could not hide his amusement. “Great. I love being underestimated.”

“You’re about to learn that fencing isn't as easy as people make it look on TV.” You smiled at the camera.

“Or tiktok.” Charles quipped, earning a chuckle from Marco.

You gestured towards the piste. “Alright, let’s get you geared up. I don’t want to hear any excuses later.”

Once Charles was all suited up, he stepped onto the piste, fully suited in his borrowed fencing gear, and you couldn’t help but pause. There was something striking about the way the jacket, breeches, and long socks suited him. The silver sheen of the lamé, a metallic vest worn over the jacket for scoring, added an almost regal touch. You smirked as you took in the sight of your brother adjusting his gloves.

“Oh my god. I’ve never looked so good.” Charles said as he came out all suited up.

“Would you look at that,” you began, folding your arms. “Hate to admit it, but you look good. Maybe too good.”

Charles glanced up, clearly amused. “Oh? Surprised your brother cleans up well?”

“I’m just saying, if this racing thing doesn’t work out, you might have a future as a fencer. Imagine, Charles Leclerc, Olympic Champion.” You gave him an exaggerated once-over. “The gear suits you.”

“I mean, I do look the part.” He smiled, striking a mock fencing pose, which was more comedic than impressive.

“You do,” you admitted with a laugh. “But let’s see if you can move like a fencer before you start planning your second career.”

“Basta con i complimenti. Time for the warm-up! No excuses later when your legs start complaining.” Marco smiled.

Charles groaned playfully, shooting you a mock glare. “Leg day already gets me in the gym. Don’t let him overdo it.”

“Stop whining,” you teased, motioning for him to follow Marco. “You’ll thank him when you’re not limping tomorrow.”

“We begin easy,” he said, demonstrating a forward bend. “Touch your toes, Charles. Keep your legs straight.”

“Easy for you to say,” he muttered, glancing at Marco, who was effortlessly folding himself in half.

“Come on, Charlie. You can’t lose to a guy twenty years older than you.” You chuckled from the sidelines, standing near Antoine, who was filming the entire thing.

“Thanks for the encouragement,” Charles quipped, finally managing to graze his toes. “I see you’re enjoying this too much.”

“I am.” You admitted, voice light with laughter.

Next were lunges, which Charles did with ease, his form surprisingly precise. “Now these, I can handle. We do this in the gym all the time.”

“Good. Now arm extensions, long and controlled. Think of reaching for the target.” Charles mirrored Marco’s movements, extending his arms fluidly.

You couldn’t resist teasing, “not bad, Charles. Maybe you’re a natural after all.”

“Maybe I am,” he replied, smirking. “See? I’ve got this.”

“Next is jumping jacks,” Marco interrupted, clearly amused by your banter.

Charles transitioned smoothly into the exercise, his movements energetic and practiced. As he worked through the routine, Charles suddenly turned to you, his tone curious.

“Why don’t we ever train together? Seems like it could be fun.” Charles glanced at you.

“Because you’d complain the whole time.” You laughed, shaking your head.

“Hey, I don’t complain that much.” He argued, clearly offended.

You just laughed at him, waving a hand dismissively. “Fencing is my thing, Charlie. I need to focus when I’m training, it’s not all fun and games.”

“And today isn’t serious?” Charles raised a brow, pausing mid-jumping jack.

“Not really,” you admitted with a shrug. “Today’s more about proving to you that fencing isn’t as easy as it looks.”

“Good luck with that,” he said, clearly amused. “You forget who you’re talking to.”

“Charles,” Marco interjected, a mischievous glint in his eye, “your sister has a gold medal, she might surprise you.”

“I don’t doubt that,” he said sincerely, before his grin returned. “But I’m still confident I can keep up.”

“That’s the spirit!” You smiled.

”The floor is yours, campionessa.” Marco smiled as he stepped back, and gestured for you to take over.

“Alright,” you turned to Charles. “Let’s start with the basics. This is going to be your crash course in fencing, everything you need to know before you touch the blade.”

Antoine, still filming, zoomed in on Charles’ face as he nodded, looking serious. “I’m ready, let’s hear it.”

“Fencing is one of the oldest sports in the world. It dates back centuries, originally used in dueling and combat training, but over time, it became more of a sport.” You explained. “In fact, fencing has been part of the Olympics since the very first modern games in 1896.”

“1896?” Charles repeated, very intrigued. “So, it’s been around forever.”

“Pretty much,” you confirmed with a smile. “Since then, it’s evolved into three distinct disciplines—foil, sabre, and epee. Each had different rules, strategies, and weapons. That’s what makes fencing so fascinating, you’re not just swinging a sword around. It’s a mind game as much as a physical one, that’s why some call it physical chess.”

Charles tilted his head, clearly interested. “What’s the difference between the three?”

“Come on, let me show you guys.” You walked over to a nearby rack, where several swords were neatly displayed, each one gleaming under the salle’s lights.

“This is a foil.” You picked up a foil, you held it up for him and the viewers to see. “It is the lightest of the three weapons, weighing about 500 grams, and the one I use. Foil fencing focuses on precision and technique, the target area is only the torso, and points are scored with the tip of the blade.”

Charles reached out, and you handed him the foil. He tested the weight of the blade, lifting and lowering it.

“It’s lighter than I thought.” He admitted, giving it a small swing.

“Foils are meant for agility and speed,” you explained. You then picked up a sabre, slightly heavier with a distinct curved guard. “This is a sabre. It’s a bit heavier, and the rules are very different. In sabre, you can score with the edge of the blade, not just the tip, and target area is the upper body—above the waist, including arms and head.”

“Sounds aggressive,” Charles remarked, running his hand along the blade’s flat edge.

“Oh, it is,” you chuckled. “Sabre is all about speed and attack. It’s fast-paced, almost like a sprint compared to foil’s more calculated, chess-like style.”

“And the last one?” Charles asked, pointing to the remaining weapon.

“This is the epee,” you said as you picked up the epee, handing it to him. “It’s the heaviest of the three, about 775 grams, and the target area is the entire body, head to toe. But in epee, there’s no right of way, whoever hits first, scores.”

Charles tested the epee in his grip, nodding thoughtfully. “So it’s more…straightforward?”

“In a way, yes,” you said, setting the sabre and foil back on the rack. “But it can also lead to longer matches since there’s no restriction on who can attack when, you need all the patience you can get when playing epee.”

The camera panned as you gestured for Charles to follow you back to the piste. “Now, let’s talk about the rules. In foil, which is what we’ll be learning today, the target area is just the torso. No arms, legs, and head. If you hit anywhere else, it doesn’t count.”

“Got it,” Charles said. “What about the scoring?”

“In foil, we use something called right of way. It means that the fencer who initiates the attack has priority. If the other fencer wants to score, they have to defend or parry first, and then counterattack.”

You picked up a foil and demonstrated, lunging forward in a quick, fluid motion. “For example, if I attack you like this, you can’t just hit me back. You’d need to block my blade first.”

“So, it’s not just about being faster, it’s about timing.” Charles frowned slightly, absorbing the information.

“Yup,” you said, impressed. “It’s about strategy and reading your opponent’s moves. Now, there are also some practical rules. The piste, the one we are standing on right now, is 14 meters long and 1.5 to 2 meters wide. If you step off, you lose ground or even a point, and you can’t use your off-hand to block, and obviously, no overly aggressive moves like charging into your opponent.”

Charles raised a brow. “No tackling allowed? Shame.”

“Not unless you want to get a penalty.” You laughed, shaking your head. “Lastly, to win a match, you have to reach a predetermined number of points, usually 15, or have the highest score by the end of the time limit.”

“Okay, I’ll give you a quick demonstration of how right of way works in a tournament.” You gestured for Marco to join you, and he grabbed another foil, stepping into position, as Antoine adjusted his camera as you stepped back onto the piste.

“Watch closely,” you instructed as you and Marco faced off. “Marco will attack, and I’ll defend and counter.”

Marco lunged forward with a smooth attack, and you parried, your blades clashing with a satisfying ring before you swiftly riposted, your blade landing lightly on his torso.

Turning to Charles, you explained. “Since I defended first and then countered, I get the point. Make sense?”

Charles nodded slowly, his brows furrowed in thought. “So, if I just swing wildly, it’s useless unless I have priority.”

“Yes,” you said smiling. “Fencing isn’t about brute force, it’s about control, precision, and strategy.”

“This all felt like a masterclass,” Charles chuckled. “This is very incredible stuff.”

Once Charles had a solid grasp of the basic rules and ths purpose of fencing, you decided it was time to get into the technical aspects.

“Alrighty,” you began, pacing in front of him, foil in hand. “Before you can start attacking, you need to learn how to defend yourself. So, let’s talk about parrying.”

“There are four primary parries in fencing, and each one is important for blocking and setting yourself up for a counterattack.” You added.

Charles nodded, gripping the foil in his hand as if ready to jump in. “Alright, I’m listening. Hit me with it.”

“Not literally,” you teased, pointing your foil at him briefly before continuing. “First is parry four. This is your standard parry, used to block attacks aimed at your torso. You bring the blade across your body like this.”

You demonstrated, twisting your wrist and angling your blade so that the imaginary opponent’s strike would be deflected away. Charles mimicked the movement, though his hand was stiff, and his blade angle slightly off.

You leaned in, using the tip of your foil to adjust his blade position. “Loosen your wrist a bit, it’s all about control, not brute strength. The goal is to guide their blade away, not smack it out of their hands.”

“Okay, okay. Got it.” Charles said, trying again. This time, his movement was smoother.

“Better,” you said, stepping back. “Next is parry six. The one is similar to parry four, but instead of protecting the inside of your body, it covers the outside. Like this.” You executed the parry with ease, your blade moving in a fluid arc.

Charles tried to copy the movement, his blade wobbling slightly as he adjusted his wrist.

“Close,” you said, stepping closer. “But watch your wrist, it needs to stay firm, or you’ll lose control of your blade.” You tapped the back of his hand with your foil, and he adjusted accordingly.

“Parry eight is for low attacks to the outside of your body.” You continued, moving on, and crouching slightly, angling your blade downward to demonstrate. “This one is a little tricky because it requires good reflexes. You’re aiming to protect your lower torso and legs.” Charles gave it a go, though his stance was a bit too wide.

“Too much space,” you said, tapping his knee lightly with your blade. “Keep your movements controlled. The smaller the motion, the quicker you can recover.”

“This is harder than it looks.” Charles exhaled, looking at the camera as he adjusted his stance.

“That’s fencing for you,” you said with a grin. “Last one, parry seven. This one is similar to parry eight, but it protects the inside of your body instead of the ourside.”

You demonstrated the motion, and Charles followed suit, this time managing a relatively smooth movement.

“Good,” you said, stepping back. “Now, key things to remember when parrying—keep your blade pointed at your opponent at all times. It’s not just about blocking, it’s about setting yourself up for a counterattack. As soon as you’ve parried, you need to riposte, counterattack, immediately. If you wait too long, you’ll lose your advantage.”

Marco stepped forward, foil in hand, and you turned to Charles. “I’ll show you how it’s done.”

You squared off with Marco, and as he lunged forward with a mock attack, you parried effortlessly, your blade gliding against his and redirecting it away. In the same motion, you extended your arm, blade tip landing lightly on Marco’s torso.

“See how quick that was?” You said, turning to Charles. “It’s a fluid motion—parry and riposte, all in one go. No wasted movements.”

Charles nodded, his brows furrowed in concentration. “Alright, let me try.”

You stepped aside, letting Marco face Charles. As Marco slowly lunged, Charles attempted a parry, though his movement was slightly delayed, and his riposte lacked precision.

“Not bad,” you said encouragingly. “But don’t overthink it. The more natural it feels, the faster you’ll be.”

“Okay, let’s talk about stance,” you said, planting your feet firmly on the piste. “Your stance is your foundation, if it’s wrong, everything else falls apart.”

You demonstrated, keeping your feet shoulder-width apart, one foot pointing forward and the other at a slight angle.

“Your dominant hand is the one holding the foil. The non-dominant hand stays behind you, raised slightly for balance. So, which hand are you using?” You asked.

“Right.” Charles said, switching the foil to his dominant hand.

“Good,” you said. “Now, copy my stance.”

Charles mirrored your position, though his back foot was slightly out of place.

“Close, but—” you tapoed his leg lightly with your foil. “Your back foot needs to be at an angle, like this. Don’t forget to bend your knees slightly. You need to stay low for balance and quick movement.”

“Not bad,” you said, nodding approvingly when Charles adjusted his stance. “Now let’s work on movement. When you’re in your stance, you need to be able to move forward, backward, and side-to-side quickly withou losing your balance.”

You demonstrated, gliding forward and backward with small, controlled steps. “Notice how my feet stay the same distance apart, no matter where I go. That keeps me balanced and ready to attack or defend.”

Charles followed your lead, though his movements were a bit stiff.

“Relax,” you said, smiling. “You’re not marching in the military. It’s more like a dance, fluid and controlled.” He tried again, this time loosening up slightly.

“Better,” you said. “Now let’s add a lunge, the lunge is your main attacking move. From your stance, you push off your back leg and extend your front leg forward, like this.” You demonstrated, your movement smooth and precise. Charles attempted the motion, but his lunge was too short.

“Bigger step,” you said, tapping his front leg with your foil. “You want fo cover as much ground as possjble without overextending.” After a few tries, he managed a decent lunge.

“Not bad,” you said, stepping back. “You’re getting there. Now, let’s put it all together—stance, movement, parries, and lunges. You ready?”

Charles grinned, gripping his foil. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Alright,” you said, picking up the body cord, “before we start, we need to get you all hooked up.”

Charles tilted his head, examining the cord. “What’s that for?”

“This is a body cord,” you explained, stepping closer to attach it to his fencing jacket. “It connects your weapon to the scoring system. When you land a valid touch, the electrical circuit completes, and the scoreboard registers the point.”

“So no sneaky hits?” He joked, watching closely as you secured it to his back and guided it through the sleeves of his jacket to attach to the foil.

“Not unless you want the referee to see it light up,” you quipped, making sure everything was in place before handing him a fencing mask. “Here, put this on.”

“For this first round, we’re keeping it simple, call it a trial run,” you said, rolling your shoulders and flexing your foil. “Marco will referee and keep things light. Just focus on getting comfortable.”

“Got it. Don’t go easy on me, though.” Charles raised his foil slightly, his excitement evident in his stance.

You laughed. “Trut me, Charles, I won’t.”

Marco stepped onto the side of the piste, holding a referee’s clicked in one hand. “Alright, trial run. I’ll call the touches. En garde!”

You and Charles took your positions at opposite ends of the piste, foils raised in salite before dropping into the en garde stance.

“Prêt? Allez!” Marco called, signaling the start of the bout.

Charles moved hesitant at first, testing his footing as he advanced. You let him come forward, observing his movements.

“Don’t forget your stance,” you reminded him, stepping back slightly. “Stay balanced.”

He nodded, adjusting his feet, and made a tentative lunge. Charles’ foil grazed your blade, missing the target area entirely.

“Close,” you said, countering with a light touch to his torso. Marco raised his hand. “Touch!”

Charles shook his head, laughing. “Okay, that was fast. Was that even one second?”

“Welcome to fencing,” you said with a grin. “It’s all about timing. Relax, though you’re doing fine.”

As the trial run continued, Charles began finding his rhythm. He landed his first touch on your shoulder, earing a quick ‘touch!’ from Marco.

“How does it feel?” You asked, stepping back for a brief pause.

Charles grinned under his mask. “Not bad! Are you nervous yet?”

“Me? Nervous?” You teased. “Cute. Let’s see how you handle the next round round.”

The second round began, and Charles was much more deliberate in his movements. He used the parries you had taught him, successfully blocking two of your attacks and landing another touch on your shoulder.

“Not bad, Lord Perceval,” you said, nodding as you reset your stance. “You’re learning quickly.”

“Of course,” he replied, his voice light with mock arrogance. “I’m a Leclerc. We adapt fast.”

By the end of the round, Marco called for a pause. “Alright, let’s use the scoreboard for the next one.”

“See this?” Marco said, pointing to the display. “Every valid touch will light up here with a beep. First to fifteen points wins.”

Charles noticed the screen, which displayed yor names, complete with small Monaco flags next to them.

“Wait, you personalized it?” He asked, laughing. “Now I feel like I’m in the Olympics.”

“Of course,” you said with a grin. “Nothing but the best for my big brother.”

Charles chuckled, lifting his foil again. As you adjusted your own, you bent the blade slightly, an action that caught his attention.

“Why are you doing that?” He asked.

“It’s something all fencers do,” you explained, holding the blade up for him to see. “Foils are flexible, and bending them ensures they’re in good condition and won’t snap. It also helps make the touches more accurate and less painful.”

“Huh,” Charles said, mimicking the motion with his own foil. “Interesting.”

“Alright, this is it,” you said, lowering your mask. “First to fifteen.”

Marco raised his hand. “En garde! Prêt? Allez!”

The boug began, and Charles quickly demonstrated his growing confidence. He moved fluidly, landing a few clean touches on your torso and arm. You could see his competitiveness kicking in, and you responded with sharper attacks, forcing him to parry and riposte.

Halfway through, the score was tied at 7-7, and the beeping sound of the scoreboard filled the room with each touch.

“You’re doing great.” You said during a brief pause.

“Thanks,” Charles replied, panting slightly. “But I’m not letting you win.”

“Good,” you said, resetting your stance. “Because I’m not letting you win, either.”

The intensity ramped up in the final stretch. Charles managed to land three more touches, bringing his total to ten, but you quickly countered with a series of precise attacks, pushing your score to fifteen.

Marco raised his hand as the final beep sounded. “Touché! Match for her—15 to 10!”

“Lifting your mask, you grinned at Charles, who pulled off his own mask, shaking his head in disbelief.

“That was incredible,” he said, still catching his breath. “I actually thought I had you for a moment there.”

“Well fought, champ! Ten points is impressive for a first timer, you did really great.” You said, resting your foil on your shoulder. “But I told you, fencing isn’t easy as it looks.”

Charles laughed, running a hand through his sweaty hair. “Yeah, no kidding. I think I’ll stick to racing.”

Marco, who had been observing with a smile, stepped in. “You were actually good for a beginner. You’re a fast learner, Charles. I’ve work with a lot of first-timers, and not many can pick up that quickly.”

“That’s true,” you chimed in nodding. “You were way better than I expected. Usually, people take ages to figure out how to lunge properly or keep their stance balanced.”

Charles’ grin widened. “Well, what can I say? It’s in my blood to be competitive.”

Marco laughed, clapping Charles on the shoulder. “You should come by more often during her trainings. You’d make a good parry partner.”

“Oh stop feeding his ego,” you said, rolling your eyes playfully. “It’s already huge.”

Charles gave a mock bow. “Keep it coming, Marco. I’m soaking it all in.”

Marco just smiled as the camera zoomed in on you both as he continued. “Not, really, Charles. If you’re free diring off-season, you should consider it. You’d give her a good challenge, and it would keep her on her toes.”

“Hmm…” Charles leaned on his foil again, pretending to consider the offer. “Fencing during off-season. I might actually think about that.”

You laughed. “Sure, if you can handle beaten every time.”

“Bold words. But we’ll see.” Charles grinned. “So, what’s next for you? You’ve already won the Olympics. Where do you go from here?”

“Next up is the Fencing World Cup. It’s coming up in a few months, so I’m focused on preparing for that.” You smiled, feeling the excitement bubbling inside of you.

Charles nodded. “If people want fo follow your journey, where can they find you?”

“Everywhere.” You said with a laugh, then added, “but seriously, you guys can follow me on my social media. If you are curious about up coming tournaments, you can check out Team Monaco’s offical instagram. They post all of the updates there.”

Charles turned to the camera. “There you have it, guys.” He then faced you and Marco. “I just want to say thank you, for real. I know your schedules are crazy, and you took time to teach me something completely out of my comfort zone. I really had fun.”

“You’re welcome here anytime, Charles.” Marco smiled warmly. “You’re a natural. Who knows? Maybe one day, you’ll be on the piste at a tournament.”

Charles laughed, shaking his head. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, but I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

“You did great today,” you grinned, nudging him lightly with your elbow. “Who knows? Maybe we’ll see you fencing for Monaco one day.”

Charles smiled. “Only if you promise not to embarrass me in front of everyone.”

“No promises.” You teased.

Marco gestured toward the camera. “Alright, shall we wrap this up?”

You, Charles, and Marco all faced the lens. “Thanks for watching!” You said with a wave. “Remember, fencing is cooler than you think.”

“And harder than it looks!” Charles added. “Thank you both for taking the time to teach me, I had a blast today. It’s always fun learning new things.”

“Of course, Charlie!” You replied warmly. “We’ll be waiting for your next fencing session.”

“You’re always welcome, Charles.” Marco smiled. “Just don’t take too long to return, alright? We might have to recruit you into the team at this rate!”

All of you laughed as you said your goodbyes, and with that, the video came to a close, screen fading into black.

twitter posts

yn.jpg

liked by charles_leclerc, yourbestfriend, lilyzneimer, landonorris, lilymhe and 88,746 others

tagged: charles_leclerc, gaiusthecaracal

yn.jpg just a regular day at the office (bonus: taught charles fencing, see slide 4! 😁)

view all 10,837 comments

username8 never knew i needed to see charles in a fencing gear up until now 😮‍💨 THANK YOU MOTHER!

landonorris can’t believe you taught charles first, i thought i was gonna be the first one 😞💔

yn.jpg sorry, big brother privileges 😔✊🏻

charles_leclerc what she said! 😁❤️

landonorris i see that you have taken my advice

yn.jpg yes, and i owe it all to you sir 🫡

landonorris when will u be our quadrant athlete 😔🤲🏻

yn.jpg idk bro, what do they do? 🤨

yn.jpg just hit up my personal coach 😁

landonorris ME NEXT PLS

yn.jpg THERE ARE A LOT OF YOU WANTING ME TO TEACH YOU ALL FENCING 😭😭😭

lilymhe I ASKED HER FIRST! FALL IN LINE!!

landonorris IM HER BEST FRIEND

landonorris BESTIE PRIVILEGES

yourbestfriend EXCUSE ME????

landonorris EXCUSED

username9 WE FINALLY GOT A JPG ACCOUNT??? ACTIVE ERA IS UPON US?????

yn.jpg u guys really gotta thank lando for convincing me on making one bc apparently according to him, i always “ghost” you all 😞💔

username9 OHMGYGOSD I LOVE YOU 😭

username10 GAIUS 🥺🥺🥺🥺

username11 CHARLES WHAT ARE YOU DOING 😭😭😭

username12 petition for you to have a yt acc or tiktok or smth 😔😔😔😔

username13 and then what? we all ended up being ghosted 😔😔😔😔

username13 she barely posts on instagram, and now that she has a jpg account, i’ll take what i can get tl have some y/n content 😔😔😔💔💔💔

username12 omg u right 😭😭😭

username14 ok, scuderiaferrari, just hear me out this once…what if y/n teaches charlos fencing on a tiktok or yt vid? huh huh huh, wouldn’t that be a great idea, right? 😁

scuderiaferrari hmmm, i think you might be onto something 🤔🤔🤔

username15 i will sacrifice my first born for this to happen 🤲🏻

username16 we are BEGGING, on our knees

username17 charles leclerc in fencing gear, save me. charles leclerc in fencing gear, save me 🛐

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Someone New 8

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include angst, pining, romcom tropes, and some darker elements later in the series. Some triggers may not be specifically tagged. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This fic will contain explicit content. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You've had a crush on your best friend for years, but you're slapped in the face with reality when he takes things to the next level with his girlfriend.

Characters: Steve Rogers, Thor

Note: nice to see ya again!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Thor makes himself as permanent as the layers of sediment. Whether you’re in the dirt or looking over the charts and maps, making notes or sorting through your findings, he appears. Knowing he’ll be there keeps you coming yourself. Despite the short nights and long drives, thinking of him finding an empty site deters you from a day off, even against Sam’s pleas. 

The night before was filled with similar chiding from your friend. Sam is as persistent as ever. He always has a new account of his antics with Bucky and never forgets to tell you to take a break. You can’t stop though. You know if you do, you’ll have to think about everything you’re denying. 

The time away has given you time to breathe but it’s suffocated you in new ways. Along with that weight on your chest that has a name, there’s another you can’t quite understand. The one that sees you spending your spare hours alone and your working hours longing for anything but. You’re desperate to get out but terrified of the very same. 

When he arrives that day, you’re ready to give up. The tension in the air is giving you a headache and the dampness makes your skin feel sticky. You just feel gross. 

“Ah, I didn’t think you’d brave the weather today,” he muses as Thunder hops around his feet. You don’t look up, in a mood as grim as the sky. “You’d do well to stay in tomorrow. Trust me.” 

He’s always right about the weather. It must be the familiarity and yet it’s almost eerie how accurate he is. You might take his advice. You don’t like being wet and you’re starting to go cross-eyed from the hours and hours of concentration. 

Thunder yipes as you use your gloves to brush away clumps of dirt. Thor’s footsteps mulch patches of grass that sparsely carpet the dirt. He hums as his shadows looms in your peripheral. 

“Yes, my darling, I believe you’ve found the perfect spot,” he praises. 

You look over curiously. What is he talking about? You only notice then that he has more than the tiny dog with him. He has a basket on his elbow and a blanket under his arm. You sit up and watch him place down the former and shake out the latter.  

He spreads the blanket over the dirt and Thunder jumps onto it, rolling around on the fabric, digging her nose into the patched quilt as she wiggles across it. You clap off your hands and watch him as he gets down to his knees and flips open one side of the basket. He lays out several containers and two thermos’; one is the very same he brought you tea in.  

“I thought you could use a nice lunch before the weather turns,” he stands and nears the fence, “summer doesn’t last long here. You may as well enjoy it.” 

“Lunch?” You utter. 

“Brunch?” He suggest coyly. “Surely you can take a break. You are only human, you need to eat.” 

“You...” you lean to see around him, “you brought me lunch?” 

“I know it isn’t the most elaborate picnic but I thought it might be a pleasant surprise. I must confess I’ve been rather bored these days,” he admits, “so?” 

“Thor, that’s so... sweet,” you frown, “but...” 

“Work, work, work. Surely they can’t expect you to work yourself to the bone, pardon the pun,” he insists, “it will only be a bit.” 

“Yes, but...” you leave the sentence to hang. You don’t have a good excuse. You don’t know. It just makes you nervous. It’s a whole lot of effort for just you.  

“Oh, I don’t mind if you would rather stay over there. Only mean more for, eh, Thunder?” He asks the canine tramping around the blanket. “More than happy to sit here and enjoy my jelly cookies and hot coffee. 

“Coffee?” Your brows raise. 

“Freshly brewed. Promise, There’s nothing pickled. Though I don’t mind a nice herring,” he grins. 

Thunder bounces over and barks at you. She stands on her hind legs as she paws at the barrier between you. Now, how can you deny her? 

You stand and shed your gloves. You carry them over to the table beneath the tent and grab a wet wipe from the back. You come back under the open sky as you wipe your hands. 

“Sorry about all the dirt,” you scoff as you cross the dirt. 

“I don’t mind,” he assures you. He pulls apart the panels of the fence to let you through. It isn’t something you could ever forget but you can’t help but be stricken again by his sheer size. 

You bend to pet Thunder as she gets between your feet. She licks your fingers and you giggle. She’s cute. 

“Go on, pick her up,” Thor goads, “she loves it.” 

You scoop up the dog and stand. She squirms as she wags her tail incessantly. She swipes your chin with her tongue and you scrunch up your face. You carry her to the blanket and look over the spread. A leafy salad, pasta salad, sandwiches, cookies... There’s so much. Your protein bars and peanut butter and jelly can’t compare. 

“Oh gosh, this... a lot.” 

“Is it? Isn’t too much. We’re friends, yes?” 

“Friends?” You face him as you pet Thunder’s soft head. 

“Perhaps it is rather one-sided. You are obligated to be here, I just sort of haunt this place,” he chuckles. 

“No, no, friends,” you smile, “that sounds about right.” 

You turn away and lower yourself onto the blanket, sure to keep your boots off of it, as you hide your face. There’s a tinge of disappointment. You hear a far off echo in your head. How many times did Steve say the same; we’re friends, just friends, you’re such a good friend. Well, that’s all this is. No need to be so sensitive. 

“Do you ever take time off?” He asks as he gets to his knees. 

You look at him as you put Thunder down. He barely keeps her from chomping down on a rye crust. He lifts her easily and she kicks her legs. 

“Eh, you beast,” he points a finger at her snout, “be good.” 

He sets her back on her paws and she obeys. He tells her to sit and she does so. Her eyes continue to hungrily rove over the food. How can he resist them? 

“Like you said, the weather won’t last. Should get done what I can before the ground gets cold.” 

“Ah, yes, that is a concern,” he tuts, “how would you deal with that?” 

“Heat lamps, tiger torch... jackhammer if I really need but I’d have to put in a request for that...” you hadn’t thought too much into the inevitability of winter.  

“Ah, that’s...” he smirks, “I’m sorry but the idea of you with a jackhammer,” he snorts. 

“Hey,” you pout. 

“It isn’t to be mean but... you’re so gentle. When you dig, you’re so delicate about it.” 

“Am I?” You wonder. 

“Mm, is it a bit weird to say so?” He wonders aloud. “Yes, you are very precise, very cautious.” He takes out a set of plates and offers you one, “please, help yourself.” 

“It must be boring watching. Really, I’m the one digging and it gets dull,” you accept and pluck out one of the sandwiches. Salmon, you think. 

“You make it interesting,” he muses. “You talk to the bones.” 

“I talk to the bones?” You repeat, “what?” 

“Yes, I suppose you’re not aware of it. But your lips move when you’re focused. As if you’re chatting up the dirt,” he chuckles, “sometimes a few words do slip out.” 

“They do?” You blanch before you can help yourself to the salad. 

“You don’t say much. Usually something about the dishes, I’m not too sure.” 

“You never mentioned,” you look away shyly. 

“It’s... cute,” he shrugs. 

“You mean crazy,” you shake your head. 

“I say what I mean,” he counters. “No use in not. We can’t be happy if we’re not honest, not least of all with ourselves.” 

You’re quiet as you turn your attention to your plate. His words feel sharp despite his placid tone. You know it’s only because they’re true, especially for you. If you’d just accepted everything sooner, if you hadn’t been so dumb, if you hadn’t been so emotional, it would never have gotten so bad. No, if you’d just been honest. 

“I hope... I hope that didn’t come off wrong,” he says. 

“No, no, I’m... this all looks so good and I’m starving,” you assure him as you sit back with your plate. “Thank you again. This is... great.” 

“Well, I was thinking, you must miss your friends. I might be a paltry substitute but I thought i might fill that gap, even just for an hour.” 

“It’s really...” your eyes tingle but you push away the tinge of sadness, “it’s really nice.” 

“So tell me,” he scoops up salad onto his plate, “tell me about home.” 

“I...” you begin, surprised by the prompt. “It’s just home. New York. It’s busy and loud. Not like here.” 

“No, not that. Your friends. I want to know all about them. If I’m ever going to come up standards, I’ve got to know the competition.” 

You laugh. He speaks as if he needs to impress you. It’s nice to be somewhere where no one knows you’re not that special. You take a bite of the sandwich and chew, thinking out your question.  

You swallow, “well, my friend Sam, he calls every night to bitch at me. He’s great. Supportive but pushy. He likes to terrorise Bucky. He’s the strong and silent type, you know? Grumpy to boot but they’re... they’re awesome.” You smile without thinking, “before I left, they took me to this cocktail bar...” you blow out between your lips and roll your eyes, “real girly stuff.” 

“Ooh, cocktails. I’ve been known to indulge. I love finding new recipes.” 

“Really?” 

“Oh, yes, I love the sweet ones. I’ve only just perfected my blueberry basil concoction. I’m afraid I can’t share the secret ingredient unfortunately.” 

“Blueberry?” You ponder the flavour, “sounds yummy.” 

“Perhaps one day you can try it,” he suggest. 

“Maybe,” you say evasively. “Anyway, yeah, Sam and Bucky are... characters.” 

“They sound like it. How’d you meet?” 

“Oh, it’s boring. What about you?” 

“It’s not my turn,” he deflects, “tell me.” 

You don’t know why he cares. It’s as confounding as everything else about him. You still don’t get why he’s here watching you sit in the dirt. It sounds as grueling as watching a golfing tournament, in your opinion. Yet here he is, a man who looks like that, staring at you in your mud-stained khakis. 

“College. We met through a mutual friend,” you explain vaguely. 

“Ah, so you’ve been friends for some time. Yes, I see, I’ve got a lot of catching up to do,” he hums thoughtfully as he toys with the braid that hangs loose by his face, the rest of his hair twisted back as always. 

“Steve,” you say without thinking, your eyes drifting off into the distance, “he was my best friend. We met in art history. We spent almost every day together. Studying, whatever. He was more of a partier than me but... fifteen years, more than, and we saw each other...” You choke on your words and scoff darkly, “sorry, that’s... I’m homesick, I think.” 

You bat away the glaze in your eyes and focus on your food. You take a few bites as he sits quietly. Thunder stands up cautiously and crosses the blanket. She settles against your leg, leaning her head on your thigh. It’s comforting. 

“Yes, I think I would be very homesick as well. I lived in the city for a while but mother and father, they need me. And I love this mountain. It’s home. There was nothing in Oslo for me. I can work from here.” 

“Work? What exactly do you do?” You ask, happy to divert from your own painful past. “Oo, are you like a farmer? Or a shepherd. There must be sheep up here or something.” 

He laughs, “there are some sheep, yes, but those are protected by the government. We’ve not much of a choice where they settle. No, I’m not so savvy as all that.” 

“Hm, you... oh, what could do you here?” You look around, “on a mountain... oh, tours? Do you give tours?” 

He laughs, “it’s not a bad idea, but no. I’m a business owner.” 

“A business. You must sell fitness or something.” 

“Must I?” He narrows his eyes, “and what else do you assume about me?” 

“Oh, it’s only you’re so...” you cringe as you eke out the word, “big?” 

“Genetics,” he affirms, “not that but close, in a matter of looking at it. You recall that tea I brought you, with the cloudberry?” 

“Uh, yeah, it was sweet. Yummy.” 

“I’m happy you enjoyed it,” he smiles proudly, “I make superblends. All Nordic ingredients. There is a demand for wellness and organic products. I found the right niche and I’ve not done too badly.” 

“Must not if you can live all the way up here,” you remark. 

“Yes, but... it’s a reason I moved back. Business is a lonely venture. Now I’ve got it all figured out, I have my managers and my business plan, I break even, I realise how much I put to the side,” he mulls his sandwich and takes a glum bite. It’s the first time you’ve seen him anything but bright and beaming, “I feel like I’ve fallen behind. Like I’m playing catch up.” 

His words sink in and storm inside of you. You crunch on the crisp lettuce and gulp. You wipe your mouth with a napkin and clear your throat. 

“I know exactly what you mean,” you say breathily. 

“Do you? You’re out here, on an adventure all you’re own, how brave,” his voice is wistful and his gray blue eyes reminds you of the clouds above. 

“Yes, I know,” you say, “better than you. Trust me.” 

You smile, a bittersweet tug in your cheeks, and he stares back at you. Your eyes cling to each other and you feel as if the world is moving around you. He smiles and a glimmer of something unfurls in your chest. You make yourself look away. 

“Well,” you push the salad around your plate, “what about you? You must have friends, aside from the girl in the dirt.” 

He hums and scrapes up a bite of the pasta salad. He takes his time chewing before he answers. You scratch Thunder’s nose as she sniffs at your plate. 

“Yes, if you ever come to sample my cocktails, you might meet a few,” he coaxes, “I think you’d get along. Hogan and Vol, and Fandy. All good company. Sif’s not around so often when my brother’s around but he’s as fleeting as the sun.” He tuts, “I would call Loki a friend as well but he does scowl at the very thought.” 

“Loki?” 

“My brother of course,” he explains with , “yes, he is quite the dour one. He might get along with that Bucky.” 

[moirindeclermont]

Bridgerton folks, thank you for the warm reception of my new story.

This is "5 times Colin was Pen's first + 1 she was his", second episode. Here you'll find the first episode.

Today episode may also be titled "Pen meets Mr. Fingerton" 🔥🥵

***

Pen thought she might have dreamed the whole night.

No way Colin declared he wanted her and proceed to give her the best first kiss ever, and while she had not experienced it before, she knew the stories... Usually a first kiss was not all of that magical. Maybe it was because it was her and it was Colin. Everything they did seem kinda magical to her.

She was, again, at the door of his apartment and she was almost waiting for the moment he would start to treat her as a friend.

Instead, what happened, was that Colin opened the door, gave her his brightest smile and then a light kiss on her lips. So, maybe it was real.

"Sorry, I should have asked, I didn't know if you wanted-" he was adorable when he rumbled, Pen observed.

"Don't worry Colin. It's just, unexpected. I love welcoming you like this. Every day for the rest of my days".

She didn't have to worry about waiting for such declarations. Yesterday they talked at length about the future and them as a couple.

They both confessed they were yearning for this for quite some time, and they both laugh at their idiocy. But they were on the same page now. And they both know this was not a phase or temporary. They both were fully invested since the beginning.

That was the reason for seeing each other tonight. Well, that... And other reasons, at least Pen was hoping there were also other reasons.

She waited to damn long and she was ready. Possibly in that moment.

They ate and talk, laying out plans for their announcement as a couple (next Sunday on the bridgerton brunch). Pen was to ask her boss if she could do all remote (so she could come with Colin on his travels, as by his ask) and Colin was looking for a permanent place in London, so they could have a home base to stay when they were in the city (and eventually, when they were going to have kids).

Then, they looked at each other and it was like a magnet was at work.

They find themselves on the sofa, Pen on Colin's lap, kissing and touching every part they could reach.

Colin nibbled on her neck, before asking in a very deep voice "can I try something, Pen?"

She nodded. She wanted to try everything with him.

Colin flipped their position, then threw a pillow on the floor and knelt in front of her. She had a camisole and her lacy bra was barely visible. He took his time to unbutton her slowly, and Pen gulped when he was done. "Beautiful," he whispered.

Colin cupped her through the bra, teasing her. "May I?" He asked again and she responded by unclasping her bra herself. "Wow, Pen" Colin exhaled as his fingers were tracing her areola lightly. Her nipple was fastly caught it n between his fingers, making her moan. Colin looked at her with a wicked and deeply erotic smile, as he lowered his head to touch the sensitive skin with his tongue. "Ohh," his were the only fingers outside of her own that played with her breasts, and it felt marvelous.

Colin seemed obsessed by her neck and her cleavage. Pen was on fire, but she needed more. When his hand found hers, she rather directly pointed him towards where she was aching to be touched.

He looked at her. "Sure?"

"Never been more sure in my life," and Colin kissed her again, before finding her thigh and sliding his hand. He found her bare, much to his surprise.

"Miss Featherington!"

She was a bit embarrassed. "I had them on before. But then I thought why not and asked to use the bath."

His eyes were dark with desire. "Oh I do understand. You're an eager little thing, aren't you?"

Speechless. This was a new side of Colin she could not wait to explore. She just nodded as he skimmed over her auburn curls, "yup, eager and wet," he said as he went to touch her folds, using her wetness to lube his fingers.

He touched her lightly at first, watching her reactions, sometimes teasing her nipple s again, sometimes giving her little kisses.

"I can't believe I get to see you like this, Pen" and she wanted to respond but Colin choose that moment to slowly enter her with just the tip of his middle finger. "I can't believe I get to touch you like this," as his finger slide in deeper. Her mouth opened, the sensation so different from the one she was used too when she touched herself. A loud moan escaped her lips and he started a slow rhythm that made her tingle all over.

"Yes, like that love," he told her as he begin to touch with his thumb her clït, adding another level of pleasure. After some time he asked "another?" And she nodded her consent, feeling how herself was responding to his second finger inside her.

"I want to make you come on my fingers, is that okay Pen?"

Dear God in heaven. She might as well be in paradise. "Yes, Colin. Please!" She told him and then her brain went out of service as Colin kissed her.

It was clear he knew what he was doing, as he moved his fingers inside her with a motion that was working very fast for her. That and the light touch on her nub left her breathless, as Colin watched her again. That was the hottest thing. His look on her, as she was breaking into pieces under his touch. Pen used his arms to steady herself as Colin increased his rhythm until suddenly she was on the precipe and Colin remained steady in his movements.

She moaned a loud "Colin" a moment after, coming on his fingers. She moaned when she saw him sucking on his fingers like a it was his favorite dessert. "Next time," he said to her and she trembled.

Colin sat next to her, holding her steady. "That was... Incredible!" He looked smug, and Pen was looking at his very visible erection. "Do you want to?"

He looked at her. "I want to. But I also want to wait. Just a bit longer. It's weird to explain." But she understood.

"it's not. These are our firsts. We might have some in the future, but after so long waiting for each other, pacing these experiences makes them more meaningful."

He looked at her. "You nailed it."

She grinned. "Nope, you did."

Colin laughed loudly. "Not yet, love. Not yet." As he settled her on his side, kissing the top of her head sweetly.

She always imagined cuddle was as good as people told her, but somehow, it was even better than her imagination. These days everything was.

[lowkeycasanova]

private lesson

Plot: Sanji is a huge flirt, talking about doing private cooking lessons with him. And to his surprise, you actually agree.

pairing: opla!sanji x fem reader

word count: 1.8k

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Early one morning, the Straw Hat Pirates anchored their ship on a new island. And as usual, they were eager to explore new uncharted territory. Sanji was left with finding groceries to stock up on.

He wandered through the bustling market. A hand in his pocket and a freshly lit cigarette in the other as he took in the vibrant colors and sounds. The exotic spices, fresh fruit, strange seafood, and beautiful women all piqued his interest.

Heavy on the beautiful women.

Sometimes he had to stop and remind himself why he was there in the first place: finding ingredients for the crew's meals and any other culinary inspiration.

He bought his usual main meats and vegatables and a few things to experiment with later, but what really grabbed his attention was the aroma wafting from a nearby restaurant.

**

You were the sous chef for the restaurant you worked at. But make no mistake, you worked your way up to that position. Starting on dishes, then the plate line, and finally, you got to cook in the kitchen and craft dishes yourself. You also went to culinary school for a bit, so you did have some formal training under your belt.

The head chef was getting older and had a few health problems, so you'd pretty much take over. It was impressive at your young age. Although it could be stressful at times, you were nice to everyone. Everyone had a lot of respect for you.

It was going on brunch time and surprisingly, it wasn't all too busy. So you spent your time behind the counter at the bar, wiping down the area and trying to perfect a new dish.

The bells above the door jingled. You looked up from what you were doing and made eye contact with a young blonde guy, about your age. He smiles at you. You give him a small smile back, but not sure if it was directed at you in the first pace.

He exchanges a few words with the host and makes his way to the empty seat at the bar across from where you stood, setting his bags down next to it and getting comfortable.

"Hi, welcome in." you greeted him. "What drink can I get you started with today?"

"Just a glass of water, love"

You'd never been called that before. He definitely wasn't a local.

"Here you go." You poured him the water with a friendly smile and slid him the menu. "Let me know when you're ready to order, or if you have any questions."

Sanji looked at you with geniune interest, taking in your professionalism and the surroundings. He couldn't help but be captivated.

As his eyes pursed the menu, his eyes occasionally drifted back to you, the beautiful woman behind the counter who caught his attention. The menu was filled with great dishes, each sounding more enticing than the last.

After a few minutes, he looked up and caught your gaze again. "I'll try the sobrasada brioche."

"Excellent choice." You write his order on your little notepad that you pulled from your back pocket and relay it to the kitchen.

**

"This is amazing." he beamed. "The texture adds a nice touch."

"I'm glad you like it." you chuckled as you handed a drink to another man who came and sat at the bar a few seats away.

"You know, I didn't catch your name, love. I'm Sanji." his eyes twinkled and he flashed you yet another radiant smile.

"I'm Y/N. Nice to meet you."

"And you as well, madam."

A blush creeped up on your cheeks. It was somewhat unusual to be called "love" and "madam". There was a certain charm to it that you couldn't deny.

"So Sanji, you're not from around here, are you?"

He leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms, taking a second to answer. "My crew and I anchored here. I was looking around, trying to find ingredients for our meals, as I am the cook. But I couldn't resist the alluring aroma that was coming from this place. And I'm glad I didn't."

You opened your mouth to respond when a youngster from the kitchen came out looking for you. Excusing yourself from Sanji, you turned to the boy and allowed him to go on and talk.

He just wanted to get in extra hours and wondered where you could place him.

"Cool, thanks chef." he said after you two came to an agreement and went back between the double doors.

Sanji wasn't the one to eavesdrop but he couldn't help but hear that last part.

"Chef?" his eyes lit up when you turned in his direction again, referring to the title the boy gave you.

"That's me." you smiled proudly. "Well...sous chef."

"It's a pleasure to meet someone so beautiful and talented.

You nervously looked down at your hands. He was direct.

“Have any signature dishes?”

“Well,” you started. “I’m working on this dish.” You grabbed the plate off to the side that held the small entree to show him. “It’s a lobster roll that I want to add for the seasonal brunch menu. It’s…not quite right yet.” you admitted with a bit of self-critique in your voice.

His eyes locked on the dish and he studied it intently and then brought his gaze back to you. "Mind if I try it?"

"Sure, go ahead."

He took a bite, his expression thoughtful as he savored the flavors. "It's exquisite. However, it is missing a certain...kick. And I'd be happy to help you, if you like."

You tossed the dish rag over your shoulder and put your weight on your forearms, leaning closer. "You? In my kitchen?"

Sanji smirked. "If you'll have me."

It was intriguing. He seemed genuine and he definitely had knowledge based on how he spoke and his reaction. You contemplated for a moment, weighing the potential benefits of having him help.

"Alright," you finally replied, with a playful glint in your eye. "But you're not getting paid."

**

After you instructed another member of the kitchen to watch the bar in your place and getting confused looks as Sanji followed your lead through the area, you both spent the next two hours working, experimenting with ingredients and techniques. He took control, and you let him. The prep area was a mix of different fixings. You worked diligently beside him, chopping the garlic like he asked, your hands moving in unison.

The garlic, along with some white wine vinegar, egg yolks, hot water, salt, olive oil, and spice, he drizzed the sauce (which had a mayo like consistency) onto the dish.

"It's a saffron aioli." Sanji described.

You took a bite. It definitly added flavor as well as color. With a touch of elegance.

"You're incredible!" you told him. "You should write a cookbook."

"Well, you know, a true artist never reveals his secrets. But, I could be talked into offering some private lessons." he replied, leaning against the counter with a mischievous look in his eye.

"Oh gosh." you groaned. "That was so cheesy."

He chuckled. He couldn't help but flirt. Of course, he thought you were gorgeous, but he also saw a lot of himself in you. Someone who seems to love food the way he does and the appreciation for little details.

"Sure."

Sanji blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"Yes, I'll take you up on your offer."

He was a bit caught off guard. A woman has never given into his advances. He was always met with soft or harsh rejection everytime.

You knew he was being coy, but if he was actually serious, you could learn from him.

More like, you could learn from each other. What's the harm in that?

He smiled. "You won't regret it. Cooking is a pleasure that's meant to be shared."

The restaurant started to get busier, so you and Sanji had to wrap up the impromptu cooking session. It was time for him to go as well as the crew was probably wondering where he was at this point. On a napkin, you gave him a description of your house and how to find it with the plan to see each other again the following night. He put is safe in his pocket.

**

You said your goodbyes and Sanji went back and met up with the crew again. He couldn't help but gush about the encounter he had at the restaurant. Luffy listened with interest, Zoro couldn't care less, and Usopp and Nami teased him.

The next morning, he found himself eagerly anticipating what was to come. Although Nami was the skilled navigator, she was also the avid shopping connoisseur and offered to help Sanji find something suitable to wear.

She had an eye for fashion and wanted to make sure Sanji made the best impression possible. Together, they scoured the markets, looking for the perfect attire.

**

Sanji made his way to your house, per the instructions you provided. After hearing a soft knock on the door, you opened it swiftly. And there he stood.

Clad in a blue sweater and black pants, holding a bouquet of blue flowers to match, two loaves of french bread, with his blonde hair neatly covering his eye and signature cigarette in his mouth. He looked so adorable, you had to admit.

His eyes sparked in enthusiam, mixed with anticipation and hope that you would appreciate his effort.

"You clean up nicely." you complimented, inviting him in and taking the flowers and bread from him. "These are beautiful, thank you."

"My pleasure. Your outfit is nice too."

You look down at your regular ole tshirt and shorts then back at him. "Oh, it's just my usual." You weren't expecting anything fancy. But maybe that was just his style. "So, what do you have in mind?"

"Anything. Just tell me what you want."

At first, you didn't know what to expect from this "private lesson". You were a little nervous and were expecting to say no to anything you weren't comfortable with, if it came to that.

But the night seemed to fly by. The kitchen was productive and filled with laughter. You knew that in due time, Sanji would eventually leave with his crew, but it was nice to have an experience like this.

With the ingredients you had, Sanji managed to make a cigala fideua. A dish that consisted of prawn, baby squid, and garlic aioli served on top angel hair pasta. He was going to serve it with rice but the pasta was your idea. You also sauteed shishito peppers tossed with sea salt as a side dish.

"Mhmm, this is my new favorite thing in the world." you say, mouth full of deliciousness.

Sanji sits across from you at the table, a glass of wine in his hand, smiling at you.

"What?" you raise an eyebrow after you swallow.

He shrugged. "There's nothing better than watching someone enjoy food."

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

a/n: someone on tik tok said they had the sanji cookbook and posted pictures of it. it was there where i got the idea for his outfit.

from @/surogori8 on tik tok

[604to647]

Safest with You - Ch. 5 (The Courtship)

2.7K / Modern AU Retired Mob Enforcer!Din Djarin x fem!reader

Summary: A week's time passes before your next date with Din and you can hardly wait.

Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI please), Just more fluff (but horny fluff?), lots of making out again, reader is horny as heck, mention of alcohol consumption (reader gets a little tipsy), usual pet names (pretty bird, sweetheart, pretty girl, etc.), ONE "good girl", ONE dick joke.

A/N: Can you tell my love language is acts of service? 🥰 As this takes place over the course of a week, I'm using a brand new divider by the wonderful @saradika-graphics to help denote the passage of time. Thank you for all the support! Sorry for the slow burn!

Optional musical soundtrack: Seven by Jung Kook & Latto (Clean version)

Series Masterlist

“He wants to court you?!”

Hands covering your blushing face, you peek through your fingers, “That’s the exact word he used.”

“I thought you said he was in his 40s, not from the 1840s,” jokes Bea.

The usual brunch group dissolves into fits of laughter. “I felt like a silent movie villain twirling my mustache, trying to steal his virtue,” you giggle, “He was so sweet about it though, I think it might be kind of nice… to not… get railed.” The table roars.

Rory looks serious, “Honestly, babe.  Any way he makes you happy, as long as you’re happy…”

“I’m happy”, you smile dreamily.

“…but next week you better come to brunch with a sex limp.”

Your mortified waiter chooses this moment to set down the mimosas and you cry actual tears from laughing so hard.

The next week turns out to be crazy busy for you at work; a project deadline gets pushed up to the Friday and you know all your week nights are spoken for.  You share with Din your disappointment that you won’t be free for a second date until the work week is over. 

“I’m sad too, pretty bird.  How about I plan a nice relaxing date for Saturday, help you decompress after your hard week?”

You almost say that you can think of something specific he could do to help you decompress, but you think Monday morning might be too early for you to be so horny.  Instead, you thank him for his thoughtfulness and tell him you can’t wait, “It’s a date.”

Your day is so full of meetings and review that you barely leave you desk; the periodic messages in the GC or from Din checking in on you are some of your only moments of reprieve during your hectic day.

At 6:30 pm your stomach rumbles, and you realize you haven’t eaten all day; groaning, you realize you’re looking at at least 3 more hours of work before you can go home and heat something up.  You hear your name and you look up to see one of your team members escorting Din off the elevator and pointing towards your office.

He’s a sight for your tired eyes and you melt into his open arms, ““Hi! This is a nice surprise.  What are you doing here?”  Din’s arm wraps around you, then reaches up to give your tired shoulders a brief but deep massage before he pulls back to show you the brown bag he has in his other hand.

“Know you didn’t eat lunch today, pretty girl. Thought you might be in danger of forgetting dinner, too.”

You could cry from the gesture.  Pulling him into your office and closing the door, you kiss him quickly but tenderly, “Thank you for taking care of me.”

“My pleasure. Now eat.”

Din sits and waits for you to start digging in before getting up to go.  You ask about his dinner, and if he wants to share yours – but he lets you know he understands you have a lot work and he doesn’t want to distract you; he had been worried he was overstepping by showing up unannounced at your place of work, but seeing how ravenous you are for the food he brought, he’s glad he came.  You wave off his concerns, and give him your approval of his takeout choice in between big bites.  When he hears that you think you might not be able to get away until close to 10 pm, he frowns, “Text me when you’re 5 minutes away from leaving, I’ll come pick you up.”

“It’s oka—”

He stops you with a kiss on your forehead, “I’ll feel better if I can see you safely home at that hour.  Can you do that for me, pretty bird?”

You nod, touched.

At 10:10 pm, Din is waiting outside your office, leaning against his truck and watching you wave goodbye to your co-workers, joke crying that you’ll see each other again in less than 10 hours.  You’re so tired you close your eyes and lean your head against Din’s shoulder as he drives; he holds your hand the entire way home.

Din waits downstairs while you go in and get Al, walking him with you the same way he did the other night. Before sending you upstairs afterwards, he wraps you up in his arms, once again running his hands firmly over the stiffness in your back from sitting at your desk all day, kissing you long and hard.  Barely keeping his breathing under control, Din whispers, “Missed you today, baby.” You pull yourself closer to Din, tilting your head back far enough to rest your chin on his chest and look deep in his eyes; playing with the curls at the base of his neck, you mouth, “Me too,” before opening up your mouth to his one last time before going in.

The next day, Tuesday, Din brings you lunch (“Can’t have you missing your lunch again, sweetheart”) and sits with you while you eat at your desk, watching you answer emails and the occasional question from a colleague who pops into your office.  You don’t have to work quite so late today, and are able get home at a reasonable hour (8 pm?) to have dinner.  Din still comes by later that night after closing up the gym to walk the dog, and also to bring you another surprise: your dry-cleaning from Peli’s.  So glad to be spared the errand, you thank Din with a grateful kiss before asking him how much you owe him.  Din gives you a look, to which you respond with a look of your own before sighing, “I’m too tired to do this right now, but this isn’t over, Djarin.”  Din puts his hands up in mock surrender and grins, “Anything you say, pretty bird.”

Before parting for the evening, the two of you make out like teenagers: hurried and excited, sometimes clashing teeth and bumping noses from impatience, then giggling before crashing your mouths together again. 

On Wednesday, Din brings you dinner again and this time, brings enough for your whole team.  After accepting their copious thanks, at your insistence that he isn’t a distraction, he stays and eats with you this time.  You happily let yourself escape a little from work through easy conversation with Din; he’s also easy on the eyes tonight in casual sweats, and you try to maintain a modicum of professionalism at work by not letting your eyes and thoughts drift down past the waistband of his sweatpants.  For being semi-successful, you allow yourself a few less than professional kisses after dinner.  His visit leaves you rejuvenated, and you power through the remainder of your work, missing Din already and eager to see him again for your nightly dog walk.  Al has adapted quickly to the new routine, and after the walk, lays down on the sidewalk, seemingly waiting for you and Din to have your nightly make out session.  Tonight, Din has you cradled against his shoulder, hands running over your body and face in long gentle strokes.  He knows you’re exhausted from work, and wants more than anything to relax you so he can send you upstairs pliant and languid, in hopes you’ll fall into bed right away and get the rest you need.  Your kisses tonight are unhurried, long and sweet.  You’re already half asleep when Din finally releases you and sends you in with a gentle pat on your rear.

Thursday turns out to be you and your team’s longest, hardest day, the last full work day before the Friday deadline.  Din picks you up very late from the office, and you take up your usual position, resting your head on his shoulders while he drives.  This time though, you’re wide awake, jazzed up from your team’s progress and how close you all are to pulling everything off.  Din holds your hand just like the drive on Monday, but periodically brings it to his lips to pepper your knuckles with light kisses.  As he drives, you can’t help but stare at the hand that rests on the wheel, and how it flexes as he steers one-handedly.  You can barely conceal how much you want this man to touch you; you steal glances at Din’s handsome profile as he concentrates on the road, squirming in your seat the entire drive.  Heat and desire bubble below your stomach as you hope that same hand grips your body hard tonight when his mouth ravages yours.

As if you were clairvoyant, tonight’s post-dog walk make-out session is hungry and intense.  At one point, Din has you pressed up against your building, heavy breathing while his hands roam up and down your sides, close to but never groping your breasts.  You’re worked up and needy and you let Din know by moaning into his mouth as he kisses you.  Din looks sternly at you, panting, “You can’t be making those pretty noises, baby.  You’ll drive me crazy.”

Giving him a little smirk, you push up on your tip toes and kiss him open mouthed, this time making sure to press your core against his thigh and give him a drawn out, throaty groan.

Din breaks this kiss by gripping the hands on your waist tighter, and placing you firmly back on your feet, “Now, I thought you were going to be my good girl.”

Your eyes widen, his words shooting straight to the throbbing spot between your legs; “Fuck,” you breathe.

Din hadn’t expected this reaction, but he quickly catches on, “Oh you like that, do you?”

“Mmmhmmm,” you whimper, as you close your eyes and Din slots his mouth over yours again; neither of you even trying to stop your moans this time as the kisses get deeper and harder.

“Fuck,” whispers Din when he finally comes up for air, “I’m in so much trouble.”

You look up at him, slightly stunned and unfocused, “Me too.”

Din gently cups your face and looks at you with seriousness, “Pretty bird, I hope you know just how much I want you.  You feel so good. And sound so good, too.  You’re also… precious to me; I want to take my time with you, okay?”

“Okay,” you murmur as you pull him back in for a series of soft kisses, “Al says you can take your time.”

Friday passes in a frenzy with last minute prep for the deadline presentation.  Everything goes off without a hitch, and the whole team ends the day early, opting to go out for afternoon drinks and then dinner to celebrate hard work and a job well done.  When you talk to Din before heading out, he gives you a hearty congratulations and tells you to have a great time, offering to give you a ride home after (extending the kind offer to your co-workers as well),  “Have a good time, pretty bird.  You deserve it.”

Afternoon drinks plus dinner wine, plus post dinner celebratory champagne have you feeling giddy and buzzed by the time you ask Din to pick you up.  You’re not drunk, but you’re carefree, happy and your inhibitions are definitely down.  And all you want is Din.  You want to see his lazy grin.  You want to run your hands over his broad back as he hugs you.  You want his hands and mouth on you.  You want him.  You practically climb into his arms when you see him waiting for you outside the bar.

Din laughs warmly, “Had a good time, sweet girl?”

“Mmmmmhmmmm,” you hum, face buried in his neck. Fuck, he smells good. 

Brushing the hair away from your face, he takes in your goofy grin and bright eyes, trying to assess if you’re drunk, but is cut short when you pounce and kiss him with hurried eagerness.  He grins against your mouth; yep, you’re tipsy.  And it’s making you even more incorrigible and adorable than usual; Din isn’t sure he can resist you like this, but he’s going to try, “Okay, let’s get you home, sweetheart.”

Din helps you into the car, and after you buckle yourself in, he gives you a chaste kiss on your head before closing the door.  While he is rounding the car, you can’t help but pout a little.  Din said he wants you, but you feel like you definitely want him more – you can barely keep from jumping him at every opportunity, and he seems to remain ever calm and sometimes unreadable, resisting your (albeit mild) advances with little to no effort.

Holding your hand again as he drives, Din notices you don’t rest your head against his shoulder like usual; he looks over and observes a somewhat melancholy look on your face as you look out the window.  He gives your hand a little squeeze, “Everything okay, pretty bird? Why do you look kind of sad?”

Even under normal circumstances you consider yourself a fairly direct person, preferring to address things rather than let them simmer, but the alcohol tonight is making you downright brave, and you let your feelings pour out ineloquently, “Don’t get me wrong, Din - I don’t mind waiting and taking things slow. And I think it’s really sweet you want to, so I’m not trying to put any pressure on.  But…I guess I’m just feeling kind of sad that I’m the only one who finds waiting hard."

Maybe you are drunk; your words sound a little bratty even to your ears, but you don’t know how else to express your likely unwarranted feelings of rejection.  Feeling a little embarrassed for being so needy, you look down at your lap.

If you didn’t have such a sad expression on your face, Din might have laughed at the idea that it’s been easy for him to keep his hands off of you.  At every turn, your charm and pretty face threaten to make him snap, and it consistently takes every ounce of his discipline and self control to not break his resolve and take you hard on the closest available surface.  All he wants to do, all he thinks about is making you feel good; not a night goes by where he doesn’t imagine what you might look like underneath him, crying out his name while he gives you every ounce of pleasure that he can.  The car idles at a stoplight and Din reaches over to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear and then trails his fingers down you jaw, gently pinching your chin and turning your face up to look at his.  “Sweet girl, please don’t feel that way.  It’s not true,” he grins bashfully.

“It isn’t?”

“Not at all. You’re not the only one; it’s hard for me too.” He tilts his head down, nodding slightly at his lap and you follow his gaze to the crotch of his pants.  Your eyes widen at what you see.  It’s a monster.  You clasp your hand over your mouth to stifle a nervous laugh; how is that suppose to fit??

Din starts moving the car again and, in a way that’s clearly tongue in cheek, teases, “Excuse me, missy.  Are you laughing at my erection?”

You giggle and can’t pass up the opportunity, “You said ‘it’s hard for me too’,” and laugh so hard, you snort.

Din’s laugh booms throughout the car.  And just like that, your little crisis of self doubt is averted, and the two of you are laughing uncontrollably, grinning like idiots.  It’s not lost on Din how amazing this feels: even with dumb dick jokes and the promise of no sex, he is completely enamoured with you.

Tonight, the kisses are positively sinful.  Deep and passionate; you’re pressed up against the wall again, but this time Din has you caged in with his forearm braced above your head, possessive of your body.  His other hand cupping the back of your head, pulling you in for kiss after kiss: hungry kisses on your lips, hurried kisses down your neck, breathy kisses behind your ears.  Your hands are fisted into his shirt, both of you pulling each other in for more, more. More.

You’re the one to pull away first, needing to catch your breath; Din touches his forehead to yours, “See you tomorrow for our second date, pretty bird.”

Dazed, you remember it’s only been a week and one date with Din.  How are you ever going to survive this man?

[sheena-is-a-punk-rocker]

Then she said yeah you're like a diamond in the rough. You're dirty and you're damaged, all you need's a little love

Y'all have failed me with the lack of Trickette fics so I wrote my own. Takes place immediately after the Patreon bonus break-up booth video

Trick drags a hand down his face and sighs. That did not go the way he wanted it to. He storms back over to his dad and Amber and says, “I fuckin’ hate you, asshole.”

“Oh sure, blame your old man for your fuck ups! I knew Bridgey was too good for you.”

He suppresses a scream of frustration and rushes towards the kitchen. He needs a smoke break after dealing with this bullshit. He runs into Aaron on the way there and asks, “Hey, do ya mind takin’ table thirty? My dad is drivin’ me fuckin’ insane.”

“Uh, yeah, sure, I can do that,” Aaron says, hands full of dirty dishes.

Trick pats him on the shoulder. “Thanks man, I owe you one.”

He lights up a cigarette the second he gets outside and inhales deeply—holding the smoke in for a count of four before blowing it out.

By the time he’s done he’s much calmer, but still feeling terrible. He needs to find Bridgette and apologize.

He finds Nicole at the hostess stand and asks, “Hey, is Bridgey still here?”

She side eyes him. “She literally just left, and you better be on your way to apologize to her—I’m watching you.”

Okay, he deserves that.

He heads towards the parking lot, picking up the pace once he spots Bridgette at the car furthest from the front door.

She takes one look at him as he approaches and frowns. Fuck, he feels terrible.

“Look, can we talk?” he asks tentatively, hands shoved in his pockets to stop them from shaking.

“I dunno, you were pretty awful to me back there. I mean, asking me to close with you again some time? That’s not a date, Trick!”

He sighs. “You’re right, it’s not, and I don’t fuckin’ know why I said it.”

She turns to face him and leans against her car, arms crossed over her chest. “So what did you mean to say?”

“I was gonna ask if ya wanted to try that new restaurant I overheard ya talkin’ to Nicole about four weeks ago.”

“Then why didn’t you ask me four weeks ago​​​​​​?”

He thinks back to Pickles threatening to murder him if he hurt her and decides he can’t hold it in any longer.

“I was scared, okay? Pickles threatened to bury me in the desert if I hurt ya and then my fuckin’ dad accused me of just bein’ interested ‘cause you weren’t available, which is absolutely not true, I swear to god!”

She opens her mouth to respond but he plows on. “And then tonight my dad was just drivin’ me fuckin’ insane and I couldn’t deal with it and his and Amber’s bullshit and havin’ you be mad at me.”

He’s so busy spilling his guts that he misses the small smile that appears on her face.

“And look, I’m sorry for callin’ you dumb for believin’ in the break up booth or whatever. I’m startin’ to think ya might be onto somethin’ with that. And—”

He’s cut off by a hand covering his mouth.

Bridgette smiles at him and says, “Apology accepted. Can we start over?”

“Yeah, I really really wanna start over. So, wanna go with me to that new place you was talkin’ about?”

“I’d really like that. When were you thinking?”

“When’s your next day off?”

“Not until Tuesday but I’m working Sunday brunch. Terry usually cuts me by like three.”

“Fuck, I’m closin’ Sunday.”

He can’t stand the way her face falls so he quickly says, “I’ll get Aaron to switch with me, it’ll be great.”

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

The first thing he does when he gets back inside is figure out how much he needs to pay someone to switch shifts with him. The answer ends up being fifty bucks—well worth it.

His next stop is to the hostess stand so he can loop Nicole into everything. He’s gonna need all the help he can get.

She’s delighted to hear that he’d gotten his head out of his ass and makes sure to tell him, “Okay, but this is super important—you can not surprise her with dinner plans. She’s a pre planner.”

“What the hell’s a pre planner?”

“You know, one of those people who needs to look at the menu and pick out exactly what they want before going somewhere new. She’ll literally have a panic attack—ask me how I know.”

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

He makes a mental checklist as he approaches the restaurant on Sunday. Reservation made? Check. Flower? Check. Smokes (because god knows he’ll need them if his dad’s working)? Check.

Bridgette’s face lights up as he approaches her and his heart skips a beat. He’s down bad for this girl—and he doesn’t give a shit who notices.

“Is that for me?” she asks shyly.

“To really hammer home that apology,” he admits. His hands are shaking as he tucks the pretty yellow flower behind her ear.

The brunch rush flies by in a blur—he’s just counting down the minutes before their date tonight. He really hopes he doesn’t fuck this up.

When there’s a lull in the chaos he finds her by the server station checking her phone. “Hey, text me your address. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“You’re picking me up?”

“I mean, only if ya want me to. We can totally meet there if you’re more comfortable.”

“No! It’s not that. It’s just, I was the only one with a car between Pete and I so I was always driving him around everywhere. It’ll be nice not having to drive.”

He makes a mental note of that.

“Trick, you got a table!” Terry hisses as he intrudes on their moment. “They’ve already been waitin’ two minutes!”

He sighs and shoots an exasperated look at Bridgette, who just giggles in response.

He shuffles over to table thirty and says, “Hi, I’m Trick, I’ll be your server today.”

He gets cut by 3:30, much to his relief and goes out back for a smoke break to calm his nerves. Remembering Nicole’s advice, he pulls up the restaurant’s menu on his phone and shoots a text to Bridgette with the link.

His dad immediately bitches at him to run food when he gets back inside but he just puts up a middle finger and keeps walking—he’s got a date to get ready for.

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

He takes stock of his wardrobe once he gets out of the shower. Fuck, what is he supposed to wear​​? The place he’s taking her to is a newer Italian restaurant with no dress code—which doesn’t help anything.

Then there’s the matter of his hair. No one but his dad knows this but he’s hiding a mohawk under his baseball cap at work. He hasn’t spiked it up in years but also refuses to shave it. It’s been a part of him since middle school and he doesn’t like change. But would Bridgette think it was stupid? His dad certainly does.

He catches a glimpse of his cat in the mirror—a fluffy white thing that’s more fur than cat. She’s busy cleaning her paws—blissfully unaware of the inner turmoil going on in his brain.

“What do you think I should wear, Ethel?”

He turns around and holds up two button up shirts—one red plaid and the other a solid navy blue.

She pauses in her grooming and slow blinks at him before letting out the teeniest most pathetic sounding mew ever—something she’s done since he adopted her after his douchebag neighbor abandoned her.

“You’re right—red’s better.”

He picks a random punk band shirt that has zero holes and minimal cat hair to go under the button up and rushes to get dressed once he sees the time on his phone. The last thing he does is shove the baseball cap back on before he can do something stupid like letting Bridgette see the mohawk he hides at work. He’s not sure he could handle the ridicule.

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

He shows up at her doorstep with more flowers and almost drops them when she opens the door. He’s only ever seen her in her work uniform up to this point so he’s not prepared to see her all dolled up in a pink v-neck sweater and black skirt.

She fidgets with the hem of her sweater as he figures out how to get his mouth to work again—she looks absolutely gorgeous.

“Am I under-dressed? I didn’t look up the dress code.”

“Nah, you look great. Beautiful, even.”

He’ll never get tired of seeing her blush.

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

As shocked as Trick seems to be to see her, Bridgette’s just as shocked. He’s wearing a red plaid button up over a band shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. She suspected he had more than just the neck tattoo but seeing the artwork on display on his forearms is still a lot to take in. She hopes he doesn’t hear the way her breath hitches.

She beckons him inside while she goes to find a vase for the flowers he so thoughtfully brought for her. Oh god, he was in her house. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t hoping for this to turn into more than just a dinner date, and frankly, she hadn’t been prepared to see how hot he looks outside of his work uniform.

She shoots a quick text to Nicole while she’s in the kitchen.

Did you know Trick was hiding more tattoos at work????

The response comes rapid fire.

Did you NOT see him on Halloween??? I assumed you were in the bathroom hyperventilating over the chest tattoos.

She drops her phone and lets out an embarrassing squeak when she hears Trick behind her saying, “I don’t wanna rush ya or nothin’ but the reservation is in like fifteen minutes. Sorry for scarin’ you.”

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

Trick smirks to himself as he spies the messages on Bridgette’s phone. Oh, so she likes the tattoos, does she? He makes a mental note of that and wonders what else he can do to rile her up as the night goes on.

The music he was blaring on the way over fills the car and he quickly turns it down—fuck, he forgot he was listening to Buddy Holly. Talk about embarrassing.

“Sorry about that,” he mumbles as he pulls out of his parking spot.

She giggles. “I don’t mind! I just wasn’t expecting something like that from you, if I’m being honest.”

He rubs the back of his neck nervously. “I grew up listenin’ to this stuff as a kid—my ma’s obsessed with oldies. I can change it if you want.”

Instead of answering, she reaches over and turns the music up.

Halfway to the restaurant he asks, “Did ya get the link I sent earlier?”

“Yes! Thank you. I know it’s super weird but I need to be able to look at the menu and pick exactly what I want before trying a new restaurant. I even pick out a backup dish.”

“Not weird, trust me.”

He makes sure to open her car door for her and the door to the restaurant—just like his ma taught him.

Conversation flows naturally as they eat. The food is actually really good—and Trick’s picky about his Italian food, given who his dad is (as absent as he was).

As they’re waiting for dessert to come out he reaches over to grab her hand. She lets out the most adorable startled squeak but doesn’t pull her hand away. Instead, she relaxes into the contact. The energy between them shifts in that moment—electric heat that they’ve never been able to experience before uninterrupted.

“Wanna get that cannoli to go?” he asks.

“God yes,” she breathes out.

He catches their server’s attention and in fifteen minutes they’re speeding back to her apartment. He takes a chance and reaches over to put his hand on her thigh, just under the hem of her skirt. This time he definitely hears the way her breath hitches. He chances a glance at her—face flushed, breathing shallow—and moves his hand higher.

She parts her legs and grabs his hand—moving it even higher.

He’s not surprised to feel that she’s soaked through her panties.

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

Bridgette’s brain short-circuits the second Trick’s hand touches her over her panties. She’s so far gone she can’t even find it in her to be embarrassed about the soft moan she lets out.

“Like that?” he asks. She can practically see the cocky smirk on his face.

All she can do is nod shakily as his fingers keep moving.

He pins her against the front door once they make it to her apartment, and this time his hand slips under the waistband of her panties.

His fingers on her clit coax her to her first orgasm of the night as his mouth is busy attacking her neck with nips and kisses that are making her head spin. She’s not ready to admit how much the rasp of his stubble against her skin is turning her on.

She pulls him into the bedroom on shaky legs—wasting no time in shoving him towards the bed and climbing onto his lap. His baseball cap comes off when his t-shirt does and she gasps and bites her lip at the sight of more tattoos that, no, she had not seen on Halloween.

She wasn’t expecting a mohawk, and she wasn’t expecting it to turn her on so much either. She buries her hands in his hair and crashes her lips into his.

He manages to make her come three more times by the time he’s done with her.

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

She awakens the next morning to the feeling of Trick’s stubble against her cheek as he presses soft kisses into her shoulder. She smiles and leans into the contact and he tightens his grip around her once he realizes she’s awake.

“Mornin’,” he mumbles—hands slipping under the t-shirt (his t-shirt) she’s wearing.

“Morning!” she chirps back cheerfully.

He chuckles at her enthusiasm and presses a kiss to her temple.

They don’t move or speak for the next hour—too focused on the bliss of early morning cuddles. Normally she thinks her brain would be spiraling at this point—wondering if this was all some elaborate ploy to get her into bed. She’s not spiraling though—she’s not feeling anything other than pure contentment. And then she frowns as she realizes she never felt like this with Pete—not once in the three years they were together.

“You’re thinkin’ too loud,” Trick teases, lips pressed against her neck.

“Sorry,” she says instinctively. “I’m just thinking that I had a really good time last night.”

“Good, glad to hear it.”

“Did Pickles really threaten to bury you in the desert?”

“Sure did. Fully expected him to stab me or lock me in the walk-in this week.”

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. He’s had a crush on me for years.”

“Don’t blame him.”

She giggles at that response but then admits her frustration with Pickles’ behavior. His comment about thinking he’d get a shot after Pete had been bugging her since he said it. She knows that old Bridgette would’ve given him a chance even though she’s never been interested in him. She would’ve gone out with him because he was sweet and her people pleasing nature would’ve made her scared to break his heart and she knows that she would’ve ended up in another relationship she was absolutely miserable in.

“You make me happy,” she admits. “And you make me feel more confident.”

“Sure that’s not Nicole’s doin’?”

She snorts. “Nicole tried getting me to break up with Pete for years and I never did. You gave me the confidence to do that.”

She rolls over to face him and stretches up to give him a kiss. His hand traces random patterns on her lower back as he kisses her back lazily.

“Do ya work today?”

“I switched shifts with Nicole. I don’t have to work until Wednesday.”

----------

They end up spending the next two days practically glued at the hip. He makes her breakfast in bed and then takes her to his house so he can check on his cat. Ethel surprises everyone when she warms up to Bridgette almost immediately.

“Whoa, she don’t usually like nobody,” Trick admits.

He shows her his favorite record store and gladly follows her into every clothing store her heart desires. It all feels very domestic and cute and Bridgette can’t get enough of it.

He buys her Starbucks before their shared shift on Wednesday and they walk into the restaurant holding hands.

Amber’s eyes widen at the display of affection and she immediately flags Nicole down.

“Yes! Get it, Bridgey!” Nicole cheers.

Bridgette blushes and buries her face in Trick’s shoulder.

“Joey is gonna freak out,” Amber says.

Her stomach does a flip. Trick’s told her what Joey’s been saying to him behind the scenes, and after spending the last two days with him she can’t help but feel like Joey doesn’t really know his son very well at all.

She can’t help but notice how his grip on her hand tightens and his pace speeds up as they approach the kitchen. They’re almost to the break room when she hears, “Oh look, beauty and the scumbag! Ya must really feel sorry for his ass.”

She hears a sigh and when she looks up at Trick she’s heartbroken to see just how done with everything he looks. He looks defeated—lips pressed together tightly, corners turned down. She sees an incredible sadness in his eyes rather than anger, and his posture is hunched over, as if to make himself as small as possible.

She’s thought for a while now that Joey is too hard on his son. It’s not normal to be that angry and mean to anyone, let alone your own child.

Before she can stop herself, she looks straight at Joey and says, “Fuck off!”

“Excuse me?” he scoffs.

“You heard me. You are way too hard on Trick!”

“Oh I’m too hard on him​​? Tell that to his parole officer!”

She ignores that comment (for now) and plows on. “And you’re one to talk! You treat Amber like shit!”

“I-I don’t treat Amber like shit!” Joey splutters. “I do basically everything she asks me to.”

“Is that why she had to ask you a million times to take her on a real date?” Nicole deadpans, having made her way to the kitchen to witness the drama.

“Get the fuck out of my kitchen!”

“I’ve only been dating Trick for two days and he managed to figure out I’m a pre planner before our first date!” Bridgette says.

“What the hell’s a pre planner?”

“Not important! The important thing is that he treats me way better than you treat Amber so maybe you should lay off him and focus on yourself.”

The entire kitchen is silent for what feels like forever. Her ears are ringing—she’s never had the courage to go off on Joey like that.

“Joey, can I talk to you for a sec?” Amber says, breaking the silence.

He grumbles before throwing his towel down and following her to the walk in.

The muffled shouting that ensues doesn’t surprise anyone.

Trick tugs on her hand gently and pulls her into a hug—squeezing her tightly. “Thank you,” he whispers in her ear, voice shaky.

She pulls away from the hug and rolls up on her toes, pulling him down to her height so she can plant a kiss on his forehead—something she’s learned is like crack to him over the last two days.

“Where the hell are my servers?” Terry yells as he runs into the kitchen. “And where did Amber go?”

Bridgette rolls her eyes as she ties her apron around her waist. Today is gonna be fun, but at least the company is good.

[johnwickcaretaker]

Hola

¿Crees que podemos hacer que John Wick sea tímido por primera vez?

¿Por ejemplo, cuando conozcas por primera vez al lector? ¿Cómo crees que reaccionaría? ¿Qué pensarías? ¿Sería torpe al respecto? ¿Tendrías ansiedad por miedo a no dejar una buena impresión?

Esto no me deja dormir.

English:

Hello!

I wasn't sure if you were talking about a first time meeting, or a first time having sex. So I wrote both! Here are three first times with John x Reader (gender not specified).

Español (de Google Translate, lo siento 😔):

¡Hola! No estaba seguro de si estabas hablando de un encuentro por primera vez o de una primera vez que teníamos relaciones sexuales. ¡Así que escribí ambos! Aquí hay tres primeras veces con John x Reader (género no especificado).

First Times

1: First Sight

The morning before a job, John took a seat at one of the little round tables outside a coffee shop. He was in an unfamiliar city, just passing time while he waited for night to fall and to bring death down on his mark. That was when he saw you. He watched you take a seat at another table and sip at your drink while you watched the world go by, the sun and wind playing in your hair. It was mesmerizing. Suddenly, he didn’t want to pass time anymore. He wanted to freeze it in place.

He wasn’t one to try to get a stranger’s number - in fact, his mind hadn’t even gotten that far. He just wanted to talk to you, to make you smile, to…he hardly knew what. But for some reason, he couldn’t bear to leave without learning your name. 

He couldn’t talk to you though, how dare he… What if you asked him a perfectly normal question, like what he was doing in a place like this, what brought him to this city? The nature of his life left a stain even on cute, innocent moments like that. Not to mention the look of him. He felt too big in his little wooden chair at a brunch table under that quaint scalloped awning, too out of place, too huge and obtrusive and…scary.

He was just stealing another glance at you out of the corner of his eye when he saw you looking back. Your eye contact set his every nerve on fire, and the fire spread right into his chest where it glowed incandescently. You raised an eyebrow and waved. He lifted one hand and waved back, a tiny movement laced with disbelief. And before he knew what was happening, you were calling him over, asking him to sit next to you. The first question was already a hard-hitter. “What’s your name?”

He should lie. “John. John Wick.” For the first time in weeks, maybe longer, he was beaming.

2: First Date

He had to look good for this date. He was used to looking good for important dates, but they were usually dates with death. This was something new. The suit wasn’t black, it was a soft grey with an open collar underneath. He had never had a relationship with a civilian before, and what he experienced with fellow underworld types could only generously be called even a situationship. Does one bring flowers on a first date? He didn’t know, and quite frankly, he didn’t care. You deserved flowers, and so much more. So when he came to pick you up, he was holding a bouquet of simple yellow marigolds, nothing too fancy.

After ringing your doorbell, he spent a few moments wondering if this was all just a cruel trick of the universe, giving him hope only to make things worse for both of you later. He glanced up and down the street, as if he expected his secret life to pop out from behind a fence and attack you. It wasn’t out of the question. If anyone wanted revenge for that job last week, this would be a good time to make a move, when he had someone to protect. But the evening remained peaceful, and the door finally opened. 

“John! Sorry about that, I was just finding my keys.” You paused, looking him up and down. He was standing so stiffly he’d probably need a massage later. (You wouldn’t mind terribly if he did…)

But he melted as soon as he saw you. “You…you look stunning.”

You were blushing, and you had to get him back for that. “I might say the same about you. You look…more like yourself this way. I don’t know if black is really your color after all.” Revenge was swift: his ears turned faintly pink and he didn’t seem able to respond. But there was a deep happiness in his eyes.

“Let’s go,” was all he said. And he touched you for the first time, his hand on the small of your back to guide you into his Mustang. It was a strong, careful motion, an effort to express his devotion to you even in the smallest touch. A thrill rushed outward from that small point of contact, up his arm to his heart, and he was glowing all over again. 

3: First Time

You’d been dating for a while. This moment had been coming. And by the time it arrived, he didn’t even realize how fast things were moving until it had already happened. One minute you were dancing in the living room, and then you were kissing, and then you’d pulled him down on top of you on the sofa, and there you were, right under him, so much of you, your scent enveloping him, your heartbeat racing against his chest, your knee between his thighs. He felt lost in a new world, and suddenly something sharp and bitter dropped into his stomach. You were so beautiful, and his hands were all over you, these terrible hands…what would they do to you? Would they corrupt the angel that had come into his life so unexpectedly? Could you really want this?

He was shaking. 

You leaned back to look at him, breathless. “Hey. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I - are you?” His eyes squinted down at you, almost pained. It was a very earnest question. He wanted you to like this, for everything to be perfect. He wanted to believe this was happening at all.

You nodded. “I am. I trust you, baby. Completely.”

Your words affected him so deeply. A wave of tenderness passed over his features and his mouth swallowed yours again, his hands weaving into your hair. Slowly. Reverently. A heat spread between you, glowing and pulsing through both your bodies in sync. If you really, truly wanted him, he would deliver. He would put as much determination and care into pleasing you as he’d put into anything else for his whole life.

[sonicspacecadet]

#1 DAD MUG

A/N: enjoy this little north/sonic/kim (They're all together bc i can) gifting Alan a #1 dad mug on fathers day thing I threw together.

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

*Kim pov*

"We should go in here I've been wanting a new jacket,"  Sonic says gesturing to a little vintage shop.

"You're got it," North pipes up bolting to the door so he can hold it open for us.

We've been together for a few months now and decided it would be nice to have a nice shopping date where we walk around a bunch of small shops and just exist with each other. I started liking them when I was staying with Alan, they were just such a different energy than I was used to. They're always so lively and happy all the time and it's hard to not have it infected you too.

When we told everyone about our relationship they were all so supportive, though a little shocked that North and Sonic hadn't been together for a while and hadn't told anyone yet. I had been too honestly but what matters is we are all together now.

We walked around the shop together for a while before North got distracted by the wall of trinkets on the side of the store and wondered off. I stayed with Sonic helping him pick out some jackets. At one point he slips his hand out of mine to grab some bright green and black jacket so I slip my hand in his back pocket.

He gets the jacket half off the hanger when we hear North start giggling so loud it was like he's right next to us. We look over at him and he just waves us over.

"GUYS HOW FUNNY WOULD IT BE IF WE GAVE THIS TO ALAN!!" He shouts bouncing up and down like a kid who just ate a shit load of candy.

"TOMORROWS FATHERS DAY!" Sonic chimes in instantly matching his energy.

"We could get him a card too," I add while I set my elbow on Norths shoulder.

"YES!!" they both shout.

After that's settled we walk around the shop and pick out a few more things before I pay for it all and we head home.

-------------------------------------------------‐---------‐-------------------

*the next morning*

*Alan's pov*

"Wake uuuuppp," I barely hear some voice call for me as I'm shaken awake. After recognizing Norths voice I ignore him and tuck my head into Jeff's neck.

Unfortunately he doesn't get the signal and continues pestering us or should I say me, he's leaving Jeff alone. I look at the alarm clock and see it's 9:30 which is later than we are usually up but we didn't have to be at the garage until the afternoon so we wanted to sleep in.

However it doesn't seem like I get to be granted that wish today. I prop myself up and see North, Sonic, and Kim sat up and snuggled at the end of the bed.

"What is so important that you couldn't wait until work?" I ask them. By now Jeff has also stated to wake up but still leans on my shoulder from drowsiness.

"So rude we come here to bring you A PRESENT and this is how you treat us," North places his hand on his chest to mock offense.

"You could have at least knocked."

"To be fair I knocked one time and you acted like I had three heads," Kim inputs.

"You know when you three got together I thought you would reign those two in a bit and calm them down. I miss those days."

"Get over it and open your present," Sonic says shoving a bag at me.

First thing I pull out is a "#1 dad mug" under it I see a cheesy card with an ice cube on it that says "ur a cool dad" with all their names signed in it. I hate to admit it but it was so cute I got over the fact that they woke me up just to mess with me.

"IM NOT YOUR DAD!!" I say throwing the now empty bag at them.

"You kind of are," Jeff says now that he's fully awake.

"You do realize that makes you their step dad."

"I can live with that."

"Anyway we have brunch reservations so we need to go," Kim says and they all tackle us in a hug and run out the bedroom door.

The last thing I hear is them shout "love you dad" before the front door closes.

"You act all annoyed but you know if you ever had to go week without their chaos you wouldn't know what to do with yourself. You absolutely adore them and their mischief as much as they love you and pestering you. Anyway I'm going to shower," Jeff says before kissing me on the cheek and heading to shower.

He's right but honestly I don't mind I love this family I have around me and wouldn't change a thing about it. I wipe away the tears that started building in my eyes before propping the card up on my bedside table and going down to make breakfast.

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

*some morning a couple weeks later*

"Wow Alan you're really leaning into the whole dad friend thing aren't you?" Babe teases gesturing the the mug North, Sonic, and Kim gave me as I fill it with coffee. Everyone's over for our monthly movie night a tradition started as a way to relax after everything with Tony.

"AWWW you use the mug we got you, you do love it," North taunts from the couch.

"He uses it every day," Jeff adds from beside me.

A chorus of "awww"s sounds from the living room and I shoot Jeff a playful glare.

"And he keeps the card on his bedside table."

I swear they all drive me crazy I think and smile to myself.

[madridfangirl]

Ananya and Jude have both been stressed due to the pressures of work. Ananya’s long, laborious days usually crept into the late hours of the night and Jude was carrying the world’s weight on his shoulders, both on and off the pitch. This also meant they barely had time for each other. Ananya managed to finish work early one evening, and texted Jude letting him know if he was free. Jude invited her over, he himself had just came back from an intense session at the gym. He was physically and mentally drained.

Ananya arrived shortly after, as soon as she walked through the door, Jude lifted her up and placed a hungry kiss on her lips. She reciprocated his energy. The kiss symbolised how much they missed each other. Despite his exhaustion, he carried her to the living room, gently placed her on the sofa, and propped next to her. Jude usually would take her now and then on the sofa or carry her to the bedroom, but he was too depleted tonight. Maybe a little later, after dinner, he thought. He was certain Ananya must also be tired too.

“I missed you, dove.”

“I missed you too, baby.”

He smiled at her sweetly and Ananya mirrored him.

“What do you fancy for dinner?”

“Not sure. I was thinking of getting some Italian from that new place they opened up in downtown Madrid.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Roma said it’s really good!”

“Yeah sure! Let’s go for that!”

“Baby, you still have a day off for Friday, right?”

“Um yeah…but…”

“But what? Don’t tell me they asked you to work that day?”

Ananya’s boss decided to give Ananya’s team a day off and she had mentioned this to Jude two weeks ago. She was looking forward to it since she hasn’t had a proper day off in ages. Her and Roma were planning to get their nails and hair done.

“No baby, it’s just I’ve already got plans that day.”

“Oh I know baby, don’t worry. You and Roma are going to the salon and having brunch after, but the rest of the day you’re free, no?”

“Honey, I’m sorry, but I made plans. Me and my team planned to go out to watch a new movie that’s coming out on that day. One of my colleagues suggested it, and I agreed. I don’t want to cancel. But I’ll be free in the evening, we can…”

“I pulled some strings to get that day off. I have a shoot that day and I managed to postpone it, just so I can spend time with my girl! And know you’re telling me you don’t WANT to cancel? For what?!”

Ananya felt so guilty and bad.

“Baby, I’m so sorry. It’s just we’ve all been planning this for the whole week and it’d be nice to…”

“You spend time with them all the time! You’re with them for like 16 hours every day! Is that not enough?”

“Jude, I promise we can do something after…”

“By the time you’re done with your friends, most of the day will be over. I would have wasted my day waiting for you to be free.”

“Why don’t you spend the day with some of your teammates or something? It’ll be nice to chill and relax with them, I’m sure they’ll…”

“I don’t want to spend time with them, I WANT TO SPEND TIME WITH YOU!”

Woah. Ananya was quiet.

“Maybe you should go and have dinner with them or something?”

“Jude..what?”

“You’ve got a free night?” I’m sure it’ll be fun. A lot more fun than with your boyfriend.”

“No baby…I’m here…”

“Well I don’t want you here.”

“Are you being serious right now?”

This time Jude is silent. He doesn’t respond.

“You know what? I’m leaving, I don’t want to be here anymore.”

And with that, Ananya gets up and makes her way to the front door. Jude doesn’t stop her, instead frozen in the same spot. The front door slams shut confirming Ananya’s departure.

Heyy! Who wants a part two?

Couldn't post this before Ch20, but here you go now :)

[infamousbrad]

I Voted

I voted Monday morning the week before the election (Halloween week, as you can see from the selfie), Got there 10 minutes before the polls opened, got out 50 minutes later, no troubles except my usual complaint about mediocre disability accommodation.

I meant to vote 6-7 days ago. As soon as I made up my mind to do so, my anxiety disorder reared up, hard; I haven't slept more than 3 hours at a stretch for over a week. My nervous system is doing everything it can to keep me from leaving the apartment at all.

Some of this happens every year the first time it drops below 35F at night and stays that way until well after the last time in the spring. I have a nearly lifelong phobia of freezing temperatures. But this year is worse.

Almost every election day I bribe myself to vote by hitting the breakfast restaurant closest to the polling place, treating myself to a nice big breakfast that I don't have to cook or clean up after. This time my early-voting location was a city library branch a couple miles north of here. The bus route between us is reliable and frequent, and almost half the old diesel buses have been replaced quieter, better smelling, more reliable electrics and got me there fine.

Before voting, I was having a nice breakfast in a kinda-hipster restaurant neighborhood that's very popular with the nearest university, lots of kids between classes having a nice brunch. The street between us has finally had its final redesign announced with construction starting next year; by the next election, thanks to our progressive-majority city council and nominally progressive mayor, we'll have a roughly 8 mile protected bike lane with bump-outs at every intersection to stop speeders from speeding in the parking lane, the number one source of pedestrian and cyclist fatalities in that stretch.

Yeah, the parties are both trying to fill me with dread but I haven't seen or heard a single campaign ad from either party in years; I don't listen to broadcasts and uBlock Origin is that good.

So why the ambient dread? Why the thrice-nightly nightmares? Why does it feel like a friend of mine used to describe the movie Cabaret: "long, dull, and full of nazis"?

I thought about it over breakfast and while walking from there to the polls, and my only guess is that it's because of what didn't happen after January 20th, 2021. There's nothing new about the center right party in the US being taken over by crazies who drove it off of a cliff. That's why the original Democratic Party is still here but the center-right party is on its third name. But all three times before, when the treason was revealed, there was so much revulsion that most of the traitors were primaried by moderates, when the moderates and surviving crazies ran in the general they were trounced as the suddenly horrified voters and eventually most of the moderates defected to the Democratic Party for at least an election cycle or two.

What horrifies me is that January 6th, 2021 wasn't a bridge too far. That they looked away, that they erased it from their memories, that they justified it and they're not shy at all why: no matter how awful the revived America First movement is, no matter how increasingly overtly fascist it is again? They hate the Democrats that much more than they hate the nazis.

Which whether they win or lose is still a problem. It's like the analogy of the pizza party: three of your friends vote for ham, you and one other friend vote for sausage, and two of your friends vote to kill and eat you personally. No matter how that vote turned out, you have a problem!

Like that Carsie Blanton song I reblogged a month or so ago said. In pursuit of energizing their base with fear, political consultants have persuaded our country that there are only two kinds of Americans. Not two kinds of politicians, not two kinds of parties, but two kinds of Americans: dumb whiny rednecks with tiny dicks in the exurbs and remaining rural towns, and ugly nasty commie bitches in the cities and inner ring suburbs, and the two tribes are at war, and whether you like it or not, you're one or the other.

Gods, I wish the culture war would end. We have bigger fish to fry and that more urgently, no time left to fight each other. And I know I'm not the only one being driven literally crazy by it.

[siodium]

FIRST EVER TRIP TO JB YEY (ﾉ ˃ˋᗜˊ˂ )ﾉ ｡*ﾟ+

the logistics of this trip were kinda sus, but i was just so excited to be invited on this trip to a place i've never been before so i didn't rly think much of anything else HAHAH. everything went smoothly though~

day one

took the bus in from kranji mrt station. we managed to clear the customs and enter jb just before 10 am (!! a pleasant surprise bc i always hear about scary traffic jams and custom queues).

started the trip with brunch at palates & bagels by T.A.M. i got the shiro (tempura fish with wasabi mayo) bagel with sesame bun, and the yuzu sour plum drink. the wasabi mayo wasn't spicy at all, and that's coming from someone who has zero spice tolerance.

the cafe also sold baked pastries and cakes?? i really wanted to try but i didn't want to overload my stomach that early in the day.

after filling our stomachs, we headed over to nine% hair studio for some hair pampering!! while looking up recommendations, i came across someone's review of this salon, and even though they rated the experience as 'mediocre', i was sOLD when i saw how nice their haircut turned out?? it was such a pretty and fluffy hush cut (the hairstyle i was aiming for)!! the aunties at my neighbourhood salon could never!!!

i got a haircut, a dye (just for covering greys bc i didn't want to bleach), and a moisturing treatment for around $300~ the haircut didn't turn out exactly as i'd wanted, but maybe it was bc my hair wasn't long enough?? the layers were layering though, and i became kind of like a jellyfish HAHA. it's still cute so all's good. my hair was also super soft after the treatment ( ˶°ㅁ°) !! i wasn't expecting it to go from crispy hay to boiled vermicelli noodles that quickly. the service was not bad too. we were the only two customers there, so we pretty much got the vip treatment.

also!!! i've never gotten anything other than a cut at a salon before, so this was a brand new ✨experience✨ for me.

unfortunately, it started to drizzle almost immediately after we left the salon. the humidity killed the styling in my hair, so i became a soggy jellyfish. ( •᷄‎ࡇ•᷅ )

next stop was to get a massage somewhere in the KSL city mall~ we walked around for quite a bit and eventually settled on thong thai. the reviews (i looked them up hastily) seemed ok?? it was on the pricier side but that meant it was less likely to be sketchy?? idk. i opted for the aromatherapy full body massage, which was basically the usual full-body thai massage, except i gotta strip down and get oiled up LMAO. luwi and alfur tried that in bangkok, and their reviews got me curious so i had to give it a go myself.

it was fine actually??? very professional. i forgot that i couldn't rly clean off the oil afterwards, so the feeling of oil on my clothes was........ not the most pleasant.

when the rain subsided, it was time for dinner!!! we explored the KSL night market that opened only on mondays!! grabbed a bunch of street food to try~ it was difficult deciding what to get bc our stomachs had limited capacity, and everything looked so tasty??

we brought whatever we couldn't finish on the spot back to the hotel for our street food dinner feast~

after dinner, we went to check out the cafe (space cafe) on the first floor of the hotel we stayed at. i couldn't eat anymore at that point, so we could only try the drinks.

didn't check if it was a halal establishment, but i tasted zero alcohol in that mojito LOL. looked pretty though.

we relaxed for a bit back in the hotel, and then i decided........ it was time to check out the hotel's infinity pool. i insisted on taking a swim even though i was hit by a sudden chill in the room??? not sure what happened there but it felt like my homeostatic mechanisms just glitched or something. didn't help that it had just rained, which meant that the nighttime air was gonna be colder than usual.

anyway, i refused to budge on the idea despite the fact that i was shivering uncontrollably all the way to the pool. luckily for me, the pool was hEATED!! ৻( •̀ ᗜ •́ ৻) when i went in, i didn't want to get out. koko didn't swim with me though. he was just chilling on the poolside chairs. no fun!! (ㅎ.ㅎ)

had da cheng lok lok 大成渌渌 takeaway for supper!!! it was something i rly wanted to try!! and it did not disappoint. the spice levels were beyond my capabilities (not me coughing like an ipad kid with every bite), but the seafoods were so good omg. aND THEY WERE HUGE??? i'm now a loklok fan. i wanna try the non-spicy version next time though.

day two

breakfast buffet at the hotel~ tried not to overeat so my stomach would survive the rest of the day.

went to the midvalley mall for the relatively new impulse gaming flagship store!! we were greeted by shelves of blind boxes upon entering the store. the temptation to gamble was too great, and i walked out with two boxes of blind shinwoo plush keychains........... at least one of the boxes (the heavier one that koko picked) gave me the one i wanted (hot sauce!!).

found a gengar model kit with swappable face parts and articulated joints at the same store!! i wanted it so bad but koko said i could get it cheaper elsewhere so i didn't buy it. :/

we spent a bit too much time exploring the mall, so our lunch was quite late. we originally planned to have lunch at keijometo, a cafe that was trending for its industrial aesthetics. however, the long queue and possibly 3 hour ++ wait time put us off. so, we hopped onto a cab to find lunch near the bagel place that we went to on the first day.

there was a cafe there called the replacement, and idk who hurt it, but it was hilariously appropriate given the situation.

got the irreplaceable pasta, which was a tomato-based pasta with tiger prawns. i wasn't expecting this unassuming sauce to be so spicy?? i did my best to finish everything aaa.

we also got a sour cream and onion cromboloni to share~ yums.

before heading back to sg, we did some last-minute snacks and clothes shopping at city square mall~ then we took the train back and it was so speedy!! like a 5-mins bullet train ride.

[sweetheartpowder]

Moments

East Asian women cut the best watermelon. Extremely particular about which fruit they cut, knocking on it, inspecting sun spots. My fiancé works a coffee shop cattycorner to a woman who sells slices,

"One dolla, one dolla!" all day.

He gives me cash, I delightfully run over, get thick pieces for us.

There are bizarre moments in time I've become desensitized to. What once was overwhelming, now meshed into the daily. At night in bed I check to see what stuck in my memories.

Grumpily trudging to a brunch shift last weekend, extra agitated with the J skipping my stop. As I slam onto the train bench there are 3 queer men next to me all dressed for a beach day.

In tiny swim shorts, beach umbrella in hand, turning to his friend, "Do you ever see pigeons like...in the woods?"

"No, they're pretty reliant on humans since we fully domesticated them and then ditched them."

"..."

"Did you know rats basically stay in the same 3 block radius of where they were born and because of that the uptown rats and downtown rats have become genetically different rats."

"Do you think they're friends?"

The boys laugh and carry on with their small talk. I feel privileged I got to hear a little piece of their lives. I share the rat fact with many of my own friends in coming months. I'm excited for their beach day. I think of them lounging, while I serve in Nolita.

Some nights I'm performing, lavished with drinks, praise, looking down at expectant eyes with spotlight turned to me. But most nights I'm eating leftovers off plates of the rich, who have no idea how these restaurants really run. (Your escargot comes out of an industrial snail water filled can).

One man refuses to pour his own water, calling me over each time his drink is empty. Another whines that we didn't serve him the moment he sat down. I watch a girl pose with her cake for over 10 minutes, pretending to blow out the candle. The wax drips onto the cake. She packs up the cake to go, which sends me into a disturbed existentialism.

Being in this material world juxtaposing my lower middle class one pulls me in all wild directions. I've no interest in being a Dharma Bum. Seeing all parts of this disgusting, sticky, wonderful society drives me in and out of madness, yet I'm addicted all the same.

It feels a bit like an inside joke, seeing how the wealthy live, knowing most of these expensive places are mostly a farce. Being broke has always suited me better. I felt pretty rich in love and experience. Even sort of liked serving the rich, a chance to chat with some of them, be in their world a bit. Anyway when you're broke but charming a lot tends to fall in your lap.

That's how I end up in line with Theo for a closing party on behalf of New Inc. Museum. Theo's braids are long tonight, wild black pants with all this fabric hanging off. She's in a tie dyed bleach shirt, a leather jacket. I'm in a tight pink textured tank top, tucked into a plaid school girl skirt. Fish net ankle socks with oil spill pumps, usual treasure trove of jewelry adorned.

We're always dressed well, frankly, often the best. It can put us into a lot of interesting situations. Theo is on the list tonight but isn't sure she can bring a plus one. When confronted by the bouncer I confidently give my name. He looks, asks me how to spell it, looks again. He lets me in anyways. That's why I dress well.

The elevator goes to the 30th floor, opens into a huge plush white carpeted room. "They must be rich to have us partying on white carpet," I tell Theo.

The entire back wall is windows that overlooks the water to downtown Brooklyn. There's DJ's, an open bar, free cheeseburgers, artists abound. I dance and chat all night. Next week when someone texts about my performance space, I won't remember who he is. I'll be back to eating cold scallop from plates trying to recall what I said drunk and passionate.

After work I'll have to take the Bowery J home, often a hot spot for those who never leave madness. I'm nearly always left alone. But tonight as I stand and read a man erupts violently and slowly staggers towards me. "Great.", I think.

With one hand gingerly wrapped around my pepper spray, he gets to me, yelling obscenities, stops,

"What are you reading?"

"Oh, Hotel Splendide. It's like...about some restaurant in New York in the 20s. I don't really know if I'm liking it yet."

"Hm."

He staggers past me, starts to yell again. I laugh to myself. I love it here. The richest, poorest surround me and I feel connected to it all. All of these people bound, in some way or another.

Some of these nights end in the arms of my lover. I tell him of my adventures, thoughts, ideas on what I've experienced in this city. He will kiss my eyelids, we'll scheme about our futures, him with no real care at how it unfolds so long as we can lie together and decompress it in our sighs.

I'm a giant strawberry in a clown fashion show. I throw my shoes into the tracks because I've stepped in human shit. My friends gather, eat together for each holiday. I cry couched near a bar because I can't take it anymore. I shove duck into my mouth by the trashcan at work because I forgot to eat before I clocked in. I take off all my clothes at a Valentine's gathering. I have sex in the street. I'm in a 100 year old diner. I see an underground wrestling show. I try to slow down and connect with my friends. They love me. We love one another. I feel fortunate.

One day I will wake up seething and angry about the world. Sometimes I will jump out of bed running to finish tasks and take in the city. Other times I'll wake up excited for the night's plans. I've unfolded my emotions and let them run through me. Tonight I work again in the restaurant. I'll take orders and roll my eyes several times. Maybe someday I'll eat the dishes hot.

[blog-reflection]

ONE / Twenty - Big City Girl

So, this is it, they’re leaving.

Today is the day I haven’t been looking forward to at all. But well, you know what they say. “Even the best journeys end, but a new one is right around the coroner”. But what if I don’t want to know that corner. What if I won't make it alone? I know I am thinking way too much about something that hasn’t even happened yet but, well, overthinking I guess. When I got up I noticed Jesse still sleeping next to me. Usually they are a morning person but once they consume alcohol all they really do is just sleep in way too long. Lucia already got up, but not only that, she also made her “bed” and cleaned up after her. The only trace from her in my room is that massive boa and the sparkling outfit she wore yesterday. 

I’ve reached for my phone, nothing. I glanced at Jesse and thought about waking them up but, I want to give them some rest. I looked at their phone which displate an alarm to go off in half an hour anyway. At least that way we still have some time before they leave at one pm. I grabbed my jumper and walked down the hallway into Sarah's kitchen. No sight of Sarah, only Lucia standing there in what I think are Jesse's clothes. To be exact, it was an olive green hooded jumper and some oversized pale shorts. I do have to say, those colours work well with her orange kind of copper coloured hair. Speaking of, her hair was in the biggest messy bun I’ve ever seen. She has no makeup on, besides some lipstick but I think she just forgot to remove it last night. I walked into the kitchen and swung up the counter while Lucia was randomly walking around in circles.  

James: Mornin. Lucia: Hi, hope you don’t mind me taking your clothes, won't you? James: Heh, those aren't mine so feel free to. Lucia: Well I assume Jesse wouldn’t mind either. James: Fair. Have you seen Sarah? Lucia: Oh yeah, she's right over the street at an Ambers. Think she wanted to get some buns for breaki. James: What’s an Ambers? And breaki? Really? How can you be that smart and hot and then say breaki instead of breakfast, like normal people. Lucia: Ugh normal people suck James. Hand me the shades, my eyes are burning.

Lucia: Thanks. Oh yeah Ambers. I am not sure but for what I know it's a mix between a baker's stop, a post office and some say even some mafia stuff. James: Mafia stuff? Like what? Lucia: I don’t know. The only thing I know is that they are constantly opening new shops throughout the UK. James: Perks of a big city girl? Lucia: Fuck off. Coffee? James: Yeah, thanks. 

 Couple of minutes later I got a call from Sarah, explaining that she is randomly having brunch with her friends over at the elderly place. Guess it’s just us then. Lucia and I were robbing the kitchen for anything nice to eat for breakfast. She decided to make some grilled cheese while I prepared the rest of the food. Only moments after the first grilled cheese was ready, I noticed Jesse standing in the door without any clothes besides their shorts. They grabbed a glass of orange juice I just filled myself, walked into the kitchen, grabbed the grilled cheese off of Lucias hand and leaned themself into Sarah’s armchair. 

James: Good morning to you too my belove- Jesse: five minutes, okay? Thank you.

Lucia and I just stared at Jesse devouring the grilled cheese within seconds. Good to know that at least that hasn’t changed. Don’t worry, that’s not how Jesse is usually. This is just the hungover version.

Lucia: Bro how much did you drink? I thought we had equally? Jesse: Honestly, I don’t know. I haven’t…whatever… but I had shots. That’s all I know. Lucia: Wait so whenever you got a new round you also got a shot Jesse: I’m fine. James: Yeah I can see that. Jesse: Why are you wearing my jumper? Lucia: Because? Jesse: Ugh fine. James: Come on big guy. Let#s have some breakfast before Lucia has to go. Lucia: Honestly, I already got a call. A friend of mine is going to pick me up soon. I'm just gonna change and have some food for the way. James: Oh okay. Jesse: So I can have my jumper back now? Lucia: Sure!

Lucia stopped in the middle of the room, getting off the jumper, and threw it right into Jesse's face. Couple of seconds later the pants were there too. She flipped us off in a joking way and went up stairs. Still can’t believe she’s this year's best at medical studies in University but well. Jesse grabbed the clothes off of them and threw them onto the chair before checking out what’s there for breakfast, when they noticed, it wasn’t much. They started making some eggs and toast for us served with something I have yet to find out. 

Meanwhile, Lucia was down again, fully dressed. She stood in the doorframe, wearing the outfit from yesterday and been sucking on a lollipop, her shades down since she’s hungover.

Lucia: Alright bitches, I got to move now. It has been a pleasure meeting you Jesse. And I had an awesome night. Get home safe kiddo.

She glanced towards Jesse and both of us got up to give her a hug. Seconds later she stepped outside into an Uber she called.

Jesse: *mumbles* She’s fun. James: Lucia? Yeah. Told you, she is just like you. Jesse: You were right with that. And hey, even though I ruined your surprise for me myself, it was still a surprise to get to know her. James: I’m just happy you two went along that well. Jesse: Haha.

We finished up breakfast and cleaned before heading upstairs. Ten in the morning. Jesse's train is about to go in two hours. Great. That is barely any time. Good thing I already got a gift for them. We just talked for a bit before getting everything ready. Unlike me, Jesse is rather chill when it comes to timing. They are relatively fast so that works really well in their favour. Both of us got ready and a couple of seconds later Jesse and I were on our way to the train station. We’ve decided to take the bike, meaning Jesse threw all their stuff on the bike and seated themself on the back while I was driving the bike. It’s fun since, well, that’s what we used to do back in the days when they still lived in Dover with me. About twenty minutes later we finally arrived at the train station.

James: What platform do you need to be? Jesse: Uhm, I think it’s four…yeah four James: alright

Both of us waited for the train to Windsor.

James: So…this is really it isn't it? Jesse: Oh my god James please don’t turn this into a breakup. James: It’s just, I missed you so much. The last days have been the best I had. All thanks to you. Jesse: It’s not thanks to me, it’s thanks to you. You showed yourself that you were able to accomplish all of that. Trust me. This place is doing you well. James: Well… Jesse: No, take it. James: Thanks. Oh I got this for you. Jesse: You didn’t need to give me anything, thanks. James: Please, and open it at home okay? Jesse: Sure bud. Oh, it looks like my train here. James: So…goodbye I guess? Jesse: It really is.

Both of us hugged each other really tight before letting Jesse go off into the train back home. I cried, Of course I did. This is as painful as a breakup. It always does when they leave me. I assume I never really got over the first time. It haunts me. 

I stepped outside the train station and got on my bike, time for a hike.

[heather-in-heels]

last night

Last night, I went to the closing of a bar/restaurant/arcade out here. It had been open for 10 years. I used to go there so often in my twenties with friends and on dates.

Being there made it feel like young Heather and Heather circa now were exchanging nods to one another. I got dressed up to go out, putting on a dress and boots and a coat. I had makeup on. I ordered a cocktail. These are all things I haven't done in a long time, minus the makeup. It has been awhile since I've worn shoes that pop me up to a 5'7" height. It has been months since I've drunk any alcohol. It has been a long time since I've gone out on a Saturday night. Chalk it up to me being a hermit/SNL viewer who likes to stay in and really needs a reason to go out these days. And when I do go out, I like a brunch scene.

All the while getting ready, I debated whether or not I should even go out at all. There was a part of me that kind of wanted to let the good, slightly faded memories of when I used to go there to live on in my memory bank. What brought me around was the understanding that this was the last night they'd be open, ever. If you can't show up for the final night of a place where you had good memories when you have the ability to do it, what are you even doing?

While I was there with the cocktail, I wandered around and played some arcade games. (A lot of Donkey Kong.) The place had an '80s theme. I remember I used to like how they would play movies like The Breakfast Club and Tim Burton's Batman. There was an '80s movie playing but I didn't recognize it. What I did recognize, for better or for worse, was how little I fit in there.

The crowd was all ages, but it was mostly younger people in their twenties. I dressed in a manner I thought was nice, but I couldn't get a read on the guys. Nobody approached me to talk. I gotta admit that bummed me out even if it seems to be the way things have been lately when you're out in public.

More than once last night, I had those song lyrics from Miley Cyrus' "Used To Be Young" bouncing around in my head. The older I get, the more I don't feel like I'm getting older at all. But I am. I know it because it just permeates every part of me all the time.

Last night, I thought about how I was excited to get home afterwards — and I would be home by 8 PM. In a not so distant past life, I was the person arriving home after midnight.

I thought about how it felt to drink again which was admittedly not good. My life for many years now has been in a spot where there's simply no time for recreational drinking. Operating at 100%, and being counted and depended on to stay at 100, means you have to do so many things. You pay attention to staying hydrated, eating healthy, and doing the things which allow you to unwind without turning the next day a recovery day. Alcohol has quietly faded out of my life. I still have a few drinks sometimes. I can usually count the amount I drink on two hands in a year.

I remembered the fun times there and kept having this creeping thought that felt decidedly older. The one about how much I was looking forward to the day that spot would turn into a new restaurant or another hangout place. That part of the neighborhood it occupies is getting cooler all the time.

Most of all, I felt like me coming back as just myself — to say goodbye alone and pay tribute — felt like the way you close those chapters which feel hard to end. That place saw me when I was younger and had so much less, or more, depending on how you quantify what having it all means. It got to see me older and wiser and happy return to it and give it thanks for being part of my life.

[darkhighness]

Heaven's Gate - A Good Omens Songfic

After Aziraphale chooses to accept the new position in Heaven, his relationship with Crowley is forever changed. His new duties in Heaven are more than capable of keeping him busy but there's always one red-headed demon who keeps taking up space in his mind.

Crowley, equipped with no home, no partner and no plan is left to wander around Soho searching for purpose. Until he reconciles his feelings towards Aziraphale, will he ever understand truly why staying in the human realm was the right choice?

They are left to wonder how they even managed to live without each other and what point there is to living if their best friend isn't by their side.

A songfic inspired by the Fall Out Boy song Heaven's Gate, featured on their album Mania.

There are also Romeo and Juliet references because Aziraphale is a nerd.

5030 Words

AO3

-----

One look from you

The demon Crowley mindlessly walked through the streets of a quiet nighttime Soho, looking for some kind of purpose. The crisp London air danced across his exposed skin and he was in some ways thankful that the usual drizzle hadn’t made an appearance. He couldn’t tell what compelled him to come here, not when there was a whole garden's worth of plants that needed his attention.

Part of him, deep down, was hoping that when he turned around this next corner the quaint bookshop would have a dim light flickering in the window. Other than the steady beating of his leather shoes, Crowley couldn’t focus on anything. His whole world had felt hazy since the departure of Aziraphale and his previous hobbies didn’t have the same draw they did in the past.

As he made his way around the corner he saw the bookshop crawl into view. There it stood, untouched by time. For a moment there he wished that his partner would be resting in his armchair, in the throws of yet another book. Memories of light crepes and the scent of light brunches came to him and served as hallmarks of a simpler time. Well, as simple as things could get for the unconventional duo.

Crowley pushed the door open, ignoring the small closed plaque that had proudly stood on the door for a while now. The demon looked around at the dark interior. Somewhere a faint echo of the angel’s voice seemed to echo, recalling the meticulous organisation of the emporium. There was something unsettling about a collection left incomplete. As Crowley looked around he couldn’t help but lock on to everything that’s changed. The few remnants of their confrontation with the higher powers made the place feel wrong. The unease wasn’t unnoticed by the demon who moved towards the unfortunately vacant armchair.

He let himself sink into the immaculately maintained seat and looked at the desk. He reached over to light a small oil lamp and watched as the ember glow began to illuminate the store. On the desk was a pristine copy of Romeo and Juliet sitting amongst a pile of journals and trinkets from their travels.

Crowley grimaced slightly, looking at the copy of the ill-fated lovers sitting in prime position on the desk. It felt like an insult. What possible reason could Aziraphale have for reading this book? Why is that the last remnant of his partner’s time here? In some ways, Crowley began to regret his involvement in the popularity of Shakespeare but he still leaned over and picked up the novel, being careful to not crease the delicate specimen.

As he moved it, he watched as a small photo fell out of the book. He reached down to pick it up, noticing a message scribbled on the back in black ink. ‘My dear’.

And I'm on that faded love

Upon flipping the photo over, Crowley is shocked to see his face staring back at him. It was a simple photo, just the demon seated in the armchair of the bookshop, much like he is now. But Crowley couldn’t remember this ever being taken. Stunned momentarily, he placed the book back on the desk and twirled the photo in his hand. Was it normal for friends to carry around photos of each other? Crowley tried to think of a moment where he had a photo of his angel friend but his mind drew a blank.

“Why did you have to leave?” Crowley croaked.

He tossed the photo onto the desk and took off his sunglasses, allowing them to fall absently onto his lap. He looked around the shop and no matter where he looked, there were signs of him. To the perfectly aligned books and the abandoned teacup on the desk. In his investigation, he noticed the rug was sitting slightly out of place.

He couldn’t help himself from shifting the rug with his foot. A wave of relief came over the man as it was returned to its rightful place. The feeling was intoxicating and he began to tidy the store as a whole, starting with that accursed book. As he placed the book back on the shelf he felt a warmth wash over him. A familiar warmth.

Even that feeling couldn’t be of comfort. He wanted his friend. He didn’t want to imagine his friend’s embrace. He wanted him here with him. It was almost enough to send him into a frenzy. His hand slipped off the book and he turned to lean against the shelf. He looked out the window momentarily, waiting for some sign in the quiet street.

As he glanced over at the coffee shop outside the window he felt that familiar anger bubble in his stomach. How could some human understand the relationship he had with Aziraphale? If she had said nothing, then Crowley would've said nothing and it would've been okay.

Except, it wouldn't have.

Aziraphale was still gone. He still would've offered to reinstate his angel status and he still would’ve had that goofy smile on his face. Crowley had become well and truly familiar with what-ifs. It was a question that had plagued him for weeks. In some sense, it was what brought him to the bookshop in the first shop. A stupid hope that things had changed.

What if Aziraphale had changed his mind? What if he was still in his dopey little bookshop drinking his quaint tea and being disgustingly kind to the locals?

What if Aziraphale had chosen Crowley instead?

Out of my body

And flying above

There was something poetic about looking up at the sky and not seeing the stars. One might’ve called it light pollution but Crowley knew the truth. The universe was so against their partnership that slowly but surely, any remnant of their time was being erased.

“Let there be light. What a stupid idea.”

The nebula and the stars weren’t the only light Crowley found that day. The other kind was less tangible but wasn’t any less real. His light lived in a small bookshop. His light was always there, the perfect compliment to his dark. The day to his night.

Crowley struggled to forget the moment he reunited with Aziraphale after his fall from grace and the shock on his friend’s face. It was only natural, Crowley reasoned with himself. No one could stay good forever. But there was a scar on his heart that wouldn’t fade, a wound dealt by his lover when he saw what he had become.

Their partnership was sealed from that point, however. Who else could be so wholly good to see through the conniving snake in front of them and see Crowley? Crowley had made peace with his demonship but he held out hope that at some point, Aziraphale would remove his rose-coloured glasses and see what he did.

Despite all of this, Crowley still felt like half of his heart was in heaven. He hadn’t felt whole since the angel’s ascent and he often wondered if Aziraphale had ever felt the same. This hole in his chest was even more evident as the dusty smell reached his nose. He could curse and hide away from his emotions but it didn’t change the fact that he had fallen, and it wasn’t only from grace.

If there were any more left of me

I'd give it to you

“We could’ve been happy, Angel. We could’ve had anything we wanted. You saw Gabriel and Beelzebub. That could’ve been us. It should have been us!”

In his anger, he swiped at the bookshelf and watched a row of books fall to the ground. Their heavy caused a resounding thud throughout the store and Crowley sunk to the floor, surrounded by the fallen books and a cloud of fine dust that bellowed out in his outburst. He fought with his scarf and threw it to the side before slumping further into the ground. He shut his eyes and leaned his head back against the remaining books.

“I would’ve given you everything. But you just had to be perfect, didn't you? The best little angel they’ll ever see. I mean, who could even compete with that? What’s one little Crowley when the Metatron is singing your praises?”

Six thousand years is a long time to be chasing after one person. Regardless of what Crowley tried, he would always return to his light that illuminated the small bookshop in Soho. Like magnets, they would always be drawn to each other. That was always going to be Crowley’s downfall. No good comes to a demon who cares too much.

And I'll tell you that I am fine

But I'm a missile that's guided to you

---

Go out in the world to start over again and again

As many times as you can

There was a certain glamour that comes from being the First Principality of Heaven. Aziraphale almost felt like a celebrity, getting to be involved in all dealings of heavenly duty.

Something about overseeing all the blessings filled his heart with joy. As much as he enjoyed his time on earth it was so easy to get bogged down in all the bad that he could almost forget just how much good happened every day. He had become particularly fond of hearing of all the new life brought into the world, against all odds.

One of his first orders of business was reorganising all the files in Heaven’s hivemind. It was the closest he could get to his home in the bookstore, plus it allowed him to get even more familiar with all the ins and outs of archangel life.

“Archangel Aziraphale? We’re getting reports of a miracle in America. We don’t have any records of this approval. Do we need to send someone to investigate?”

Aziraphale turned around and smiled at the young angel addressing him. He paused for a moment to consider, quickly adjusting his tailored coat before looking up to meet the angel’s gaze.

“I’m sure there’s a good reason for it. We’ll just have to wait for the angel to report back. No need to worry.”

The young angel looked unsure and shifted their feet slightly. It was the first time they ever had to report to Aziraphale and despite the Archangel's kind personage, there was always an intimidating air around him.

“If you say so, Archangel.”

The angel left quickly, turning back to check that Aziraphale was sure of his decision before they left.

Aziraphale would never get used to intimidating people. It simply wasn’t in his nature. He could empathise though, knowing how important it is to retain the natural order of Heaven. After the possible news of war had spread, it had been difficult to retain peace in the upper kingdom and Aziraphale had been on damage control since. It wasn’t every day that there was a massive overhaul in the bodies that dictate Heaven but the angel wasn’t going to let that break his stride. He had a job to do and there was simply no time for distractions.

Distractions…

And in the end if I don't make it on the list

Would you sneak me a wristband?

Ensuring that there was no one around, Aziraphale indulged in diving into the records of Fallen Angels. For anyone who asked, Aziraphale hadn’t as much as thought of his demon friend but there’s always a twinkle of intrigue that would creep up into his stomach. He wasn’t doing anything wrong, of course not.

No, no, Aziraphale would never do something that went against the greater good of heaven. It was simply research. How can he prevent more angels from falling if he doesn’t know what causes the phenomena?

“Okay, show me what you have on…”

The angel paused for a moment, once again checking no one had snuck up on him. Not because he was doing anything wrong. As we know, an Archangel would never dare. But as he checked the coast was clear he uttered one name.

“Crowley.”

Would you give me, give me, give me

Give me a boost.

A boost over heaven's gate, yeah

Give me a boost over heaven's gate

As the angel opened the file he began to see pages upon pages of his ventures. Any mention of Crowley was not long followed by Aziraphale. Any passive onlooker would think the two were never apart. It felt utterly self-absorbed really, seeing Heaven sing his praises for constantly coming toe to toe with a demon and still being able to fulfil many blessings. It was increasingly obvious that they hadn’t caught on to the pair’s little deal, yet it pained Aziraphale to see his companion painted in such a terrible light.

It’s not as if Crowley committed some heinous sin that made him fall from grace. He’s certainly too cynical, to his detriment the angel recalled, but it was appalling to see the way they could talk about a former angel. It was as if they thought Crowley never had a good bone in his body.

“No, no, this can’t be right.” The angel whispered, flicking through the numerous files.

“Is there something wrong, Aziraphale?”

The angel whipped around, closing the file he’d been pursuing in his haste. When he turned though, there was no one there. Stunned, the angel looks around the room to find the mysterious voice.

“Very funny, you can come out now!” The angel teased lightly.

He continued scoping the surroundings. He was hardly unfamiliar with illusion. The prospect even excited him, so he called and called to find the owner of the voice.

But no one came.

Aziraphale turned back to the file in front of him. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t considered granting Crowley angelic status and welcoming him back into Heaven. As recognition of all the good he’s stumbled into doing. Surely not for any other reason.

Any other reason would be selfish and selfish is hardly a trait for an angel to have, much less an archangel. To make someone, especially a demon, an angel without their explicit would be nothing short of a sin. Even just thinking of the word makes Aziraphale jolt slightly. Although the reinstatement of Crowley would be nothing but good he could never rush into such a hasty decision. Nothing good comes of a romance that’s built on mistrust. He rushes to put the demon’s file away and once again adjusts his suit. But there’s still a nagging feeling that lies in his stomach.

I'm gonna need a boost

'Cause everything else is a substitute for your love

The angel tried as hard as he could to forget all about the snake that captured his heart. Nothing but a traitor, he’d say. A traitor who was too afraid of eternity to spend his time in Heaven with him. What good is there to being a demon anyway that Crowley would choose that purgatory over an eternity in heaven, with him?

Like Romeo and Juliet, he lamented. Two ill-fated lovers never meant to be. It’s not as if Shakespeare had written the two as a reflection of the pair but as Aziraphale recalled the story, a familiar pain returned to his heart.

Two households, both alike in dignity In fair Verona, where we lay our scene, From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.

Regardless of whatever lies he tried to tell himself about Crowley, he could never forget his partner. You can’t just forget six thousand years together. Even if they didn’t always get along, they always had each other. In the middle of Heaven and Hell, there was Crowley and Aziraphale. One of the few constants in an ever-changing world of God’s Creation. Any time Aziraphale would see the stars on his few descents into the human realm since his promotion, he couldn’t shake the sense that Crowley was there with him, gushing over the beauty of his original nebula.

In another world, it would’ve been just them. But Aziraphale could never pass up an opportunity to become an Archangel. Not many people would wait millennia for a promotion but as an angel, he had all the time in the world to wait.

Selfish. That word stuck with Aziraphale like a bad smell. It was hardly a word the angel would use to describe himself. Crowley, maybe. But anything that disgraced his partner felt like a disservice. Crowley would be better here, he couldn’t help but think. Let alone better, Crowley would love it here. Who wouldn’t?

Give me a boost over heaven's gate

---

I got dreams of my own

But I want to make yours come true

So please come through

Honey please, please come through

“Mister Crowley?” Muriel called. They knocked lightly on the door of the back room where the demon had been taking refuge for a few days now.

“I really must ask you to unlock the door. I left a book of most importance in there and I simply must know how it ends.”

The demon huffs before dragging himself off the seat he’d found himself and he unlatched the door. Before letting Muriel enter, he leant against the doorframe, just inspecting them and the shop for a moment.

“I really can’t imagine Aziraphale would like what you’ve done to the place.”

Crowley saunters out but as he leaves, he sees the copy of Romeo and Juliet still sitting on the desk. He detours to swoop up the book before heading to the door. As he made his departure he turned to Muriel once more. Looking between them and the scattered books on the floor he simply mutters.

“Terribly sorry for the mess.”

Crowley meanders out of the bookshop with the cursed book tucked under his arm. He looks at the now bustling streets of the city and scowls. Human problems seem so inconsequential. That’s what used to make temptations so fun.

He turned the corner to where his Bentley sat, in it’s prized spot waiting for his return. The night had been kind to the vehicle, thankfully. Hell only knows what would happen if something damaged his baby. As he sat in the car, watching the world pass him by, he opened up the book to a random page, searching for some kind of reason why Aziraphale loved these things so much.

My bounty is as boundless as the sea, My love as deep; the more I give to thee, The more I have, for both are infinite.

“What a load of rubbish.” The demon frowned before tossing the book onto the seat beside him. He reached over into the glovebox to pull out a new pair of sunglasses before fixing them comfortably on his face. He had everything ready to get up and go, but where?

He hadn’t been able to get back into his apartment. Muriel was hardly fond of him residing in the bookshop, and the Bentley at some point felt limited in space, especially with his plants still residing in the back. Everywhere he had, everywhere he loved was suddenly taken from him and he was just meant to sit down and deal with it like a good little demon.

Crowley huffed at the thought before starting the car. He rested his hands on the steering wheel and began to drive with no destination. He just blankly followed the road ahead of him. For once, he allowed himself to remember the good times with Aziraphale. He remembered all the unlikely times in history when their paths crossed. He remembered all the times Aziraphale had his back. Most painfully, he remembered all the times he was there for Aziraphale.

Go, go out in the world, start over again and again

As many times as you can

As he drove out of the city onto the highway he turned the radio on, hoping for some freedom from these thoughts. He watched as all the magazine houses began to get further and further apart before it was just him and the road. He was barely paying attention to what was playing, just mindlessly following the road in front of him and hoping in some way bigger than himself he’d find his way to where he was meant to be. He hesitates to say he needs a miracle.

His life didn’t have to be directionless. He didn’t have to spend every waking moment mourning the loss of his biggest supporter, but it sure was easy. A fleeting second went by where Crowley thought about what would've happened had he accepted Aziraphale’s proposal.

Deep down he knew he would never make a good angel, not with what he’s seen now but he would try for Aziraphale. For once, instead of being disappointed in his dastardly deeds he could return to his angel and see his face light up, much like it had when he’d mistakenly done something good before.

Return to Aziraphale. The thought was addictive and the idea lingered on his tongue like the long sip of a fine liquor. He hadn’t let himself bask in this fantasy for a few weeks now, casting it aside as a waste of time, but is the comfort it brings truly a waste?

Somewhere, deep down, Crowley wishes he had just said yes. He wishes he didn’t have to choose a side but the pain in his heart in the absence of Aziraphale is a pain he simply couldn’t bear. How bad could Heaven be anyway?

And in the end, if I don't make it on the list

Would you sneak me a wristband?

---

Give me a boost, a boost over heaven's gate, yeah

Give me a boost over heaven's gate

I'm gonna need a boost

“Mister Aziraphale, you seem distracted.” The reporting Angel noted. They tilted their head slightly in a quizzing manner intrigued to know what could possibly be on the archangel's mind during such an exciting time.

Aziraphale snapped out of his haze and gave a small smile. This has been happening all the more often recently and it wasn’t only lower-level angels noticing. Somewhere he had strayed and let himself fall into a demon-fueled haze that plagued his mind.

“My goodness, I don’t know what’s gotten into me. So, you said you were worried about what Hell was planning?”

“Yes, Supreme Archangel. There seem to be some demons that are hanging around-“

There’s that word again. The rest of the angel's words fell away as the archangel returned to his daze. Somewhere amongst the familiar smell of books was the sharp tang of liquor. His memories of delightful human foods were poisoned by the recollection of the snake that had coiled around his heart and was taking it hostage. Even blessings didn’t give him the same spark they used to.

'Cause everything else is a substitute for your love

Give me a boost over heaven's gate

“Oh my I’m terribly sorry but I think I just need a moment.” Aziraphale breathed, suddenly overwhelmed by the endless white expanse surrounding him. His perfectly tailored suit felt tight in all the wrong places and he was in no place to lead the Upper quarters. He had armies of angels waiting for his beck and call, recovering from the false promise of a war. A war against demons.

But Aziraphale had his own war he had to fight.

---

You're the one habit I just can't kick

Crowley stopped in a small park in the town he’d found himself in. As he sat on a bench and basked in the familiar sun he struggled to feel it’s usual warmth. He looked up into the sky, investigating the kaleidoscope of clouds above him looking for some kind of sign. An arrow might be nice, maybe.

---

You're the one habit I just can't kick

Aziraphale checked his schedule once more, checking to make sure he had no holy commitments. It’s not like an archangel to have space in his day but word was spreading that he was unwell and mysteriously people weren’t coming in to ask him, well, anything.

---

You're the one habit I just can't kick

Crowley watched as pair after pair walked past, holding hands, staring lovingly at each other. God forbid kissing. He scowls as they walk past, in many cases mocking their small talk. Crowley would never be one to hide his resentment but what he truly couldn’t hide was how much his heart had broken.

---

You're the one habit I just can't kick

Aziraphale couldn’t contain himself any longer. He took a deep breath before summoning an elevator to earth. As the door dinged and the bright white portal opened he hesitated. As much as he wanted to visit the human realm what would happen if a red-headed demon crossed his path? What if when we wanted to indulge in some lovely treats and his biggest vice was there instead?

You're the one, you're the one

You're the one, you're the one

You're the one habit I just can't kick

---

The elevator made its final ding and the sound resonated throughout the park. Crowley, instantly recognising the sound whipped his head around with no less haste than a cat pouncing on it’s prey. He watched as this bodega across the road flooded with light and an angel stepped out.

Not just an angel. His angel.

Crowley locked on to this individual and leapt up from his seat before sauntering over to the blinding beacon.

Aziraphale looked around, admiring the simplicities of human life. A young child running after their friend, young lovers walking together, glued to their side. He enjoyed the fresh breeze and the warm sun dancing on his skin. As he glanced across the familiar park, looking for the one tried and true bakery he’d been craving. In his inspection, he saw what could only be described as his emotional black hole barrelling towards him. The demon’s red hair seemed even more fiery than he remembered and as the demon pulled off his sunglasses, the snake eyes were centred on him undoubtedly.

Give me a boost, a boost over heaven's gate, yeah

Give me a boost over heaven's gate

“What are you doing here?” The demon snarled before grabbing onto the angel’s lapel.

He couldn’t help himself. He wanted to be angry. He wanted to scream and shout and call Aziraphale a traitor but his harsh persona melted away and all the concern he had for his friend flooded back.

“Why now?” He continued sheepishly.

Aziraphale, shocked by his friend’s reaction leant back slightly before just staring at him. He reached out, slightly adjusting his friend’s crumpled jacket before looking back up and smiling at him. Don’t let the angel persona slip. You have a standard to uphold.

“I could ask you the same question. I didn’t pick you as a bird watcher.”

“Oh shut up.” The demon shook his head, trying to hide the inkling of a smile that crept onto his his.

There were so many words they each had to say to each other. They could’ve talked for hours about how much they missed each other. They could talk endlessly about what their lives were like in the few weeks apart. They could’ve talked about anything but for a long while they just sat and stayed in each other's company. At some point, they moved back to the park bench and sat beside each other, with only the air an old married couple could hope to achieve.

“So, how’s Heaven?” The demon offered half-heartedly.

“How’s Heaven? That’s your question?” Aziraphale teased.

He was glad he didn’t ask anything difficult. He could answer this. He knew this.

“It’s… good.”

Crowley nodded slightly before looking the other way. He wanted to understand why this angel made him so hopeless. He wanted to know why words got stuck in the back of his throat and why he cared so much about what he thought.

“Probably could’ve guessed you would say that.”

Aziraphale sighed slightly. “Have you considered my offer any more?”

“Have you considered mine?” Crowley snapped back.

I'm gonna need a boost

'Cause everything else is a substitute for your love

“It would be like old times, Crowley. Well, a little bit different but we could together again. It’s lovely in Heaven I think you’d like it quite a lot.”

Crowley sat in silence, stewing on the idea. Any time he even thought about accepting Aziraphale’s offer he just remembered what his descent was like, what it was like to have so many questions and be punished for it. How can you blame someone for wanting to understand?

It took a long time for him to realise it, but staying on earth wasn’t a selfish move. One day, Aziraphale was going to fall, and Crowley needed to be there when it happened. He would never forgive himself if he wasn’t. The demon bit his lip, resigning himself to the loneliness in the meantime.

“I simply don’t think it’s for me.”

Tight-lipped and burdened with the knowledge that his friend was going to leave him once again, Crowley made a move to leave. Spending any more time here would just hurt more and he needed more time to think. To find something to do in the meantime. Azirapahle would come back but with no promise of when he couldn’t sit here waiting on a bench for eternity.

“Well it seems you’ve made up your mind. And I really must be going back anyway.” The angel hurried as he looked for a watch on his wrist. He stood up from the bench and brushed off his suit. He once again equipped his angelic smile and prepared to depart.

Give me a boost over heaven's gate

Give me a boost

“Before you go,” Crowley started.

The demon turned around and with the same fire he felt in his stomach that day at the bookshop he smashed his lips against Aziraphale’s. Every emotion ran through him at once. Anger at leaving him, sadness at the thought of being alone, happiness that he was here with Aziraphale again but most prominently, fear.

Fear that when Aziraphale needed him, he wouldn’t be ready.