#plus still being under weasels thumb

[daveyfvckingjacobs]

[materialising physically in your home already sat cross-legged on the floor] say more about the mechanics au please

ok ok ok so

I’m thinking something like it’s a garage owned either by weasel or oscar and morris’ father that they all work at (to varying levels of willingness) and were raised around

they tend to get left to their own devices in the workshop on jobs, after long enough doing admin/paperwork for at least someone to realise morris isn’t good at it, oscar hates it and otto used to charge way too much just for fun until he got in trouble with the police for someone to realise it’s best they don’t do that anymore

morris is sort of neutral about the work. he finds the noises of the types of cars they get in often overwhelming, and a lot of the messy jobs (changing oil, greasing, even the gritty hand wash) quite a lot sensory wise. he knows them all inside out though, and could list off part numbers for any number of makes and years off the top of his head far better than the others. usually he’ll be found on a stool somewhere cleaning out parts with spirit or doing the mot checks and cleanings instead of big repair jobs. the easy, repetitive tasks where he can use his hands without gloves that oscar sets him too. he’s much better at identifying problems than oscar or otto, more attuned to the small noises/signs oscar misses and otto doesn’t have the patience to look for

oscar is pretty much the complete opposite of his brother; he loves working in the garage. he loves the physical nature of it, lugging around wheels and tools, all the bolts and screws and dirt. he’s very careless and thus covered in nicks and scrapes and burns from fiddling in too hot engine bays or refusing to lie on the foam mats. most of the time he’s the one underneath the cars, reckless with jacks and axle stands to the point it makes morris nervous. he’s similar to morris in that all of his tools wherever he’s working will be laid out all in arms reach, neat but filthy as he usually takes on big repair jobs and the messier servicing work morris avoids. he’s gets frustrated easily but doesn’t mind, because if he kicks a wheel of hits a spark plug with a spanner they won’t kick or hit back, so it’s a good form of anger relief

otto is equally reckless and also - said with such affection - an idiot when it comes to the work, but a smart idiot. he deals with customers most when they’re working because oscar can’t kept a civil tongue (‘it’s smoking cause the water pipe is just loose it’s literally just fucking steam I swear to fuck-‘). he’s a master at ‘fuck around and see what happens’, offering the most bizarre solutions to issues (specific tools made of cut up other tools, zip ties everywhere or just shake it till it works sort of thing) and more accident prone that oscar, and ten times more messy.

he loves fixing and servicing his own car thats technically all three of theirs because they can’t afford one each - a 1970 dodge challenger because it wouldn’t be me if it wasn’t a classic. it’s scrappy thing, full of haphazard fixes and additions that are totally not road worthy or legal but he does them anyway. oscar works on it too but only when something is broken, while otto takes it apart just for fun and morris is happy to watch him and give ideas

I have a lot of ideas for smaller scenarios based on my experiences I can add but this is v long so I’ll do that later :]

bonus: the image of oscar in a tank top and gloves with overalls tied around his waist covered in oil and dirt and a little bit of sweat. yeah

[inknopewetrust]

interruptions (Henry!Sherlock x Fem!Reader)

Summary: Reader and Sherlock can never get a moment to themselves, especially when Enola and Mycroft are in the house.

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Female Reader (Enola Holmes)

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Light smut, some language, mostly second hand embarrassment.

A/N: this is like not good at all but i wanted to write it so here we are i guess lol. (gif not mine but the scene definitely influenced this)  

“So if you sink the black and white one, the game is over?”

“Yes, but only if you sink it before you’ve finished shooting and scoring on the other object balls.”

Sherlock moved around the pool table in one of the many studies in his childhood home to angle himself just right to shoot the cue. Although he was playing no one, he wanted the shots to all be perfect.

On the other side on the pool table, you sat in a chair in front of the fireplace with a book in your hands. You weren’t really reading any of the words on the page because your mind was elsewhere. It was instead very much occupied with thoughts of the man just a few feet beyond your own spot, concentrating on the game rather than you. 

“And how many do you have left?” You asked him, not looking at him because pool wasn’t the least bit interesting to you.

“Five plus the eight.” He responded and the room sounded with two balls colliding and one falling into the leather pocket.

“Four plus the eight.” He corrected then and you closed the book just enough so one of your fingers was holding the page you were on. You turned in the chair, facing him as he stood directly across from you on the other side of the table with his pool stick next to him firmly planted on the ground. 

“Why?” He inquired as soon as his eyes met yours and he couldn’t help but see a mischievous twinkle in your own. 

“No particular reason. Though, I do recognize that it is greatly passed supper and I would like to eat before I go to bed.” 

Sherlock nodded at you and picked up the stick, ready to shoot another when you closed the book fully. The rough snapping of the pages together drew his eyes up to you in the chair and the lightest smile was gracing your face. 

“And?” He asked and you shrugged, raising an arm to rest on the armrest of the chair and letting your fingers sweep the skin under your chin briefly before moving your index finger to your lip. You watched his eyes follow your finger as it ran across your bottom lip and then you bit down on it lightly, smiling at him as the pool game was now far from his mind. 

“More like or.” You continued but stood up from the chair, walking slowly to one side of the pool table and leaned up against it, putting the book down on the velvet that lined it and intentionally in front of the ball he was attempting to sink. 

“Or we could just go straight to bed?” You proposed and an eyebrow propped itself up on your face. You hoped that he was receiving the signal but Sherlock was a smart man, it’s not something he would have missed in a million years.

Sherlock hummed to himself and looked as if he was still studying the game in front of him as he rounded the table and stood just to the side of you. You looked expectantly and perhaps the only answer you needed was the way his eyes went from your own to your lips and then trailed down the rest of you. Sherlock put the pool stick against the bookcase and trapped you against the table, his hands grasping the green velvet bumpers but his hands were not far from your body. He teased the fabric of your dress with his thumbs and he bit down on his bottom lip.  

He his eyes were telling of how he felt even if he didn’t say it out loud. You were a bold and he knew what you wanted because he wanted it to, but being in the house with a snobbish brother and a sleuth of a sister, intimate moments lacked greatly since your arrival two weeks ago. 

“Or-” Sherlock proposed and you couldn’t help but let your hands run up his arms and move to fiddle with the top button of his brown patterned vest. 

“I could be so tempted to take you here now and then we can get supper afterwards?” He let you guide him down by the vest, just close enough where his lips were hovering over your own and the curled piece of hair that always becomes undone tickled your forehead. 

“Your choice, Holmes.” You spoke softly and he took the opportunity then and there to capture your lips with his down, grabbing at the fabric of your dress to hoist you up on the pool table. Your legs spread out so he could stand flush against you, his hands no longer gripping the bumpers but one on your waist and the other held the back of your neck. 

Sherlock’s kiss was searing and passionate, riddled with a need for you as it quickly grew within him. Your hand yanked at the bowtie and let it fall to the floor. Sherlock broke the kiss and his lips moved from your cheek to your ear and his hot breath was agonizing as he pulled you against him again with a groan as you ground your core against him. 

“If Enola or-” 

“They won’t. Stop worrying so much.” You breathlessly muttered back and Sherlock moved his hands to grip your thighs that were just hanging off the table, moving the dress, bunching it upwards so he could feel you, not all the fabric of the dress. 

You gave up on the fastened shirt buttons when they simply wouldn’t budge as easy as his vest had and placed your hands on his. With your help, you guided his hands under the dress and along your legs to where you needed him most. Your lips found Sherlock’s again and his tongue fought for dominance against your own and he let out a muffled moan when your hands left his and palmed his growing member. 

You rubbed him over his pants and his forehead rested against your own. One of his hands moved gripped at your thigh tightly, bruising in tension and he let out a lowly chuckle. 

“If you keep doing that, dinner won’t be on the table later.” 

“If I knew this is all it would take for you to fuck me I wouldn’t have waited all day.” You smirked at him and he slowly untied the corset you were wearing, letting you breathe better as your heart was already racing out of your chest. 

“Just fuck me already, Sherlock.” You whimpered impatiently as he tossed the corset aside and you undid his trousers. He kissed your neck and down to dip in the dress you were wearing, paying attention to every piece of skin he could find. 

“Why are you in such a rush? They are in bed and Stop worrying so much.” You could have slapped him for using your words against you but your mind was too occupied with the man against you and the situation at hand. 

Sherlock moved his hand under your chin and held it for a moment, looking in your eyes and taking in the disheveled woman in front of him, entirely need for him and what he could give her. He placed a kiss on your forehead before slowly meeting his lips with your own once more, but not in a passionate, needy way. He was slow and romantic, and he took all the time in the world with you as he would any one of his famous cases. 

He could sense the restlessness and want returning quickly, but before he could fully remove any of the dress to enter you, a shriek sounded from the doorway and the both of you froze like statues. Your back was to the intruder and Sherlock’s eyes went wide in shock, that yes, in fact you both have been walked in on. 

“Oh my God.” You could hear the horrified voice of Enola in the doorway and Sherlock’s head turned quickly to her with a mortified look on his face. Enola couldn’t even meet his eyes after walking in on her brother and you in a very compromising position and both not proper at all. Enola was not the least bit of a proper young lady, but this was something she never wanted to see. 

“Enola!” Sherlock managed to say in a slightly scolding manner but the girl ran off before either of you could try and salvage the situation but the mood had quickly shifted. 

You couldn’t recall if it was five seconds or five minutes before the both of you tried to fix yourselves, putting everything back into a proper place and forget what happened but her shriek had woken up Mycroft and as Sherlock helped you re-tie the corset he had taken off moments ago, Mycroft appeared in the doorway with a look of disgust. 

“Oh you are kidding me!” He looked absolutely dumbfounded and as you braced yourself against the pool table, Sherlock tying as quickly as possible to get away from the prying eyes and the judgmental stare of his brother. 

“Does presentation mean anything to you? We are trying to help her become a lady and you two, you two- do this!?” Mycroft yelled and he looked utterly ridiculous in his slippers and robe with his hands on his hips. 

“I-We thought everyone was asleep.” Sherlock replied. You felt his hands at the bottom of the corset, signaling he was done with the ties and you ran a hand over your dress, smoothing it out and looking Mycroft in the eye. 

“Being intimate with someone doesn’t make you less of a lady, Mycroft. Perhaps if you had sex with someone you would know that.” You huffed and walked out, passing him as he almost jolted in the opposite direction of you and into the hallway. 

“You’re just going to let her talk to me like that? She isn’t even your wife! Do you like harlots now or have you always been this way?” 

Sherlock cocked his head to the side and squinted his eyes at Mycroft. He walked slowly up to him and managed to tower over him enough to where Mycroft was intimidated by his brother. 

“Call her that again and I won’t stop her from beating you to a pulp the next time she sees your face. She may not be my wife now but one day she will be and I am not going to let you intimidate her with your weasel words, brother.” Sherlock spat at him and left the room as well, finding you waiting for him in the dimmed hall. He took your hand in his and as you walked throughout the house and just down the hall to the bedchamber of Enola, you couldn’t have been more proud of him for standing up to his brother. The two of you knew you had to talk to her otherwise it would be entirely too uncomfortable to even stay in the house. 

Standing outside of Enola’s door, you looked at Sherlock with an apologetic look and he shook his head at you. 

“We didn’t know she wasn’t asleep, it’s no one’s fault.” He reassured you and squeezed your hand before knocking on Enola’s door and opening it slightly. 

“Enola?” 

“Go away.” She mumbled from her window bay and refused to look at Sherlock or you as  you entered the room fully and kept your distance.

“Enola, I want to apologize. We didn’t know you were-” Sherlock began and Enola turned her head quickly, her eyes angry and judge-y. 

“You couldn’t just wait until you were in the proper place? My brain will NEVER be able to unsee that! I don’t care what you do on your free time but please don’t ever, ever do that in public.” Enola pleaded with her brother and Sherlock nodded but you stifled a laugh at her horror. She was a girl, she had never loved someone before so for her this was horrifying but for you and Sherlock it was mortifying. 

“We certainly didn’t want to see you either, Enola.” You told her and she shook her head and got up, walking over to her bed and crawling under the covers. 

“Just don’t do it again and do not mention it at breakfast tomorrow.” Enola was adamant about it and bid the two goodnight, pulling the sheet over her head and trying to think of everything but her favorite brother having sex. 

When the sun rose the next morning and Enola found herself at the table alone. With no one to eat with, she reminded herself that she had no desire to go searching for her siblings to get them to eat with her. She was just beginning to dig into her scone when Mycroft came down the stairs and sat down at the head of the table. He didn’t say a word but looked like he hadn’t slept a wink last night. Enola thought if she said one word to him that he would fly off the handle and she would have been right if she tried. 

She finished the scone and moved on to her eggs when she saw you and Sherlock walk down the stairs, not dressed in day clothes but still in pajamas, and entered the kitchen. Mycroft glanced up and dropped his toast when he saw you wearing Sherlock’s silk robe and Sherlock not in a suit. The two of you bustled about in the kitchen, filling plates with food and Sherlock grabbed two cups of tea, turning to look at Mycroft who was already staring. 

“Don’t worry brother, we know our actions are not wanted at the table, so we are going to have breakfast in bed.” Sherlock gave Mycroft a toothy smile and you managed to glance at Enola when you picked up the two plates and gave her a sly smile. Sherlock nudged your shoulder and you looked him, his eyes creased on the edges in happiness and motioned for the door. 

“Also, don’t bother coming to fetch us today, the door will be locked.” Sherlock ushered you out of the kitchen and the two of you couldn’t suppress the laughter that built up after the look on Mycroft’s face dropped. 

That day was a good day and eventually, after Enola had grown up a bit more and discovered her love for the Tewkesberry lad, she understood the looks her brother would give you and would eventually just leave the room if she ever saw them again, not wanting to ever be in that situation again. 

[coffeedrgn87]

WIP Snip Sunday

I've been tagged a bunch of times over the past couple of weeks, but I didn't have anything to share. Now I finally do, and I'm hoping that you may just love this. Thanks to everyone who tagged me, quietly pushing me to finally tackle something I've been procrastinating on doing. Please send any kudos to my darling Pheebs 🌵😼; it is because of her unwavering support that I am finally writing Book 3. I must be mental, but I'm OK with that.

CW: D/s dynamic and spanking (mention only), this excerpt is perfectly PG-13, I guess.

Momentarily distracted by how the candlelight danced in Harry’s highly-polished golden wedding band, Draco temporarily forgot all about the spoonful of homemade dessert Harry was offering him.

“Still a little floaty, eh?”

“Hm?”

Snapping out of his trance, Draco blinked, then smiled at Harry.

“What did you say?” he asked.

Harry huffed a laugh.

“I asked whether you’re still a bit floaty, but I think I’ve got my answer.”

Draco shrugged. He was still somewhat distracted by Harry’s ring and unable to resist; he reached for Harry’s hand and, drawing it closer, he pressed a lingering kiss to Harry’s ring finger.

Harry chuckled.

“Ah, OK. A case of nostalgia.”

Draco rolled his eyes.

“Can you blame me?”

Harry grinned.

“Never. It was a perfect day.”

Draco nodded.

“It was. Can’t believe it’s been five years. Seems like only yesterday.”

“You’re a sap.”

Draco threw a glare at Harry.

“Says the biggest sap of them all.”

“Well, what can I say, Draco Malfoy? You make me weak. Now, do you want that chocolate pudding or not?”

“You’ll be very sorry if you even try to withhold it.”

“Sassy.”

Draco shrugged.

“You love me that way,” he said, then accepted the dessert Harry was still offering him. He hummed around the spoon and smiled.

“The best.”

Harry grinned.

“Me or the dessert?”

Draco winked.

“Both?”

It was Harry’s turn to roll his eyes.

“You can leave your legalese at the Ministry, thank you very much.”

Draco arched his eyebrow.

“Potter, please explain to me how ‘both’ is wordy, ostentatious talk?”

“It’s your way of hedging, weaselling your way out of committing to one thing over another.”

Draco laughed.

“First of all, dearest husband, if you want weaselling, Charlie is only a floo-call away; he’d be the expert in such matters. I’m sure Ronald would be only too happy to stand in for him if he's not available. Secondly, you know my weakness for dessert. I will never pick you over dessert. Nor will I ever pick dessert over you. So, ‘both’ is a perfectly reasonable response. Honestly, eight years and you have learnt absolutely nothing.”

Harry’s groan amused Draco endlessly.

“I ought to gag you for all that snarky sass you’re giving me.”

“That won’t stop me from using a quill and parchment.”

“Ropes will.”

“Not if I safeword.”

“I did not spank you enough earlier.”

Draco smirked.

“Would you like to go again?”

“Do. Not. Tempt. Me.”

“I am not; I am goading you.”

“That will not work. If you want me to put you over my knee, you’ll have to ask for it.”

“Will I?”

Harry nodded.

“Now behave.”

Draco chuckled.

“Make me, Potter.”

To Draco’s surprise, Harry reached for his arm and wrapped his hand around the bracelet—his eternity collar—that adorned his wrist and had done so for the past five odd years. He watched quietly as Harry squeezed lightly, then slipped his thumb underneath the bracelet and pressed against Draco’s pulse point.

“I don’t need to make you do anything, my little prince. You will do as I say because you want to do it, not because I force you to obey me. You know that as well as I do.”

Draco inhaled sharply.

He couldn’t deny any of that.

Harry was right.

The beauty of their relationship was that Harry never made him do anything. The things Harry ‘made’ him do were the things Draco wanted to do. Right from the start, things had always been this way, and even now, after three years of dating plus five years of marriage, Draco thrived on that arrangement. The novelty of it, the thrill of being under Harry’s control, had not yet worn off, and at this point in their relationship, Draco could not see that ever-changing. They were the perfect team. Everyone said so.

[pedros-mustache]

convenience

summary: he was within arm’s reach. that’s all.

warnings: suggestions of harassment, alcohol consumption, language, innuendo

a/n: no thoughts, frankie morales and his broad shoulders only. poorly edited so forgive any mistakes you find. i’ll go back and fix soon.

you rarely come to the bar alone. tonight is an anomaly.

grabbing drinks after a long work week is more enjoyable with friends by your side, and you frequent this particular watering hole what feels like every friday but can’t be more than twice a month. life is busy for you and what friends remain from your college days. babies and partners and jobs—it keeps everyone running to and fro like chickens with their heads cut off. (for you, of course, it’s just the job that’s got you strung out. no husband, no babies. that shouldn’t matter, but sometimes it does.) still, despite hectic schedules, there’s a standing date a few times a month: friday, eight o’clock, the booth with the cracked-plastic seat coverings in the far right corner.

you like the noisy atmosphere of this place, and it’s easy to lose a few hours while gossiping over cheap margaritas, a whitney houston song thumping over the tinny loudspeakers. the air smells like cigarette smoke—that’s your only qualm—but the drinks are cheap, the food is passable, and it’s a chance to let loose and really enjoy yourself after a five days of business boredom. 

of course, that’s what “the hot bird” is like most of the time. today is different. today is tuesday, it’s six-thirty, and you really shouldn’t be here alone.

you twirl the thin plastic straw around your drink and risk a glance over your shoulder. there’s a guy in your regular booth—red-faced with alcohol, tie loosened, dress shirt two sizes too big. you know he’s staring at you because you can feel his eyes on your back, your hips, your ass; he’s anything but discreet. his stare hurts like a healing sunburn: itchy, uncomfortable, hard to ignore. even from across the bar, his focus is unyielding, and you doubt he’s one to be easily dissuaded, not with the rabble-rousing friends at his booth, jostling drinks and shoulders alike. you imagine he’s biding his time, waiting for you to feel comfortable so he can strike. which is exactly what you need after being passed up for promotion (again): a drunk asshole bent on making your shitty day worse just for the hell of it.

the bartender—josh—says your name and sets a cocktail down on the counter in front of you. “here,” he says. he jerks his chin forward, indicating the back of the room. “it’s from the guy in the back.”

“oh god.” you resist the urge to look over your shoulder again. the muscles in your neck twitch, scream at you to turn and appraise the self-satisfied smirk on this guy’s face, but you hold still. you are nothing if not resolute in your determination to mind your on business, wallow in self pity, and get home without much of a fuss. “what the fuck is this thing?”

josh cringes. “it’s a b-52, our least popular drink.”

“it looks like spilled motor oil and congealed grease had a baby.”

to your right, in the barstool two over from yours, there’s a snort of amusement. your eyes snap to the side, but don’t register the other patron before josh is tapping your wrist. you hold your breath, stomach clenching at the conciliatory look on his face.

“don’t look now. i think he’s coming over.”

“of course he is,” you mutter, dropping your forehead to your palm. fuck, you really do not want to cry right now, but tears prick the corners of your eyes anyway. traitorous bastards. it’s been a long day, and you aren’t sure you have the mental fortitude to tactfully tell some guy to piss off without causing a scene or bursting into a blubbering mess.

“i can tell him—”

a smooth, unflustered voice cuts josh off mid-sentence. “no, let me.” 

a half-filled pint of beer and a plastic basket of fries slide across the counter, and then a man, shoulders broad and trucker cap pulled low, drops to the stool beside you. you gape at him, jaw hanging. the guy from two stools over—eavesdropper.

“unless,” he continues. “you want to tell him to fuck off yourself. i’m sure you can—you look like a capable woman—but i know men and sometimes...” he trails off, but you catch his drift well enough. you know men too, and the men who frequent this bar are often of the seedier variety.

except maybe not this guy... he seems nice enough, willing to lend a hand, and after the day you’ve had, you’ll take any help you can get. plus he’s easy on the eye, and it’s been awhile since anyone with such a handsome face paid you any mind.

you twist slightly in your stool, turning your body to face him. you open your mouth to offer your name, but he beats you to it, sliding his hand over the low, curved back of your stool. his presence—so masculine yet so gentle—crowds you, and you fight the urge to suck in a sharp breath. mouth hovering over your ear, he lowers his voice, and his opposite hand, long fingers splayed outwards, settles on the counter. you’re boxed in, an arm on either side of your body, but, strangely, it feels... good, safe even.

“i’m frankie,” he says. “just follow my lead, and we’ll both be out of your hair in no time.”

you turn your face to meet frankie’s eyes. he’s so near you can feel his breath on your cheeks, could kiss his plush lips if you dared. his smile, small but encouraging, eases the clench in your stomach. your gaze drifts from his warm, brown eyes to the thumb-sized spot on his chin absent the fine layer of scruff otherwise covering his jaw. god, he’s handsome.

“uh—excuse me? i couldn’t help but notice you ignored the drink i sent over.” the man from the back of the room leans against the counter, his gaze tight on your face, elbows poised casually on the bar. his voice belies none of the uncertainty he should probably feel when confronted with your obvious disinterest and frankie’s breadth. “picked my favorite for a sweet thing like you.”

gritting your teeth, you turn your head. “thanks, but i don’t think—” your resolve wavers when the man’s fat lips spread into a grin. shit, he likes this doesn’t he—how uncomfortable you are? he reminds you of richard, the guy who got the promotion you deserve: smarmy and entirely too good at weaseling. your stomach sours.

“you can’t turn me down until you at least take a sip of the thing.” reaching over his chest, the man picks up the cocktail. the three distinct layers jostle in the small shot glass.

perhaps he sees the fine sheen of tears that rush to your eyes or perhaps it’s just to make a point, but frankie’s hand drops to your thigh. the warmth of his palm filters through the mesh of your tights. without thinking, you twine your fingers through his and squeeze. 

“she said no, man.” 

for the first time, your would-be-suitor’s stare slides to focus on frankie. he arches a thin eyebrow. there’s no mistaking the way his chest inflates as frankie straightens his spine. “yeah? and who are you?”

frankie speaks without hesitation. “her boyfriend.” 

the man huffs, incredulous. “well, you didn’t claim her before now so i’m just taking my shot. free pick, ya know? first come first serve.”

frankie slides from the stool to standing. he’s near the same height as the other man, but there’s something about the clench in his jaw and the way his fingers tighten around yours and the way he moves to grip your shoulder than has you leaning into him despite the anger rolling off him in sharp waves. your shoulder pushes against the soft cotton of his t-shirt, and you hold your breath.

“say that again and i’ll crack your skull open on the counter.”

the man blinks, stunned, then laughs. it’s a harsh, nervous bark. his eyes flit to the back of the room then return to frankie. “you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me. what are you? some macho man?” 

“no—retired special forces. i can and i will make your life a living hell if you don’t crawl back into the hole you came from. leave my lady alone.��

“shit.” the man shakes his head before tossing the rejected cocktail down his throat with a cringe. “ain’t fucking worth it anyway.” he slams the glass down on the counter and, heeding frankie’s advice, returns to sulk in the back booth, tail tucked between his legs.

frankie waits until the asshole is sat snug in his booth before returning to his stool. he pops a now-cold fry in his mouth then tags a long swig of his beer. you watch him and decide you’ve never wanted to kiss someone so badly in your entire life. 

“thank you,” you breathe. “i—fuck, i didn’t realize you’d be so... intimidating.” 

frankie shrugs, eats another fry. he avoids your eye. “hate to see you treated like that. least i can do.” 

you hum in approval, tracing the curve of his nose with your gaze. “i got passed up for a promotion today,” you offer. “put me in a real tailspin. i don’t normally go out in the middle of the week.”

fry dangling between his pointer finger and thumb, frankie finally returns his eyes to yours. “i’m sorry to hear that. if it makes you feel any better, i got stood up. i don’t normally go out in the middle of the week either.”

“guess we’re just a couple of losers then.” when frankie’s eyebrow lifts, you visibly cringe. you grab his forearm and squeeze your eyes shut. “no, wait—that’s not what i meant. i meant that... in the grand scheme of things, we aren’t... i mean...” squinting, you risk a peek at him. “shit, i’m sorry.”

after a moment, frankie smiles—and your heart leaps to your throat. he motions to josh at the other end of the bar. “what drink do you like?” he asks. “we can make it a real date, if you want? you know, to keep up appearances.” 

“a real date?”

he nods. “yeah. i’m not big on fate and shit like that, but... well, maybe i’m big on fate tonight.” his eyes roam your face, and you wonder if he’s drinking you in, memorizing your features. unlike before, his stare is kind, appreciative, reverent. your cheeks heat under his gaze, but you don’t look away.

the corner of your mouth pulls into a grin. “okay.” you smile at josh when he appears. “i like mojitos.” 

“really?” at your nod, frankie’s smile widens. “me too.” 

you reach for a fry in his basket. “must be fate then,” you say with a shrug.

“yeah.” his hand falls to your thigh again, squeezing the flesh around your knee. you look from his hand to his face, and anything you once thought shitty about the day turns rosy with possibility. “must be fate.”

.

.

.

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[stusbunker]

AGA: Cornered

A Supernatural AU Series

Featuring: Dean Winchester/ Benny LaFitte​

Other Characters: Sam, Bobby, Mick, Ash, Castiel

Written for: @thoughtslikeaminefield​

Word Count: ~2700

A/N: No kink square this chapter, just backstory and bowling. Mention of drug use. General flirty banter. xoxo

    The crack and rumble of balls striking pins rang throughout the bowling alley; the consistent soundtrack of Dean’s Wednesday nights. He had gotten there early, just after six, to claim their alley and get himself dinner before the rest of the team arrived. Dean shrugged into the simple black and red collared Singer’s Slingers bowling shirt with his name on his left pec. As he sipped his beer and waited for his burger basket, he wondered how late Sam would be this week.

    Ash and Bobby showed up just as Dean had a greasy mouthful. He managed to murmur his greetings as they bypassed the bar for the row of vinyl chairs, changing out of their street shoes. They were followed shortly by Mick, who always seemed to swagger in, no matter how ill fitted his bowling shirt. Dean continued to devour his burger and fries as the team ordered their drinks one after the other. It was 6:25 and the other team were toweling off their balls, eyeing them while glancing at their watches. 

    “C’mon Sam,” Dean urged under his breath.

    “Sam, I expect, but where the hell is Cas?” Bobby wondered, squinting towards the entrance.

    “Told you, you should have asked someone else to take the old man’s spot,” Dean smiled smugly, before popping another fry in his mouth.

    “Yeah, well, most my friends are too old or too tired for this shit. Can you imagine Rufus out here each week?” Bobby sighed, shaking his head before taking a sip of his whiskey.

    “Bobby, can I ask you something?” Dean started. “Are you still bowling because you enjoy it or because it’s a night out of the house?”

    “You work with your wife for twenty years and tell me if you wouldn’t be out here every chance you got.” Bobby eyed Dean like he was slow. A burning grin pulled across Dean’s face, he almost choked on his last bite he was laughing so hard. Dean took a swig of his beer and Bobby rolled his eyes.

     “Singer! Let’s go!” Roy Wilkinson called from down on the lane.

     “What a jackass,” Bobby whispered to Dean, before turning to the opposing team’s captain. “Yeah, I’m getting there.”

     It was 6:31.

      Dean had learned by now to place Sam last in the line up, but Cas usually went second. With a quick scramble, Dean adjusted their bowling order and sent Cas and Sam their own personalized texts of annoyance. It shouldn’t be that much of a deal, but he was embarrassed. Plus, Dean didn’t want to see Bobby continue to take shit for their tardiness.

    At 6:44, a sheepish Castiel and an annoyed Sam walked into the alley together. Sam still had his suit on, his bowling bag slung over his shoulder. 

    “Dude, what the hell?” Dean asked once his brother sat down to swap shoes.

    “The hoopty bit it, Cas called me because he figured I was closest,” Sam explained, knowing that would have been Dean’s next question.

    “Did he hit anybody or did it just die?” Dean asked, eyes raking over Cas’s body for signs of injury.

    “It killed while he was driving. Not sure if it’s electrical or if he just ran out of fucking gas,” Sam whispered, frustration evident.

    “Well, you guys missed the first frame, but you got yourself a hot minute to catch your breath and grab a beer,” Ash butt in. Mick came back from picking up a spare and the story got told all over again.

    “I’m really sorry, Bobby,” Cas explained.

    “You bowl for a mechanic’s team, boy. You shouldn’t have let it get that bad in the first place,” Bobby dismissed the clueless man as he made his way to the ball return.

    “Dean?” Cas asked, leaning over Dean’s shoulder at the now useless scorer keeper’s spot.

    “Yeah?” Dean replied.

    “Do you think, could you give me a ride to the bar? And home after I do my nightly paperwork?” Cas explained, his blue eyes beseeching and all too familiar.

    Dean groaned and closed his eyes. “How late? I’ve got a day job I need to be at, too, man.”

    “Wednesday’s are Ladies’ Night, so it could be awhile,” Cas pondered aloud. “But you don’t have to stay, I can ask at the bar, maybe Ana wouldn’t mind.”

    Dean’s stomach instantly knotted with guilt, knowing how the waitress would feel to be trapped with Cas duty after a long shift. He shouldn’t have been so short with him, his car problems probably weren’t his fault. 

    “Nah, man, I got you. Let’s just bowl, get out of here as soon as possible,” Dean suggested, chin jutting out toward the lanes. Cas was up.

    “You’re a lifesaver,” Cas grinned in relief. Dean swallowed and nodded, biting back the smile that crept up whenever Cas looked at him like that. A sour taste settled in the back of his throat as he watched Cas barely clip the 6 and 10 pins. Ignoring the rest of the frame, Dean went back for another drink before it was his turn.

    Losing the first game was inevitable, but the Winchester brothers had a reputation to uphold and they rallied the team for the final two games. Together, they gave the opposing team some much deserved karma. Dean racked seven strikes in a row, but missed the 7 pin on his last ball. Sam, looking utterly ridiculous in his dress shirt and bowling shoes, followed up his tenth frame with a shaky spare. Then he pulled a strike out of thin air with the third ball.

    The lane erupted.

     Mick and Ash hooted and bumped chests. Dean jumped at his brother, nearly tackling him, before lifting him off the floor by his waist in celebration. Bobby, proud as ever, gave everyone a high five before he shook hands with the now salty Roy. Then Bobby ensured his team followed suit, as a sign of good sportsmanship, even if their faces didn’t hide the smugness of victory.

    The champion’s high was short lived for Dean, because reality reared its ugly head when Cas awkwardly started to shadow him as they cleaned up their equipment. Dean towelled off his ball and slipped it into his bag, trying not to let the disappointment of missing out on a drink with the team to cart Cas’s ass across town show. Or the phantom nervousness of being alone with him that Dean had to tell himself to shake.

    Cas was just his friend. He had only ever been his friend. No matter how many times Dean craved to be alone with him, it had never meant anything more than friendship to Cas.

    Dean had nothing to feel guilty about. But when Cas dropped onto the bench seat beside him in the impala, Dean’s heart started to race. He felt like he was walking a dangerous line between ambiguity and cheating.

    “Thanks again, Dean,” Cas’s deep voice croaked.

    Plastering on a company smile, Dean brushed him off. “It was only a matter of time for that jalopy anyway, now if you just trust me and sell the damned thing, maybe you could get a reliable set of wheels.”

    “Ash says he can have it at the shop by tomorrow afternoon,” Cas threw out there tentatively. 

    Dean gave Cas the side eye. “You’re calling Ellen first thing and BEGGING her to work you in, cuz I am no good at weaseling somebody onto the schedule.”

    “I know, Bobby warned me. And Ash.”Cas squinted in thought. “And Mick, now that I think about it.” 

     Dean told himself to keep his eyes on the road. And to ignore the suddenly crushing weight of his phone against his thigh. He felt like he should be letting Benny know what he was doing, somehow. Like if he didn’t tell Benny where he was and with who, then he was asking to get dumped. 

    Dean, no stranger to self-sabotage, overthought until his head hurt. He couldn’t cheat if they weren’t dating. Driving a friend home wasn’t cheating. It didn’t matter that he had had feelings for Cas for as long as he could remember. Benny wasn’t his boyfriend. Officially. Right?

    Cas turned to look at Dean. “You’re awfully quiet tonight.”

    Again with the inopportune observations.

    “Just got a lot on my mind,” Dean dismissed Cas’s concern and leaned over to turn on the radio, close enough that Dean got a whiff of Cas’s familiar cologne. The scent flooded Dean’s senses with bittersweet memories and he had to clear his throat to clear the haze of desire that was always associated with it, with Cas himself. Dean drummed his thumb against the steering wheel and held onto the music for as long as he could.

    They arrived at The Pearly Gates just before ten, cars and suvs filled the small parking lot and spilled over onto the narrow side street. Dean cursed and backed into the narrow alley, unwilling to risk his paint job among the other vehicles.    

    “Alright, I’ll wait here, go do your busy work.” Dean cranked the car into park.

    Cas gave Dean a cautious look before he crawled out of the passenger seat, mindful of the space between the building and his door. Dean didn’t want to think about whatever Cas thought was going on with him. And Dean really didn’t need him prying all of the sudden.

    Dean thought about how oblivious Cas used to be and how much he had changed since they’d been friends. He was still Cas, but he wasn’t the same.

    They’d met at a party on campus, which Dean always seemed to find despite not attending. A very drunk Cas had been locked out of his house by his asshole roommates, which were mostly his brother Gabe’s friends. Dean sat on a half-broken picnic table in the backyard toking, as Cas yelled to be let in. It was barely above freezing, but Dean didn’t want to share with the asshole college crowd he’d seen so far.

     Cas was in black jeans and a tee shirt, shivering.

    “Hey buddy?” Dean called out. “Look, give me a sec and I’ll pick the lock for ya, alright? Cool it.”

    “What?” Cas looked at him like he had three heads.

    Dean chuckled. “Stop yelling. I’ll get you in. Just let me finish my joint.”

    Cas walked over, rubbing his arms with his hands before he started blowing on his hands. Dean had stared, the buzz slowed his thoughts. He just took in the details of Cas’s hands and the way his meaty lips probably looked as the hot air left them. 

    “You want a hit before I pinch it off?” Dean offered, hand extended in selfish offering.

    “I’m good.” Cas waved him off, smiling without teeth. A good kid, Dean thought, or a dweeb.

    Dean sucked in the last puff of smoke and carried it in his chest as he crossed the lawn to the backdoor. As he squatted, he exhaled, letting himself completely relax before he dug for his small set of tools. 

    “I’m sorry, but my roommates are---,” Cas started.

    “Dicks?” Dean guessed.

    Cas sighed in agreement, and that moment Dean probably will never forget as long as he lives. Dean looked up to see Cas in the yellow glow from the porch light, his blue eyes distinguishable for the first time.

    “Uh?” Cas squinted in confusion.

    “Right.” Dean sighed and shook his head, fitting the pick into the lock.

    “You’re sure you can do this?” Cas continued, disbelief clung to every syllable.

    But Dean didn’t have to answer, because just then Dean cackled in triumph, “Yahtzee!” and the door swung open. 

    Cas marched past him and into the warmth of the overpacked house. He turned just before he got swallowed by the crowd and nodded his thanks, eyes deep enough for Dean to get lost in.

    Dean couldn’t remember much else from that specific party, but meeting Cas. They weren’t friends until a few more chance encounters and a flat tire, but it was their beginning. 

     Dean hadn’t told Benny about Cas, other than he was a friend that he helped out. He didn’t have labels for what Cas meant to him, he’d never let it solidify from thought and feeling into word or definition. There had been something there and if he wasn’t careful, Dean could get lost in the familiarity, the lingering hope of perpetual possibility.

     Dean probably should say something, eventually.

     The car had gotten cold while he waited for Cas to finish the deposit. Dean had turned off the engine to save the gas, but was starting to regret it when his phone rang. 

     “Heya, gorgeous, how’d ya bowl?” Benny drawled before Dean could finish his greeting.

    “Alright, just around my average, but I tanked the last game. You off work already?” Dean asked, knowing Benny usually worked well past mall hours if he was in the middle of something. 

    “Yeah, leaving it for another day. You at home?” Benny continued.

    “No, at the bar, killing time,” Dean inaccurately summarized. “Why? You miss me?”

    “Well not if you’re gonna be like that, I don’t,” Benny teased.

    “What days are you off again?” Dean sidestepped.

    “Tomorrow and Sunday. You wanna come over?” Benny asked.

    “I do, but I can’t, I’m wiped. Six am is early enough on a good night,” Dean apologized. “I can roll in after my shift at the bar on Saturday though, if you don’t mind me showing up close to three.”

    “That could work. I’ve gotta be somewhere at eleven, but you’re welcome to join me,” Benny offered.

    “That depends, is it a church service? I need to prepare myself for the smiting showing up after a night with you,” Dean countered.

    Benny laughed, “Not a’tall. Me and some buddies do brunch every week.”

    Dean sobered up, but he couldn’t stop the snark. “You do brunch?”

    “Yeah?” Benny replied, not giving Dean anything more. Dean licked his lips and gaped at the offer. Benny wanted to introduce him to his friends. “You alright, cher?”

    “Yeah, just got distracted, sorry,” Dean lied horribly. “I don’t want to crash your plans. We’ll see, alright?”

    Benny inhaled audibly. “Yeah, I understand. You’ll still stay over though?”

    “Yeah, I’ll be there.” Dean agreed.

    “Hey, maybe, if you don’t mind I could slip in for a drink after my shift Friday?” Benny suggested.

    Dean smiled. “That’d be great. Gives me something to look forward to on a double shift.”

    “You alright?” Benny almost whispered.

    “Yeah, just tired, sorry, not my usual charismatic self,” Dean huffed.

    “Nothing to be sorry for, sugar. Just checkin’ in on ya,” Benny soothed. Dean closed his eyes and relished in the sound of Benny’s calming voice.

    “Tell me something,” Dean asked, not wanting to end the conversation.

    “What do you want to know?” Benny chuckled, deep and genuine.

    “I don’t know, just keep talking. What were you working on tonight?” Dean said.

    “A pair of saddle bags for a custom bike,” Benny started. “Real nice ones too. Sturdy, but soft. Got some staining to do then the branding. But I got everything cut and measured for now. You ride?”

     Dean hummed, then remembered he was asked a question. “Sorry, on occasion, I don’t have a bike of my own anymore. Do you?”

     “Well, they don’t call me a leather daddy just for my outfits, cher,” Benny teased. “Before it snows, I’ll see if we can get the bike out for a spin.”

     “Now I’ve got that visual burning through my thoughts,” Dean murmured suggestively. 

     “Happy to oblige,” Benny goads. 

     “I’m sure you would,” Dean huffs. “Thanks, it was just nice to hear your voice.”

     “Anytime, Dean, all you have to do is call. You know that right?” Benny pressed.

     “Yeah, I know, I know.” Dean agreed, when an extra blast of cold air hit his side. Cas was back. “I better go. I’ll see you soon.”

      “Dean?” Cas interrupted.

      “Okay, well, enjoy the bar,” Benny sounded like he’d heard Cas. “Bye, darlin’.”

     “Night,” Dean ended the call.

     “Who was that?” Cas asked, tugging at his trenchcoat to get the seatbelt on.

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Part 6: Loose Lips Sink Ships

[snowpeawritings]

14. Everyday’s Great...

Philemon seems to enjoy seeing his Wild Cards live on with their lives…

insp.

Persona 4 Golden X FeMC!Reader

05/03/TUE-Daytime | Junes Foodcourt

“If the killer was trying to silence her, there might’ve been something at the scene only she would have understood. Which would mean that the culprit may be someone close to Ms. Konishi.”

The words of Adachi still rang fresh in your mind. Yesterday, you and Yosuke offered to treat Chie and Yukiko Junes’s steak meal as compensation for your Personas practically eating all of the instant noodles. When your group had given them the steaks, Adachi had came by and began rambling his mouth over precious information. The evidence that’s been compiled from the police has been keeping you awake at night. Even Izanami had caught on with your overthinking, her trying to shake you out of it last night and before you were meeting with the others plus Nanako.

Speaking of Nanako, she was having the time of her life being at the food court despite it being, well, just a food court. You wish you could share her happiness but with how those words ring in your mind, you just couldn’t share her sentiment.

“So you’re the family cook, huh? Pretty impressive ‘Big Sis’!”

You blinked out from your thoughts, looking at Chie for a moment before shrugging. “You have to do what you have to do.”

You tried to ignore the sharp, side-eye glance from your Persona as you fiddled with the hem of your coat.

“As expected from our Leader! You’re pretty good with your hands when you made me that pork cutlet the other day!” Yosuke said, giving you a thumbs up.

Jiraiya, who was being held by the scarf by Tomoe, piped up. “’Good with your hands’...? Really, man?”

Yosuke choked, cheeks flushing red. “D-Don’t take words out of my mouth!”

You were thankful for the distraction as Izanami shook her head at the Wind-attuned Persona. “I blame the both of you for that.”

Beside her, the shivering pink Persona looked at Jiraiya and Tomoe. The muscled Persona still had Jiraiya in a strong, leash-like grip. “They’re quite close, aren’t they?”

From that comment, Tomoe sneered but held no ill will against Konohana. “As if I would be close to scum like this idiot.”

“Hey, that’s like two insults already!” Jiraiya yelled at her. “Besides, it’s not like I bug you all the time and the rest of the ladies don’t realize I exist!”

“In case you haven’t noticed, we have a new ally on our cause that I’d rather not corrupt so soon.”

Beside Yukiko, Konohana Sakuya was busy trying to catch a butterfly between her hands. It would’ve been adorable if the butterfly phased through her hands like they were nothing before she sadly sighed. She may not have realized that she was able to physically grasp things at her will but you’ll put your faith in Izanami that she’ll teach her... Even though you don’t know how they do it themselves.

Jiraiya clicked his tongue in disdain before moving his head towards Yukiko. “Hey, Amagi, was it?”

The girl in red jumped up in surprise, not expecting to be under fire. “Um, yes?”

He cocked his head (as much as he could) to your direction. “You sure you don’t have any closeted feelings for ____ here? Because I’m pretty sure Sakuya here says otherwise.”

“Dude!”

“Anyway!” Chie exclaimed before patting her hand behind Nanako’s chair loudly: A sign that there was a child in the group and, most importantly, she can’t see or hear your Personas. “I can consider myself a pretty good cook too!”

Yosuke scoffed. “You? Cook? Hard pass.”

“What, you wanna cook-off?!”

From her battle cry, Tomoe let go of Jiraiya’s scarf and raised her fist at Yosuke. “Bring it on! Chie will not be defeated by the likes of you!”

Jiraiya flexed his shoulders even though you knew that he was joking about this. “Don’t cry when you lose, woman.”

“Children, behave.” Izanami said, but not making a move to stop them at all.

Now that it sunk in, you looked back at her on why she wasn't stopping them. In fact, she was leaning on her left leg and her arms crossed like she's watching actual children fight. All you could think about was since when was Izanami so laid-back? She wasn't like this before and you didn't even know Izanami could take a joke.

As if wanting to further spiral your mind into disarray, she joined in on the festivities. "If we're speaking about culinary talents, it is my own master who will reign supreme."

Good god, since when can she gloat?

Soon, everyone has the same aghast expression on their face. With everyone looking at Izanami like she told them that your hand would be fine if you dunk it in scalding hot water, it was a wonder how Izanami wasn't buckling down from the attention. Even Yosuke, Chie, and Yukiko are looking at her like she was the goddess that she's supposed to be.

Nanako, who finished her snack with a smile, looked up to see all of you staring at something with a funny expression on your faces. She looked to where you all were staring at only to find nothing but a cat with its paws outstretched towards a fish decoration. It was clearly fake and sloppily done-the white of the paper peeking through the mismatched crayons-but the cat deemed it was tasty enough for it to try and eat it.

But the girl thinks that it was funny enough, so she copied your expressions with glee.

Eventually, Izanami noticed their staring and shrugged. "Jiraiya must be rubbing off on me."

Like a gust of wind, the frog immediately slid next to her like in those cartoons before wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Oh, Izanami! You sly woman, how adorable that you're taking my mannerisms!"

As if to add more to the fire, his voice dipped lower, a tone that you never heard him or even Yosuke since they sound remotely the same, made you shiver. "You trying to turn me on?"

Before Izanami could say anything, a sharp spear was hooked under his scarf and yanked him away. It wasn't long before a smack was heard.

“Um… Anyway…” Yosuke steered back the conversation to them. “So Nanako-chan! With all these contenders in our group, I bet we can make something that could top your mom’s cooking!”

You and Izanami winced.

Nanako answered without flinching. “I don’t have a mom. She died in an accident.”

Everyone besides you and Izanami eyes widened at the statement. Tomoe stood even more rigid than usual, Jiraiya actually paused in his floating for once, and Konohana stopped fiddling with her petals.

It took a while but Chie nudged Yosuke with her hand. “Hey, Yosuke…”

He fumbled with his words, trying to come up with something to try and clear the awkward air, but all he could muster was the usual ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know’ phrase.

Luckily, Nanako took it in stride. “It’s okay. Even if I don’t have a mom, I have Dad with me.”

And to put the final nail in the coffin for being how cute she was, she turned to you, a happy blush on her cheeks. “And now I have a big sister, too!”

And now to bury the coffin, she turned to everyone. “And I’m having a lot of fun today! I love Junes!”

"... I will die for this child." Jiraiya said seriously. "I will."

"For once, I agree with you frog." Tomoe said.

Even Konohana, the most emotional Persona, started bawling. "Sh-She's the sweetest!"

Izanami tried to comfort Konohana but that even croaked another cry from the pink Persona as her petals fluttered from her shaking.

Looking at your friends, you see that they also share the same sentiment, albeit not as extreme as their Personas. You were pretty sure Yosuke was about to straight up cry though.

Chie smiled at her. "We'll play with you all that you want, Nanako! Just say the word!"

Yukiko piped in. "Yeah, we should hang out more often."

"Nanako-chan!" Yosuke said to her with an easy-going smile. "How about I buy you a drink?"

She nodded gleefully at Yosuke before following him to the drinks stand. It wasn't long before Jiraiya followed them, wanting to watch over Nanako like his life depended on it. The rest of you watched them go away.

"She's a strong girl." Yukiko said after they were out of hearing range.

"Yeah," Chie replied to her, "she makes me feel like I'm the little kid."

"She'll grow up to be a strong woman. I just know it." Tomoe said softly and you couldn't help but linger for a second that Tomoe let her guard down.

Konohana looked at Tomoe then to the direction where Yosuke, Nanako and Jiraiya went. "Do you think Jiraiya may be talking Yosuke's ear off?"

A momentary silence ensued before Tomoe sighed sharply and went to the drinks stand. Konohana soon followed, at least wanting to try and calm down Tomoe. It wasn't long before Yukiko and Chie followed them, not to stop them but to buy something for Nanako.

You have a feeling your friends won't stop spoiling Nanako anytime soon.

"Nanako has them wrapped around her fingers." Izanami said.

You were sure it was a joke. It has to, with how laid-back she is right now.

"You're not going with them?" You asked her.

She paused before she turned to you with her golden eyes. "Not after you tell me what's been bothering you."

You flinched under her gaze, looking away from her piercing stare as you fiddled with your hands. "What do you mean?"

"Do not try and dissuade me. You've been silent ever since you came here with Nanako. Even you aren't immune to her charms."

You struggled to formulate a response. You weren't as eloquent like the books you've read so you can't weasel your way out of her interrogation.

With a sigh, you resigned yourself to your fate as you looked at your Persona. "I'm just… thinking about the case."

She tilted her head. "We think about it all the time."

"No, like-" You said, the temporary flare of frustration creeping up but you held it down. "I just… want to solve this case as soon as possible."

"Hasty decisions lead to dire consequences." She quoted. "We have time to figure out the truth."

"I get that, but like…" You trailed off. You suck in a breath before continuing. "I don't want this team to worry even more. We're supposed to be worrying about midterms, for god's sake. Not finding some serial killer on the loose!"

Izanami sharply said your name, reminding you that you were technically by your lonesome in the eyes of others. "I understand how you feel. You are still a child, wrapped up in responsibilities that shouldn't even be on your shoulders."

She then looked down, looking like she was mulling over on what else to say before staring at you straight in the eyes. "But you have friends that care for you, even a family to care for you. And you still have me."

For what felt like hours, you stared back into those golden eyes. They seemed to shine even brighter than before and you don't know if that was the watery sensation you're getting in your eyes.

"You still have us," She continued, "you're not alone in this."

You blinked away, trying to fight back the tears before nodding at her. "... Thanks."

She let out an amused huff before turning her head to hear footsteps coming towards your table. Nanako came back with a carefree smile on her face.

"Do you want something too?"

Thou art I… And I am thou…

Thou hast established a new bond…

It brings thee closer to the truth…

Thou shalt be blessed when creating Personas of the Justice Arcana… 

Persona Time

After bidding goodbye to your friends, you, Izanami, and Nanako went back home. The little girl now has a little baggie full of snacks provided by all of your friends. You wondered briefly if her teeth would be alright with all of the sweets they bought for her but she comforted your fears by saying she won’t eat them all the time.

That being said, that didn’t stop her from eating a choco cornet. The chocolatey filling made her squeal in happiness as she savored the pastry. You two went around the shopping district, not quite ready to go home yet when the sun is still high. You thought about attempting the Mega Beef Bowl Challenge again but it wouldn’t be worth it when it wasn’t raining.

Right now, you looked at the shops, eyes lingering on an old textile shop. Recalling the news last time, there was a brawl that happened in front of the store because some punks were causing a ruckus. It was at that moment when…

“Hey,” Nanako said softly, “there’s a funny-looking guy at that shop.”

The lady’s son stood in front of the textile shop like he was protecting it from anything harmful. His bleached hair made him stand-out from the passersby as his daunting stature made him look like he was a part of a syndicate. If the news didn’t slip that he was a year under you, you would’ve kept your guard up.

You tugged on Nanako’s hand. “Let’s steer clear from that guy, okay?”

She muttered an ‘okay’ before following you. Izanami stepped ahead of you two, cleaver in her hands in case of anything that could happen. You and Nanako hurried to the nearest bus stop, trying to avoid any eye contact from him as Izanami stood guard.

For a moment, you were about to be away from the first-year before somebody stopped you. An arm darted out in front of you, belonging to an older man that you’ve no doubt want to punch his teeth in if not for a child in the vicinity.

“What’s the rush?” He slurred and you recoiled back from his breath. You quickly placed Nanako behind you as Izanami raised her cleaver.

“Leave us alone.” You spat, not bothering to give him the time of day. You tried to dodge him but that led to him sidestepping back in front of your vision. You felt Nanako shiver from behind you as you glared at the man. Izanami swung her cleaver back, ready to maim.

"No need to be afraid! I'm gonna take real good care of you two--"

Before he could even finish his sentence, a fist came and clocked him clean in the jaw. Nanako gasped, you pulled her closer as you followed the fist to see the bleach-haired first year staring down at the pervert like he was scum.

"How many times do I gotta tell ya?!" The first-year spat, kicking his foot towards the man's chest as he doubled-over in pain. "If I see ya here one more time, it won't be just your face that's gonna get a beat-down!"

The man couldn't even respond, seeing from the odd angle of his jaw. He hurried to his feet and ran away from you, not even looking back.

Beside you, Izanami lowered her cleaver. "That was… an event."

You nodded at her before looking down at Nanako. She was still shaking but not as much as before. She didn't even realize her choco cornet had been squeezed too much, the chocolate filling already staining her clothes.

But it looked like she didn't mind. Instead, she looked at the first-year with a wide-eyed smile. "Thanks mister for beating him up!"

Like a lightswitch, he immediately turned into a blushing mess. He stumbled with his words, looking away from Nanako as he stuffed his hands into his pants pockets.

"Sh-Shut up! I didn't do it for you!"

Ah, so he's that type.

"Thanks still, for chasing him away." You said to him, smiling softly. "We owe you one."

He choked. "You ain't owin' me nothin'!"

Your lips quirked upwards at his real demeanor, wanting to tease him even more but he was still a punk that socked someone without hesitation. You still had Nanako behind you and a pile of books that you need to study for midterms.

“Thanks anyway. Stay safe.” You said to him earnestly before walking to the bus stop. Nanako lagged behind a bit, looking back at the bleached boy with a smile.

“Goodbye, strong man!”

Izanami was the only fortunate soul to witness a boy combust to the ground.

[illfoandillfie]

Code Red

Request: Okay so like roger and y/n are going at it and roger wants to try stuff and keep making her cum over and over and like she’s being pushed too far but she wants to please Rog so she doesn’t say anything and like maybe loses consciousness and Rog is like taking care of her apologizing profusely and ya know she wakes up and he’s saying how sorry he is and that can never happen again and she should always tell him when he’s crossing a limit

Beta’d by the wonderful @laedymoon​ 

Pairing: Roger x Fem!Reader

Warnings: SMUT (18+) but also a bit of Hurt/Comfort maybe leaning into Angst territory, could be read as DubCon, forced orgasm, overstimulation, fingering, vibrator, safeword not being used when it should

Words: 3501

A/N: So this definitely won’t be for everyone. It’s not something you see a whole lot of in fics though, so when I read the request I immediately wanted to do it, even though I knew it would be a challenge (sorry it took so long for me to actually write it!). My main concern was Roger coming across as ~The Bad Guy~ and I think I’ve successfully avoided that.

Taglist:  @dtfrogertaylor​   @ezmina98​  @vee-ndetta​ @atomic-watermelon​ @kellypenac​ @labessieisallama​ @deakyclicks @jennyggggrrr​ @drowseoftaylor​ @bowiequeen  @hannafuckingsucks​ @some-kindofcheese

By the time you were dressed and ready for work, Roger was standing in your kitchen. It was a nice sight. His back was towards you, bare shoulders hunched up as he yawned with his whole body. As he exhaled he brought a hand up to rub his eye, and then went back to drumming his fingers on the bench, impatient for your kettle to boil. “Morning,” you said softly as you wrapped your arms around his waist, squeezing just a little and pressing your lips to the back of his shoulder, “Y’know you don’t have to make the coffee if you sleep over. I could do it.” Roger turned to face you, leaning forward to kiss you before he waved off your protest, “Nah, I don’t mind. It’s nearly done. Just waiting on this stupid thing,” he pointed at your kettle with his thumb, “to boil.” “Thank you, think I’m going to need a lot of coffee to get through today,” “Work that bad?” “No, I’m just a bit tired and don’t want to fall asleep at my desk,” “We were up quite late weren’t we,” Roger said, winking at you before turning back around to get the now whistling kettle. You smiled sheepishly and avoided his eye when he handed you your mug. “C’mon love, nothing to be shy about with me. I was there remember?” “Yeah, I know,” “Actually, I wanted to ask you something related to that. Y’know how we’ve been trying some new stuff in the bedroom? I had an idea of something else we could try, if you were into it.” You could feel the heat rushing to your face and pointedly kept your eyes on your coffee. The barest mention of sex made you embarrassed. It wasn’t that you were a prude or inexperienced or didn’t like sex – sex was great, especially with Roger – it was just that you preferred the actual act to talking about it. You figured it had to do with the rather sheltered childhood you’d lived. Roger was incredibly understanding though, going out of his way to use round about phrases like in the bedroom rather than something more direct, in an effort to alleviate your discomfort and hesitancy. Very early on in the relationship you’d tried to weasel your way out of actually having the conversations, but Roger wouldn’t let you. He insisted that part of what made a good relationship was communicating properly, especially about things that might make you uncomfortable and especially about sex. So far it had been a good policy. It was the difference between you and Roger, and you and anyone else you’d dated. All the guys you had previously been with had found your shyness charming, alluring, at least at first, and so never tried to push you to talk. Which meant that you’d either ended up stuck in ruts, growing bored with the routine you’d fallen into, or you just never communicated properly and fell apart. Roger hadn’t let that happen, always open about what he wanted and trusting you to be honest with him about your own wants and needs. “What did you have in mind?” you asked your coffee, though you were actually insanely curious. You’d tried a lot of stuff recently, beyond what you were already familiar with. Some of it you’d suggested, stuttering over your words and fighting the impulse to hide under the covers, but some of it was Roger’s ideas, things you’d never considered before, though all of it had gone well so far. Roger, sensing your discomfort, placed his hand over yours to calm you. “Forced Orgasms. Kind of tied into the whole dominant, submissive thing we’ve been testing.” “And, um, what, what would happen exactly?” “Essentially,” Roger continued, thumb rubbing over the back of your hand, “I’d make you cum a lot.” “Yeah, I figured as much from the name,” you giggled, “more meant specifics. Like, umm, fingers or…?” If you hadn’t been embarrassed before, you certainly were now. “If that’s what you want, I can definitely use my fingers.” You were still focusing your vision on your coffee, but you could hear the cheeky lilt in Roger’s voice and felt his fingers tap against the back of your hand as he wiggled them teasingly, “Or if you wanted, I could eat you out. Last time I did this sort of thing I used a vibrator which worked well. Fast too. You don’t have to make up your mind right now though.” You nodded, thankful he wasn’t going to make you say any of it out loud just yet. “What’s your record?” “Um, four times I think,” “We can beat four, easy. But, it might get uncomfortable, maybe even hurt, the longer it goes on.” You shrugged, “Spanking hurts too but it’s still fun.” “Very true,” he laughed.  You chanced a glance up at him, catching his eye before you dropped your attention back to your coffee, “But what do you get out of it?” “Well, y’know I like being in control, we’ve established that. And I think it’ll be hot to watch you cum over and over, especially knowing I’m the one making it happen. Does that mean you’d want to try it?” “Yes, absolutely. Maybe not tonight though,” “No not tonight. We’ll save it for a day you’re not working.”

 It was nearly a week before you had a day off. In that time, you managed to change your mind about forced orgasms what felt like fifty times at least. Some days the idea excited you, to the point where you’d spend all day turned on and rush home hoping Roger would be easy to get a hold of that night. Other days it sounded like pure torture. Part of you wanted to discuss it further with Roger, get a clearer understanding of what exactly he was going to do to you and why the idea turned him on so much, but you’d never been good at initiating that type of conversation. Plus, every little reminder of it seemed to excite Roger and you couldn’t bear to admit you weren’t one hundred percent into it anymore. You’d ruled things out in the past which Roger always said was fine but you worried he was just being nice, that he didn’t really mean it. And you knew that if you took back your yes, indicated at all that you’d changed your mind, he’d resent you. He’d leave you for someone who wouldn’t chicken out of things, wouldn’t say no. So instead, on your day off, you stood in front of Roger and responded to his query if you were ready with a hearty yes, adding a quick Sir at the end because you knew it would please him. The corner of his mouth quirked up as he took you in. “You remember your safeword, Kitten?” His use of the nickname you’d recently agreed on made you feel a little calmer. It was a response to your deference, acknowledgement of the roles you’d initiated, a sign you were on the same page. Even if you weren’t totally.  “It’s red, Sir,” “Good girl,” his voice was soft as he brushed his thumb over your cheek and then he let you go, voice gaining that commanding edge that appeared whenever you let him take control, “Now strip.”

 Roger unbuckled his belt, gaze fixed on you as you pulled your shirt off and moved on to unbuttoning your pants. His own pants fell to the floor with a dull thump as he stepped out of them and then, still in his shirt and underwear, turned and made himself comfortable, stretched out in the middle of the bed, leaning against the headboard. He watched as you removed your final garments, eyes roaming over your exposed body as you waited for your next instruction. Your heart was already beating faster than normal, the nerves making it hard to swallow.  “Come here Kitten,” he finally said, moving his legs apart and patting the space in between. You dutifully sat where he’d told you to, though your whole body felt tense. “‘s alright, love, I’ve got you. Gonna make you feel so good. Just tell me if you need to stop,” He said softly against your ear as his warm palms rubbed up and down your arms.  You felt yourself breathe more freely with every stroke, relaxing against his chest as he brought his lips to your neck.  “That’s it, good girl.” You hummed as you tilted your head to the side, presenting more of your neck to Roger. He went slow, dragging his lips along your neck and shoulder until you were making small needy noises. Your hands fell to his legs on either side of you as he tilted your head in the opposite direction so he could kiss and suck at the other side of your neck, bringing his hands to your breasts at the same time. Unconsciously you pushed your chest forward, your legs falling open a little more, feeling his breath on your shoulder as he chuckled. “There’s my filthy slut,” he squeezed your breasts as he spoke, teasing your nipples with his thumbs, “bet you’re already wet for me,” You whined as he trailed his hands lower, one moving to your knee, pulling your legs further apart and holding you in place. He dragged a single finger along your pussy, right up to your clit, holding it up in front of your eyes when he was done. “Yup, just like I thought. Wet.” His voice was right in your ear, making you shiver, “Think that deserves a reward.” He picked up one of your legs, pulling it over the top of his, and then did the same with the other, exposing your pussy to the room and his fingers. “You comfortable?” You wriggled a little as you adjusted to the new position, finally settling with a, “Am now Sir,” “Alright, let’s see how much cum we can squeeze out of you,”

 He knew your body well. Knew every extra sensitive spot, knew how to make you moan. And it wasn’t long before you were doing just that, two of his fingers fucking you, curling against your wall, as his thumb pressed against your clit.  “Close, Kitten?” “Mmhmm,” “Show me what a dirty girl you are and cum for me,” Your whole body tensed up as you reached your climax, Roger’s voice in your ear praising you the whole time. But his fingers only slowed down so he could add a third, and then they were back at their previous pace. “Oh God, Sir,” “Didn’t think I was going to give you a break, did you? Why would I do that when you look so good cumming for me? And I’m going to watch it happen over and over and over. One after another.” It took less time to feel your second orgasm approaching than it had your first, his fingers expertly pulling you towards it until finally you fell over the edge. You’d expected Roger to keep fingering you but he withdrew his hand, pressing his fingers to your lips instead. You parted them without a second thought. “That felt good, didn’t it Kitten?” You hummed around his fingers as he shifted his weight slightly, reaching his other hand out towards the bedside table. “Think we can do better though,” He settled back into his original place as he brought the thing he’d been reaching for up to your eye line. It was a vibrator. You stopped sucking his fingers, “Sir?” “Are you okay if I switch to this Kitten? I can keep fingering you if you’d prefer but we run the risk of being interrupted by a cramp.” You bit you lip as you eyed the machine. It was much more powerful than a human hand could be, enough to make you a little nervous. But Roger seemed excited by the idea of using it on you, and so far the whole forced orgasm thing had been fun, not much different to a regular night with Rog. “Switch,” “You sure?” “Yes, Sir. I want the vibrator.” He kissed you on the temple, dropping one hand back to your leg as the other positioned the vibrator against your clit. You practically jumped when it came to life, Roger’s grip on your leg tightening to hold you still. He started on the lowest setting, running the vibrator through your folds until it was coated in your juices and then holding it against your clit once more. When you started trying to buck your hips towards it, he turned it up, pushing you over the edge again. “Good girl, two more and we’ll’ve beat your record. You okay to continue?” You nodded, the vibrator still pulsing against your clit making it hard to form words. Roger’s hand rubbed over your thigh gently as he continued. The next two orgasms came fast, Roger pushing the vibrator up to its highest speed, your nails digging into his leg with each one. He shifted the hand that wasn’t wrapped around the toy to your stomach, holding you in place as you tried to writhe away from the constant stimulation on your now sensitive clit. So this is where the forced part comes in, was all you had time to think before your toes reflexively curled and your breath caught as you were pushed into another climax. Your moans got quieter, turned to whines which turned to whimpers and tears prickled your eyes as the throbbing sensitivity turned to pain. The idea of using your safeword crossed your mind but you couldn’t bring yourself to actually say it. Roger’s hold on you was so tight and you could feel how much he was enjoying the scene, his cock hard against your back. And it wasn’t like cumming so much was that bad. It felt good except that it hurt a bit more with each passing minute. But you could get through the relentless torment to please Roger, to keep Roger. Even when it reached the point where the pain outweighed the pleasure and your nails were constantly squeezing Roger’s thighs and it felt like you couldn’t possibly have anything left for him to pull out of you, you grit your teeth and took it, legs shaking and vision blurry with tears.

You’d lost count entirely. Not sure how many times you’d cum or how long you’d been positioned there, spread open between Roger’s legs. Your clit was practically numb from overuse. He’d shifted his hands again. One hand still held the toy against you, that arm pressing against your stomach, the ditch of his elbow tight against your side, while his other hand wrapped around one of your thighs, stopping your leg from moving after you, unconsciously, tried to close them. You couldn’t remember when he shifted his hold on you. His voice was in your ear again, but the words weren’t getting through properly, brain too clouded to understand. There were tears on your cheeks though you also couldn’t remember when they started to fall. It was all too much, his voice and his touch and your grip on his leg and the way you were shaking, too much to focus on any one thing. The only word in your head was red. Urgent and desperate, RED. All caps, bold, italicized. RED. Over and over again, RED, repeating like a mantra. RED. It was the last thing you thought as your hand stopped clenching on his thigh and your head fell back against his shoulder and your eyes slipped shut. 

When you came to, blinking the blurry confusion from your eyes, it was to find Roger hovering over you, his fingers pressed against the pulse in your neck. His eyebrows were furrowed, his lip red and swollen from where he’d bitten it, a small streak of blood just below his mouth. As soon as he realised you were coming round he let out a relieved breath. “Y/N?” His voice was soft, calming, though a little strained, “Hey, love, you with me?” “Rog?” His whole body slumped in relief, as he pulled his hand away from your pulse point though it hovered in the air for a moment, uncertain if he was allowed to touch you again, “Thank god you’re okay. Your heart was racing and you just went limp and passed out. I thought you’d gone into shock or something, god I’m so sorry.” You had to piece together what happened from your sore muscles and the numb tingling sensation between your legs and Roger’s babbling as he kept apologising. It all rushed back to you though as you try to sit up, the muscles in your legs complaining with every slight shift of your weight. You noticed blood on Roger’s leg as he shuffled back to give you space, the spot where your nails had dug too deep. “Are you okay?” you ask, pointing at the scratches. He was still studying you with worried eyes, arms folded into his chest because he didn’t know what else to do with them. At your words he blinked a couple of times, worry slipping into confusion. “I’m fine,” he said glancing at his leg, “Jesus, you passed out and you’re worried about me? After I…” He bit his lip again before tentatively reaching out and touching your leg. It was light and uncertain, the only physical contact he’d allow himself, “Y/N, I’m so sorry. That went too far and I should have stopped it sooner. I should have realised. I should have…” his hands tightened on your knee, “why didn’t you safeword?” “What?” “Your safeword. Why didn’t you use it?” His eyes were wide with hurt and confusion, staring at you, waiting for an answer you didn’t want to admit to. “What’re you looking at me like that for?” You moved your leg, his hand falling away as you pulled your knees up to your chest, “Pretty sure I’m the one that blacked out.” “Are you fucking kidding me? You do understand why we have the safeword right? It’s there specifically so you can tell me to stop when things get too much. So why the fuck did you collapse like that? You should never have got to that point.” He pushed himself off the bed, stalking to the other end of the room as he dragged his fingers through his hair. If he hadn’t moved you would have cringed away from the sharpness his voice took on. “You didn’t stop either,” “I know, Y/N, believe me I fucking know,” he turned back to face you, voice softening with his face, “I got too caught up in it and stopped checking in on you and that shouldn’t have happened. I fucked up. But so did you. I’m not a fucking mind reader. You should have told me it was too much. Why didn’t you tell me?” You dropped your head, focusing on your hands in your lap, fingers twisting together, agitated  and anxious, “I didn’t….” “Y/N, please look at me.” Slowly you raised your eyes to his face, unsure how to get the words out. “Why didn’t you tell me, Y/N?” You took a deep breath, “I didn’t want to disappoint you,” “Disappoint me?” “I was scared that if you knew I couldn’t handle it you’d be disappointed and you’d get bored of me. I just want to be enough for you.” “Y/N, I’m not…. Never. That would never happen.” You could hear his steps as he slowly came back towards the bed, as if you were a skittish animal he didn’t want to scare off. He gently sat down again, reaching out to brush his fingertips over your cheek as he looked you in the eye, “Needing to use your safeword or telling me that something doesn’t feel right is never going to disappoint me.” “Even when it’s something you’re really excited about?” “Even then. None of this is fun if you’re not enjoying it. And I’m not just talking about when we try stuff like this or the restraints or spanking or whatever else. I mean any sex at all. Even regular old missionary. If something doesn’t feel right to you, I want you to tell me.” “Are you angry?” He sighed, “No I’m not Angry. I’m upset with myself for not looking after you properly. And I’m upset that I ever made you feel like you couldn’t speak up and that you were afraid to be honest with me about what you need. And I’m upset about how bad that got. The way you just collapsed against me was terrifying and I never want anything like that to happen again. But I’m not angry.” “I’m sorry, Rog.” “Hey, hey, it’s alright,” he said softly, catching a fresh tear on his thumb, “We’ll both try harder in the future, okay?” You nodded as you let your body relax against his, wrapping your arms around Roger as he hugged you tight.

[steebharringt0n]

cat’s in the cradle

infant | toddler | child | teenager | young adult

a 5-part story exploring the relationship between billy hargrove and his first-born son, adam

pairing: billy hargrove x you

rating: t

a/n: thank you all for the feedback, this has been super fun to write so far and i’m so happy to see it receive so much love, if you’ve missed a part, I have linked them up top! enjoy!

---

part 3 - child

“Ma! I can’t find my baseball glove!”

“Mommy, mommy, mommy!”

“MA! MY GLOVE!”

“MOMMY!”

Your head was going to explode if your children would not shut up.

The Hargrove household was in it’s usual chaos mode. Backpacks and shoes had a permanent place by the front door, the living room wall was adorned with pictures of the kids, pictures of you and Billy, pictures of you, Billy and the kids, and a couple with Max and your parents in them. It was Saturday morning and Adam had his championship little league game. The Sunset Cliff Tigers were on a hot streak and as usual, the four of you were running late because your husband just loved to take his sweet time showering. You were in the kitchen quickly stuffing snacks and drinks for the team, it was your job as the coach’s wife to always bring after game snacks - plus you always brought the best snacks.

10-year old Adam came rushing into the kitchen, his square glasses adorning his face as he frantically searched around the area for his lucky baseball mitt. His blond hair had darkened out as he got older, turning into a dirty blond that matched Billy’s hair. All dressed up in his yellow and white striped uniform, you heard the loud clacking of his baseball cleats roam around the kitchen.

“Adam, you left it in the laundry room” you casually told him, zipping up the large snack bag.

Adam blinked blankly, then quickly turned on his heels and ran over to the laundry room. You heard small puttering steps come into the kitchen, accompanied by a mischievous giggle you knew too well.

“Mommy, mommy, mommy!”

Ah, yes, Ava.

5-year old Ava Grace Hargrove was a carbon copy of you - minus the blue eyes. She had the same hair, same smile, same nose, and she even laughed the same way you did. 

But my god, was she nothing like you. She was everything Billy, and it terrified you.

The mere thought of her turning into an angry, rebellious teenager gave you nightmares. She was nothing like your sweet boy, in fact they were the complete opposite of each other. Ava threw tantrums, Ava hated eating her vegetables, and oh man, don’t even think about reading her a bedtime story - she found them incredibly boring. She was loud, rebellious, and had a knack for getting into trouble.

She got along swimmingly with her Auntie Max.

But she knew how to work her way around you and Billy. She had a look - pretty much the same look that Billy would give to charm his way through situations. She would hang her lower lip in a pout, bat her long eyelashes and suddenly you and Billy were turned into goo.

Billy more than you. She had him wrapped around his finger, she was always able to weasel her way out of getting into trouble when Billy was around. His little princess could do no wrong in his eyes. He was there for every boo-boo, every cold, every flu. He was incredibly protective of her, more than he was with you in high school, and that’s saying something.

With a loud sigh escaping your lips, you turned to face your daughter, “Yes baby?”

Standing barefoot, with her long barbie pajamas, she gave you a grin, “I want my cheerios”

You quickly whipped out a sandwich bag, shoving handful of cheerios and zipping it close.

Being a full time mom, and teacher had its perks. You were a master multi-tasker, simultaneously grading papers, cooking dinner, doing laundry, putting your kids to bed and still find time with your husband? You were like Wonder Woman in Billy’s eyes. 

You approached Ava, crouching down to her size. The bag of cheerios dangled in your hand, Ava went and tried to get a grab at it but you swiped it away before she could. She let out a angry grumble,

“You’ll get your cheerios when you go get dressed - we’re already late Ava Grace, I laid out your clothes for you on your bed, go change.” you ordered, your head gesturing towards her bedroom. Ava nodded at you, letting out a giggle before she scampered upstairs to her lilac colored room.

You scanned around the kitchen, making sure you didn’t forget anything else to pack. You had snacks, drinks, first-aid, sunscreen (yes, you were THAT mom). You heard the thundering footsteps of Billy come down the stairs, “Let’s go! We’re already late!” he shouted.

He poked his head into the kitchen flashing you a smile that still, at 30 years old, made you weak in the knees. “Ready momma?”

He donned on a yellow baseball cap, the words coach written in white, bold letter words. When Adam had expressed interest in little league, Billy jumped at the chance to coach his team. It was pretty much the only thing they had in common. Adam had no interest in cars, no interest in his dad’s lame old music, no interest in surfing, they had nothing in common.

Except for their love of baseball.

Billy and Adam held season passes to the San Diego Padres. They wouldn’t miss a game if their life depended on it. Hell, Billy even closed shop early one day in order to catch a game.

It was their thing, their little club, and your heart would swell when the two of them would come bursting into the house, their hands sticky from eating popcorn, their shirts stained with mustard from the hot-dogs, with large smiles on their faces, drunk on all the fun they had at the game.

Although they both couldn’t be any different, their love for baseball is what kept their bond tight.

“I’m waiting for our little hellraiser to get dressed” you told him, leaning forward on the kitchen island.

“My little Ava? My little princess who can do no wrong?” he dramatically feigned hurt, his hand placed over his heart.

He leaned over the kitchen island, meeting you halfway. Your noses grazed one another as you felt his minty breath on your face.

“What do I get when we win today?” he huskily spoke. After being together for over 10 years, you both were still crazy in love with each other since the first time he laid eyes on you when he walked into Hawkins High. Albeit you both were older, but his features had become more defined, his jaw more chiseled, his shoulders more broad - he still had that ugly tattoo on his shoulder (which both Adam and Ava marveled over) but he was still as sexy as ever.

“Hmm ... I dunno, maybe you’ll get to first base, maybe a little bit of second base ... not sure if you’ll hit a homerun though ... “ you playfully teased.

Billy’s raised an eyebrow, “Is that a challenge, Hargrove?”

“You bet your ass Hargrove”

“Ew, what are you guys doing?”

You quickly placed a peck on his lips as Adam’s voice broke the conversation between the two of you.

You smiled sweetly at your son who was now wearing a matching yellow baseball cap, walking over to him, “Nothing, did you find your glove?”

He pulled his old, ratted glove from under his arm, waving it in the air. “Got it right here, Ava! Let’s go!” he shouted at the stairs.

“I’m coming!” she shouted back, running from out of her room, her [Y/H/C] hair all wild as she carefully walked down the steps. All dressed up in her yellow overalls to match the team color, and white shoes, she looked absolutely adorable and for a second you forgot how much a little spitfire she could be.

“Daddy, daddy, I wore yellow for you!” she exclaimed happily, pushing her hair out of her face as she proudly showed off her yellow overalls. Billy scooped up his daughter, planting kisses all over her cheeks. He rested her on his hip, “I have my own cheerleader, whaddya know!”

You walked over to Billy and Ava and handed her the ziplock bag, she eagerly took it from your hands, and immediately started to shove the cheerios in her mouth.

The four of you quickly ushered out of the house, piling into Billy’s top of the line 1997 Honda CR-V, or as commonly known as, the family car. Billy’s poor old camero was collecting dust in the garage. He rarely had time to drive it around, but he knew one day he would pass on his first baby to Adam.

The drive to the baseball field was quick, but the crowds were already getting large. The Sunset Cliffs Tigers were going up against the Hillcrest Sharks - this was turning out to be a big game. Adam knew how difficult this team would be, but he wouldn’t let it effect his game. He didn’t want to let his father down.

Billy pulled the car into park, and Ava quickly jumped out of her booster seat, running towards the concession stand where you promised to buy her ice cream if she behaved well. You gave both your boys a good luck kiss (and a swat to Billy’s ass for good measure) as they headed down towards the coach’s box to huddle up with the team.

You caught up with Ava, who was having a hard time deciding on whether to choose chocolate or vanilla ice cream. Ultimately she ended up going with both. The two of you then found a spot on the bleachers, right behind the coach’s box as the game started to get underway.

The Tigers started out with a strong lead, hitting home runs left and right, but it was up until the 5th inning that the Sharks were quickly catching up to them. By the time the 9th inning rolled around the game was tied, 5-5, and it was a nail-biter.

Adam was on third base, he was so close to home base that he could feel it under his cleats. He pushed his glasses up, his neck turning towards you and Ava as you happily waved and gave him a thumbs up.

“You got this baby!” you shouted, Ava’s sticky hands that were covered in soft serve ice cream clapped along with you.

Suddenly, Adam got nervous. The crowds, the expectation, it all hit him at once.

He looked up at his father who could clearly read his nerves, and Billy called a time-out.

Adam jogged his way over to the coach’s box, a panicked expression on his face.

“Dad, I can’t do it, I can’t slide”

Billy crouched down to Adam’s height, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder, “Hey, hey, where did this come from?”

Adam shook his head, “I don’t wanna mess up, I don’t wanna lose.” Adam paused, sucking in a breath, “I don’t want to disappoint you”

Billy’s heart clenched at those words. It was like staring at a mirror when he gazed over at a nervous Adam. The painful memory of Neil berating him for not sliding properly at his own little league game suddenly entered his mind. He remember how terrified he was when Neil grabbed his arm, shaking him violently for not listening - for disappointing him.

For being a pussy.

But Billy isn’t Neil. He is nothing like Neil.

Billy placed both hands on Adam’s shoulder as he hung his head low. Billy lifted his son’s chin up, adjusting his glasses, and sweeping his sweaty hair out of his face.

“Win or lose, slide or not, I am proud of you no matter the outcome. You will never disappoint me Adam.”

Adam’s bottom lip trembled as he nodded at his father. Billy then stood up and engulfed his son in a tight hug. Billy pulled away, adjusting Adam’s yellow baseball cap. With a watery smile on his face, Adam jogged back to third base, a new wave of confidence instilled in him.

Jacob Richardson was up to bat, and as soon as the pitcher threw the ball, Jacob swung with all his might, the loud clack of the ball hitting the bat echoed throughout the field. All eyes were on Adam as he started to run towards home base. His cleats digging in the dirt, his arms woosh-ing by his side. He didn’t have time to think, but he went ahead and took the leap. 

He threw himself onto the ground, feeling the rocks pierce his skin, the dirt burning his arm as he slid towards the base. His glasses were complete dirty, obstructing his vision. He outstretched his arms until the felt the home base plate under him.

“SAFE!”

The crowd roared with excitement. Adam jumped up, swiping his glasses off his face to see his teammates rush towards him. Lifting him up on their shoulders and parading him around. You and Ava ran out to the field, running over to Billy who was being handed the championship trophy. You placed a big sloppy kiss on his mouth, he was grinning from ear to ear as you pulled away from him. Billy then ran out to his team, handing Adam the championship trophy as his teammates placed him on the ground.

“I did it dad! I slid!” Adam beamed, his entire face caked with dirt.

Billy swept Adam in a hug, “You did! and I am so, so proud you”

You and Ava ran out to the field, and as soon as Billy let Adam go from his hug, you pulled your baby boy and held him tight against your chest.

“Oh my baby boy is a little league champion! I am so proud of you!” you exclaimed.

“Ma .. you’re embarrassing me ...” he muttered as you started to clean away at his face. No son of yours was going to look dirty for the championship photo. You felt tears prick your eyes as you stared down at your boy, the pride you felt for him made you feel overwhelmed, and you had a take a second to calm yourself down.

You probably snapped a million pictures of the whole team, but the favorite picture you took was of the three people who you loved the most. Billy holding Ava in his arms, Adam standing right beside them with the championship trophy in his hands, showing it off with a proud smile.

After a long celebration with the team (with lots of cake and pizza) the four of you headed back towards the car. Ava being Ava, consumed way too much cake and had a sugar crash. She ended up passed out on Billy’s shoulder, crumbs of chocolate cake decorated her lips as small snores escaped from her mouth. Billy had his other arm wrapped around your shoulder, Adam walking right beside you with the trophy in his hands.

“So am I getting scoring a home-run tonight?” he cockily spoke in your ear, his eyebrows wiggling suggestively.

“Wait you guys are playing baseball tonight? Can I play?!” Adam suddenly interjected. Billy was apparently not a good whisperer.

Ava suddenly awoke from her slumber, her eyes wide and alert, “I wanna play too! I wanna play baseball! I wanna score homeruns!” she whined.

Billy’s eyes almost bulged out of his head, and you almost choked, “Ava you are never scoring a homerun” Billy managed to utter out.

This in turn caused Ava to start whining even more, and for Adam beg, to plead to play baseball with his parents.

Luckily they were too young to realize the sexual euphemism that Billy had tried on you.

You jabbed Billy on his side, throwing him a look, “Real smooth Casanova, real smooth”

---

tag list: @the-first-breath-of-autumn-air @justabeautiful-letdown @fab-notfat @tarahell @noodlenerd101 @crazylittlethingcalledobsession @letdecemberburninflames @kake-babe @barbarasbae @delqcour @wearewiththebands @oogachuggaoogaoogachugga

[littlereyofsunlight]

The Fire is So Delightful

Hi @geekynerddemon, I’m your @steggyfanevents secret santa! You chose modern AU from the options I gave you, so I wrote you some firefighter Steve Rogers and a self-rescuing Peggy Carter. There’s a cat in a tree, plus a bunch of the usual suspects from the MCU. Chapter 2 coming shortly!

Read on AO3

ch 1/2 Rating: Gen Relationships: Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers Characters: Peggy Carter, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton, Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, Sif, Dum Dum Dugan Additional Tags: Firefighter AU, Modern Day AU, romcom, meet-cute, the gang’s all here Summary: Peggy rescues a cat from a tree. Steve doesn’t help.

“Will you look after Liho for me?” Natasha’s sudden request startled Peggy out of her contemplation of the drink in front of her. They were at their usual place, a dingy little bar down the block from work where the bartenders all knew them and they could hold a conversation without having to shout over music or dodge the advances of the neighborhood suits, who generally avoided the place owing to its distinctly aggressive lack of atmosphere.

“Sorry?”

Natasha kept her eyes on her own drink, fidgeting with the straw. Natasha, normally a beer drinker, or after especially difficult weeks just straight vodka, had ordered one of the bar’s ridiculous cocktails. It was tequila-based, neon orange, came in a Tiki cup and had what looked to Peggy like an entire mint plant sticking out the top. “I’m going out of town for the holiday and I need a cat-sitter.”

Peggy had worked with Natasha on the analyst team for six years now, but she’d only ever been invited to her home once, a few months ago. “I’d be happy to, I have no plans.” As a rule, she saved the trans-Atlantic flights for better weather. Her parents weren’t big on Christmas, anyways.

Natasha gave a quick little half smile, and Peggy noticed her shoulders drop a good inch. “Thank you.” She took a sip of her drink, holding the ostentatious garnish away from her face as she did so. “My, um, ex-girlfriend is also going to be home for the holiday, so I didn’t want to just do a short trip this year. I’ll get you a key next week.” Then she changed the subject back to work, and they strategized about their supervisor’s latest power play—and speculated how their beloved admin Darcy Lewis might undermine it—until much too late for a work night.

Two weeks later, Peggy set her bag down just inside the threshold of Natasha’s bright, clean two-story duplex. “Are you sure you want me to stay?”

Nat waved her hand. “It’s such a long drive between your neighborhood and mine. If you’d be more comfortable at home, of course, Liho will be fine.”

Peggy looked around the downstairs living area, flooded with early afternoon light. “I’m sure I’ll be perfectly comfortable here. I just know how very private you are.”

Nat gave her a shy smile. “I think we’re past all that, aren’t we?”

“I’m glad you feel that way.” Peggy smiled broadly back.

“Okay, bedroom is upstairs and there are fresh sheets and towels and everything. Help yourself to anything in the fridge or pantry, of course. I got some of those yogurts you always eat, plus this—” Nat thrust a nice bottle of red wine into Peggy’s hands, though Peggy wasn’t sure exactly where she’d been hiding it up until then “—Her food is on the counter, please just the listed amounts, because she is a terrible beggar and will try to weasel more food out of you.“

“Noted,” Peggy said.

“And her litter boxes are in the bathrooms, the litter is flushable.”

“Convenient.”

“Also, she sometimes tries to escape out the front door, so look out for that.”

“So to review, your cat is a cat who acts like a cat,” Peggy teased. “I have this handled, I promise. Liho and I will get some quality time on your couch with everyone’s favorite streaming network while you spend the holiday with your sexy ex. Now get out of here. Maria’s waiting for you, isn’t she?”

“Thank you, Peggy,” Natasha said, as she rolled her eyes but pulled her in for a quick hug nonetheless. “Liho’s hiding upstairs, but she’ll probably come down around dinnertime, so like, six, if she doesn’t get curious about you before then.”

“Is she very interested in people?” Peggy’s grandmother kept cats in her little London flat, and they were always all over the place regardless of who was visiting, though she supposed that could have been more out of necessity. The few times she and her brother Michael had tried to play hide-and-seek while visiting Nana had been very anticlimactic: there were only two good child-sized (or even cat-sized) hiding spots in the whole place.

Nat shook her head. “She and I get along because we’re very similar.”

“So if I lose her, I should just put out a saucer of vodka.”

“It might work,” Nat allowed. “Smart-ass.”

“Aren’t you leaving?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Nat looked up the stairs one more time. “Thanks again. Text me if you need anything.”

“We won’t.” Peggy raised her eyebrow. “Text me if you get some this weekend.”

Nat actually blushed at that, to Peggy’s surprise. “You’re sort of wearing on my gratitude, here,” she grumbled fondly. She picked up her bag and took her coat off the hook.

Peggy threw up her hands. “Yes, I’m trying to get you to leave already!”

Laughing over her shoulder, Nat finally opened the door. “See you in a week.”

“Drive safe!” Peggy called after her.

“Oh!” Nat called, stopping beside her car. “My neighbors are all pretty friendly, don’t be surprised if someone pops by.”

Before Peggy could formulate a response (How friendly? Which neighbors? Why aren’t any of them watching your cat?), Nat was in her car and on her way. “Thanks for that advice, I guess,” Peggy said to herself. She closed the door and looked around. At least this Christmas she’d be alone in a new location, she mused. She pulled out her phone and tapped out a quick message to her friend Angie back home, even though Peggy knew she’d be asleep already. She scrolled aimlessly through the apps on her phone, hovering over the ‘dating’ folder she’d shoved Hinge and Bumble and all the rest into after the last in a series of disastrous dates over the summer. Peggy hated to admit it, even to herself, but she was lonely.

True to Natasha’s word, a small, sleek black cat poked her head through the top two spindles of the stairs promptly at six pm and, upon seeing Peggy on the couch but not Natasha, she let out a series of squeaking chirps. Peggy put down the novel she’d borrowed from Nat’s bookshelf—Lauren Beukes’s Broken Monsters, and here Peggy had thought Nat to be more of a nonfiction reader—and got up to see what Liho’s dinner situation was.

Natasha very clearly cared a great deal for the skinny little cat who, according to Nat, had turned up on her doorstep one day and invited herself to stay forever. There was a stainless steel water dish that continuously burbled up a little fountain, and two shallow dishes, one for wet food and one for dry. On the counter above the cat’s dishes, Nat had thoughtfully set out Liho’s food, all fancy brand-name specialty stuff. Liho chirped at her a few more times while Peggy dumped a can of wet into the designated bowl, and she kept making adorable little nomming noises while she chowed down. Peggy stroked her hand down the cat’s back and Liho jumped and shot Peggy an affronted look before she went back to her food.

“No touchy while eating, got it.” Peggy left the cat to her meal and grabbed her phone to see what delivery options were available in Nat’s neighborhood. As she tried to decide between Mexican and an interesting Vietnamese-fusion place, the doorbell rang.

Peggy opened the door to a barefoot, confused-looking man wearing a t-shirt despite the frigid weather. He sketched a brief wave before launching into a query in sign language, but she couldn’t hope to follow. Peggy waved back and gave him a broad “huh” gesture. He nodded and reached up to turn on the hearing aids hidden under his hat.

“Is Nat home?” he asked.

“I’m sorry, she’s not in,” Peggy responded.

“I’m her neighbor, Clint,” he said, pointing his thumb at the other side of the duplex. “I was hoping she’d want to split a takeout order.”

“Oh!” Peggy said, realization dawning. “I’m Peggy, Nat’s friend from work. I’m watching her cat for the week. Did she tell you she was going back for the holiday?”

Clint watched her lips closely and nodded as she spoke. “Right, sorry, I forgot.” He scratched the back of his head under his knit cap and squinted at her. “Do you maybe want to go in on some takeout?”

A grin spread across her face and she opened the door wider. “What do you think of the Vietnamese place?”

Clint gave her both thumbs up. “The báhn bao are freaking amazing.”

When Nat texted later that evening to let Peggy know she’d arrived, Peggy and Clint snapped a quick photo for her with their very impressive spread of food and Liho just barely visible in the background, creeping on the interlopers in her home from the top of the stairs. Nat texted back a laughing with tears emoji and then when you go to bed tonight double check under the covers. she sometimes attacks feet if she’s not expecting them

Noted, Peggy replied. More normal cat behavior.

Nat sent back the eye-roll emoji.

Have you seen Maria yet? Peggy hoped she wasn’t being too nosy. She and Nat had been friendly for years but this new level, with in-home cat-sitting and ex-sex-discussing, was still pretty new for them.

In response, a photo appeared of Nat’s slim fingers around a half-drunk pint glass. she’s meeting me in 30 minutes, got here early for some liquid courage

Peggy sent her a string of crossed fingers and martini glasses, punctuated with a purple heart.

Nat sent back a purple heart and Peggy felt it in her chest, warm and liquid. She didn’t have many good friends, and all of them were back home in the UK. Nat, standoffish, prickly, elusive Nat, was turning out to be her first real friend in the States.

Just then, Liho jumped up into Peggy’s lap and butted her head against the hand holding her phone. Now she was ready for Peggy to pet her.

Clint was good company, and he turned out to unabashedly love Love Island, which Peggy watched to keep up with Angie’s opinions on the subject, so he and Peggy re-started the beginning of the third series together and talked about how Camilla was too good for the rest of the crowd.

While Peggy got ready for bed, she poked her head around the upstairs, looking for Liho as she brushed her teeth and slathered on moisturizer, dipping back into the bathroom to spit and then to dab on a spot treatment.

“Where are you hiding, miss?” She peeked behind the door of Nat’s second bedroom, set up as an office. She spun the desk chair around, but there was no cat curled in a ball in the seat. Peggy went into Nat’s bedroom and threw back the covers, but no luck. She called and called, but Liho didn’t poke her head out, didn’t answer with a chirp. Peggy searched the whole house twice, and then remembered what Nat had said about the front door. Had it been open too long when Clint left? Peggy had said goodnight and gone to put away her leftovers, she hadn’t watched to see if the cat stayed inside. She couldn’t remember seeing her after that.

Feeling out of sorts, Peggy grabbed her phone and Nat’s key, tossed a hoodie on over her sleeping shirt and shoved her feet into her sneakers. She opened the door and stepped onto the stoop, calling softly for Liho as she shut the door firmly behind her, in case the cat was still inside. “If you’re out here, darling, please come back inside.” Peggy shivered as a cold wind blew down the street, throwing the bare branches of the tree in Nat’s yard against each other. A full moon and a cloudless sky, plus the street lamps and the festive lights on many of the houses meant the street was fairly well-lit, even at this hour.

She turned on the flashlight on her phone and swept the light around the walkway, focusing on the spots in shadow. “Liho!” She stepped off the stoop and into the yard. Over the wind, Peggy heard it. An unmistakable chirp. She spun around, trying to see the cat. “Come here, kitty!” Against her better judgement, she made kissy noises and thanked the lord no one else seemed to be out at this hour. Another chirp, and this time Peggy realized where it was coming from. She aimed her light at the tree. Standing in a vee about halfway up the old oak was Liho, shivering in the wind.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Peggy said, “did you get yourself stuck up there?” Liho chirped back at her and stayed put.

Peggy eyed the tree trunk. She’d climbed more difficult ones, to be sure, but not since primary school. She tucked her phone and keys into her pocket and zipped her hoodie up to her chin. “I’m gonna get you down,” she told the cat. “Don’t worry,” she said, mostly to herself.

As Peggy climbed, Liho retreated further up into the branches. “That’s the wrong direction!” Peggy complained. But she could keep going, so she did. The street lamp provided decent illumination, and it was a dry, cold night, so the bark wasn’t slippery against her rubber-soled shoes.

A truck rumbled down the street and stopped at a nearby house and Peggy hoped the occupants wouldn’t notice her, climbing a tree at midnight in her pajamas.

“Uh, ma’am?” A voice called up from below.

“Bugger,” Peggy cursed. No such luck.

She didn’t dare look down, the branches were starting to get thin. Liho watched the man on the street with some interest, though, which might work in Peggy’s favor. “Ma’am I’m with the fire department. Is everything okay up there?”

Peggy had to laugh. “I’m fine, just retrieving a cat. But you seem to be short a hook and ladder, or even a siren. So try again, Mr. Fireman.”

She heard a sigh from down below, but Liho was cautiously creeping towards Peggy along one of the topmost branches. “That’s it, come here.” Peggy reached out her hand and Liho came closer. Peggy braced herself against the trunk of the tree, hugging it with her thighs, and then she grabbed the cat by the scruff of her neck. Liho let out an undignified squawk but didn’t fight her grip, allowing Peggy to drag her close to her chest and hold her there.

“Good job,” the man encouraged.

“No thanks to you,” Peggy muttered. She climbed down. Liho, to her credit, submitted to Peggy’s hold like a kitten in her mama’s jaws. Soon enough, they were both out of the tree.

The supposed firefighter stood several feet away on the sidewalk, watching. “All set?” he asked.

“We’re fine.” She finally got a good look at him then, and well, he did look the part. At least six feet tall, with broad shoulders, fair hair, and a clean-cut All-American sort of look, if the chiseled jawline throwing shadows under the streetlamps were anything to go by. He wasn’t in his gear, of course, just jeans and a short leather jacket. It was still a good look on him.

He looked back up the tree. “You, uh, you’re pretty good at that.” He looked back to her and gave her a small smile.

“It’s not my first tree.” She looked him up and down. “Are you really a firefighter?”

He hooked his thumb back at his truck. “Not on duty. I heard the call on my radio, and I was nearby.” Now Peggy could see the bar of lights on the top of his truck. “I’m guessing you didn’t call this in, though? You definitely had things under control.”

She smiled despite herself. “I did have it under control.”

He nodded. “Well, glad I could be of no help at all.”

“You certainly did get here quickly, so points for that, I suppose.” She shifted the cat against her and took a tentative step closer.

“I live in the neighborhood.” He took a step closer, too. Peggy could see the wry smile on his lush mouth now. “Steve Rogers,” he offered.

“Peggy Carter. I’m just cat-sitting for a friend.” She cut him a look under her lashes, having a bit of fun. “But I’m starting to see why my friend likes this location.” Steve open and shut his mouth a few times, and then his reply was cut off by the wail of a siren. They both turned to look as a fire truck careened down the street. Steve stepped into the center of the road to flag them down. As the siren got louder, Peggy felt Liho tense under her hands, her front claws digging into Peggy’s sweatshirt. She tried to hold her close, but the cat squirmed away and bounded right back up into the tree. “Oh, Bloody Nora!”

He came back to stand beside her, hands on his hips. “Did the cat just run back up the tree?”

Peggy sighed. “The cat just ran back up the tree.”

“Well,” Steve scratched at the back of his head as he looked up to where Liho had perched herself, “I have that ladder now.”

“Captain Rogers!” Someone called from over by the truck. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Steve checked his watch. “Lieutenant Barnes, somehow I made it here a full five minutes before you did.”

“Aw, Steve, it’s a cat in a tree.”

“I told him we should get our hustle on for any call in your neighborhood, Cap,” another firefighter piped up.

“You should hustle for any call anywhere, come on, team” Steve’s voice got more commanding as he spoke with the members of the crew.

“Is that the cat’s owner?” another crew member piped up, gesturing at Peggy as she climbed down from the truck.

“I’m caring for her, yes,” Peggy replied.

The woman looked up at the tree and back at Peggy. “Would she let someone hold her if we got the ladder up there?”

Peggy considered. “She’s not great with new people.”

The firefighter nodded and looked back at Steve. “Cat bag.”

“Cat bag,” Steve agreed. “Ms. Carter here already got her down once, so I don’t think this one’s a jumper.”

The rest of the crew all exchanged looks, disbelief clear on their faces despite the truck’s flashing lights throwing strange shadows over the group. “Uh, what?” The handsome one Steve had called Barnes broke the awkward silence.

“I got her down,” Peggy explained. “Then your siren scared her and she went right back up.”

Another firefighter—also a handsome man, Peggy noticed—looked slowly between Peggy and the tree. “So if you didn’t have any trouble getting up there, then why …?” He squinted back at Peggy.

“She didn’t call this in, it must have been a neighbor.” Steve clapped his hands together. “All right, it’s cold out and I’m sure that cat wants to be warm inside, just like the rest of us. Who’s going up?”

“Not it,” both Barnes and the other one said at the same time.

“Wilson,” Barnes whined, “I got the last one.”

“Allergies, man. You’d have to dose me with Benadryl if you want me within five feet of a cat.” Wilson shrugged. “Sif, can you take this one?’

The female firefighter—yet again a very attractive person, statuesque with dark hair and big, dark eyes, Peggy was starting to wonder if the entire engine company put out a calendar every year—already had a burlap sack, which Peggy assumed was the cat bag, in her hands, along with a length of nylon rope and carabiners. She rolled her eyes at the other two. “Well, it’s not like Cap’s going to send Dum Dum up after her, is it?”

As if on cue, a fourth fire fighter stuck his head out of the truck’s door. “Everything okay out here?”

“Thanks for the help, Dugan!” Steve shouted back.

“Oh! Cap! Didn’t realize you were here!”

Steve waved him off and turned back to Sif. “You don’t want the ladder?”

Sif looked at the tree. “Nah, it’ll go faster and scare the cat less if I climb up. What’s her name?” The last part she addressed to Peggy.

“Liho.”

Sif nodded, put on some thick work gloves she produced from a pocket, clipped the cat bag to her belt and up she went.

“You know,” Peggy said, standing next to Steve as they watched Sif’s ascent, “if you lot hadn’t showed up I’d already be back in the house with the cat I’ve been entrusted to look after.”

She could hear the smile in his voice as he replied. “But then you wouldn’t have met me or my motley crew, and wouldn’t that have been a shame.”

Peggy eyed him speculatively and took a breath. “Jury’s still out. Perhaps you could buy me coffee sometime, Captain, as an apology for keeping me up so late. Give me more time to decide.” She felt brazen, hitting on a man who was there to do his work, but he wasn’t her neighbor, after all. And she was intrigued by this man, his apparent kindness, how he showed up even when his shift was over, not to mention the easy way he had with the people under his command. Captain Steve Rogers was the sort of man she wanted to get to know better. And, not to put too fine a point on it ... he was sexy.

Half his mouth quirked up in a self-conscious smile and he rubbed at the back of his neck. “Coffee, huh?” He looked at her, his ridiculously long eyelashes casting shadows on his face in the strange light. “Could we make it dinner? Tomorrow?” He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked on the balls of his feet. “With the upcoming holidays, I’m going to be working ten days straight. Better to get it out of the way.”

“Oh.” Peggy’s spirits fell.

“No!” Steve backtracked, eyes wide. “That came out all wrong. That was me trying not to uh, sound too eager? Also, I’m tired, and one of my firefighters is up a tree, and you are a very attractive woman and you just asked me out and my brain might be short-circuiting right now?”

Peggy had to laugh at that. “Okay, okay, stop digging.”

“You have to forgive Cap,” Wilson said from behind them. “We don’t let him out much.”

“This may in fact be the first non-work conversation he’s had with a woman,” Barnes chimed in. “Sorry it was so bad. He’s terrible at flirting.”

Steve took the good-natured teasing in stride. “Watch it, you two,” he warned them, but there was only wry warmth in his tone as he shook his head.

“I agree, it was very lacklustre flirting,” Peggy said. “You’ll need to step up your game for dinner tomorrow.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Steve replied, a broad smile on his face.

“Got her!” Sif called from above. “Coming down. Good job securing a date, Cap.”

Peggy had to agree with that, too.

[sprnklersplashes]

not beyond repair (8/?)

AO3

Veronica can’t deny her nerves as she pushes the gate of Westerberg High open on Monday morning. She hadn’t heard from JD for the rest of the weekend, a niggling voice in the back of her head telling her not to call him as she sat on her bed next to her phone, nervously picking at her nail, caught between giving him space and wanting him to know that he’s not alone. Apparently she picked the former and as she looks down at her destroyed nails on her right hand, she hopes she picked the right one. The yard is already alive with students, freshmen running around the place, one group using their backpack as a football, enjoying the rare late October sunshine before it’s gone completely, and inside is even more so. Despite the promise she and JD weaselled out of Kurt and Ram, she still pulls her coat a little tighter around herself as the hairs on her arms prick up. Even with their turned backs, she feels like everyone has their eyes on her, the word “slut” painted on her back in bright red. The irony of that image is not lost on her.

“Hey, Veronica,” the soft voice of her best friend greets next to her. Martha slides up to her, her brown hair pulled back in a braid and a gentle, excited smile that still warms Veronica’s heart on her face. There’s a gleam in her eyes too, the kind that promises exciting news.

“Hey,” Veronica replies, falling into step beside her.

“Did you hear?” Martha asks.

“Hear what?” she says, feeling slightly more cautious now. Kurt and Ram would never tell anyone-not even their dads, especially not their dads-about what she and JD did. Being a snitch is only slightly better than being a slut.

“Ram’s going around telling everything he and Kurt lied about the threeway,” she says, almost squealing in excitement. “That you didn’t do anything with them.”

“They are?” Veronica asks, looking around her. People don’t stop to talk to her, but no one did since before she was a Heather. No one is casting judgemental, disgusted glances at her, and there’s definitely no secret sniggering behind her back. She lets out a small laugh, feeling relief wash over her. “Thank god for that.”

“I knew it,” she says proudly. “I knew Ram would come through eventually. See, I told you he’s not so bad.” Veronica bites her tongue, smiling and nodding as Martha tells her about Ram’s so called ‘good heart’, listens politely as she tells her how his tough jock thing is an act he puts up for everyone, that he just wants people to like him. ‘If he wants people to like him, maybe he shouldn’t lie about who he’s slept with’ crosses Veronica’s mind, but she bites it back. She’s already broken Martha’s heart once. And besides, what she doesn’t know can’t hurt her. It’s hurting her, given how much she’s biting down on her tongue, but that’s not really important.

When she feels someone coming up behind her and the brief touch of a finger against her hand, she has to hold back the urge to sigh in relief, even though it comes with the tell-tale prickle of nerves down her back.

“Hey,” she greets, turning her head slightly to see JD beside her. To her comfort, he looks a lot calmer than he did on Saturday, his eyes clearer and his smile bright as he looks at her.

“Hey yourself,” he says gently. His head moves just a fraction of an inch-most likely to press a kiss to her forehead or maybe her lips if he was feeling bold enough- before he looks over at Martha, registering her friend’s presence. “Hi, Martha.”

“Hey,” she replies, toying with the ends of her braid. “How was your weekend? You two hung out right?”

“Yeah,” he answers, looking to Veronica for help. “We just uh-”

“Grabbed dinner,” Veronica finishes, covering for him. “Watched TV. Nothing exciting.”

“Oh, that’s cool,” Martha says. “Uh, JD I was just telling Veronica, Kurt and Ram are telling everyone that they lied about the threeway.”

“Oh are they now?” he says, a proud tone laced through his voice that only Veronica could know. She grins, lacing their hands together, their secret hanging between them. “I guess someone’s conscience finally caught up with them.”

“That’s what I was telling Veronica,” she adds. “Ram’s not that bad, really. I knew he’d come clean sooner or later.” Veronica feels JD stiffen beside her, doing his best to still seem interested, but he rubs his thumb on the back of Veronica’s hand. “He’s a good guy, really.”

“I…” JD begins, his voice strained as he searches for the right words to say. “Do not doubt that one bit.” Martha grins, lighting up her face and the hallway. “Come on, it’s getting a little crowded in here.” They get their books from their lockers (Veronica’s now mercifully clean and devoid of any insulting graffiti) and JD walks with them to their homeroom, easily and calmly diverting the conversation to their English class, or more specifically, his and Martha’s English class, and their study of Moby Dick.

“I mean I read it for the first time when I was 14,” he explains. “But it took me a few tries to get the symbolism down.”

“But you know so much about it,” Martha adds. “Veronica you should see him in class. You’re like a college kid in there.”

“Wonder if that’s why Ms Greene hates me so much,” he jokes.

“She doesn’t hate you,” Martha assures him.

“She doesn’t particularly like me,” he reminds her. Martha bites her lip; now it’s her turn to try to search for the right words. “It’s okay though. I don’t particularly like her.”

“She’s not so bad,” Martha says. “Just a little… traditional.”

“Wow,” JD breathes. “You don’t have a bad bone in your body, do you?”

“T-thanks,” she replies, her cheeks going slightly pink as they normally do when Martha gets a compliment from anyone who isn’t Veronica. She opens the door to their homeroom and the three walk in. “But anyway, I think she likes that you argue with her. And how you’re on her level. No one else in our class is.” JD doesn’t reply, but the small, proud smile on his face is more than enough answer for both of them.

If he did have an answer it dies away when they walk in and see Heather MacNamara sitting alone at her desk, without the other two Heathers with her. She looks painfully different without them, her slight frame standing out more when she’s not flanked by the other two, her shoulders slouching without Chandler’s silent reminders to keep them up, her eyes lost when she doesn’t have one of her two focal points. Those big brown eyes land on Veronica, her pearly white teeth biting her pink lip nervously. She’s not the only nervous one; Veronica feels her own stomach sink at the sight of her ex-friend, remembering how she stood behind Chandler as that awful rumour spread like wildfire throughout the school, attempting to ruin every part of Veronica’s already-fragile social life.

“Hi Veronica,” she says softly. JD’s hand wraps around Veronica’s as she tries to think of a response, if she should give one at all. Although she wouldn’t have admitted it, she nearly considered MacNamara a friend. Unlike Duke and Chandler, she at least always made an effort to smile at her, invite her to hang out without the other two, took time to explain the completely foreign world of makeup and parties to her. Up until two weeks ago, Veronica might have called her a friend.

“Hi,” she says warily, moving backwards into JD when MacNamara stands up, picking at her perfectly manicured nails. Good thing Chandler isn’t here; she would go ballistic (if anyone is capable of going ballistic at someone as innocent looking as MacNamara, it’s probably Heather Chandler, although Veronica wasn’t in their group long enough to see it).

“I heard what Kurt and Ram are saying,” she says. “That they lied about the rumour. They made it up.”

“Yeah, they did,” she says, suddenly defensive. MacNamara nods quickly, her head bobbing up and down, making her blonde hair shake.

“Well… um, good,” she stammers. “Maybe then everything goes back to normal?”

She thinks to ask what exactly she thinks normal is, but the question stays quiet on her tongue as she settles for looking her up and down, watching as she fidgets uncomfortably under her gaze. The tension in the air is so thick that Veronica feels like she’s being choked, the presences of JD and Martha behind her, plus his grip on her hand, being the only things keeping her from collapsing underneath it.

“Veronica,” MacNamara begins. “Look I just wanted to say-”

She supposes she’ll never know what Heather wanted to say, because the door swings open and Heather Chandler storms in, followed by a less authoritative, but still compelling in her own way, Heather Duke. Chandler’s resentful eyes land on Veronica, and now it’s her turn to squirm and shrink back even further, even with her own supports behind her.

“So I hear Kurt and Ram made that rumour up,” she says, her voice thin, rage simmering just below the surface like a volcano that’s overdue to explode. Veronica only nods. “Interesting.” She sits down at her own desk and Duke follows, her back turned away from Veronica. Within a few moments, MacNamara follows suit, making her message clear to Veronica; she chose her side. Even though she knows how silly it is, Veronica tries not to be hurt by it.

“Let it roll off your back, Ronnie,” JD says softly to her as she sits up on her desk. She takes his wrist and pulls him closer so that his legs are on either side of her.  Her goal isn’t necessarily to use him to block the Heathers out of her line of sight, but it certainly helps. She supposes that’s the plus side of having a tall boyfriend.

“I know,” she sighs, turning her hand over in his. “At least I’m back to just being a loser, instead of a loser and a slut.” She’s trying not to sound bitter, really trying, but it creeps into her voice anyway. Martha takes her free hand sympathetically and squeezes gently.

“You still have us,” she offers, glancing nervously at JD, but relaxing when he nods. Veronica chuckles, surrounded by the only two people she could ever see herself needing, in high school at least.

“Yeah, I do,” she agrees, smiling down at Martha.

The homeroom door swings open again and Veronica peeps over JD’s shoulder to see Miss Fleming entering, three heavy looking notebooks in her arms and a long green scarf trailing behind her. Veronica suppresses a groan and briefly rests her head on JD’s shoulder before bringing herself back up again. Fleming flies through the room before coming to a half at Veronica’s desk, taking in the sight of JD standing there, likely far too close to Veronica than she would like. Veronica bites the inside of her cheek to stop her from laughing as Fleming’s face slowly turns into a too tight smile.

“Jason isn’t it?” she asks, to which JD nods. “I don’t think this is your homeroom, is it?”

“You would be correct,” he replies coolly. Veronica grins as she feels a hush fall across the room, all eyes turning to the battle of words between JD and Fleming. Right now he’s a clear winner, Fleming’s grip tightening on her books so much that her knuckles turn white.

“Well maybe you should go to your own homeroom?” she suggests in a tight voice. JD’s mouth twitches up into a cheeky smile, one that hints at trouble but Veronica knows he has no intention of making any.

“Yes ma’am,” he says. He turns back to Veronica and gives her hand a tight squeeze. “I’ll see you later, darling.”

“Okay bye,” she replies softly. He bids Martha goodbye too before leaving, the proud smile remaining on his face as he walks out of the room, his coat blowing a little behind him. At Fleming’s disapproving look, Veronica slides off her desk and into her seat.

“You’re blushing,” Martha whispers, turning slightly in her seat. Veronica presses a hand to her cheek and sure enough, she finds it warm. Strangely, she finds that she doesn’t care, even if the entirety of her class has just watched her cheeks turning pink.  She half-listens to Flemings’ morning announcements while scribbling in her diary, doodling hearts and flowers in the margins as she goes, breathing coming easy to her after the painful few days she had last week.

Dear diary, she writes. So my reputation is back on track… what’s left of it anyway. Not like I’m expecting any apologies, from Kurt, Ram, or anyone else. Certainly not Heather Chandler. Most people still aren’t talking to me, but I kind of don’t really care anymore. Maybe because I’m used to it. Maybe because I have Martha and JD now.

JD seems better. It’s like if I hadn’t seen him on Saturday, I wouldn’t have known that he got a little…. Maybe freaked? He was happier today I guess. I guess whatever was bothering him got worked out. Or maybe I just remember it being worse than it was. Whatever it is, I just hope he stays that way.

She twirls her pen around her finger underneath her desk, her thoughts circling around in her brain like a train, glancing up at Mrs Fleming, at least giving the façade of paying attention, while also sneaking a look at the clock. Seeing how close it is to the end of homeroom, she puts her diary back in her bag with a resigned sigh, the feeling of all her innermost thoughts and secrets weighing heavily against her legs when she stands, the bag brushing against her. Still, as she makes her way to her first class, her boyfriend worries slip to the back of her mind for now, lying dormant under piles of homework and assignments and reminders of college applications and deciding on what to eat for lunch.

                                                                                               *****

The sound of the final bell on Friday is music to Veronica’s ears, as is the sound of chairs scraping and exciting conversations blossoming over the attempts of her teacher to remind them of their homework and promise to start the Civil War on Tuesday. She lifts her heavy bag onto her shoulder and hurries out, clutching her notebook and diary to her chest. She passes Heather Duke on the way out, wearing her seemingly permanent scowl. When she’s with the other two, at least Duke is balanced by Chandler’s steady confidence and MacNamara’s charms. She even adds to them in turn, completing their little trifecta. But on her own, she has never been quite as strong. Chandler alone can still make a grown man kneel, MacNamara can charm any boy she wants without the help of the other two, but Duke? When Duke is on her own, all Veronica can see is an angry little girl with not much else to her. She certainly doesn’t see someone that would make her palms sweat as she passes, yet she ends up wiping her hand on her skirt anyway.

“Weekend plans?” she asks bluntly, no fake politeness at all in her voice, unlike Heather Chandler. She toys with the edge of her hair, winding it around her finger, which she focuses on so intently that Veronica is half convinced she didn’t actually say anything.

“Maybe,” she replies flatly before she feels a slight boost in confidence inside her, a daring spark in her chest. “Why do you care?” She winces internally once the words leave her mouth, a heavy feeling in her stomach warning her that she’s going to regret this.

“I don’t,” she says, dropping her hair and turning her eyes to Veronica, her hand on her hip, her chest pushed out. A cruel smirk curls on her lips. “I’m just surprised people are still talking to you.”

“Well… they are,” Veronica says, her tone not as tough as she might like. Heather’s accusation feels like a slap across the face. “Guess I didn’t really need you three.”

“Oh, please,” Duke giggles. “You, Martha Dumptruck and your psychotic boyfriend? I’m sure that’s a laugh a minute.”

“Watch your mouth, Heather,” she tells her.

“What are you going to do about it?” she asks in return, stepping closer to Veronica. Veronica stumbles backwards involuntarily and hits her leg on a desk. Duke might be almost half her size, but Veronica quickly that doesn’t mean she can’t hold her own. She kicks herself for underestimating Duke.

“Isn’t Heather Chandler waiting for you somewhere?” she asks, slipping past the desk and away from Duke. Her comment only makes her frown more, Duke’s hand on her hip clenching, her fingers digging into the green blazer.

“Chandler doesn’t own me,” she spits.

“Sure she doesn’t,” Veronica says. “Bye Heather.”

Veronica hurries out of the classroom, her chest feeling significantly less tight as she steps out into the hallway. She still feels Duke’s eyes burning on the back of her like little lasers, getting more intense as she hears the sound of her heels ringing off the linoleum towards her. She swears she can feel Duke’s breath on the back of her neck.

“Heather!”

In one single fraction of a moment, it appears Veronica and Duke are united in something; they both jump a mile high. As Veronica tries to will her frantic heart to slow down, she turns to the sound of the voice that caused them such a shock, despite already knowing who it is. Even if she didn’t have such an unmistakable voice, there’s only one person who could ever cause that reaction from Duke. As she turns her head in attempt to look anywhere other than Chandler’s shark like eyes, Veronica notices the students around her slowing down or even having so little shame that they stop altogether and linger against walls-heads in books but ears pricked up, hoping for a juicy tidbit to tide them over until Monday. She isn’t all that surprised if she’s honest.

“Am I interrupting something?” Heather Chandler asks, her chin lifted up just a fraction, which is all she really needs to do. She raises her perfectly arched eyebrow, silently demanding an answer.

“No,” Heather Duke replies, tugging on her jacket. “Girl talk.”

“Then why are you keeping me waiting?” she asks sharply. Veronica isn’t sure if she imagines it when Duke winces, and something inside her turns and she wants to tell Heather Chandler to back off. It’s an odd feeling to say the least.

“Sorry Heather,” she says, heading over to Chandler’s side. She keeps her head up, her chest forward, but she strides over there quickly and her hands curl into fists at her side.

“Let’s go,” she orders, turning around, her plaid skirt fanning out around her and her blonde curls bouncing before landing immaculately in place. “MacNamara’s waiting for us in the parking lot.” The sound of their heels clicking on the floor becomes softer and softer, until they’ve faded entirely, leaving Veronica in the hallway with her fellow students surrounding her. Once the Heathers have left, the school returns to normality, freshman running down the hall, eager to escape and celebrate the weekend, conversations fading back in like a radio tuning into a station. Veronica runs a hand through her hair and lets out a long sigh, the air feeling lighter and freer now that they’re gone. She feels her cheeks burning and she knows why. A part of her hates this- the feeling that the Heathers will constantly be on her back, nipping at her heels, finding moments when she’s alone and biting at her right up until the day she graduates.

She runs down the main stairs and out the front door, pulling her scarf out of her bag and wrapping it around her neck as the autumn air leaves her shivering slightly. Red, orange and yellow leaves scatter across the concrete as she makes her way across the yard, towards the iron gate that led out onto the main road, where two days of freedom await her. Well, two days of freedom, with the occasional study and homework moments. But she can’t slow down, especially not with college applications on the horizon.

There’s a surprising sight as she makes her way across the yard; his back might be turned to her, but the trench coat and dark curls are instantly recognisable. As she approaches, she guesses by the way he’s hunched over he’s reading again, probably one of the three books she saw in his bag that morning. He breezes through them during class, having somehow perfected the art of reading a book hidden on his lap while pretending to be paying attention. She shouldn’t be impressed, but she is, even though she still manages to get on him for it.

“Boo!” she shouts, grabbing him by the shoulders.

“Shit, Ronnie,” he says as she giggles. He runs his hand through his hair, grinning, while the other hand marks his page. “Not cool.” She cackles and sits next to him on the wall, facing the opposite way from him, her feet trailing along the ground, and kisses his jaw playfully. He smiles against her and she hears him chuckle.

“What are you even doing here anyway?” she asks. “Aren’t you normally gone by now?”

“Aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” she sighs. “I should be. I just had a run-in with Heather Duke. It was nothing.”

“Did she say anything to you?” he asks, turning towards her so he can wrap his arm around her shoulders, his book forgotten.

“She said some things to me,” she says, drumming her heels on the wall. She runs her hand up her arm like she can wash Duke’s words away from her. “Nothing important. Just the usual bitch stuff. You know I never knew…” She waves her hand in the air as if she can conjure the end of her sentence by magic.

“Never knew….”

“That she could be so vicious,” she finishes.

“You didn’t?” JD asks, scrunching up his face slightly. “How long were you guys friends?”

“Okay, stop,” she says, lightly hitting him in the chest. “It’s not that I didn’t know… I just sort of thought she was Chandler’s lackey. Guess I never realised there was something lurking underneath that frown.” Lurking like a shark underneath the water. JD runs his finger up and down her arm, tickling her skin gently and getting her to giggle.

“You sure she didn’t say anything to you?”

“Nothing I haven’t heard before,” she tells him. When she sees his disheartened expressions, it’s her turn to comfort him, rubbing her thumb along his cheekbone. “Nothing I can’t handle on my own.” He nods, giving her a half smile and kissing the inside of her wrist. Veronica lets out a small breath, her heart picking up slightly at the touch of his lips on her wrist.

“You didn’t answer me,” she reminds him in a soft voice. “What are you still doing here?”

“Waiting for Claire,” he explains. He scoots closer to her so that their hips are touching.

“I thought you walk home.”

“I do,” he says, a cryptic smile playing on his face and his fingers toying with the ends of her hair. Normally she’d be bothered by something like that, but for him she’ll make an exception. “Only I’m not going home. I have an appointment out of town, and unfortunately I can’t drive myself there.”

“Oh,” Veronica replies. “Is everything okay?”

“Of course it is,” he replies, his fingers running off her hair and down her neck, stroking gently. “Just need to stay on top of things.” She nods, her concern not fading away with his comforting smile, rather a niggling worry clings to the back of her mind, poking at her despite him reassuring her. “Oh, speak of the devil.”

Veronica looks up and sees Claire’s little grey Ford pulling up onto the kerb outside. She honks her horn for good measure and JD responds with a tired wave. He slips his book into his backpack and pulls himself off the wall, Veronica not too far behind him.

“Want me to walk you to the car?” Veronica offers as their fingers brush.

“The chivalrous thing,” he replies with a grin, lacing their fingers together. “I’d be honoured.” Veronica laughs and he lets her lead him out the front gate and round to where Claire is parked, her glasses sitting on her head.

“Hi Veronica, how are you?” she asks politely.

“I’m great, thanks,” she replies.

“I’ll see you later,” JD offers, glancing briefly at Claire, who turns her attention to the opposite window, away from them. Veronica knows she isn’t imagining JD’s smile.

“See you later,” she agrees. She looks over at Claire too before looking back at JD, her pulse racing against his skin. They settle on a quick goodbye peck before he climbs into the car, saluting her with his finger as Claire puts the car into gear and waves before driving off, leaving a slightly breathless Veronica on the street by herself. She pushes her hair away from her face as she watches Claire’s car getting smaller and smaller along the road, driving along to whatever appointment he has. The one he remains deliberately cryptic about, hiding behind a coy smile and sparkling eyes, gentle fingers in her hair and soft kisses on her lips.

He’s told her it isn’t her job to worry about him. But she should get a pay raise anyway.

                                                                                               *****

“So how was school?” Claire asks over the sound of an old song playing on the radio.

“Fine,” JD responds, keeping his gaze fixed on the world outside the window. He imagines a little stick figure running along the path, keeping in time with the speed of the car, jumping over trash cans and swinging over pedestrian’s shoulders. It keeps his mind occupied and more importantly, his attention away from Claire.

“Don’t you have mid-terms coming up soon?” she asks casually.

“Yeah kind of,” he replies nonchalantly. He does, of course, there’s an essay due for American History and for English and he has quizzes coming up in biology and Spanish and social studies, and none of those books have ever really been opened outside of class, except for when he sits next to Veronica in study hall and they study together in whispered words and passed notes. Otherwise they sit in the back of his locker or the bottom of his bag until the night before it’s due in. He’s managed to pull off some minor miracles this way.

“Kind of?” she echoes with a soft chuckle. It dies quickly between them. JD imagines it hitting an invisible wall and sliding down sadly before writhing around on the bottom of the car amongst the dust balls and discarded popcorn bags. “Well if you want, we can go to that stationery store after your appointment. You can get some study cards, highlighters, the works.”

“My friend Martha uses a lot of them,” he laughs, more to himself than her. Of course, the word ‘friend’ makes her ears prick up, like she’s a puppy and he just said ‘walk’.

“Another friend?” she asks.

“Okay, technically she’s not my friend. She’s Veronica’s friend. I hang out with her.”

“But you like her?”

“I….” He looks back out the window. For a few weeks, him eating lunch with Veronica alone in their small, secluded garden, away from private eyes had been such bliss that no one else had really crossed his mind. His thoughts never really went to the future; just the next day’s lunchtime. Then when Veronica told him that she and Martha were friends again, it was a confusing experience for him, to put it mildly. Veronica’s happiness is his happiness, so of course he was never going to stand in the way of her being friends with Martha again, even though his mind had immediately jumped to the worst possible conclusion; once Martha came back, Veronica would have no need for him anymore, and he’d be left in the dust. Or they’d all try to form a little threesome, which would inevitably collapse under the unnecessary weight; JD himself. Then the more time he spent with Martha, the more his worries were chipped away, and the more he came to realise that maybe Martha could be more than just ‘his girlfriend’s friend’. Sure, when they were alone together they barely made it past small talk, but with Veronica boosting them along, the two somehow managed to get a relatively easy rapport between them. He’s not sure how he’s managed it, but he did, and that has to count for something. Not that he’ll confess that to Claire. “She’s okay, I guess.”

“Cool.” JD hides the inescapable smirk behind his hand, looking up at the sky as she pulls to a stop at a red light. He knows what she’s thinking and he doesn’t even need to look at her to do so. He knows that having one girlfriend and one sort-of, kind-of friend is a huge step up from his old schools. And that all that information sits in a heavy brown file in his social worker’s office, and in Claire’s desk drawers. There’s probably a page that just says “MAKE SURE HE MAKES FRIENDS” in big red marker. “So about the study thing… maybe after I pick you up we can go get you some school stuff? Or we can go tomorrow?”

“That’s okay,” he says, shifting in his seat. “I don’t really need anything.”

“Oh… okay,” she says softly. “I mean if you’re sure… You’ve got all the studying under control then?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Jason… you are hitting the books, right?”

“Did you just say, ‘hitting the books’?” he asks. “What year are you living in?”

“Don’t try to change the subject,” she warns. “Jason, I know from your last schools that sometimes… you tend to struggle. And I for one don’t want to sign another D on a quiz.”

“Then don’t sign it,” he snaps. He runs a hand through his hair and focuses his attention on a passing tree as Claire comes to stop at a red light. He keeps his eye on a particular red leaf that’s wiggling in the breeze, about five seconds from falling off the tree. Anything to not look at Claire and the stupid, wounded expression she no doubt has on her face, probably blinking her big green eyes behind those thick rimmed glasses of hers. JD shifts again in his seat, resting his chin on his fist. She’s completely quiet, and yet somehow that’s worse than when she was filling the silence in the car by chattering about school supplies and friends and his stupid grades.

Claire is a complete paradox; every day he grows more annoyed with her and somehow, less annoyed. He hates not knowing things, and not knowing Claire has been driving him crazy in the few weeks he’s lived with her.

“Um, yeah, maybe we could go get some school stuff,” he says in a small voice. “Maybe I’ll take a leaf out of Martha’s book.”

“Really?” she asks, sounding surprised. He doesn’t need to turn around to see the dumb smile on her face.

“Yeah. Only if I get to pay for it, though.”

“Jason, it’s school stuff, I can pay for it.”

“Yeah I know, that’s what the system pays you for,” he chuckles, biting his tongue the minute after he says it. He knows the drill in every single home; ever since he was 13 he’s known they all get paid to take care of him and keep him out of trouble. He doesn’t harbour any ill will. It’s business. In his mind, they probably deserve a raise. Still, Claire’s smile dips as he says it. “I can pay myself, it’s fine. I’ll be the one using them.”

“Okay. Cool.” Her voice is lighter this time, and JD finds that the air in the car is much lighter than before. He slides up in the seat, looking ahead onto the road at the red brick buildings and half-bare trees. His bag slides against his leg as Claire pulls out of the red light and turns a corner, his homework and barely opened textbooks seeming to tap against him like a child on their mother’s arm, asking to be opened and looked at for more than ten minutes at a time. Well maybe tonight he will.

As Claire pulls onto a familiar street, he presses his thumb into his palm as his mouth runs dry. He feels a familiar sensation in his stomach, like someone is pressing a ball down inside.

“You okay?” Claire asks, frowning as she parks the car.

“Of course I am,” he sighs. “I’m always okay.” He sounds convincing enough, except for the fact that instead of getting out of the car, he’s sitting there scratching his palm with his thumb nail. He heaves a sigh and looks out the front window. “Claire… just… don’t tell Veronica about this, okay?”

“I never would.”

“No, I know,” he says. “Just… I want to tell her. When it’s the right time, you know?”

“Yeah,” she says softly, nodding. “Don’t worry, kid. My lips are sealed. If you’re ever planning on bringing Veronica over again…”

“Gosh, get out of my dating life,” he sighs, getting out of the car and slinging his backpack over his shoulder. ���I’ll see you later.”

“I’ll be here,” she replies. “And hey-want pizza for dinner?” She half-leans on the open car window, offering him a gentle smile. He chuckles, scratching behind his ear and looking down at the pavement.

“Yeah. Yeah pizza’s great.”

“Great. See you in an hour kid,” she says, rolling her window back up again.

“See you,” he says under his breath. As he turns around, he hears her engine starting up and then the sound of her car shifting off the sidewalk and onto the road, heading off for her to do God knows what for the next hour. His activity for the next hour stands before him in a red brick building that would look perfectly normal and unsuspicious on this street, if not for the engraved gold plaque on the door. He pulls on the strap on his backpack as he heads in, cautiously glancing around the street. It’s foolish to look; no one at school who cares enough would be in this part of town on a Friday afternoon, but still, the shameful idea of anyone knowing clings to him like a spider on his back. He turns the door handle and heads inside. Another great gift from his father.

Next time, he thinks bitterly, maybe his dad can give him a puppy.

                                                                                               *****

“Haven’t seen you in a while, Veronica,” Mrs Dunnstock comments as Veronica and Martha make their way into the living room, armed with sleeping bags and candy and the menu for the pizza take out place. Veronica bristles, faking a smile all the while her heart beats irregularly and uneasily underneath her blue blazer.

“Been busy,” she offers weakly. “Senior year.”

“Oh I know, it’s all work now,” Mrs Dunnstock agrees. “Still, it’s lovely to see you against Veronica.” She pauses, eyeing Veronica’s choice of clothes, and while she can’t be certain, she’s pretty sure it’s her skirt that’s catching her attention. Veronica’s hand moves to her hem and tries to pull it down. “Is that a new skirt?”

“Um, yeah,” she says. “I got it a while ago.”

“Oh… it’s very pretty,” she comments. Veronica nods in thanks and follows Martha into her living room, letting out a long sigh behind the closed door.

“You do look great in that outfit,” Martha offers, trying to smile, sitting cross-legged on the couch, her eyes flickering to Veronica’s legs as she pulls up her blue knee-length sock. “I’d never pull something like that off.”

“Yes, you could,” Veronica insists, sitting beside her on the couch and taking her hand. “I know you could.” Martha nods, but looks down at her body, her hand running over her stomach, and Veronica feels her heart tear in two. She reaches out and hugs her tightly, resting her head on Martha’s shoulder. None of the Heathers would cuddle with her, she realises with a smile as Martha’s arm comes around her body and holds her just as tightly.

“More of me to love,” Martha whispers. Veronica wonders if she’s talking to her or herself.

“Exactly,” Veronica agrees, rubbing her cheek against Martha’s shoulder. Martha opens up the pizza menu. “The usual?” By ‘the usual’, she of course means two medium pizzas, one plain veggie, and two cans of drinks.

“I don’t know,” Martha says. “I don’t really think I’ll eat anything. Just order for yourself.”

“What?” she asks. “You not hungry?”

“I don’t know.” Martha pulls on the hair tie around her wrist and Veronica hopes to God she’s imagining the shakiness in her voice.

“Martha Dunnstock,” Veronica says sternly, tilting her chin towards her and frowning in her best impression of Miss Fleming. “You’re not a great liar.” Martha avoids her eyes, wriggling her chin gently out of her grasp.

“I don’t know… I just thought maybe it was time to eat healthy, you know?”

Veronica’s heart stops in her chest. She knows exactly what ‘eating healthy’ is code for and she refuses to allow it. Not to Martha.

“Martha,” she sighs, turning onto her side, searching for the impossible words. “Martha… No.” She wants to tell her that she’s perfect the way she is, but she knows she’s just echoing Mrs Fleming’s empty statements from morning assembly, even if she actually means them, it will sound empty and meaningless to Martha. “You don’t need to do anything to yourself. Diet, work out, anything.”

“I just…” Martha begins. “Forget it.”

“Can’t,” Veronica teases, albeit with a steely tone underneath it. “You’ve implanted it in my brain.” She shoves her shoulder gently. “You can tell me anything.” Her fingertips caress Martha’s cheekbone and she pokes the side of her mouth up into a smile like she used to when they were little and they confessed to stealing cookies from the jar while sitting in the backyard.

“I want someone to look at me the way JD looks at you,” she confesses, avoiding her eyes with a guilty pout on her face. “You must to see the way he looks at you in school. He’s head over heels for you.”

“I…” Veronica’s voice trails off, a frustrated sigh escaping her mouth. “Martha… someone will look at you like that one day, I promise. Someone’s going to love every single part of you. Just like I do.” Martha smiles, brighter this time, her shoulders relaxing into Veronica’s embrace. “So are we ordering the usual?” Martha looks long and hard at the menu.

“Okay,” she says tentatively.  “As long as you’re eating some too.”

“Obviously,” she snorts.

Soon after they’re sitting with two pizza boxes spread out on their lap, their drinks and candy beside them and The Princess Bride on the TV. Veronica can’t help but notice Martha’s nervous eyes flickering to her every few minutes and hugs her a little tighter.

“Remind me to show this to JD,” she tells her. “Can you believe he’s never seen this movie?”

“Then he hasn’t lived!” Martha chuckles. “Don’t you think it’s kind of weird?”

“That he hasn’t seen The Princess Bride?” she asks. “I guess, but he told me he hasn’t watched Disney movies either, so…”

“No, that he’s here,” Martha explains. “That he ended up back in Westerberg. You know, that he left and then came back to you.”

“Back to me,” she repeats, her face turning pink. “I guess it’s a huge coincidence.”

“Kind of romantic,” she says, pointing to the TV screen, where Buttercup and Westley are reunited with Westley as the Dread Pirate Roberts. “Like this, you know?”

“Oh yeah,” Veronica says, a smile tugging on the corner of her lips. “Westley’s even dressed like JD.”

That gets Martha giggling, hiding behind one of her mother’s good pillows.

“I mean… he does kind of?”

“Think I could get him to wear one of those puffy shirts?” Veronica asks, beginning to cackle as well. “Just once, just to see what it would look like.”

“I mean, you should try,” Martha adds, still laughing. “Oh, you know what you should do? Get him to do it for Halloween.”

“Like a couples costume?” she asks. “Hmm, maybe he would be into that.” She bites into another slice of pizza, trying to keep her mind on the here and now, the laughing and the pizza and the movie and the smiles, and not on the niggling worry about JD and his mystery appointment, her climbing anxiety that he’s not telling her something, no, not anxiety, she knows that he’s not telling her something. She tries not to wonder if every couple has parts like this, if JD is going to be a puzzle for her to spend her days working out, or a cryptic message to decode when he’s not around. She always liked puzzles, and now she seems to have one of her own. She’s gone from knowing nothing to being thrown into the deep end. As she nuzzles into Martha and watches Princess Buttercup and Westley declare their love, she can feel herself blushing as she lets herself feel the thrill it gives her; the idea of being the one who figures him out, having him leaning on her.

All she can really know for sure about him is that Martha is right-JD should dress up as Westley for Halloween.

[cicinicole-14]

let’s just talk for a moment here. 

I’m gonna say it: Lena Luthor loves Kara Danvers. loves her. and there are soooo many reasons why. 

first, let’s just list the reasons off the bat, then I'll explain my reasonings. 

donuts

lip bites/glances/looks

the thirst factor

food dates

meeting Alex

gala

flowers

her heroics

“I've never stood behind a man” 

“I'm here for you, if you still want that”

“I miss you”

“I didn’t see your name on the by line”/ “unquit”

“I trust you”/Catco

heart emoji

ok let’s get started:

first, the doughnuts.

 lena is known for eating healthy. she drinks kombucha. she gets kara to probably eat vegetables. y’know the regular. probably is on a no carb diet. we never see her eating anything bad, because she’s probably been preened all her life to be picture perfect and eat only what’s good for you. but here comes her bff, her gal pal kara danvers, traipsing in with a bag of doughnuts. this happened a couple times, actually. lena indulged in a doughnut for kara. 

the lip bites, holy fuck. I'm going to tie this in with the glances too. because holy mother of god. 

lena is always checking kara out, biting her lip (most likely surprising moans bc hot damn she’s in love with this woman) and the looks. the looks of. pure. unadulterated. love. 

I mean you cannot tell me the look on lena’s face is anything but love? come on. even a blind man could tell. 

next, lena’s thirst factor. 

girl, she is always, always, (almost) always seen with a drink when around kara! 

exhibit A: their first meeting, lena has to pause and get herself a damn glass of water

exhibit B: granted, yes they’re at a restaurant, but lena’s got an almost empty glass, bc hot damnvers kara is something. (lets take in account that kara’s glass is empty)

exhibit C: in the most recent episode 3.01, lena is yet again, shown pouring herself some water bc girl is thirsty af 

exhibit D: oh looky here, Lena’s getting a drink. I am pretty sure Kara just makes her speechless and she needs water to talk

exhibit E: y’all see where I'm going with this, right?

their brunch/lunch/dinner/kombucha dates

lena always seems to have a food date with kara. always. I mean it’s one thing to have one on occasion but they’re known to have these? and I know damn well that kara isn’t always the one to initiate them. lena is probably the one to invite her because she’s rich and offers to feed kara’s immense appetite. 

what about the first time lena was introduced to Alex properly?

this. this is the face of jealousy. she shows up unannounced at kara’s apartment (where’d she even get kara’s address?) and sees this beautiful woman in kara’s apartment and she’s jealous af, and Alex doesn’t let on anything. doesn’t, for a split second, let on that she’s kara’s sister, because I'm pretty sure she knew what Lena’s thoughts were. she knew for a flash of a second, lena was actually jealous, but ew gross, kara is her sister, and that’s when kara finally speaks up, and Lena’s face softens, and she remembers what she actually came over for... 

the gala

she invites, not only kara and supergirl to the gala, but kara’s man friend, mike of the interns, because she doesn’t care. if kara’s friends with this person, she figures she can trust this person too, who tf cares if you met them five seconds ago and could’ve easily told him “It’s an elite party, and I’m inviting kara as my plus one, sorry” but no, she extends an invitation to mike of the interns...

the flowers: plumerias

these are plumerias, for anyone who hasn’t seen them before. they come in all different colors, ranging from blues, pinks, purples, melon, peach, yellow and white. they are an exotic flower, and a bit hard to come by. they have to be imported, usually from Hawaii. they have a few different meanings, but in Chinese, they symbolize love. they mean “I love you” and “you are special” 

and kara’s office, just so happens to be overflown with flowers, most likely plumerias because she mentioned they remind her of her mother, and lena would totally import those flowers and fill her office as a thank you to saving her just because she loves kara. and you know damn well she knows what those flowers mean. she’s smart, we’ll touch on this fact later.

lena being a hero

she is.. its a fact. whether it’s supergirl or kara danvers’s hero, national city’s hero, or anyone’s hero, lena is a hero. 

lena chooses kara and being the hero and will always choose kara and being the hero. when it came to saving jack or saving supergirl, she chose kara over her ex-lover. and we can probably assume that because a) lena is young and b) lena is a luthor, jack was probably her only real relationship. she did love him, you could tell with the emotion from the kiss and even the relaxed-ness of her date with him, they were friends. and she did miss is company, though she wouldn’t date him again. yet then it comes to kara, as supergirl, and she has to choose whether to save jack or end his life to save national city’s hero. she chooses to let jack go, therefore ultimately killing him so she can save kara. she also saves kara’s man child boyfriend from the evil daxamite guard. by shooting him with an alien gun. and she and Winn made whatever that thing was under the table at the gala and it stopped those evildoers from attacking supergirl, and the kicker, my favorite, saving the whole population of national city, not once, but fucking twice.

in s2e8 lena, after finding out her mother is the ringleader of CADMUS, and kara ultimately yells at her and accuses her of knowing what her mother did, etc, still saves national city. she undermines her mother, weasels her way onto her mother’s good side, double-crosses her and makes the medusa virus inert, therefore saving national city’s population of aliens when the only friend she had hated her for the moment. she could've easily just given in and killed all the aliens, but she didn’t. she chose to save them because she loves kara and her pro-alien bleeding heart views, even when they sometimes disagree and fight. 

and then again in s2e22, lena, and with the help of Lillian, build a device to rid the planet of the daxamites invading earth. a device that sends out lead into the atmosphere. and she knows what it’ll do. she knows that it’s going to send Mon-el away, and you know she was lowkey happy about that, but she knows it'll put kara through hell, yet she let’s kara make the ultimate decision to choose whether to go on with it, and kara does. supergirl tells them to use the device. and lena yet again, saves everyone, all because she loves kara and kara is her hero.

and let’s not forget the best time lena was a hero and shot Corbin, therefore saving none other than Special Agent Alex Danvers with the DEO... hot damn, she’s my hero.

lena’s never stood behind a man

*eh hem* I'll just leave these here. two examples of lena never standing behind a man, because she’s independent and fierce, but Kara is always protecting her and she lets kara/supergirl. we know damn well lena can hold her own, she is a Luthor after all, but she lets kara take the forefront and she stands behind her with grace and poise and love and admiration. 

“I'm here for you, if you still want that”

Lena knows the hell kara is going through. she knows that kara lost her man child thing of a boyfriend she liked for five days. and kara is going through hell. and yet, she’s still cautious. I think this is one of the most significant things ever and we’re going to dissect for a second here. in the second image: kara tells lena “I'm right here” letting lena know she can talk to her and she wants her to, she’s almost willing her to. 

yet in the top image, lena adds the “if you still want that”. she is letting kara know a few things here. a) that she feels guilty over the lead being released in the atmosphere b) she doesn't want to use kara, because she’s not a talker herself. her walls are always built up so sturdy until kara breaks them down with her super strength and c) she doesn’t want to lose kara. she’s letting her know she’s there if kara wants her because its kara’s choice. she’s not going to force kara into being her friend just because kara is the only friend she has in national city and she will be ready to help kara any way she needs when the time comes. 

“I miss you” 

this also follows with the “if you still want that” because she’s telling kara that she’s being ignored, but she’s not pushing. she knows that kara is distancing herself. but she still lets kara know in a subtle way that she’s still here, she still loves her and that she truly misses her best friend. she just misses her. she misses Kara Danvers, the girl she’s falling in love with more and more as each day passes.

“I didn’t see your name on the by line”/”unquit”

now, first off, kara does anything lena suggests. Lena suggests, she become a reporter and guess who becomes one? Kara. lena tells her in such an unprofessional manner to “unquit” her job. and according to my laptop, unquit isn’t even a word, yet it came out of poised, perfect, prestined Lena Luthor’s mouth. “unquit” 

so kara unquits, and lena sends a heart emoji

a red heart emoji. man, do I have some words about this. Lena, you little lesbian in love with your bestie, damn. lena could’ve easily replied back with a “okay” or “sounds great” or even a “see you tomorrow!” or if we’re going the emoji route: a smiley face, a thumbs up, or fuck idk, a yellow heart? because lena is very, very, very smart. and we all know she knows the meanings that colors represent. like how yellow means happiness, friendship, sunshine, and energy, yet miss luthor sent kara a red heart. red meaning love, passion, heat. you can't tell me she doesn’t know what they meant. she could've replied with so many different ways, yet she chooses a red heart.

and lets not forget the last points: lena buys fricken catco–– “I trust you”

lena “I bought your job for you and I have no fucking idea how to run catco” luthor bought a multimillion dollar corporation so a sexist bottle of cheap cologne couldn’t and she has literally no idea how to run the company, yet she’s enlisting and trusting her best friend and the woman she likes to run it with her. she bought kara a company. because kara asked and she 

lena just dropped everything, and potentially could ruin her career for this woman, and she did it all out of love. 

she even admits to not even knowing how to run the place! yet, just because kara asked, she did it. kara says “jump” and lena asks “how high”. the girl will do anything for the woman she loves. 

anyway, so those are my thoughts and reasonings as to why I believe lena is in love with kara. you can agree or disagree, leave your opinions if you like, but if you’re anti-supercorp please do not leave your opinion. 

*please note: gifs and pictures are NOT mine and I will not take credit for them, I simply borrowed them from the internet. also I stg if the gifs don’t load I will cry, I don't know if they actually will, let’s hope.

edit: none of the gifs loaded I hate everything... oh fucking well, you get my point and y’all probably know what each gif is a scene of anyway… fml

edit pt2: I fixed/reuploaded some of the gifs that I could find!

[thirteenphoenixes-blog]

mark a place in time for every chance you took?

in a world where everything hurts less, hearts don’t end up in pieces on the floor, and finn takes a little more care of himself, and a certain brunette is a little bit more tattooed and happier with his life, but very little else is different, a certain redhead finds himself and his brother walking to a coffee shop. finn reminds his dark-haired brother about something lots of espresso and donuts, squinting hatefully behind his glasses at the sun, to which mase simply nods and they head inside under the tinkling of a bell.

the place is a local joint, nothing too fancy, but finn likes the lattes they have here the best and their coffee’s pretty damn good if mase is honest (and they’re not exactly shy about dishing out the caffeine, which neither brother is complaining). plus, okeana likes their donuts. so it’s a win for all of them.

they’re recovering (finn a little more so than mase) from a gaming session gotten out of hand, because 34 hours without sleep, a fried coffee maker, and difficult bosses do not happy brothers make but the game is done and all the levels are cleared and they’re here and things are looking the slightest bit brighter even if finn still craves death.

they drag themselves up to the counter and mase orders as many donuts as the shop will give them with a few extra thrown in if they’re willing to wait (which they are) and his own coffee before turning to finn, eyebrows tilted up in silent question.

finn waves his brother off, pulling out his own wallet, but mason frowns in that way that mason does and finn sighs, putting it away just as quickly with a grumble about troublesome little brothers before he turns to the barista and feels every word die off his tongue as he stares at the man standing behind the counter.

“i--”

this man is hot as hell. all easygoing bad boy with tattoos, ink that finn as tattoo artist himself can’t possibly ignore, and piercings, light glinting off the gold of his earrings, to match and he can’t make his fucking mouth work for the life of him. the man winks, grinning a troublemaker’s grin at him that finn knows and knows well if only because it’s the same one that he’s worn more times than he can count, and speaks with a light laugh that finn’s pretty sure restarts his cold, dead, heart.

“well, cute as you are, stranger, i’d rather not hold up the line of angry coffee consumers. so, either i’m surprisin’ you or you’ve got to gimme your order.”

oh shit is that an accent? drawling and soft and very very southern. jesus, finn hasn’t heard an accent like that since he was a kid. he opens his mouth to reply, closes it, opens his mouth again and then says, faintly, “uh, surprise me.” “alright, sure.” the barista agrees, still grinning that damn grin. “what name am i puttin’ on the order, gentlemen?”

before finn can speak up, tell him mase with ease, mason cuts in first, “finn, actually.” and pays the man. they grab a table to wait and finn’s considering whether fratricide in a public place is worth it, his brother smirking all the while. sitting near the windows, mase raises his eyebrows again, snickers,

“surprise me?”

the tattooed redhead chucks a sugar packet at him and groans. “shut up. he caught me off guard, okay.” “like that wasn’t obvious. you were bright red, you dork, still are.”

finn’s face burns that much brighter at the comment and he ducks to hide it, rubbing at his cheeks, “like you were much better, with that stunt at the end! why’d you put my name on the order?” “oh please,” mason replies with a snort, attempting balance a straw on the tip of his finger, “like you’re complaining. this way, he gets to know your name. maybe he’ll even write his number on the receipt or something?”

finn drops his face into his arms with another groan, “you’re such a pain in the ass.”

“what was that? thank you mase, my dear and precious little brother, for helping me hook up with a cute guy? oh no problem, finn. you’re my big bro and i wanna see you happy, you know?”

“i’m not hooking up with him oh my god.”

 mason shot him a look. “do you really wanna stay a 25 year old virgin?”

before finn can figure out a way to weasel out of answering that a familiar voice comes from the counter, “got an order for... finn.”

mason reclines in their booth with a grin, “that’s you, bro. work your magic.”

“what magic?” finn mutters back, getting up from the table. he arrives at the counter and the barista from earlier grins toothily at him again.

“so you’re finn?” he asks curiously, running a hand through his messy hair. “not the name of your... ?” his what? finn thinks, and perhaps he’s a little too invested in this conversation because he almost misses the glance that gets shot behind him.

finn follows it slowly, spotting mason at the table, now balancing a straw on his nose. “oh, him. that’s... that’s my brother, mason. he’s--” finn flutters one hand nervously. 

“brother,” the barista echoes with a slightly wider grin. “so you don’t have a boyfriend?”

“oh. oh, no.” finn is one hundred percent sure that he’s bright red. “i don’t.”

“well good.” the brunette says, turning back for a moment to call into the back. “yo emma, i’m takin’ my break!”

“alright.” the petite girl working the counter is pulling her hair into a loose bun, a friendly squint to her green eyes as she turns to them (well the barista more than finn though her eyes do land on him for a questioning moment before flicking back the barista as she mouths, cute!, like finn can’t see her). “keep out of trouble. i don’t wanna have to explain to henry why his shop is a mess.”

“trouble? ‘course not, i’m a saint.”

“uh-huh.”

he hops the counter, grabs the boxes of donuts and one of the coffee cups and turns to finn with a grin that’s half sheepish half something else. “er, d’ya mind if i walk you out? i could help you carry everything.”

“oh, i don’t--” finn begins awkwardly.

“i’ll take it,” mason pipes up then, appearing from out of fucking nowhere. he takes the boxes from the barista and his coffee from finn with a pointed nod in the other man’s direction. “stop being an idiot and flirt back, dumbass.” his brother mutters before heading out, seemingly answering a phonecall, while finn and his guy walk towards the exit at a much slower pace, stepping out into the frigid winter chill.

and oh, he’s taller than him. not by much, maybe an inch or two at most, but it’s such an odd thing for someone to be taller than him that finn simply gapes at him again before he breaks the silence, thumb jerking in mason’s direction. “i, um, sorry... about him.”

“oh no it’s, uh, it’s fine. brothers, right?” the barista says with a shrug. 

“brothers.” finn agrees.

they lapse into a silence that’s more than a little awkward, the barista raising the cup on instinct to drink before realising. “oh! this is, um, for you. surprise, remember?” 

“surprise,” finn agrees, taking the cup and a small sip of his drink and wishing that he could come up with something other than a one-word answer. his coffee is sweet, probably sweet enough that somewhere some grumpy old coffee drinker is screaming about how it isn’t real coffee and how finn needs to man up and drink his black already, which no thanks. damn, it’s... good.

he tells the barista, who’s now smoking, exactly that. the blue-eyed man grins lightly at him, “so you like it?”

“i do. what is it?”

“secret recipe, by which i really mean i’m not gonna tell you because how else am i gonna keep my mysterious edge?”

“you’re still plenty mysterious though,” finn points out. “you haven’t even told me your name, and you know mine.”

“only your first.” he retorts with a crooked grin. “anyway, my name is dumb.  not me enough, y’know?”

finn knows exactly. “can’t be worse than finnegan.”

“finnegan ain’t that-- wait, is that your full name?” finn can feel the flush crawling down his neck and looks away, crossing his arms over his chest. “oh my god, that’s adorable.”

“no it’s not. it makes me sound like an old man and i dislike it. finn is much better.”

“aw, finnegan.” how in the fuck does this guy manage to make that sound adorable? like how?

“ew,” finn still manages, “don’t call me that.”

“alright alright,” he laughs and they lapse into silence again. a more comfortable one this time, breaking it after a few minutes with overlapping compliments.

“nice ink,” finn says.

“nice ink,” the cute barista says and laughs again, a sound finn finds himself more and more endeared to with every chime. “jinx, you owe me a... date?” his grin is cheeky, daring finn to flirt back or do something and finn wishes, not for the first time, that he knew how.

“a date?” finn blinks, fails to keep the incredulity from his voice. “me?”

the cute barista doesn’t really frown as much as he pouts and damn does he look fucking adorable, “well yes, unless i’m readin’ this entirely wrong in which case i’m really sorry and would still very much like to hang out with you, but as friends?”

“yes! i mean no. i mean,” finn sighs. “no, you’re not reading it wrong and yes, i would very much like to go on a date with you.”

“as friends?”

“oh i mean, it doesn’t have to be... if you don’t want it to?” finn fidgets.

the brunette stares at him, eyes just the slightest bit creased at the edges and twinkling like stares before he exclaims with a laugh, “are you always this adorable?”

“i, um--”

“sorry, you are just too cute.”

“takes one to know one.” finn mumbles before he can stop himself and the barista halts, blinking at him in surprise and flushing bright red himself, sputtering so that finn cracks a grin.

“what? you didn’t think i thought you were cute?”

“didn’t really consider it no.” he replies. “don’t really get cute a lot.”

of course not, finn thinks. a guy like this? probably gets ‘hot’ or ‘sexy’ or damn near anything else. still. he is very cute. “well you are. cute, i mean.”

“you flatter me, mr. finn.”

“hobbes.”

“what?”

“my last name is hobbes. you called me mr. finn and that’s just weird so.”

“finn hobbes.” he tries it out. “i like it, suits you well. oh, here let me give you my number.” he pats himself down and then pulls out a sharpie, bright fiery orange, and scrawls on the palm of finn’s right hand in pretty looping script his number and then after a moment, his name on top. charlie. 

“so your name’s charlie?”

“charles caldwell, actually, but that’s eh so i go by charlie. got a problem with that, finnegan?” charlie smirks and finn is stunned by exactly how easily he’s getting used to that. he hates it.

“ugh, please don’t.”

“alright alright, red. i’ll cool it.” 

“red?”

“your hair,” charlie explains. “and your face. you blush a lot y’know, freckles lightin up like fireflies. i like nicknames, sue me.”

the door opens and a bright voice cuts into their conversation, same southern twang belonging to the girl from before. she pokes her head out and up close, finn can see that she’s got a line of freckles bridging across her nose too and remembers that her name is emma. “charlie,” she scolds, “you’ve been on break for a minute now and henry’s startin’ to suspect. if you haven’t bagged the cutie from earlier with the cute ass--oh, oops, sorry about that.”

“emma,” charlie hisses.

“emma nothin’,” she retorts. “i can buy you ten more minutes, at most. ten, y’hear me?”

"fine.” she vanishes inside and turning back to him, charlie lifts one shoulder in a half-shrug. “looks like duty calls.”

“yeah,” finn says slowly, “looks like it. sorry i held you up for so long.”

“are you kiddin’ me?” charlie blinked at him. “this is the best break i’ve had in ages. i’m sorry that my shift’s not over so i can walk you home.”

“oh no, it’s fine. besides, i’m sure mase is still hanging around. er, so i’ll call you?”

“yeah definitely, gotta work out our date plans. hey, do you frequent the city chats?”

“i do.”

“good, maybe i’ll see you ‘round there too.”

“maybe,” finn says with a soft grin. then does something bold, and pecks charlie on the cheek. “have a good rest of the day, charlie.” bright red and holding his cheek, charlie watches him walk off, grinning himself.