#I'd better turn on the oven and leave the door open

[andrasta14]

[fluentmoviequoter]

Merry and Bright

Day 9 of 12 Days of Ficmas

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader (The Rookie)

Summary: You invite Tim over on Christmas Eve, but he says he's working. A Christmas miracle occurs and Tim knocks on your door, presents in tow.

Word Count: 1.4k+ words

Warnings: so much fluff. How the Grinch Stole Christmas references. Tim is probably OOC. I made up some stuff about Tim and his sister.

A/N: I haven't written for Tim Bradford yet, so please feel free to leave feedback and let me know what you think! I'd like to keep writing for him and try to capture his amazing character better so please feel free to send requests if you have any!

Masterlist Directory | Request Info (& full fandom list)

Since you inserted yourself into Tim’s life, barging your way in with a basket of goodies after moving in next door, he has quickly become one of your best friends. If he’s undeniably handsome and one of the most caring men you’ve ever met despite his grumpy exterior, so what? You asked yourself that the first time you invited him over for dinner, but now it’s a weekly occurrence, and it is your week to cook.

Your favorite one-pan dish is in the oven, and the game is queued on your television, but all that’s missing is Tim Bradford. As you decorated for Christmas this year, you thought about him and how his sister isn’t coming to LA for the holidays, leaving him alone. You’ve since decided to do something about that.

“Anyone home?” Tim asks as he opens your door. “Because I know I’ve told you more times than I can count to lock your door.”

You look around the corner and smile at him as you argue, “My neighbor’s a cop, it’ll be fine.”

“Sergeant, not a cop.”

“My apologies, Sergeant Bradford.”

He smiles at you, less rare than it used to be, but a moment you take the time to appreciate, never knowing when he will grace you with another one.

“So, I know your sister isn’t visiting,” you begin, “and I was wondering if you’d be interested in spending Christmas here?”

Tim glances at your Christmas tree before answering. “I would love to, and I can’t thank you enough for thinking of me and offering, but I’m working Christmas Eve.”

“Okay,” you say, nodding as you smile. “I just wanted to extend the invitation.”

You turn around to remove dinner from the oven, and Tim places a hand on your arm, stopping you.

“Thank you,” he repeats quietly and bordering on reverent. “I really appreciate it.”

“Of course. You’re always welcome here.”

“I’m sorry. I would come if I could.”

“Tim, it’s fine. I’ll just have to give you your giant stack of gifts later,” you tease.

Tim nods, removing his hand from your arm and watching you turn away, his heart trying to decide whether it wants to shrink or grow.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Bradford, are you good?” Wade asks as he leaves the station.

“Fantastic,” he mumbles. Wade looks at him, unconvinced, and he sighs before saying, “I just wish I could be somewhere else. I’m glad I could help out the officers with families, with kids, and give them the night off, but…”

“You’re regretting it?” Wade finishes.

“Not exactly.”

“Well, if you want to come over when you get off, we’ll leave the lights on,” Wade offers.

“Thanks,” Tim says. He doesn’t add: I’ve got somewhere else I’d rather be.

Someone walks up behind Tim and places a Santa hat on his head.

“Cheer up, Grinchy,” Angela calls, walking out of the station. “Merry Christmas, Tim!”

“Yeah,” Tim says, more to himself than her.

“Dude, we need to find you a K9 named Max, finish off the Grinch look,” Aaron teases, sitting next to Tim as his shift begins. He’s working tonight for the same reason Tim is: to let the officers with families spend Christmas with their loved ones.

“Oh, should we get him a little heart pin, too, and try to make it grow?” Nolan chimes in.

“Sorry, Bradford, but you’re just so… Grinchy,” Aaron says.

Tim laughs, shaking his head as the Santa hat shifts with his movement. Nolan and Aaron look at each other in horror and amusement at the fact that Tim Bradford, who is wearing a Santa hat, just laughed. Tim, however, is only thinking of you and how you’d absolutely agree with them. Although, if you were here, or if he was with you, he wouldn’t be quite so Grinchy.

“Merry Christmas, LAPD!” Officer Jan announces, entering the station in a full Santa costume. “I have come to relieve one lucky soul of Christmas Eve duty.”

“Bradford!” Aaron and Nolan yell. “He has somewhere to be.”

“How do you-?” Tim asks.

“It’s all over your face,” Aaron says as Nolan answers, “Go get her… whoever she is.”

Tim looks at Jan, who nods encouragingly. Tim jumps to his feet and runs to his locker. He’s heading home for Christmas, but he has one stop. As he changes before climbing in his truck, he makes a mental list of everything he needs. Merry Christmas to all, Tim thinks.

✯✯✯✯✯

You smile at the ending of the Christmas movie on your television, your thoughts drifting to Tim as you wonder what it would be like to have him here. As you try to focus on the movie again, someone knocks on your door.

When you open it, you don’t expect to see Tim in a Santa hat and holding several gift bags. Your eyes widen, and your smile returns as you let him in, closing the door behind him. He opens his mouth to say something, but you wrap your arms around his shoulders and hug him tightly before he gets the chance. His arms wrap around you, loosely at first, before tightening when a Christmas song begins playing through your speakers as the credits roll. 

“I brought gifts,” he says against your shoulder.

“You didn’t have to. I just wanted to see you,” you reply.

He squeezes you once more, and you slowly step back, pulling out of the hug and looking up into Tim’s eyes.

“You brought hot chocolate?” you ask, stealing a peek into one of the bags.

“It’s Christmas,” he answers, as if it’s obvious.

“Didn’t take you for the sentimental type.”

“I’m not always.”

You smile and gesture for him to follow you, leading him into the kitchen and pulling two Christmas-themed mugs from your cupboard.

“Thank you for coming,” you tell him.

“Thanks for inviting me.”

✯✯✯✯✯

After making the hot chocolate, you return to the couch and turn on A Charlie Brown Christmas as you resist leaning into Tim’s side.

“This is one of my favorites,” he says quietly, “my sister and I watched it every time it was on cable growing up.”

“It’s a classic,” you agree.

“We would watch it, drink hot cocoa or cider, whatever was in the kitchen, and exchange one gift on Christmas Eve,” Tim adds.

“Do you want to open a gift?” you ask, facing him. “There’s only a few hours until Christmas anyway.”

Tim thinks for a moment and then smiles at you. “Just one.”

You stand, retrieving a small box from under the tree while he pulls a gift from one of the bags. When you sit back down, you sit a little closer than before. He opens his present first, smiling and leaning in to hug you as he thanks you. When you open yours, you see a gift you’ve wanted for years but no one ever remembered. You start to thank him, but something happens along the way, and instead, your lips land on his. His hand raises to your arm as he reciprocates, but you realise your mistake (was it really a mistake? you ask yourself) and pull back.

“I’m sorry,” you say.

His hand slides up your arm to rest at the back of your neck. You see a new smile as he pulls you back in. Pressing your hand against his chest, you stop yourself.

“Are you sure?” you whisper.

“Have you ever seen me so merry and bright?” he asks, his smile the widest you’ve ever seen.

You pick up the pompom at the end of his Santa hat and chuckle. “You are pretty cuddly,” you reply, noticing his other arm has wrapped around your waist. 

He rolls his eyes, still smiling as he kisses you again. You shift backward, your hand landing on the remote and resuming the movie. Tim laughs as he pulls back, pulling you against him.

“How’d you get off work?” you ask.

“Jan came in and offered to cover for one of us, and I was volunteered because I was being too ‘Grinchy.’”

You gasp in faux surprise. “Tim Bradford? You? Grinchy? I can’t imagine it.”

He smiles, and you lean in to kiss him again, your new favorite pastime.

“Thank you for coming. This is the best Christmas ever,” you say against his lips.

“Until next year?” Tim asks.

“What happens next year?”

“We’ll see.”

“And for now we’re merry and bright?” you respond.

“The merriest and the brightest,” Tim jokes, pulling you against his side as Charlie Brown appears on screen.

Merry and Bright, indeed.

[middlechild404]

Taking care of sick Jack

Summary: You come home to find a sick jack laying on your couch and you can't help yourself from trying to take care of him.

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I walked in through the front door expecting to be alone in my apartment, but instead, was met by a wide figure that was sprawled on my couch. I was treading lightly, because he didn't seem to move when I closed the door, meaning he was sound asleep.

I didn't expect to find him here because it had been a while since we'd seen each other last. Technically, we lived together in my apartment but he still stayed at his apartment most days because it was closer to the studio.

Having him in my space was still a bit unfamiliar, due to the short amount of time he has had the keys. Aside from the unfamiliarity, I still felt the fuzzy feeling at the pit of my stomach whenever he was here.

My hands went unconsciously toward his hair as I was towering over him. I could feel the heat radiating off from his body as my palm touched his forehead.

"Jack.." I whispered, trying to wake him up.

He only moaned and turned to his side, not giving me an answer. I started rubbing his back, continuing my attempt to wake him up. At last, he slightly opened one of his eyes to look at me.

“You're burning up” I stated. “How are you babe?” I questioned worriedly.

“I don't know, I don't feel so good.” He said, trying to get up.

I quickly pushed his shoulders down, insisting that he needed to rest. He didn't fight against it as his eyes closed once his head touched one of the pillows that was on the couch. I swiftly went to the main bedroom and brought a comforter to cover him with.

I've never been a great caregiver due to my many failed prior relationships and my mom continuously preaching “the world is female” throughout my upbringing. My mother didn't take my dad leaving us lightly, therefore she had sworn that she would never prioritize a man's needs over her own. That's something she's been trying to drill in my head ever since I was a kid, attempting to teach me about being independent.

Independent, was a word I'd easily use to describe myself. Although, being independent doesn't mean not helping the people you love, which is something my mother would never let into her thick head.

I had this heart wrenching feeling of worry. All I wanted was for Jack to feel better. Therefore I summoned my non-existent talent of cooking and followed a recipe of tomato soup i'd saved on instagram. While the soup was boiling on the stove, I put some garlic bread in the oven.

When everything was ready and I had poured the soup in a bowl I made my way to the living room, setting everything on the table in front of the sofa.

“Babe.. Wake up. I've made you some soup.” I said as my fingers were playing with his curls.

As he was eating away at the food that I'd made, I walked up to find some ibuprofen to bring down his fever and prepare a concoction with tea, ginger and honey that I found on google.

When coming with everything, he had managed to lick the plate clean. He was now leaning back against the sofa and looking up at the ceiling. I interrupted his thoughts when I placed everything on the table. He gave me a gracious smile as he downed the pill and water.

I encouraged him to lie down on the sofa again as I took the remote and put on his favorite show “Succession”. He grabbed the tea and gave me a scrunched look as he took a sip.

“What is this? poison?” he asked with a look of disgust.

“Haha yes, but the good kind.” I winked as he laughed at my remark.

I motioned for him to lift his head so I could sit down on the couch. His head was now in my lap as I kept going through his hair with my fingers, with succession on the TV. All I could think about was that I could do this forever. I couldn't help myself from smiling and looking down at his face. He eventually noticed me staring, which made him look up at me with a tired grin.

“Thank you for taking care of me, there is no other place I'd rather be right now than in your arms. I love you babe.” He said lovingly.

“I love you too.” I answered while my cheeks were hurting due to the grin my face made at his words.

_________________________________________

I know that it's been a while lovies, hope you like this one! I have had a few hectic months but I'm back now so stay tuned for more content❤️❤️

Taglist: @jackharloww , @j-worlds-blog @itsyagirljaz , @harlowcomehome , @neon-lights-and-glitter

[barbex]

Lovely Friday to you <3 For DADWC, I'd love to see “Stay here tonight.” for Anders and Fenris? <3

Hello and thank you for this prompt for @dadrunkwriting. As always, Fenris and Anders were very inspiring.

---

Anders still can't quite believe it. Fenris invited him to a game of cards with Varric and Donnik, at his place. He stares at the weathered door of the mansion, still not sure if he should really go in. Why would Fenris invite him, without Hawke around? It makes no sense. 

Their friendship — no, that is too much. Their mutual tolerance depends on their friends being around, especially Hawke. Aside from Hawke's frankly terrifying proficiency with force magic, he also has the ability to form a bunch of weirdos into a group of friends. It even works on Fenris and him, the two of them haven't fought in months. It's like a special kind of magic he has.

Anders finally opens the door, clutching the handkerchief with his contribution for the evening to his chest. He can't afford to buy the fancy wine Fenris prefers, but hopefully, the cheese fingers he baked in Lirene's oven are good enough as a small gift. 

Voices come from the main hall and the light of a fire shines into the hallway through a gap in the door. Anders walks forward, drawn to the warmth promised by the fire. The wind from the Waking Sea blows through Kirkwall's streets at this time of the year, even in his coat he feels cold all the time.

Before the others can notice him, he stops near the door, hidden from view. He still feels like an intruder, like he doesn't really belong here. He often feels like that to be honest. It's only when Hawke is around, pulling them all into his orbit, that he doesn't feel like he's the nagging baggage they have to carry around. 

Varric laughs, recounting some tale to Donnic, pouring wine into his glass. Donnic's face is flushed, they must have started early if he is already so deep in his cups. Anders sighs, no, it must be later than he thought. It was a busy day at the clinic and then that young woman came in with her baby, just as he wanted to close. He lost track of time and now he's too late.

He looks at Fenris, sitting on the narrow side of the table, facing the door. He looks relaxed, not quite as flushed as Varric and Donnic, but he is in better training holding his wine. He smiles at the joke Varric is making and Maker, it's unbearable how beautiful he looks with that smile. Anders stands transfixed, hiding in the shadow, watching like a kid staring at a bowl of sweets he can't have. Like a creep. 

He should leave. 

But he made the cheese fingers. Maybe Fenris would like to try them. He doesn't have to stay long, just give him the cheesy things and be off again.

With a breath, he pulls the door further open and steps in. 

"Anders," Varric calls out, "glad you could make it!"

"Sorry I'm late. There was an emergency at the clinic..." He makes to put the handkerchief with his offering on the table when he sees the loose pile of Diamondback cards. "You wanted to play Diamondback." The game needs four players and because he didn't arrive on time, they couldn't play. "Sorry." 

"It was no problem," Fenris says. "We were entertained just fine." His voice sounds so warm that Anders blinks, doubting his own ears. 

"Well, still, I shouldn't have left you hanging." He puts the handkerchief on the table and folds the corner to the sides, revealing the fereldan speciality. "These are cheese fingers, like they make them in Ferelden. Let me know if you like them." He turns around and practically runs to the door.

"Mage?" Fenris calls after him but he doesn't stop. He embarrassed himself enough for one night, he doesn't need more awkwardness and polite dismissals.

"Mage." Fenris is right behind him, however he managed to be so fast. "Anders."

Hearing his name, from Fenris of all people, has him stop, just before he reaches the frontdoor. "Sorry, I'm just gonna leave."

"Why?"

A strange laugh escapes him. Maker, is he going to get hysterics now? "I don't know why you even invited me, I'm sure Varric and Donnic wonder about that too."

"No, they don't." 

Another strange laugh, sounding suspiciously like he's about to start crying and no, he's not going to do that. "I'm..."

"We are friends, with or without Hawke." Fenris puts his hand on Anders' elbow and gently steers him back towards the main hall. "Maybe you and I are not close, not yet. But what better way to change that than over wine and cheese pokers?"

"Fingers, cheese fingers," Anders corrects automatically, his mind still spinning in several directions over what Fenris said. There are questions bubbling in there somewhere but he can't get himself to ask any of them and then he is back at the table, sitting in a sinfully comfortable stuffed chair and Fenris fills a glass of wine for him. 

The wine makes everything a little bit easier, but with his Warden stamina and Justice in the background, he doesn't get drunk. But he can play an easy drunk, he's done that plenty of times and it makes it easy to laugh about silly jokes that aren't even that funny but Varric laughs and Donnic laughs and Fenris — Fenris looks at him and smiles.

It's enough to stop a man's heart.

The evening progresses quickly, his cheese fingers get praised, and at some point Fenris brings a carafe of water and Anders and him switch to water instead of wine. When Varric yawns and Donnic wipes his eyes, Anders fills their glasses with water. "There, you both drink that, then you won't suffer so much in the morning."

"Ugh, don't like that," Varric slurs. 

"Healer's orders."

Fenris glances at Anders, smiling as if they share a joke between them. Like friends. He isn't sure his heart can take much more of this. What is happening? Is Fenris really looking at him like that, smiling, flirting? Or is this just his wishful imagination?

"We should take them both home," Fenris says. 

"Good idea. They would be easy pickings in this state."

They deliver Donnic to Aveline's door, who thanks them and glares at her husband with a mixture of fondness and annoyance. And then they drag Varric between them to the Hanged Man. He insists on bidding them good night at the door, wanting to keep his reputation by going to his suite without their help. 

And then they're alone. They walk, silently, back to Hightown, to Fenris' mansion. Which is ridiculous, he could have just taken one of the ladders down to Darktown from Lowtown. He could have just given his farewells right there at the Hanged Man, like he has done hundreds of times after an evening with Hawke and Varric and the rest of the gang. 

"Your cheese pokers were really good," Fenris says, haltingly. 

"Cheese fingers. Thanks. I found the recipe in a cookbook at an inn in Ferelden and making the cheese fingers paid for a bed for one night." 

"You were a baker?" Fenris smiles at him from under a curtain of white hair, which hopefully hides Anders' furious blush from him.

"No, there's not many opportunities for travelling bakers without their own flour supply." They fall silent again and the awkwardness drives him crazy. "Fenris, thank you for inviting me tonight, but..." As if someone tipped over a bucket, rain splatters down on them. "Aw, shit." Within seconds, his coat is soaked, hanging like dead weight on his shoulders. 

"Come." Fenris grabs his arm and pulls him forward, running up the stairs and through the grand roads of Hightown. The wind picks up as thunder rolls over the sky and Anders would have shivered if he wasn't so hot from running up those damn stairs. 

"Stop, stop," he wheezes. Rain runs down his neck and back but he doesn't care, he has to catch his breath for a minute. Why is he even doing this? "You... you can just go, right? You don't need me to take you home. And I'm —"

Fenris steps in front of him, staring at him with wide eyes. "No."

"No?" Anders wipes wet hair from his forehead. By now he must look like a drowned rat. "Fenris, what is going on? What is..." he gestures between them. "What is this?"

The expression on Fenris' face lies somewhere between confusion and panic. "I hoped you would know."

"Me?" He can't help but laugh, genuinely. "You don't even know what an emotional disaster I am. And I'm supposed to know?"

Fenris just looks at him. 

"Fuck it. If I'm supposed to know, here's what I know." Anders steps closer, touches the side of Fenris' face, and kisses him. 

Fenris doesn't even hesitate. As if he just waited for Anders, he throws his arms around Anders' neck and kisses him back like his life depends on it. 

"Oh," Anders breathes against Fenris' lips. 

"Yes," Fenris whispers, pressing his forehead against Anders'. "Come." He takes Anders' hand and pulls him after him.

The rain still beats down, but Anders floats on clouds, not even aware of where he's going. Finally, the door to the mansion closes behind them and he can let the weight of his wet coat slide from his shoulders. 

Fenris wipes over Anders' shoulders, pressing close. Anders leans down, brushing his nose into his hair.

"I don't want to be indecent," Anders says. "But we should get out of these wet things."

Fenris nods, stepping closer and pressing a kiss to Anders' neck. "I don't mean to rush, but I want you to stay here."

"Tonight," Anders whispers as his lips brush over Fenris' temple.

"And tomorrow night." Fenris kisses along Anders' neck. "And the night after that."

Anders shudders from Fenris' kisses. "And the night after that?"

Fenris leans back, green eyes fixing Anders in time and space. "And the night after that."

Brushing hair out of Fenris' face, Anders holds his gaze. "And then we'll see."

Stretching up on his toes, Fenris kisses his lips. "Yes, and then we'll see."

[yes-divine-ruler]

can I please request some smut based on the song She Dominates by Blitzkid, with a sub! kit walker x dom! female reader where she tries out all her dom kinks on him? thank you sm

p.s.: your writing is amazing

Kit Walker x Fem!Reader Smut - “She Dominates” (18+)

love this request I’ve been thinking ab Kit recently and this one came up like u read my minddd!!!

CW: sub!kit, dom!fem!reader, blindfolding, Willy whipping, bonding, face riding, dick riding, overstimulation (k)

Words: 2167

You paced around the table, setting down two warm plates right out of the oven as you heard the front door open. Kit was home just in time for pot roast, taking off his shoes at the front door and letting out a tired sigh.

"Hey baby," he said, coming up behind you as you cut the meat on the kitchen counter. He laid soft kisses down your neck, as his hands rested on your hips.

"Hey," you said softly, turning around and wrapping your arms around his neck, leaning up for a quick kiss.

"Somethin' smells good," he breathed in the aroma from the food you'd cooked, leaving your side and putting his keys down on the kitchen counter.

"Thought I'd make a special dinner, you've been working so hard lately," you reply, as you watch him sit down at the dinner table, placing his napkin in his lap. He always had the best table manners.

"You spoil me Y/N," he flashed you a appreciative smile as you served the food onto his plate, but he waited until you'd served a portion for yourself and sat down before he began eating.

"How was your day?" He asked, after swallowing his first mouthful.

"Good.. kinda boring," you answered truthfully, pushing the peas around on your plate.

"Yeah? Why?" He asked, his foot coming in contact with yours under the table, giving it a playful nudge.

"I've just had a lot of time to think," you reply, trying to hide the smile that threatened to spread across your face. Kit looked at you concerned, reaching his hand over the table for you to hold onto. You grabbed it, savouring the feeling of his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

"About what baby?" He asked, your heart beating in your chest when you thought of what you might reply with.

"Finish your dinner, it's better if I show you," you give him a reassuring smile and he nods, knowing that he could trust you.

You finish the rest of your dinner, filling in gaps with small talk about the gas station and his busy day today. When Kit had cleaned his plate, you stood up and walked to his side of the table to grab his hand softly.

"Come," you say simply, Kit getting up and following you into the bedroom. His eyebrows furrowed at the small box that was on the end of your made bed, confused at what you were trying to show him.

"What's this about babygirl?" He asked, reaching for the box as you anxiously bit your lip, watching him sit on the edge of the bed, setting the box in his lap.

He opened in, and inside was a small black leather whip, a blind fold and some rope. He looked up at you with wide eyes before a small chuckle left his lips.

"Is this what you've been thinking about? You want me to tie you up?" He asked, taking the whip out and cracking it in the air. You blushed as you looked down at your feet, not sure how to respond.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, it's kinda hot," he said, placing the box back down on the bed and coming back up to comfort you.

"Wait," you say quickly, stepping away from him and holding onto the hem of the dress you were wearing. He stood back and obeyed, watching you as you pulled your dress above your head.

"Oh fuck," he let out, not expecting to see a latex catsuit under your conservative dress. You looked at him, his mouth hung open and his eyes sparkling with excitement.

He reached towards to hold onto your hips, but you place a hand on his chest and push him back onto the bed. You straddle his hips, and he tries to pull your head down to kiss you but you push away.

"What is it?" He asked confused, as you turn to take the rope from the box.

"I want to use them on you," you say finally, only to notice the erection in his pants twitch at your words.

"Oh," he said quietly, taking his bottom lip between his teeth.

"Is that okay?" You ask, tilting your head to side to admire the small look of fear on his face. He gulps and nods obediently, bringing his wrists in front of you for you to tie.

"Already such a good boy," you say, tying his wrists together and then pulling them up to tie them to the cast iron bed head. He tried to free his wrists, pulling on them but they're tied so tight he doesn't succeed.

"Not going anywhere baby," he said with a cheeky smile, as you lean over for your face to meet his.

"Only talk when spoken to," you threaten, Kit watching you with wide eyes again as you reach back to retrieve the eye mask from the box.

"Lift up your head," you demand, as you slide the mask behind his head and blind his vision. His lips part as your hands run down his chest and unbutton the front of his work uniform. He tried to buckle his hips up to meet your heat, but you only tut at him.

"You are under my command, don't do anything I don't tell you to," you lean down and whisper in his ear, your lips ghosting his skin.

He nods, oblivious to what is in front of him as his shirt is finally unbuttoned. You kiss down his toned chest, your tongue flicking over his nipple as you make your way downwards. He lets out a small moan at the feeling of your warm mouth on his skin, the knot in your stomach only getting tighter at the small noise. This was one of your deepest, darkest fantasies, Kit under your total control, laying helpless on the bed as you used his body as you pleased.

Seeing him in constraints, letting out small moans as you pleasured him, blindfolded, turned you on more than anything else ever did. His pale skin under the touch of your fingertips, making his body jolt and squirm felt so good, your man completely under your control.

His pants were next to go, your hands sliding into the waistband after unzipping them, and pulling them down his legs. He was left in only his white underwear.

"Babyyyy please- I need to feel you," he said, lifting his head as if he was looking at you.

"What did I say?" You warn, pulling the whip from inside the box and holding it in your hand, "only speak when spoken to."

The whip lightly hits Kit's exposed thigh and he sucks in a deep breath.

"Oh I liked that," he confessed, before another crack of the whip hit his thigh again, only harder. You could see his cock continue to twitch beneath his underwear, this new sensation strange to him, but at the same time invigorating.

He let out an almost silent whimper as you pulled down his underwear, exposing his painfully hard cock. You looked at the whip in your hand, contemplating whether to take the risk, and you did, slapping the pad lightly against his erection. He jumped, but when another whimper left his lips you knew that he liked it.

"Dirty boy," you teased, whipping him harder again. He rested the back of his head deep into the pillow, biting his lip frightened he'd make a noise you didn't like.

"You like the feeling of my whip on your hard cock?" You asked seductively, running the pad of the whip up and down his length, as pre cum began to leak from his tip.

"Y-yes, I do," Kit stammered, as another hard hit came in contact with it. He jumped again, letting out a low moan, before you finally felt like it was enough, and you wanted something to make you feel good.

"You're gonna make me feel good now," you demanded, unclasping your catsuit from between your legs and bringing it up to your waist. Kit stayed silent as you straddled his face, your wet folds inches away from his mouth.

"Are you gonna make me come baby boy?" You asked, waiting for his response before you smothered him with your pulsing heat.

"Yes, please, I will, I promise," he begs, pulling on the constraints again in desperation. He just wanted to touch you, feel the curvature of your immaculate body, kiss your mouth and feel inside you. But none of that was up to him today, and the unpredictability of it all only made him harder.

You lowered yourself onto his face, gripping onto the roots of his hair as he moaned into your slick pussy. His tongue darted out between your folds, tasting your sweet arousal as you began to rock your hips against his face. His tongue licked up against your clit with every rocking motion, your head rolling back as you indulged in the pleasure of being on his face.

"Ohh that feels so good Kit," you moan, looking down at his blindfolded face as you ride it, his nose nudging up against your swollen clit as his tongue ventures between your walls. Your grip on his hair only got tighter as you rode his face, your orgasm approaching so much quicker than you anticipated.

Kit continued to moan into your pussy, the extra vibrations coursing through your body as you felt the knot inside your stomach start to untie. Having total control over how his tongue worked inside you sent you over the edge.

“Oh my god- I’m cunming!” You announce, provoking another moan from Kit as he does everything in his power to get you to your climax. As you cum, your legs shake around his head, a string of moans leaving your lips.

You lift your face off Kit and he took a deep breath, after beginning to suffocate from the whole ordeal. You let out a laugh, his chin, mouth and nose wet with your juices.

“That was so fucking hot, I wish I could’ve seen your face” he breathed out, as you looked over your shoulder at his neglected erection, still hard and leaking.

He spoke, without permission, again, and you had no choice but to pick up the whip and give his cock another hit. He gasped at the unexpected contact, wriggling his hips deeper into the mattress.

“I want you to beg,” you said, now straddling his hips. You teasingly lowered yourself over his length, rubbing it between your folds as he choked on his words.

“P-please, I need to feel inside you, baby, please, ride me, take my cock,” he let out in a groan, lifting his head up again and pulling against the rope. You let out a laugh, finally lining his tip up at your entrance and sinking down on him.

A loud moan of relief left his red lips as he went all the way inside you. You placed your hands on his chest, and began lifting your body up and down on his cock. You have no mercy, chasing your own pleasure instead of his own, using his body as nothing more than an object for your sex. He thrived in the submissive role, letting out small whimpers as you moved up and down on his sensitive erection.

“That feel good baby? Tell me it feels good,” you ask, as his hips buckled up to go deeper inside you again.

“Yes- oh yes baby so fucking good, you’re so tight,” he said between grit teeth, the pleasure of you riding him undeniable,

“I’m not- I’m gonna cum soon,” he whined, as you picked up the pace and slammed your hips down with every fall.

“You can cum,” you allow, knowing that if he does so before you get your second, you will ride him well after his dick becomes sensitive.

“Oh fuck fuck fuck,” you let Kit moan loudly through his long awaited orgasm, cumming inside you and coating your walls. Just as you planned, you continued to ride him, feeling your second orgasm coming.

“Baby- oh, owww,” he whined, rocking his hips, trying to deter anymore pressure around his oversensitive cock.

“Not yet,” you say firmly, your hands on the headboard to support yourself as you continue to rise and fall on him, feeling your orgasm come in waves. His whines only fuelled you more, as you clenched around him, letting go for a second time.

“Ahh baby, oh my god, fuck,” Kit continued, before you finally got off him, leaning forward to remove the eye mask.

He squinted his eyes as they adjusted to the light, and then he looked at you, his cheeks flushed, his lips swollen and his cock throbbing against his stomach.

“How was that? You ask him innocently, reaching up again to untie his sore wrists.

“So fucking good,” he moaned, once released, coming towards you and tackling you back onto the bed.

Taglist: @v-love @evanpetersfav @demxnicprxncess @kitwalkersgfff

[spaghettificationandpretzels]

First of all, CONGRATS on your follower milestone! 🥳💕

Second of all, could I request 11. "You butt-dialed me, and now we have some things to talk about." with Joe Velasco please? 🥰

~drabbles-mc 🖤

Masterlist

Squad Room Secrets

Contains: Fluff, Fin being a fed up old man.

1.1K words

“If you want to keep a secret, you must also hide it from yourself.” -  George Orwell.

"I'm going over tonight to watch the fight with her. I don't know man, I don't know where to start or what to say or how to say it."

Fin huffed, "I don't know Velasco, may start with how you feel. It's pretty simple."

Joe sat down like the world was resting on his shoulders, "Yeah Fin, that's going to go down great, 'hey y/n, I'm deeply in love with you and every second my not with you feels like torture' she's going to run for the hills."

Fin sighed, "Maybe not, maybe, you need to give her more credit than that."

Joe shook his head, "Like I said, even if I was going to tell her, I would have no idea where to start."

It felt dirty to listen to their conversation when you realised he hadn't meant to call, but after you heard the first few words, there was no stopping. You hung up the phone before Joe could realise what had happened and sat strewing for hours, thinking about whether you should rip off the bandaid or wait until tonight.

In the end, you decided it was better to face it head on and just call him. The phone rang a few seconds before Joe's voice came across the line, "Hey y/n, are we still for tonight?"

You took a deep breath, "You bet we are, but you butt dialled me, and now we have some things to talk about."

There was a sharp inhale, "How much did you hear?"

He sounded so worried, "I hung up when Fin tried to get you to role play."

Joe sighed, "Is this the part where you let me down easy?"

A little part of your heart broke that he was so ready to be rejected, "Umm, no, it's not. Look, we're both grown ups, and I'm not in the mood to hear Fin say he told me so fifty million times. We're both a fault here, I was just as chickenshit as you."

You could hear the gears turning in his head, "Are you saying…?"

"Yes Jose, I am saying that. I love you, I have for quite a while and I was intent on stewing in my own misery until you finally saw it but I see now that you are far too noble to make assumptions. I really need to get back to it but we can talk more about this tonight." It felt good to get it off your chest.

"That's great, I'd love that." There was a pause, "I love you y/n."

You sighed, "I love you too Joe."

****

You jumped and raced to the door when Joe knocked, and his face broke out into a smile when his eyes met yours, "Hey."

You waved, "Hey, you wanna come in?"

He nodded and kicked off his shoes as he walked through the doorway, "So, where do we start?"

You opened your arms, "How about a hug, we already do that." It felt different this time as his warm body wrapped around yours, "It's nice not feeling like a total perv when you hug me."

His laugh reverted through your chest like the drum beat of a well loved song, "I'm glad I wasn't the only one."

You never wanted to leave the safety of his arms, "You wanna sit down? They're just about to play to preshow."

He nodded, "Sure, you wanna talk first? We've got ten minutes."

You pulled back and shrugged, "What's there to talk about? Nothing's changed, not really. We're still going to do all the things we did before, it's just that we've added things and you can finally give up online dating."

He chuckled, "You're right. What did you cook?"

"I figured I had some making up to do, so I made your favourite." You pointed towards the oven, "And Creme Burlee."

He closed to distance again and took your face in his hands, "Can I kiss you?"

You nodded, "Oh yes please." His lips didn't find yours right away, instead, he stroked your cheek with his thumb as he slowly closed the distance. You were surprised that when your lips finally touched, there was no burst of fireworks, rather, it was quiet, like you and Joe were the only two beings in the universe.

There was a buzz in the air that you swore was coming from your own ears but Joe pulled back with a disappointed sigh, "Food's done."

The world returned in sharp focus, "That it is. I'll get it ready if you put on the fight."

He nodded, "Sure. I enjoyed that."

"Yeah, me too."

****

"How is Fin going to get you back for being right?" You knew he would want something, he wasn't going to let it go with grace.

Joe snorted, "He said he's going to remind me about this until he retires."

You did your best to stop yourself from laughing, "Oh boy, you're going to be hearing about this for years."

Joe threw his arm over your shoulder and you turned your attention back to the TV as the fight continued. You flinched when a fist hit a face and Joe chuckled when your hand landed on his thigh, "You good there?"

You blinked and went to move but Joe placed his hand on yours, "Yeah, I'm good." He laced his fingers in yours, chuckling as you clenched it with every hit, "You're not normally like this, you love it most of the time."

You shrugged, "He looks like he's twelve. Plus, this ref isn't very good."

"We should go to a fight one day, on a date." There was a confidence in Joe you hadn't seen before and his smile had a certain charm.

"You don't need to convince me. Does this count as a date?" You were unsure, it didn't feel like a proper first date.

Joe shook his head, "No, this isn't a date, at least not a first date. We gotta go to dinner for that."

You nodded, "Ok, well do you want to go to dinner with me?"

Joe smiled, "Yes, I would like to go to dinner with you."

"So what does this count as?" You thought for a moment, "A get together?"

"Nah, we're just spending time together. You should get used to it, you're my girlfriend I'm going to want to spend a lot of time with you." He was definitely turning on the charm.

"I'd hope so, boyfriend." You paused, "That doesn't sound right, we're not twelve. Lovers?"

Joe suppressed a smirk, "Not yet. Significant other sounds nice."

You nodded, "Yeah it does. Which brings me to my next point, maybe you should stay the night and we can get coffee in the morning? Nothing has to happen, I just wanna make up for all the cuddling we've missed."

Joe smiled and moved closer before brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, 'I'd really like that."

Fin

@mysoulisasunflower

[rosewaterandivy]

Cee my darling dear💛 if it strikes your fancy how about dialogue prompt number 51 with Eddie? or if you'd prefer maybe a little info on the long ride home because that teaser fucked me up in the best way and I'd love to know more😊

My sweet, sweet Sylvie - anything for you! #51 with Eddie is in the works, but have a little Long Ride Home snippet in the meantime. 💜

If you have a request or thought you'd like the share, mosey on over here for my request weekend guidelines!

tagging @powderblueblood for cheering this on and in celebration of our shared brain cell; we're two halves of a whole idiot (affectionate)

warnings: grief, childhood memories, inability to cope

the long ride home m.list

“Why is he doing this?” Eddie huffs, rubbing his eyes in frustration to keep the welling tears at bay. “I don’t want any of this shit, I never asked for it.”

The plot of land, Mama’s wedding band, the fucking letters—

He sniffs and‌ pushes the papers away from him, leans back in the creaky old chair.

“That may be so, son,” Cal speaks up, “But it’s yours, regardless.”

Mamaw wanders over from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her worn apron. She ruffles Eddie’s hair, nails scoring lightly along his scalp.

“Won’t you give us a minute, Cal?”

The older man nods and rises from the table, stepping out on the porch to make himself scarce. She doesn’t sit across from Eddie, but drags a chair to his side and glides a soothing hand across his back in slow circles. He sighs heavily, cradling his face in his hands and wishes that Wayne was there.

“Why now?” He mumbles, “He’s dead, so what’s the point?” 

Mamaw tsks, for lack of a better thing to say, wraps one hand around him to draw Eddie near. “C’mere baby,” She prompts, voice low and soft, letting him slump against her. His head rests at the juncture of her shoulder and neck, safe and comforting, like the way she used to rock him to sleep during those summer storms.

The scent of her perfume permeates his nostrils— amber, rose, and bergamot, combining with a whiff of the rising biscuits in the oven. Her fingers card through the loose strands of his hair that escaped the topknot, she hums a familiar tune. And if Eddie closes his eyes, it’s almost like she’s there again.

He was far too old, in Al’s humble opinion, to be sleeping in his parent’s bed. But there was a wicked storm rolling through, battering the windows enough to make them shake, thunder booming overhead. She’d shushed her husband’s complaints and turned over the covers to let Eddie crawl in between them. Al acquiesced because he hated to deny Elizabeth anything, and he figured one night couldn’t hurt in the long run.

Settled against the pillows and snug between his parents, Eddie felt himself relax. Facing his mother, he could see her watching him a soft smile gracing her lips. Al gave Eddie’s arm a squeeze and turned over to go back to sleep, leaving the pair of them awake and listening to the lashing rain.

“Y’know baby, I never minded the rain.” Elizabeth whispered, fingers brushing his hair from his face, “Because after the rain, comes the sun.” Her hand fell to the nape of his neck and drew him close, she began to hum softly, soothing her son the way she always did.

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are gray.

A few voices wafted through from the screen door, low-pitched and masculine. Eddie couldn’t be bothered to care, too wrapped up in a memory that was slipping through his fingers and figuring out what the fuck he was supposed to do. 

Mamaw continued her rocking and humming, not pushing him to say or do anything but simply be. 

True, Eddie didn’t want any of this shit or responsibility. Really, what was he going to do with a plot of land in Kentucky? And he didn’t need a father, especially one trying to make amends from beyond the grave.

The screen door creaks open followed by the soft tread of footsteps on the wooden floor. Another chair dragged to Eddie’s side, the scent of crisp pine swirling through the air, one he’d recognize anywhere. He can feel Mamaw nod, hear the faint whisper of something above his head.

Instinctively, he turns to find Wayne seated beside him, a little jet lagged but there all the same. The corner of his mouth kicks up in a half-smile, one big calloused hand cupping the nape of Eddie’s neck. “Hi darlin’,” He greets, “Sorry it took me so long.”

In the south, it’s a common occurrence to hear the old adage of: god willlin’, and the creek don’t rise. Sometimes it’s spoken after church service by little old ladies sending each other off, “Well, if I don’t see you before the good Lord calls me home…”

“God willin’ and the creek don’t rise!”

A sentiment meant to convey situations subject to uncommon but not unforeseeable events. Eddie had heard it his entire life, but never really caught its meaning until now. It was as if all his anger and useless frustration fled from him at the sight of his uncle. The tears he attempted to keep at bay cascaded down his face, hiccuping sobs as Wayne drew him to his chest.

Turns out, the creek did rise and broke the damn levy.

“It’s okay, Ed,” He says in that low drawl of his, “I’m here now.”

And it would be.

Because whatever Eddie may have lacked for growing up, it certainly wasn’t love, or a place to call home, or people who cared about him. Nor was it someone who could and actually wanted to stick around. He didn’t need a father-figure who only cared in half-measures, too lost in his own addiction and grief to do more than pass through Eddie’s life occasionally. 

Not when he already has a dad, not when he’s got Wayne.

[totally-not-a-cannibal-hannibal]

To My Taste

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Part 3: Nightshade

Masterlist

⚠️Warnings⚠️ there are none really just a dinner at a cannibal's house.😅

The dialog might be a little awkward. I'm still getting use to writing with more then two people on a scene. I hope it's still readable. 🙏

          It had occurred to me I had no idea what the dress code was for this sort of thing. Were jeans too casual? What about jeans and a nice top? Would a gown be too formal? Unfortunately for me this thought came entirely too late because I was already standing at Dr. Lecter's door.

       I thought I heard a rustling behind me coming from a line of trees. I turned around to look for the animal causing the sound, it must have been big the way the twigs were snapping. My stomach dropped to the floor when I heard the door open behind me. It startled me so bad I must have jumped at least an inch off the ground.

         "My apologies Lydia, I did not mean to frighten you, what are you looking at?" Dr. Lecter says as he looks into the tree line with me. 

          "It's alright, I think you have a deer or something back here." 

       "Very possible, sometimes in the morning they come up and lick the condensation from the windows. Please come in." He says as he opens the door wider for me. 

        "Oh right, thank you." I say pulling my attention from the tree line. I step inside as he shuts the door behind me. His house was as well decorated as his office. It was warm and inviting while also looking like something from a magazine. 

         "Your dress is lovely." He says as he walks me to the kitchen where Will is sneaking grapes from whatever Dr. Lecter was preparing. 

       "Oh thank you." I say now glad I wore a more casual dress. Will was in his normal attire. As per usual Dr. Lecter out dressed us all effortlessly.

        "You actually made it on time." Will says with a small smile. 

        "You wouldn't believe how many alarms I had to set." 

       "Well we are glad you made it." Dr. Lecter says as he removes the bowl of grapes from Will's possession.  They seemed to be getting along a bit better. Will doesn't look like he hates his life when he's around him anymore. 

       "How are you holding up?" Will asks suddenly, I knew what he really wanted to ask me. 

        "Oh pretty well. Day by day." I say as I lean on the counter Dr. Lecter was using to cut up some fancy looking vegetable I wouldn't be able to guess the name of in a million years. 

         "Really? You got bags under your eye." Will says bluntly. I wasn't sure if this was Will being Will or if he was on edge from something else. I laughed at his comment. Dr. Lecter glaces at Will for a second then returns his eyes back to his vegetable cutting. 

       "Speak for yourself, Will."

       "I think we all could do with a little more sleep." Dr. Lecter interjects perhaps worried Will hurt my feelings.

        Dr. Lecter poured us all some sweet smelling wine then took us to the dining room. He sat Will at one side of the table and me at the other. It being his home he sat at the head of the table. 

       "The meat for our meal is still in the oven. My apologies Lydia I thought I'd have a little more time."

        "He thought you'd be late too." Will adds with a smirk. I laughed and nodded. It was a pretty close call but I managed to get out the door in time.

       We had some polite conversation while the food finished. Will made a few quips at Dr. Lecter. He was on a roll tonight. I always enjoyed talking with Will. His wit and dry sense of humor made up for what he lacked in tack. Dr. Lecter excused himself to work on the food, leaving just Will and I. 

      "I wasn't joking around in the kitchen, you look half dead." Will stopped himself before continuing. "That sounded bad, you look good, you just seem tired."

       "Oh Will, you think I look good? You don't look half bad yourself." I say in an overly flirty tone. He let out a chuckle but looked a little frustrated. 

        "I'm serious Lydia, you having trouble sleeping?" 

         "Will I'm fine really, I have been catching up on some TV with all my free time. I don't get to bed till 3 most nights. I sleep fine once I get around to it." This was of course a lie but I didn't need him worrying about something that will pass soon enough. 

        He looked like he wanted to press the matter but thankfully Dr. Lecter came in with three dishes. 

       "Will, for you and I have prepared cherry allspice glazed ham I have had in a slow cooker for 8 hours and Lydia for you I have charred cabbage with goat cheese raita and cucumbers with some garnishment." He sat down the dishes down for us. My meal looked incredible. So some colors and he even placed some flowers. 

         "Dr. Lecter this is too beautiful to eat. I say looking up at him. He takes his seat with a small smile. 

         "No such thing, and please Lydia call me Hannibal." He places a napkin on his lap and picks up his fork and knife. I followed his lead and put a napkin down. 

          One of the flowers looked so familiar to me but I couldn't place it right away. Then it hit me.

          "Hannibal, is this a deadly nightshade?" He looks over and nods. 

          "Of sorts, it's an eggplant cut to resemble a deadly nightshade. I wouldn't try and feed one of my guests something so sinister as a real poisonous flower." He says with a smile. There was a tone in his voice I couldn't place. I hoped I didn't insult him. Will leans up to look across the table at my plate. 

         "You made that yourself Hannibal? It looks real." Will praises. Hannibal's smile becomes a bit fuller. The compliment must have really meant a lot to him. I picked up the vegetable flower, sure enough the texture gave it away. It was so realistic looking I could hardly bring myself to try it. 

          "It's kinda spooky." I say with a grin as I pop the whole thing in my mouth rather unceremoniously, I had to be quick about it or my hand might not let me place it in my mouth at all. Hannibal watched for my reaction. Chewing it well I nod to him giving him a thumbs up. Once I dare to swallow it I begin to dig into the rest of my meal.

       The conversation moved to work, we took turns telling one another about odd cases we have worked on. My turn rolled around and there was just one that stuck out. 

         "In college my abnormal psychology professor had a hook up at a supermax prison and he set up some interviews for his students that wanted extra credit. It was random we drew straws and I got a man who killed 5. I can't remember his name but I can see his face as clear as day. He said God told him to kill these 5 men as punishment." The air grew thick as my tone naturally drifted to a more somber darker cadence

        "Punishment for what?" Hannibal asked as he finished his meal. 

         "He wouldn't elaborate further just that they knew what they did."

         "That's hardly odd. Religious delusions are relatively common." Will says looking across the table at me confused. 

         "Well that wasn't the end of it, 2 of the men he killed had priors for sexual misconduct with a child. 1 had a sealed record from his teen years that involved an attack of some kind and the last 2 had some pretty awful shit on their heart drives. It was just creepy, the situation was at least. He wasn't, he was really sweet actually. My partner who I was working on the interview with thought maybe he was actually getting some kind of info from the man upstairs." I chuckle a little as I take another drink of my wine. 

       "What do you think?" Hannibal asks, looking over at me. He seemed entirely focused on my story and appending answer. 

      "I think he was mentally ill. A sick man fallen victim to his own intrusive thoughts."

       "You said he was sweet?" Hannibal questions

       "He was, he was soft spoken. Seemed real gentle. He was a deeply religious man. He told me he prays for me every night, never said prayed for what." Hannibal stared at me for a moment. His face was stagnant, it was unreadable. What was he thinking? Why did his expression make me so uncomfortable? What was it?

        "Well he sounds very considerate." Hannibal said as he looked back to his plate. I couldn't stand how unreadable he was. I didn't like being at such a disadvantage in conversation. Is this what Will feels like with everyone? If so I understand why he acts the way he does when speaking to people.

         The conversation trailed to something a bit more lively as Will told a story about the time one of his dogs pulled him into the lake on one of his fishing trips.

         "I'm sorry Hannibal, can I use your restroom?" I ask as I stand up. 

          "Of course it's down the hall to the left." He says as he pours Will a bit more wine. I walked down the aforementioned hall. His home wasn't particularly large but nevertheless confusing all the same. He kept all his doors closed making my job of finding the bathroom in this maze much harder. I didn't want him thinking I was snooping around. I passed a door that had some kind of noise coming from it. I stopped and pressed my ear to it. It was a soft shuffling accompanied by drips. Was that the bathroom? The drip could be a faucet. I turned the knob to find it locked.

          "Do you need some help finding it?" Hannibal's voice seemingly came out of nowhere. I let out a pathetic yelp and turned to face him wide eyed. "I'm sorry Lydia, I really need to stop sneaking up on you." He seemed apologetic but also a bit teasing.

         "I'm so sorry you said on the right, right?" I say having to laugh a bit at my overreaction. 

          "No, very close though. It was on the left back down that hall, this is my basement." He says as he walks me to the correct door. 

          I thank him and go inside. Once finished I wash my hands. What could be making a sound like that in a basement? I try to remember what the outside of the house looked like. It didn't seem like the kind to have a basement. Did he put one in himself? I suppose a man like Hannibal had many reasons to need one, to keep wine, more storage space or even extra food. 

      I chalked my overly suspicious mood to being on edge from the attack still. All the same I had a nagging feeling about what's behind that door. 

        I walked out of the bathroom to see Hannibal coming up from his basement. He sees me and gives me a reassuring grin.

        "It's a good thing I checked, some wine had fallen off its rack. Made a bit of a mess I'm afraid to say." He says as he shut the door. So it was just a wine seller. 

      "Oh no I'm sorry. Would you like some help cleaning it up?" 

      "No no, the worst of it is fixed. There is broken glass down there still though. I wouldn't want you getting cut." He walked us back to the dining room where Will was still seated. He sat up a bit when we came into the room. "Please sit I will get dessert." 

       Will and I sat alone again. A part of me worried what he'd bring up next so I tried to beat him to the punch 

       "How was your meal?" I ask nonchalantly. He looked surprised by the question but nods.

        "Oh great I've never had a meal from Hannibal I didn't enjoy." He says as he leans back.

        "How many dinners have you guys shared? I thought you didn't like psychiatrists?"

       "Am I not allowed to change my mind about people? I thought you'd be happy. You and him seemed cozy after your hospital stay." Will almost sounded spiteful. Was he jealous of something?

       "The man sat with me for 3 days when you wouldn't even step in the room. We are going to be a bit closer than before. Besides, he's my psychiatrist now as well. Are you jealous or something?"

        "What? No, of course I'm not jealous. What would I be jealous of?" He stopped himself for a second and looked down at his hands in his lap. "And I'm sorry for not visiting you much. I was frustrated, it's not right of me to be but I was. You shou-" he stopped talking when he heard Hannibal's footsteps approaching. 

      "Am I interrupting?" He said as he placed the bowls of dark red ice cream in front of us. 

       "No, we were done." Will says looking over at me. Something about the look in his eyes told me he'd tell me what he wanted to say later. Hannibal didn't seem to want to pry. 

        "For dessert we have a pomegranate gelato I made this morning. It does have animal by-products but no meat." He gave me an encouraging smile as he sat down. The distinction was a bit odd, he knew I ate animal by-products. I just had goat cheese. 

      "It looks so good. I can't believe you made this at home." I say as I take my first bite. It was probably the best dessert I've ever had. Hannibal seems pleased with mine and Will's praise of the cold treat. 

       At this point Will had, had a few glasses of wine and didn't seem like he'd sober up in time to drive home.

        "I can drive you home, Will. It's only 20 minutes out of the way." I offer.

       "That probably would be a good idea." He said with a slightly embarrassing grin. 

        "Will you be alright to drive?" Hannibal asked.

         "Me? Oh yeah I have only had this one drink. I probably won't finish though, It's getting a bit late and the last thing I need is a DUI." I say as I take another bite. 

        My tooth crunches down on something hard and It takes everything in me not to spit it out immediately. I quickly grab for a napkin to be as discreet as possible. Unfortunately Hannibal seems to notice everything. 

        "Are you alright?" I nod and look down into the napkin. It was just a pomegranate seed. "I am sorry I thought I strained it more thoroughly than that." I feel my tooth with my tongue. My tooth was fine but something about the change in texture so suddenly set me on edge. It was the main reason I didn't eat meat. 

         "It's okay no harm done. It's still delicious." I go to dig back in but stop myself. Some of it had started to melt in the bowl. It looked just like thick coagulating blood. I got a flash of seeing myself in my bathroom mirror after the attack. I normally wasn't so squeamish. I wasn't sure if I'd be able to finish it. Would it be rude to offer mine to Will? He had already finished his. Hannibal's attention was on his own bowl. I point to my gelato and mouth to Will asking if he wants mine. 

        "No I'm alright you finish it." He says with a small hiccup. He wasn't even being so obvious because he was tipsy; this was him not picking up on the context clues that I was trying to be discreet. 

      "Did the seed ruin your appetite?" Hannibal asked. I didn't need to be able to read his face. His voice told me enough, he was disappointed. 

       I was trying to figure out which one I was more comfortable fessing up to. If I said it reminded me of my attack Hannibal might feel bad, if I say it was the seed he could feel guilty for not straining it well enough. I wasn't sure what was the lesser of two evils so I decided to lie. 

      "No no the seed was fine, I am just so full. That dinner was so good I'm afraid I didn't leave much room for dessert." He gave me a gracious smile and nodded. 

      "Well it was very polite of you to try to get through it." 

       "Of course of course, it was lovely, I'm just stuffed. Um, do you want help with dishes?" I try to change the subject as quickly as possible.

       "I invited you two here for dinner not for work." Will and I protested for a bit but he was adamant. The night winded down and Will had a few more drinks. I never knew him to be a drinker but he seemed to be enjoying himself. 

       We said our goodbyes and Hannibal walked us out to my car. 

       "Thank you so much for inviting me. It was an amazing night."

      "Of course you are welcomed back anytime." He said as he opened my car door for me. I was about to get in when he stopped me. 

        "I think your tire has gone flat." He says as he nudges it gently with his foot. 

        "Shit." I crouch down and pull out my phone to use as a flashlight. Sure enough all the air was gone. The tire wasn't slashed and the cap was on the spot you put the air in. I wasn't sure how it got flat. 

        "What's happening?" Will asked as he slowly made his way around to the driver side. 

      "Her tire has gone flat. I could drive you both home, or you both are welcome to stay the night. We can work it all out in the morning." Hannibal says as he closes my car door. Will looked at me like he wanted me to pick. 

      "If you don't mind us staying Hannibal, that might be easier for you."

       "It would be my pleasure to have you both stay the night." He said with a grin. He really was so accommodating. 

[xkittypunkerx]

SCREAM - A Beautiful Lie

Chapter Summary and Gang Members: Punk and his gang realize that AJ Lee has returned and begin to make their plans.

Gang Members

2009 Heel CM Punk

SOA Season 1 Jax Teller

James Keenan aka Corey Graves

The Shield Seth Rollins

Jimmy Jacobs

Chapter two

-April Mendez-

Within the next week or so, any stranger would think that we've been living here for years. We installed an amazing improved stereo system, flat screen TV, and a few other needed appliances and such. I guess you could say that our parents really love us.

I groggily opened my eyes to the smell of bacon and eggs flowing through the house. Kofi must be over here showing off his secret culinary skills. I stretched as I got out of bed, and made my way down to the kitchen. "Well look who finally decided to get up," Kaitlyn laughed as she swallowed a forkful of hash browns.

I rolled my eyes, "C'mon, I didn't sleep in that late!"

I noticed that both Kaitlyn and Kofi were staring at the oven clock and suppressing laughter, so I followed their stare and saw that I had slept in until 10 AM! I was supposed to be at an illustration intern meeting in exactly 30 minutes...

"Shit!" I cursed as I ran down the hall to my room and quickly changed into a black and grey pinstriped business suit, straightened my hair, and applied just a slight amount of makeup, enough to look like myself but not so "scary."

I rushed to the kitchen again, noting I only had 10 minutes left. Good thing that this event was on campus, otherwise I'd be mega screwed.

"Ok, I should be back around one, so you guys can go to lunch without me if you want. Um...don't forget to clean up. Peace out!" I yelled as I ran out the door to the truck.

If I wasn't in such a rush, I could've had just enough time to laugh at myself. Seriously, I just sounded like their mother! All humor aside, I pressed the pedal to the metal and pulled into the parking lot mere seconds before the meeting was about to begin.

When I walked in, it turned out that they were still distributing name tags. And much to my surprise, people were still stumbling in after me. Sometimes I honestly believe I worry way too much.

The meeting itself was a great success. I ended up meeting some pretty cool people, some of which I had common classes with this semester, got brochures for internships, and even received a couple of compliments on the drawings I've gathered thus far for my portfolio. Anyone near me could tell that I was excessively ecstatic as I practically skipped back to the truck. At this rate, tonight would definitely be a party night.

I drove home to find two very strange things: it smelled like shit and Kaitlyn had left a note. I plugged my nose in suspicious disgust as I crept into the bathroom to see if I could figure out the source of the massive stench.

I groaned as I looked at the chunk of nastiness resting at the bottom of the toilet. The water was raised unnaturally high, and something told me this thing was clogged. My suspicions were confirmed after four flushes, and no success. No matter how many times I tried to flush afterward, it didn't go up or down...now that's really gross. That note better explain what's going on here.

The note was written on the back of some receipt and resting on the corner of the counter.

It read:

AJ, I'm leaving to go look for a job. Kofi said he'll stay here a little longer, but he'll probably be gone before you get back home.

Love, Kait the Great

I rolled my eyes after reading her signature, but then realized that it must've been Kofi who was the one responsible for the clogged toilet, though it doesn't really seem like something he would do...

I groaned as I pulled the phone book out from under the kitchen desk and looked for a plumber. I dreaded the thought of some gross fat man coming here while I'm helpless and alone - talk about paranoia. Remember: keep the past where it belongs.

I forced myself to dial the number and sat on the couch waiting for him to arrive.

-Jax Teller-

"Is anyone else ready to go look for new prey? I need someone to fuck with," I asked in a bored tone as I skimmed through some text messages in my cell.

All of the guys agreed in their own way as we chugged our liquor besides, as if it were water. At this point in our world, liquor was almost necessary to keep the entertainment and creativity flowing.

As I lounged back in the leather recliner, a random memory suddenly entered my mind, causing some beer to slip past my lips as I began laughing. "What's so funny, man?" James asked, eyeing me strangely.

"Do you guys remember April Mendez, from like 3 or 4 years ago? Damn, I would just love to go hunt her down and finally finish off our first project," I suggested.

Punk had a thoughtful look on his face, as if he was reliving memories, before he finally ended up cheering for the idea. He should be the one to support the idea the most, considering the fact that AJ Lee was his girlfriend at the time.

"You know, that would probably be way better than any of the kills we've done lately. It would be challenging to find her, but damn would it be worth it."

Seth stood up and walked over to the computer nearby. He was always the pro when it came to stalking people. "Don't worry, I'm on it!" he announced with a confidence-filled grin.

He quickly typed April Mendez's name in some weird college database and you'd never believe it, but we found her. It would seem that AJ Lee must have forgotten all about us, because she was stupid enough to return to the neighborhood for her college education.

It's a shame she has no idea what she's in for. And I can promise you that she will greatly regret the day she ever decided to return to Chicago. We each exchanged pleased looks as we gathered around the kitchen table, shoving all the fast food wrappers and bloody utensils out of the way so we could plan properly.

The following morning, Punk, Seth, and I decided to go gather some dirt on AJ Lee, find out where she lives, and create a reason for us to return to her new home later tonight. AJ Lee attended a rather prestigious college located right in the heart of Chicago. It was a sprawling campus, with several residential locations.

Of course, since AJ was so much classier than the other freshman, she's living in the gated community of condos. Luckily, the community was along the edges of the campus, right near a thick forest

Seth drove the van off the main road and down the bumpy, grassy hill to the right. If our calculations were correct, then we should be close to her condo...number 233 A. Once we saw the black rod iron fence, we decided to jump it and try our luck.

"Hers is just a couple feet down the street," Punk noted as we walked slowly down the sidewalk.

I decided to go ahead of the other two slightly, just to get a sneak peak inside the house. As it turns out, it would seem we weren't alone. A girl and a guy were both sitting at the kitchen table, chatting. Looks like all we can do is sit and wait until these little inconveniences disappear.

"Hmm, maybe we could snag that chick as an encore or something?" Seth suggested, nodding toward the black and blond-haired girl.

"That could work...or we could just use them against AJ somehow. I don't really give a shit what we do with them, I just want this to be the best work we've ever done," Punk said.

I nodded, "Don't worry, man. We'll use all our tricks on this one!"

We waited in the bushes until we were sure that both people left the condo. Then, we picked the back door lock and made our way inside. Seth whistled and said, "Check out this place!"

I made my way further into the condo, walking down the short hallway until I ran into two closed doors. "Which one do you think is hers?"

Punk shrugged and kicked both doors open with just enough force to get the job done, yet keep the doors' hinges intact. One room was green and the other was black and white. "This one's definitely her room," he confirmed as he stepped into the green room. Oh that's right, green was her favorite color.

She had tons of band posters plastered across the walls, a HIM comforter on the bed, and framed pictures of her with those two other people along the shelves attached to her desk. Punk stared hard at the photos, his eyes holding a hint of resentment.

He shook his head and placed a hand over his heart and said with a tone of false pain, "She doesn't even have a picture of her and me together! I'm devastated." I humored him with a laugh as I scanned the rest of the room, memorizing every bit of it for our return tonight.

"Hey guys we don't know when the bitch is gonna be back so we better work fast," Seth pointed out, leaning casually against the white door frame.

I got up off her bed and found my way down to the basement to mess with the electric system. And just for a little bit of entertainment, Seth decided to run over to the bathroom and take a massive dump to give me a reason to return as a plumber before the real fun begins.

Before we left, Punk changed the locks around so that we had easy access to the condo tonight, regardless of whether or not little defenseless AJ thinks that the door is locked.

"How'd it go?" James asked, briefly glancing up from his Sports Illustrated magazine.

"It's perfect! We've got the whole house rigged for our benefit and Teller's is gonna head back over there in a couple hours just to fuck with her," Punk exclaimed, reaching into the fridge for an ice cold water bottle. "Also, she doesn't live alone. A girl and guy were there earlier today, so we have a couple toys to use on the side."

"The guy actually lives across the street, but the girl does in fact live with AJ. I think we should take her too for a little extra fun for the rest of us," Seth added, showing off his stalker skills once again.

"I agree with Seth. Do you think you two can keep this chick out of the house until we give you a call confirming AJ Lee's capture?" I asked James and Jimmy.

"Her name is Kaitlyn," Seth interjected.

James smirked, "Sounds hot. Besides, Teller, you know we're the best at stalking, distracting, and capturing!"

I assumed that AJ had to be back home by now, so I drove over to this plumbing place downtown that we had a special connection with. Clearly, we've pulled this particular maneuver before.

Before entering the building, I changed into the navy blue jumpsuit and pulled the hat down low over my forehead. I nodded curtly at the young guy working at the front of the counter.

"Tell... Teller, what are you doing here?" he asked, just barely above a whisper.

I stared at him intently, savoring the fear in his eyes. "Relax kid there's nothing to worry about. I'm actually doing the job this time. No bloodshed involved."

He knew all too well that in most cases I used this cover up to sneak inside homes and steal the beautiful women inside. Technically, I wasn't really lying. AJ would stay safe and sound while I fix her toilet. I wouldn't be using a disguise to take her away tonight.

Ten minutes after my arrival, the phone rang shrilly through the tiny building. "I've got this one," I said reaching excitedly for the phone, clearing my throat to sound professional. "Hello, J T Plumbing. What can I plumb for ya?"

"Um, yeah, my toilet won't flush and, well, someone...you know...emptied a little too much and it won't budge. Do you think you can come out here and fix it?" she asked timidly.

I smiled as the tone of disgust in her voice reached my ears. "Sure, thing darling, that's our job. Can ya give me an address please?"

She told me the address and even gave me the code to get past the gate. I told her I'd be there momentarily and hung up the phone. I loaded a few things into the van and headed back over to the campus.

I arrived at her place a few minutes later and had to silence a laugh as I rang the doorbell and waited to see her filthy little face. The hardest part of this whole thing would be pretending to be nice to her, but it would all be worth it in the end.

I formed a perfectly fake, business-like smile on my face once she opened the door. Her eyes widened momentarily and she hesitated to speak after first seeing me. I knew she didn't recognize me... probably assumed I'd be fat and creepy...even though I didn't think all men of this profession were like that.

But then again, I'm not really a plumber.

In the next Chapter: The Gang Kidnaps AJ Lee

[casspurrjoybell-25]

ON A NIGHT LIKE THIS - Chapter 18

*Warning: Adult Content*  

The second he pulled into the driveway after their trip to the grocery store, Jayce turned to him.

"Will the hot water be ready? I want to take off these sweaty clothes and get in the shower."

Dylan laughed at Jayce's enthusiasm.

"It'll be ready. Leave your clothes outside the bathroom door and I'll put them in the wash and put away the food."

"I can help you bring in the food and put it away first."

"Don't worry about it."

He handed Jayce the key to the cabin and then got out of the truck to start collecting the grocery bags from the back.

Once he'd hauled all the bags inside, he picked up Jayce's clothes and started the wash cycle.

He knew there was already a towel hanging in the bathroom but he grabbed his thickest, nicest towel from a closet and stuck it in the dryer to warm it up.

When he heard the shower shut off, he got the towel out of the dryer and cracked open the bathroom door.

"I have a better towel for you," he called out.

"You can come in," Jayce replied. "It's nothing you haven't seen before."

When he stepped into the bathroom, which was completely filled with steam, Jayce opened the shower door.

"I'm so happy. That was the best shower I've ever taken," Jayce said. "I actually feel clean and I wasn't freezing the whole time."

Jayce stepped out onto the bathmat and Dylan tried not to stare as he wrapped the towel around Jayce.

Jayce's eyes lit up and he smiled.

"It's warm," he murmured, closing his eyes. "I'm finally truly warm."

After a moment of snuggling into the towel, he opened his eyes and reached up to kiss Dylan.

"Thank you. You're sweet."

"I can warm up your towel every time if you want."

Jayce shook his head.

"As much as I'd love that, I want you in the shower with me next time."

He felt himself blushing and tried to keep his mind off the things he and Jayce could do.

He knew they were both hungry after snowshoeing their way out of the mountains, so food was a bigger priority than ending up in bed or in the shower together.

"What do you want to eat?" he asked Jayce, changing the subject.

"I saw all of the candy bars and the pie when I was putting away the groceries, but I think you need something more substantial than that after snowshoeing."

Jayce grinned.

"Probably. I can make something for us while you're in the shower."

"You don't need to make anything elaborate tonight. There's a pizza in the freezer that you can stick in the oven."

"Okay. Oh, and can I borrow more of your clothes since mine are in the wash?"

"Yeah. You can find what you need up in the loft."

As Dylan stood underneath the hot water in the shower, he thought about how weird it felt to trust someone looking around his bedroom and making themselves at home in his space.

He'd never imagined anyone else being in his cabin and sometimes this all felt like a dream.

He still worried that he'd walk out of the bathroom to find the cabin empty, with all traces of Jayce gone, leaving only him standing in the living room alone.

But when he got out of the shower, Jayce was in the kitchen making hot chocolate, looking cute with the sleeves of one of Dylan's sweatshirts covering his hands.

His clothes were huge on Jayce and while part of him felt guilty for not having anything that would fit Jayce, part of him loved the sight of Jayce wearing his clothes.

After he got dressed and started a fire in the fireplace, he and Jayce sat on the couch in front of the fire to eat the pizza.

"You did a good job making food in the mountain cabin, but I am glad to have something fresh out of an oven," Jayce said, closing his eyes as he ate one of the slices of pizza.

"Me too," Dylan admitted.

For once, Jayce was too focused on eating to talk, but that didn't last for long.

As soon as they were done eating, Jayce curled up against his side.

"Do you like living here? Was this where you always wanted to live?"

"I didn't have anywhere specific in mind but I grew up near mountains and knew I wanted to stay near them. This side of the Cascades has less people and more Forest Service jobs available."

"Winthrop looks like a nice town. I'd love to check out some of the restaurants and shops, especially that place that sells candy and ice cream."

"Yeah, you'd like that."

Deep down, he'd love to take Jayce there but the thought of going into town for anything other than a necessity filled him with dread.

Jayce shifted on the couch and put one of his legs over Dylan's, getting even closer than he already was.

"So you like living here and you like your job but is there something else you'd rather be doing? What's your biggest dream in life?"

That was true but what he wasn't telling Jayce is that his life was terribly lonely.

Sure, he loved working outdoors and he found joy in knitting and reading, but he wished he had more.

He wished he could be normal and have people in his life.

"What about hobbies?" Jayce continued. "Is there anything you want to try that you haven't done yet?"

"Why all the questions?" he asked, perhaps a little too harshly.

"Sorry, I'm not trying to pry. But since I'll be here for a few more days I thought we could do something you've always wanted to do."

He instantly felt bad for snapping at Jayce, so he reached over and squeezed Jayce's hand, thinking for a moment as his thumb stroked the back of Jayce's hand.

"I've always wanted to learn how to bake. My parents rarely cooked and I grew up eating frozen dinners and food out of cans. I learned to cook enough as an adult to get by but I've never baked cookies or cake. I like the smell of bakeries even though I don't like sweets anywhere near as much as you and I'm impressed by the decorated cakes and cupcakes."

"You can learn how to bake. You can probably even learn by practicing here at home. Just Google some recipes and try them and look up decorating tutorials on YouTube."

"I don't have a computer."

Jayce looked shocked.

"What? How? How do you get anything done?"

"I use the computers at the library in town if I need to. But I don't have much use for owning one since I'm in the mountains for half of the year. No power or Wi-Fi up there, remember?"

"Huh. I guess that's a good point. But we can still bake while I'm here. And who knows, if you like it and get good at it, you could open a bakery someday if you don't want to keep working for the Forest Service."

"That's...quite a leap considering I've never baked anything."

He also didn't think he'd ever want to stop working outdoors.

But Jayce was clearly excited by the idea.

"You could have a Pacific Northwest themed bakery! I'm sure you could make a cupcake that looks like an evergreen tree. And you could keep knitting scarves and sell them in the bakery too."

He humored Jayce by asking more questions about the idea, but deep down he knew no one would ever buy from him.

If people didn't trust him enough to simply be around him, they definitely wouldn't come into a shop that was his and buy food he'd made.

"What about you?" he asked, changing the subject. "You never told me what your job was."

"I got a degree in finance and I worked in accounting. My parents always told me and my brother to pursue a career with a lot of stability. They suggested accounting so I went with that to make them happy but I don't enjoy it. It's boring most of the time. I'd rather do something creative, but most of those jobs don't pay well."

"I could see you doing something creative. You had good ideas for a bakery."

Jayce smiled and snuggled closer, pulling more of his body on top of Dylan's until he was almost sitting in his lap.

As he listened to Jayce talk, Dylan realized he was completely content.

He was in his house in front of a warm fire on a beautiful winter day, but better yet, he wasn't alone.

He had someone at his side who wasn't afraid of him, who actually liked him and wanted to talk to him and touch him.

He knew it wasn't going to be forever but he focused on the present. It was enough for now.

Jayce was temporarily confused when he woke up in the morning.

The ceiling of the cabin looked different and the bed was softer.

He squinted at the ceiling before remembering he was in Dylan's other cabin.

Even though the bed in the loft was twice the size of the one in the mountain cabin, he and Dylan had stayed snuggled together.

Dylan was still sleeping and as much as he wanted to kiss him, wake him up, and fool around, he gently removed himself from Dylan's arms and went downstairs instead.

He wanted to do something nice for Dylan and he also knew he needed to get started on preparations for their Thanksgiving meal.

Dylan deserved to know how much he was appreciated.

One thing Jayce loved doing in all his relationships was taking care of his partner.

He enjoyed cooking for them, surprising them with gifts and performing little gestures that would make their day easier.

He knew he didn't have much to offer otherwise.

He wasn't interesting, his body was fit but not ripped and even though his previous job had paid well enough to get by comfortably, he wasn't a high earner by any means.

He was painfully average.

All he had to offer was his love and his attempts to be a perfect boyfriend.

While they were in the mountains, he'd been completely out of his element and useless as a result, so he couldn't do much for Dylan.

Now, he could take care of Dylan.

He started by bringing in some of the firewood and getting the fire going in the fireplace.

Then he got to work frying some bacon and eggs for breakfast, as well as mixing up some batter for French toast.

He'd spotted cinnamon and syrup in one of the kitchen cabinets, so he guessed that Dylan probably made French toast for himself when he was living here. 

The stairs to the loft creaked and he looked up to see Dylan.

"I was wondering where you were," Dylan said.

He stared at the food sizzling in the pans on the stove.

"You didn't have to do this."

"I wanted to. It's almost ready, so go ahead and sit down at the table."

Before doing so, Dylan walked over to him first.

He gently threaded his fingers into the hair at the back of Jayce's neck, tugged him closer and kissed him.

"Thank you."

Jayce felt warm all over as Dylan walked away to sit at the table.

He loved how tender this giant man could be, and he was already craving his next kiss from Dylan.

A couple hours later, he started prepping the pie crust for the turkey pot pie.

Making the crust from scratch was tedious, but it was always worth it in the end.

Dylan hovered, watching him roll out the dough.

"You said you used to make apple pies from scratch?" he asked.

"Yep. I don't bake a lot, but apple pies kind of became my specialty. I'd take them to potlucks at work or Thanksgiving dinners with friends."

"What can I do to help?"

"Nothing. I'm making this for you, so you're not supposed to participate. Go sit down in front of the fire and relax. It's a lot of work living in your cabin in the mountains and you were taking care of me, so now it's time for you to have a break and rest from all of that."

Dylan seemed like he wanted to protest but gave in and headed into the living room.

Jayce hummed under his breath as he pressed the bottom of the crust into the pan.

Every once in a while, he'd look up and every time he did, Dylan was just sitting on the couch, looking lost.

He kept glancing over at the kitchen.

"You don't know how to sit and do nothing, do you?" Jayce asked.

"I've always had to do everything for myself. I don't know anything else."

"Well, now you do. You're going to have to get used to me doing things for you. Read a book or start knitting another scarf."

Dylan sighed, deeply and loudly but he did get up to grab his knitting needles and choose some yarn from a cabinet in the living room.

Jayce smiled to himself and began to chop the vegetables for the pie.

It didn't take too long to make the filling and add the vegetables and shredded turkey to the pie, and once he had the top crust added, it was ready to go into the oven.

He hoped it would turn out good, considering it was his first time making a pie with a savory filling instead of a sweet, fruity one.

As he prepared the rest of the meal, he allowed Dylan to come back to the kitchen and help him peel the potatoes for the garlic mashed potatoes he was making.

He and Dylan worked well together and made a good team in the kitchen and he was looking forward to showing Dylan how to bake during the next few days.

He didn't know when he was going to leave to go back to Seattle but he wanted to extend his time here as long as possible.

Despite trying to get Dylan to rest, Dylan insisted on shoveling the sidewalk and clearing most of the snow off the driveway.

By the time Dylan was done with that, the pie was ready and they finally sat down to a table full of food.

"I know this isn't a traditional Thanksgiving meal since we only have turkey meat in the pot pie and not an entire turkey but I hope you like it," Jayce said.

"I'm grateful to have anything," Dylan replied softly.

His deep brown eyes met Jayce's over the table.

"I'm most grateful to have you in my life."

Jayce reached across and took one of Dylan's hands.

"Believe it or not, I'm grateful I got lost in the woods. Otherwise we wouldn't have met."

Dylan smiled.

"Just promise me you won't do that again."

"Trust me," he said, laughing. "I'm not ever going near the forest or mountains again unless you're with me."

As they started piling food onto their plates, Jayce knew this was going to be his best Thanksgiving yet.

Nothing could be better than sharing a meal with Dylan and spending the rest of the day in his arms. 

[the-letter-horror-lover]

night."

Chapter 11

Summary:

Alan Humphries is a man who has it all together - until a diagnosis of leukemia leaves him adrift, alone, and afraid.

In this chapter, a dark night of the soul, transformation, shenanigans, a loss, and a strange way to wake up.

Notes:

With thanks to my betas, commentators, readers, and everyone who lets me know what they think of the story. You are all utterly awesome.

Chapter Text

Ron came back to an epic cooking jam. There was music blasting, all six burners on the stove going, four ovens with timers counting, bread just out of the stone-lined oven, assorted slow-cookers and roasters lined up like soldiers on the long steel prep table, and the fading scents of charcoal and applewood smoke. Eric needed to get laid a lot more often if this was the result.

Sneaking upstairs with Eric in Full Metal Chef mode was easy, and Ron wanted to show some of the new swag and style. Grungy - gone. Sharp - arriving. And sharp enough to cut, baby.

The black-under-blond undercut mirrored the dark/light of Eric's fauxhawk, and his new black wayfarer glasses replaced the seveties aviators. All his skinnies, his belts, jackets, his Uggs, his shirt collection, and every pair of his vintage Frye boots were gone - dispersed judiciously among the coterie of used clothing boutiques that paid sweet cash.

And with that cash, Ron made a run on a specialized tier of used clothing stores.

Mad Men was mainstream. The fifties and sixties were over, and the seventies were fading into the eighties, making the nineties resurgence inevitable. He had a better idea, and had put it into play. He'd bought abandoned garments from dry-cleaners, old samples from multiple sources, returned clothing from discounters, and costumes from costumiers, stuff from thrift stores off the hipster maps. Hock-shops turned up accoutrements like cuff links, collar stays, and a vintage repousse gilt-over-silver pocket watch. There was a while-you-wait tailor in Chinatown, and some sharp trades there brought the price of altering his new wardrobe down considerably.

Running his knuckles over his smooth jawline, Ron smiled. Eric was going to keel over.

Everything was smooth and sharp from trousers and layered waistcoats to the tailored frock coat. The blacks and greys set off the white of the hidden-placket shirts, as well as the patterns and deep gem-colors in the under-waistcoats and on the reverse of French cuffs. It was twenty-first century Victorian down to the buttoning boots, and sharp as hell.

Oh, he looked good. Ron turned and took a look at the rear view. Nice ass. "Yeah. I'd fuck me."

Wait. Was he gay for his own ass? Or if he was a girl, would he fuck him? Or a guy?

Wait, if I were a guy... no, I am a guy… but hypothetically… if I were another guy checking me out...

Confused. So confused.

Still, he had to show off to Eric.

Making a last check in the long mirror on the back of the bathroom door, he adjusted the fall of the watch chain against the jaquard of his waistcoat and the set of the scarlet square in the pocket of his frock coat. The short-crowned tophat gave him a rather raffish look, Ron thought. He could hear the music being dialed down in the kitchen, and the sound of Eric's voice, probably talking to someone on his headset. Perfect timing, he'd just go down the stairs and wait for Eric to notice.

"Yeah, I put in the red pepper and eggplant soup, too," Eric said as Ron came down and posed on the landing, turning to acknowledge his presence and then stopping cold.

"Well, big bro? What do you think of this sharp shit right here?" Sweeping the frock coat open, Ron strutted into the kitchen as Eric stared with jaw hanging. "Smooth as silk, I tell you. Come on, butthead, say something."

Eric smiled then turned his head and gleefully shouted, "Rox! Lunch!"

No. Noooo. FUCK.

"Honestly, Eric. I'm right up front - there's no need to shout." High heels tap-tapped on the linoleum behind the shop counter. "Do you need an extra hand?"

An utterly inhuman noise worked its way up from Ron's chest, followed by a strangled falsetto, "-going to kill you."

The fucker blew him a kiss. "Come and check out this fine stuff, Rox."

And ze came into the kitchen, wearing something that looked as if it had walked out of a Bergdorf's window, swiveling on a stiletto-heel to follow Eric's gaze. Then ze looked over the rims of zir tortoise-shell sunglasses and made a thorough job of it.

"My, my. A young gentleman with a new spin on the classics. How avant-garde."

Eric leaned back against the counter, folded his arms and looked content. Ron gave him a smile that he hoped screamed, 'YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE.' Then he smiled at Rox - was that a corset under the jacket? - and said, "Good afternoon."

And stopped cold, literally too tongue tied to continue. Rox blew his line of patter to bits.

Eric took pity - sometimes a good thing. "Ronnie, you've got to show Rox that artwork for your brew."

"Wh- Oh. Um. Wait a minute - I left it in my room."

Now that the cat was out of the bag, there was no getting it back in. He just hoped that Rox wouldn't take offense.

Ronald pelted back up the stairs, though the living room, down the hall to his bedroom and grabbed the print copy off his desk.

What if she… ze didn't like it? The finals were tomorrow!

Funny how the thing you were the most certain was awesome suddenly seemed full of flaws when it got down to the wire.

"Quit dithering!" came the bellow up the stairs. "It's great!"

Fuuuuuck.

Okay. Since he was already in the water, he might as well swim.

Ron came downstairs and handed the poster tube to Rox, then was snagged by the boutonniere and held still as ze opened and unrolled it. He broke a sweat as Rox pursed zir lips and examined the work - zir smirk breaking into a smile at the sight of the flattened fire hose at Fire Engine Red's feet.

"You sweet, naughty dear." Truthfully, Ronald had never experienced having one cheek pinched while the other one was kissed. Man. If he thought he was confused before... "It's very flattering, Ronald. And ze is an excellent likeness."

"You… you could come with me and Eric to the Beer Bash. If you wanted. It would be fun."

Smooth. Real smooth, you dork.

With a slightly dimmed smile, Rox fixed his hair and his tie. "Ronald, it's a lovely thought, but I am what I am - and people don't like their comfort zones pushed."

"You are who you are, or I wouldn't have asked," Ron said bluntly. You didn't have the kind of family and upbringing that he and Eric had, then step back and give bigots a pass. "You're Fire Engine Red."

"Rox? You'd blow their doors off." Eric nodded, "And fuck comfort zones. I'll even wear a Sharps shirt."

His brother was awesome - still an asshole, but awesome. Rox kissed them both, and then scolded them for making zir mascara run.

Rox, as crushy-hearts as Ron was for zir, did Good Things for Eric. And he'd wanted Eric to Find Someone who loved him, so even if it was an Arrangement instead of a Thing, Ron was just going to step back and let stuff happen.

They made plans. Saturday night at eight, they'd be with Ronnie at the South Street Brewery to support him at the finals. Rox was going to wear Valentino, and it cheered Ron immensely. It would be to be great to show up with the two people who were genuinely happy for him. It was too bad that Alan thought he couldn't come, but Ron would brace him again when he came to get his card in the morning.

Rox left with zir goodies to go back to the shop, Eric promising he'd be over not long after closing.

"Sorry, bro." Eric hung up his jacket and looked over the results of the cooking binge. "You were just so asking for it with that strut."

"I'm still planning revenge in some as yet unspecific way. I mean it's like you have a Ph.D. in Assholery sometimes." Ron punched Eric's arm. "But oh fuck did I ever give you the opening…"

"Yeah, it was just too good to resist with 'Look at this fine shit!' and all," Eric snickered. "Oh, your Wall Street Twink called. He figured out he'd left his card here and I told him it would be in the cash drawer tomorrow morning."

Ron widened his eyes. "You spoke with him? Like, real words?"

"I said he called, didn't I?" Eric's ears went a touch pink. "So that implies I spoke to him, Beer Brat."

"Were any of the words more than one syllable and did any of them involve fennel? Hey! Put that pie down! Not on the new clothes!"

~

Alan came home to a spotless apartment, packages from Amazon, and rapidly worsening nausea. While he'd been able to maintain in the car, by the time he reached his foyer he was pale, sweating, and shaking. His cleaning service had happily eaten the cookies Alan left out for them, brought in his clean laundry, and taken out the stuff to be washed.

It was worse than last week, but not the unmitigated hell of the first week.

Alan took another dose of his anti-nausea medicines, changed into sweats, and curled up in a blanket on two couch cushions placed on the bathroom floor. Friday evening and Saturday were the worst of his week.

Tuesday was pretty bad, too. Wednesday was tolerable and-

Oh. Oh, no. Fuck. Hate it. Hate it. Hate it.

His guts tightened into a hard little ball, and Alan cried out in sheer misery - glad only that there was nobody here to see this. He could get through this on his own. It was going to be fine.

At around four on Saturday morning, Alan stripped off his soaked sweats, crawled into the shower and turned it on. The worst had passed, and he felt wrung out both physically and mentally. How could he do this for another twenty-one weeks? No. Not this. Worse than this? How could he keep his weight up? How could he function enough to remain on his own and retain some modest handful of dignity and privacy?

Alan leaned against the marble tiles and let the pulses of water hammer at his neck and shoulders. "I just want it to be over."

It startled him, because he couldn't specify what he actually wanted to be over - chemotherapy, the disease, or… him. He'd never felt so… useless, worthless. Never so alone… no, not alone. Isolated.

Temporarily warm, Alan turned off the water and wrapped himself in a terrycloth robe. It was six hours until he could go claim his debit card from Ronald. He'd have some of the clam chowder, then get some sleep. God, it was good. He thought Mr. Hot Butch Honey was using half-and-half to get that kind of creamy finish. It was nice of Eric to make things not on the regular menu for him.

Alan rinsed the dish and put it in the dishwasher. "I'm just tired. I'll feel better after I sleep."

He'd learned the hard way to spare the bed and pajamas until after the worst passed, so the bed was clean and soft for him, the flannel pyjamas fresh and dry. Once he got in, it was as if he was sinking into the softness and into sleep. He fumbled off his glasses and set them on the nightstand, and just before he fell asleep, Alan thought he saw a pigeon on the windowsill looking in at him.

~

Eric slept in the red satin of zir bed, well and truly tapped out at just a quarter after midnight. What a lovely display he made sprawled on his belly with that perfect rump just asking for a wake-up call. The dog collar around his neck was a plain black nylon - sweaty leather chafed - and Eric slept the sleep reserved for those who gave their all. Rox relished the top-high, indulging in a glass of vintage champagne as ze watched him sleep.

Eric was a service bottom - in the kitchen, serving dinner, scrubbing zir back in the tub, or on the bed. Sensation play was a big yes to bondage, cock and ball games, ass play, hot wax, suspension, and five licks with Rox's belt. Head games fed into sensation play; chastity play was lovely, and washing him down in the shower before putting collar and cage on him apparently scratched all the right kink spots. As a top Eric was powerful, tactile, would not come until you had your goodie, and he spanked hard enough to make zir lip wobble. Rox stretched, spine loose and arse warmed.

Granted, he was a mortal and ze a god, but he was still as randy and happy-cocked as Grell's Eric had been.

Now to undo as much of the mess Buckland had left as possible. Alan was out there somewhere, the red thread of She Who Spins still connecting them, and ze was not going to hand him a dog's dinner of trauma and neuroses. Especially with Eric so afraid of the disease he carried that he'd have an panic attack when he was about to come - even when there was no chance of fluid exchange.

It was tempting to… keep him. Ze could. Ze had his trust, and a hard-won thing it was with being three years in the forging. How simple it would be to evoke that devotion and love that could take root so easily. And how hard to watch this mortal Eric age or sicken and die; his life ending, all their lives ending, leaving Rox with three souls to hold next to zir heart.

Ah, melancholia. What was ze thinking, getting involved with mortals - much less trying to fix one so broken? Who, exactly, was ze trying to fix, trying to save and redeem? Tipping the glass back, Rox drank the rest of the champagne and considered opening another bottle. Mortal intoxicants lacked the punch of Reaper-brewed, but tasted nice nonetheless. Now, Rox mused, if ze really wanted an adventure, entering the Reaper realm to steal a bottle of Skulle & Bownes Centennial whiskey would be a bloody scene-

Flapflapflapflap.

Speaking of bloody scenes.

"I'm thinking of taking up falconry, William. Some archery, perhaps." Rox shut the bedroom door and turned to face him with zir teeth going to points. "Possibly skeet shooting, too. And if you crap on my carpet, I'll feed you to a cat."

Will shifted form and looked at the closed door, making no comment.

"If I'd only known you were a voyeur, sweet old soul, I'd have been happy to play along." Oh, yes, zir edge was still sharp. "Me fucking Eric, or Eric fucking me - tell me, William, which do you like better?"

"I must ask what it is you intend, Grell. You're meddling with mortals." Will lifted an eyebrow. "That never turns out well."

"You should talk, using Mnemosyne and Lethe on a mortal. Forbidden by the Code, and punishable by exile." As Will knew well. "They're mortal now, but they should never have been. One of us should have found their souls and returned them to be reborn as Reapers - that didn't happen and so here they are."

"There was no way to foresee-"

"They died. All three of them. On your watch, though it seems to have troubled you little." When it cost her everything - including William, when ze counted that as a loss. "Now, after better than a third of my life lived without you, what the hell do you want?"

Will was silent, then swallowed. "To fix it. If I can."

So. That's what 'gobsmacked' felt like. Hm.

"You. You have the nerve. You absolute fucking brass-bound bastard." No yelling. Don't wake Eric. Don't summon your weapons. "Who do you think you are? After a century? Out. Get out. Or find out just how much Reapers' steel there is on the black market. OUT."

The last word came on an exhalation of pure rage.

William, showing that he still had an instinct for self-preservation somewhere under that immaculate suit, went into the ether so fast that there was a popping sound as from a large balloon.

Rox crossed zir arms. Clenched zir jaw. Sniffed deep and hard. Blinked until zir eyes stopped watering. Ze would sunder William's heart for the pain he'd given zirs. Checking on Eric ze found that the darling was undisturbed and still deeply asleep. Ze crawled in with him, bare skin sliding on the satin until ze was next to him. Eric, just like former Eric, immediately curled his warm mortal body around zir.

"Mf Rox? Y'r freezing." Eric woke up enough to wrap them both in the quilts.

Bloody hell, ze'd forgotten to breathe again. "I'm fine, pretty man. Just had a bit of a distraction pop up that needed binning." He felt lovely against her and smelled delicious with a whiff of rutty musk under the scent of zir rose-and-ginger soap. "All taken care of."

Sleep or play? The way Eric nuzzled the back of zir neck, it could go either way. Rox wriggled back against him, rousing as his hand caressed zir thigh. Even with his prick in a silicone cage, Eric was game and eager.

"I have a lovely way to warm up, Eric." Play it was, then. "It's called 'fuck Eric silly.'"

Eric nibbled zir earlobe and tugged on one of the gauges with his teeth. "I like that one."

Rox turned in his arms and rolled Eric onto his back. "Do you now?" Ze reached down and gave a wicked caress. Ze hoped Will got a burning eyeful.

~

Saturday mornings were slow, and traffic light. Ron kept an eye out for Alan while handling the shop, worried when noon came and went with no sign of him. He went so far as to look at the caller ID on the phone and write down A. Humphries' number just in case. They closed at four and were to leave at seven-thirty for the Beer Bust finals.

"Has he come in yet?" Eric called from Rox's. "And how are we getting there - going in the Snot Rocket?"

"It's a pearled mint-green, butthead. God, sometimes you're just... nine, or something." Ron picked a Cubano sandwich for himself. "I'm thinking of getting it another paint job, though. You know, something less mainstream."

"Oh, man. Not again. That poor car's been through more colors than Sherwin Williams has paint chips." Ron could hear the eyeroll. "How's business so far?"

"Super light. I think I might shut it down after Alan picks up his card." A drink - one with no caffeine. He was jittery enough. "I want to be there at eight on the dot."

"Nervous?"

"Yeah. Scared. I mean, what if I did all this and I don't win anything? Not the distribution deal, or the equipment, or even a free dinner?" Ron's guts actually quaked at the thought. "So many people I thought were my friends have just been such shits about this-"

"Ronnie? If they were shits about it, then they were never your friends," Eric said flatly. "Your friends would be straight out happy for you, they'd have your back. That's what friends do."

"But what if everything I've learned is for nothing? If I don't win-"

"If you don't win, you're still a brewer. If you don't win… fuck. Okay, I applied for the grocery-beer off-license to go with the microbrewery permit." Eric sighed. "So Knoxhouse Brews LLC can sell beer to The Pearl Street Kitchen and Grocery LLC for sale to the general public."

Ron's jaw unhinged. "You're still a butthead, but I love you." Even if he didn't win, Eric had his back. "And you're one hell of a friend, too."

"Yeah, yeah. See you in a while. Rox is throwing me out while ze gets ready for the big night. Call that number if Humphries doesn't show up in the next thirty minutes. Maybe we can drop it off or something."

"Yeah, I'll do that. Hey, where did you put the extra Bubblehead sodas?" Ron looked for the cherry-vanilla cream - not there.

"There should be some in the reach-in."

"No, just a dozen of that blue shit that tastes like floor cleaner. They're taking it back, right?"

"Yeah, do me a favor and put that in a milk crate at the back door, they're supposed to pick it up on Monday." Eric hummed for a moment. "There's a mixed case in the small walk-in in the kitchen. Don't know if your favorite's there."

"Thanks, man."

"Welcome. Rox calls, gotta go."

"Have fun."

"Oh, yeah. Not even a question. See ya."

Ron smiled as he hung up. He might have a crush on Rox, but Eric… it was like watching a bare-bones sketch become fleshed out and colored in. Ron looked around the store, then went down the hall and into the walk-in. There was no cherry-vanilla cream soda, but there was a chocolate-cherry. Good enough.

The shop door opened and closed with a jingle of bells. "Be there in a second!"

"It's all right, Ronald. It's just me."

Alan's voice, but Alan did not sound… right. Ronald came out of the back and stopped in his tracks, staring. Alan. clad in a hoodie and knit cap, held himself up with his bicycle smiled wanly. "That bad?"

"Yeah. Sorry, but Alan-" You look like death. How did you even say that to someone?

"I'm okay. It looks worse than it is right now." He leaned the bike against the wainscotting and came to the counter. "I'm just a little rocky after my treatment."

"Look, I'm going to close early. Let me give you a ride back home." Ringing up a no-sale on the register, Ron fished out the card and handed it over. "I've got a station wagon and can fit your bike in the back."

"I'm fine," Alan insisted, pulling his wallet out and slipping the card inside. "It's just that after my treatment-"

A hank of brown hair came loose from under the knit cap and floated down to land on the counter. He and Alan both watched it fall. Alan did not look up, standing there as if frozen with his wallet in his hand. A drop of water splashed next to the hair, and then another drop fell next to it and Alan's shoulders shook.

"Alan." Ron reached out and took hold of Alan's shoulder as more drops spattered silently on the counter. Nobody should cry like that. "Alan."

Nothing. Ron went around the counter and to the front of the store, flipped the sign to 'Closed,' turned off the neon, then pulled the shades. He locked up, and when he turned back, Alan had not moved. Poor bastard. Oh, the poor guy. Cancer. Not an ulcer, not a stomach bug, not 'gastro-intestinal' anything. Cancer.

Ron put an arm around Alan's shoulder. "Come on. Come in the back." And without really waiting for an answer, he herded Alan behind the counter and down the hallway.

"Sorry. Sorry. Oh, fuck. Ronald-"

"It's all right. It's okay." This was going to be a category five bad-brain-day event. "Come on."

"I just- my hair- fucking stupid-" And the sob that followed was somehow even worse than the silent tears had been.

Recliner. Brownie. Eric had made a fresh batch that was in their fridge, waiting to be cut and wrapped. It was easier to ask forgiveness than to obtain permission and even easier to pretend that Eric didn't grow marijuana in his bedroom closet, but this was a… a… humanitarian emergency! That. Exactly. Ron fairly herded Alan into one of the big brown recliners.

"Wait here. Okay. Give me a second."

Alan just buried his face in his hands and nodded through wracking sobs.

Fuck.

Ron shot up the stairs, taking them two at a time, then ran down the hall to their kitchen. Fridge. Brownies. Cut a palm-sized slab of inch-thick brownie with two edges. Plate. Milk. Wait. Kleenex. Downstairs to where Alan was visibly trying to pull himself together.

"Man. I'm sorry, Alan. But it's cool - okay? Here." Alan took the Kleenex first. "I know, you're a private kind of guy and oh my god I am such an asshole for trying to set you up with my brother-"

Alan blew his nose. "Leukemia. I started chemotherapy at Sloan-Kettering three weeks ago. Ronald. I'm so sorry. but oh my god i'm losing my mind-"

Fresh tears welled and spilled, and this time Alan just… crumpled. There was no other way to describe it.

"It's okay. Eat the brownie. You'll feel better - I promise." He'd seen it work on Eric's worst bad-brain days. "Eric makes them special."

The somewhat incoherent reply was that brownies couldn't fix this. He couldn't do this. It wasn't working. He was losing… something.

"No. Shh. No. Come on, just a bite and a little milk and it'll feel better." And this time it was hysterics - wordless weeping that was terrifying to watch because you knew you were seeing a soul in agony. "Trust me - okay? It will help. That's right, come on wash it back with this. Yeah, it's good. Come on, a little more."

It took some coaxing, but half of the brownie went down and a second milk was needed. Alan calmed slowly, cradling the box of Kleenex. "I'm-"

"Look, don't be sorry. Man, that's as serious as it gets."

"It was just… that was just the last thing, you know?" Alan took another bite of brownie. "I'm not at my best on Saturdays."

"It's okay. It's cool. Don't worry about it."

"This brownie's very good." Alan took another bite. "It's your brother's special recipe?"

"Yeah, a personal reserve."

"Chocolate is a kind of antidepressant, I'm told." Alan blinked slowly and took another bite. "It's very tasty, but I can't place the difference. Nice and chocolatey, but not gooey."

"Yeah." Ron was suddenly very conscious of having given Alan a rather hefty dose. "It's okay. Relax. Take a deep breath."

Another bite, and Alan blinked when Ron reclined his chair. "Why do you have recliners in a kitchen?"

"Eric spends hours cooking, and when he's tired he just kicks back. Sometimes he even naps down here, listening for timers to go off."

Alan reclined. "It's nice."

"Look, just stay here and have the rest of that brownie. I have to close up… no, just rest, okay?" Alan showed signs of getting up, apologizing for his meltdown. "Just hang out. I'll come back and we'll talk about getting you home."

"Tonight's your big night, you should-"

"It's not a problem." Be firm. Be confident. "You relax and I'll be right back."

Alan reluctantly sat back, nodding.

Holy shit. It worked.

He did have to close up - cash out the register, get a deposit bag ready, roll down the gate and make sure the Bilco was firmly locked. The unsold items that were about to expire went upstairs to their personal fridge, and Ron marked them down as a discounted sale, moving funds from the cookie jar into the day's cash receipts. As he went upstairs with a dozen sandwiches, a few cups of soup, and a mushroom-barley turkey-thigh dinner that someone hadn't picked up, Ron saw that Alan lay in the recliner, curled on his left side and fast asleep.

Ron stopped, carefully removed Alan's glasses, and set them on the table next to the empty brownie plate.

~

Eric did bath-boy duty before being shooed off around three.

"But I want to see you put your bike gear on," Rox insisted, pushing his armored jacket and chaps at him. "It's such a post-apocalyptic techno-dystopian look."

So he did, then the bike gear came mostly off again. Shenanigans ensued with Rox as a Bad Cop, followed by assorted naughtiness with handcuffs and nightstick in the stairwell. By the time Eric finally got on his Ducati, just starting up the engine gave him a goofy smile in his helmet. Yeah. Rox was fucking merciless and Eric was fucking grateful.

He'd go home and get ready for the big night. Rox banned him from wearing a Sharps shirt or anything red, so maybe he ought to get out his black suit. It make him look - in Ronnie's words - like a better class of hitman. The traffic in Lower Manhattan was Saturday light, and in a very short time he was easing the black-and-blue bike into the parking spot next to the Snot Rocket.

And walked in to find Ron sitting on his prep table, brow furrowed. "Hey, bro. 'Sup?"

Ronnie pointed into the alcove, so Eric turned to look - and stopped in his tracks.

What?

Mr. Snippy Undersalt VanTwinkbait III was out like a light in one of his recliners.

There was also a plate with some very telltale crumbs.

Eric frowned and gestured at the alcove. Just what the fuck is this? Then pointed at the plate with the brownie crumbs. And that better not be what I think it is. Then he slapped his forehead. What were you thinking?

Ronnie grabbed the front of his jacket and towed him to the front, shutting the door between kitchen and shop. He cued the security camera footage and hit play.

"Say nothing. Just watch."

He opened his mouth to give Ronnie a piece of his mind, and then the security camera footage made Eric snap his jaw shut. Nobody in good shape had to hold himself up on a bicycle in the first place. It hardly looked like the same guy, really.

The hair. And Eric really didn't want to watch. It was an offense to the guy's dignity to see him break down like that, though Eric knew from his own experience that it felt more like a meltdown.

The news just kept getting worse and worse, hitting you until the person you thought you were was chipped away. "It's cancer, Ronnie?"

"Leukemia. He's been in treatment for three weeks."

Eric knew what those drugs did. Bradley Duncan had used small doses of cytotoxins to simulate some of the symptoms of AIDS. He rubbed his forehead. "Ronnie, go get cleaned up and dressed. Rox is going to be here soon and you don't want to be late."

"Wh-"

"It's your big night, you're going to beat those other guys like their mamas don't know them, and you're going to go with someone who's happy for you." Eric got him by the shoulders and turned him around. "I'll stay with this guy until he wakes up."

Ronnie stuck his hands in his pockets and looked woeful. "How long will he sleep?"

"Depends. How big was the brownie?" Though Eric knew from experience that sometimes it didn't take much. It depended how tired and wired you were in the first place.

"About the size of my palm." Holding up his hand Ronnie marked it out. "And milk."

"Wow. He's out for a while. Those were made with Purple Afghani Kush butter. It's a serious indica strain - the nighty-night stuff." Whooboy. This was going to take some explaining. "It couchlocks me for a full eight. I can only imagine how it hit him - he's a little guy. Good thing you didn't give him anything with a sativa strain or he'd be flying around the room like a toy airplane."

"Fuck. I am so sorry-"

"No, Ronnie. You likely did him a favor - I can say that from having been in a similar place." Eric smiled tightly, opening the door to the kitchen. "Go on. Get your shit together. I'll explain things."

"You're sure?"

"Go upstairs, eat something - not a brownie - then clean up, shave, and dress. I'll talk to Rox."

Ronnie went upstairs and Eric took out his phone, shutting the door again as he called Rox.

"I'm leaving in a few minutes-" ze answered. "Wait, what's wrong?"

"I didn't even say anything."

"Sometimes not saying anything says more than saying anything."

"Wh-? Okay. News first - and this is going to sound bizarre, but one of Ronnie's friends-" Eric explained the whole thing. "So this guy Alan is passed out in one of my recliners and considering he's a little twerp, he's not waking up before the wee small hours."

"Well. Gobsmacked twice in twenty-four hours. Goodness me." Rox sounded utterly flat-footed. "Alan, you say?"

"Yeah. And Rox, it's so fucking important for Ronnie to have someone there with him who really gives a- I mean who's happy for him." Eric rested his forehead on the plate glass window, looking out at the street. "His so-called friends have just been jerks about it."

"Of course, I'll go with him if he wants me to."

"Rox, he has the biggest crush on you."

"He's a puppy, Eric, and I'll be delighted to escort him."

"Wearing red?"

"Valentino from head to toe."

"Rox. It's a brewery," Eric groaned. "You're going Michelin five-star when this hipster pose-off would have to class up to be allowed into Hooters."

"MEOW," Rox laughed. "Who says that butch boys can't be catty?"

"I am not catty."

"A tomcat, and I do like to make you purr and claw-"

Eric could hear zir putting on zir coat, and imagined her getting dressed. "No fair giving me another boner. I couldn't come one more time."

"Behave. Now, what's Ronnie wearing? And which perfume for me?"

"The sandalwoody one with the spice notes. Ronnie's going with this whole neo-Victorian look - why? Do you want me to police the wardrobe?"

"No, I can do that when I get there." The sound of car keys and the freight elevator. "Are you sure you'll be all right?"

Eric checked the roll-down gate, locked up the rest of the way, and hesitated for a second before firmly turning off the store lights. "Yeah. I'll be fine. I'll keep an eye on him and cook something that takes a lot of prep work."

Mr. VanTwinkbait was still out like a light, curled up in the recliner. Eric pulled one of the thick throws from the arm and covered him up. "See you when you get here, I'm going to go change."

An engine started. "Where's Ronnie?"

"He's in the shower, and I'm not letting him out of the bathroom until he shaves." Eric went up the stairs. "He's new to it, and needs supervision. Just park in the back and come on up."

"I'm on the way."

Eric hung up, and rummaged the fridge - picking a gazpacho and a linguica roll for his own dinner, then bolting both. In his room, he checked on his plants, stripped, and took out fresh chef's whites, a tank top, and his Dansko clogs. Then he took a very hedonistic stretch. Goddamn, Rox rode it like she stole it and it felt better than Eric had remembered.

Dressed, he tied on a bandana, then sneaked into Ronnie's room to slip a c-note into his wallet. The kid ought to have some cash for dinner and drinks.

In their kitchen, he cut up and labeled the two different brownies so Ronnie wouldn't get them mixed up, then looked over his wall of cookbooks. What to make…

He had a First Edition Mastering the Art of French Cooking. There were the Robert Carrier Cookery Cards - vintage 1966, and his first 'real' recipes. The Marcella Hazan classic Italian cookbooks were great any time, but not what he was in the mood for either making or eating. When you absolutely needed a recipe that worked, you couldn't do better than the Cooks' Illustrated collection. The Smithsonian Folklife book was good, but still not… hm.

The red potato and kale colcannon with garlic. A very simple roasted chicken with classic pan gravy. A soothing tomato and basil soup with a grating of asiago. Then ricotta-honey cakes in a not-too-sweet red berry sauce. While he was at it, he'd get some stocks done and start some new breads. There was a bunch of stuff he wanted to use up before he did the ordering and marketing Sunday and Monday, too.

A buzzing from the bathroom made Eric smile. No more face-weeds! He was a little quieter than usual going down the stairs, though he would bet that Sleeping Twinkie wouldn't stir if the A train went clattering through. In the basement walk-ins, he loaded up the prep cart with fodder. There was nothing he loved more than to get in the kitchen and just jam.

Well. Sex. But it was a neck-and-neck tie.

He sent a stuffed prep cart up in the dumbwaiter, and then went up to the kitchen. Rox was standing next to the prep table, resplendent in red-and-black, zir hair in a cascade of curls, and zir expression solemn as ze looked at Humphries.

"Hey," Eric greeted zir and Rox glanced at him.

"It hardly seems fair, Eric. He's so young." Rox slid an arm around his waist. "It just isn't right, and though I see it all the time-"

"It isn't fair, and it isn't right," Eric slid an arm around zir in return. "It's a horrible thing to say, but shit happens and keeps on happening."

"I just wish I could make it happen to those who've done something to merit shit happening."

"Yeah, but that would make you God, and who would want the job?" Eric tugged a curl. "Come on, before Ronnie tries to get dressed by himself."

They went upstairs and found themselves too late, but Rox walked right into Ronnie's room and picked his outfit. "Too much damask, Pup. Plain cuffs. Where are your cufflinks? No red ties. No blue ones, either. This one. Have you ever heard of Trinity knot? You have now. Come here. Hold still."

Rox was not only a force of nature, but apparently of menswear. Ronnie came out of his bedroom looking his age for the first time since he was in high school. Rox had put him in a dark charcoal grey wool three-piece accented with touches of light purple in tie and pocket square, with bloodstone cufflinks and tie.

"Hot damn, little bro." Eric slow-clapped. "You're going to be peeling them off you."

Ronnie straightened up, put on his hat and offered his arm to Rox. The Beer Brat could charm when he tried.

"Text me when you win. I'm going to cook and wait for Sleeping Twinkie to wake up. Wait." Eric took out his phone and activated the camera. "Right. Defeat your enemies!"

And he had to admit that Rox handled the sight of the 1974 Snot Rocket-green landwhale with grace, however Ronnie cast a covetous eye at the 1928 Packard Roadster.

"You guys are already making an entrance-"

And off they went into the night.

They were going to have a blast together. Eric turned and went back into the kitchen where Humphries was still out cold. He'd really wanted to go and cheer Ronnie on, but you couldn't begrudge someone a trainwreck. Not once you'd been there yourself.

He pulled the cart out of the dumbwaiter and started his prepwork for dinner.

~

Alan became slowly aware of waking, and the first thought was that he was warm. There was softness under him, softness on top of him, and it was wonderfully warm. Cradled in softness and warm to the bones in a way that made his toes and fingers knead at the thick duvet in primitive delight. It was blissfully good to be warm.

Other things gradually seeped in, such as the lack of pain. Alan marvelled at the absence, that he could have become so inured to hurt that the lack of it was remarkable. The nausea, too, was gone. There was no tightness in the guts, the feeling of being slightly seasick and off-balance. In short, he felt good and even at at peace.

And then he remembered what happened and where he was and what...?

What was in that brownie in the first place? It bore the same resemblance to the 'magic brownies' he'd eaten in college that tap water had to Ketel One. He must have frightened the hell out of poor Ronald. But they were 'Eric's special brownies' - and what did Mr. Hot Butch Honey need with serious cannabis?

And then Alan dozed off again.

It was nice to feel good when you woke up. Despite the humiliation he knew he ought to feel, that he had felt, at the moment all he could feel was warm and safe and good. Slowly Alan opened his eyes, finding himself still in the recliner and tucked into a warm duvet. It was dark in the alcove, and he had to feel for his glasses - then looked around in astonishment. How Alan had slept through all that was beyond him. Massive pots steamed on the stove, and all along the steel prep table doughs rose in stoneware bowls. Task after task on the whiteboard was marked with a big red DONE. And Alan's mouth began to water as his nose picked up the scent of roast chicken and something garlicky. Something berry-scented hovered to one side, and he was aware that someone else was here. A timer beeped and Eric strode across the kitchen to one of the ovens, crouching to remove a pan of something giving off the scent of honey.

"Mhm, that's the ticket…" He stood and froze - staring wide-eyed at Alan who was staring at him. "Hello."

"Hello." Alan reminded his lungs to work, please. Oh, he had it right when he speculated that neither of them were good at meeting new people. If Eric were a tomcat, his tail would be bushed out as wide as his head.

Eric set the pan - filled with little golden cakes - on the prep table, then seemed not to know what to do with his hands. "You've been asleep for a while."

Alan nodded. "I… it was… a bad day."

This was accepted with a nod. "So. Um. Can you eat?"

And that was the last thing Alan expected to hear. "Yes, I can eat… thanks."

Eric seemed to need breathing reminders as well. "Okay."

"Okay."

Chapter 12

Summary:

Alan Humphries is a man who has it all together - until a diagnosis of leukemia leaves him adrift, alone, and afraid.

In this chapter - William does not operate in a vacuum, as much as he sometimes wishes that were the case. Someone has to keep him grounded. Eric and Alan have a lot to chew on.

Notes:

With adoration to everyone who tells me, in whatever way, what they think of the story.

Chapter Text

It had gone as well as one might expect, Will thought, and perhaps even slightly better. Grell had not tried to kill him, unless one counted the verbal barbs as the Death of One Thousand Cuts. In his office, with the door shut while the staff changed shifts, Will allowed himself to order and evaluate the facts on a purely emotional basis.

He had misread, and disastrously so, Grell's state of mind following the events of a century back. Possibly his own shock at the deaths of both Slingby and Humphries, and his own involvement in the debacle, had caused Grell to become utterly unhinged. Had it not been for the demon…

Well. No. Will could not entirely place the blame there.

The motivations of his younger self had been perhaps tainted by youthful passions, as well as a desire to rid himself of a highly problematic reaper. Grell's involvement in the Ripper murders was too fresh to have upper management tolerate another rogue field agent. Moreover Grell had never allied with an effete occultist to incept a wholesale massacre. Though in terms of body count, Slingby's toll was a paltry thing next to the works of the demon known as Sebastian Michaelis and the Ancient known as Pytheas. Sometimes done separately, at times in partnership, the pair left a bloodied trail through history on scales as grand as war and plague, or as petty as smothering infants in their swaddling.

It was the idea that Grell had loved Slingby that was what burned now. Not a fling, as Grell was prone to during their frequent partings, but a meeting of hearts. At the time he'd berated Grell that he gave him (her… whatever… just Grell) a trainee, not a plaything. Grell had responded saucily, and at the time Will simply dismissed it out of hand as more of Grell's theatrical personality.

Humphries dying of the Thorns… only he hadn't, had he? Slingby's scythe ended his life and freed his soul before the parasite could anesthetize and consume it. Slingby was killed by the demon - who had been ordered to kill and not to feed. Both souls, lacking a Reaper to collect and return them to the Origin, had simply… wandered off. Neither he, nor Grell, nor Ronald had arrived in time to gather them up.

And none of this was resolving the problem at hand, or all the other problems that problem spawned.

"Director Spears?" London Dispatch Manager Midford sounded tetchy as she knocked at his inner office door. "Director? If you've finished kicking yourself-"

William rubbed the permanently sore spot over his right eyebrow. "Come in, Cordelia."

When his second-in-command was tetchy, William's life became difficult. If being Supervisor, Manager, and now Director had been an expansion of rank, it came along with with the herding of ever more cats.

And Cordelia came in, giving him a look over the tops of her pink spectacles. "Done kicking yourself?"

"I am not kicking myself." William composed himself behind his desk.

"Well, you should be." His sweets dish was flagrantly burgled of the wrapped toffees. "You're the most organized, detail-oriented, intelligent, bone-headed, arsebackwards idiot I've never met."

"Insubordinate."

"But generally correct."

"On certain things." The problem was that Cordelia - as she prefered to be called - was rather insightful about matters of the heart as Reapers in general (and he in particular)were not. "I am a mortis, not a mortal."

"You went to New York, again. Visited Grell, again. Possibly contacted one or more of the reincarnates. Then had a big fluffy snit because Grell has a lover." As she said this, Cordelia helped herself to his whisky. "And this makes you a hypocrite."

"Trust you to get to the point - and give it." William huffed. "It is beside the point-"

"Isn't."

"-that a rogue and exile-"

"-coincidentally your former lover-

"-should conduct themselves with respect to mortals-"

"-and the emotionally constipated-

"-again beside the point-"

"-not to mention a green-eyed jealous little beastie-"

"-I am not, Cordelia, and as I was saying-"

"-and a stubborn one-"

"At some point this evening I should like to finish a sentence!" Will exploded, the flat of his hand connecting with the desk.

"You just did. Happy now?"

"No." Will crossed his arms on his chest.

"Grell has changed, William, and not only from the passage of time She was sentenced to exile, a life without any others of her kind - no companionship, no protection, no contact. Could anyone expect her to be grateful and forgiving?"

"I had no idea that Grell could become more disordered than previously." He had left it alone. Grell had touchy pride, and maybe - no, not maybe - he should have spoken more forcibly on Grell's behalf. "It would seem that I was in error when I thought it best to let it lie."

"Meaning you had no idea how to approach the situation and flailed."

What was it with him and the sharp-tongued? "I did not flail, Cordelia."

"Fled."

"And I am not 'emotionally constipated' - this coming from a being who persisted in speaking of 'limbs' and 'bosoms' well into her fourth decade despite marriage to Phantomhive, intercourse, conception, and parturition-"

"No changing the subject - which is not me, but you."

"And toffee and whisky is an execrable combination." It was. One or the other, but Threads bind him, not both!

"William, you read Rachel her bedtime stories from the Codex."

Oh, not this again. "Reading your daughter her bedtime stories from accurately recorded and sourced Akashic Records was intellectually sound since her mother became a Reaper-"

"Not hearing from you must have hurt Grell terribly, William."

Could she not go in a linear direction? Here to there and this to that. It was a brilliant strategy, but there were times that Will wanted to hammer his head on the desk.

"I thought Grell would come back. Grell always came back." Will rubbed at the sore spot, trying to urge the overstimulated muscle to unknot. "And when that didn't happen, I couldn't find him. Her. Whatever Grell is now."

"Wounds fester, left untreated." Cordelia nudged his untouched glass of whisky a little closer. "It's paining again, isn't it?"

This time Will simply rested his forehead in one hand and picked up the glass with the other, sipping at the Skulle & Bownes. "Cordelia-"

How did one ask a former junior, current executive officer, occasional inamorata, and steadfast friend to grant you the anodyne of her company and her bed?

Without sounding like an idiot.

Or, worse, a lech.

"Tch. Will." Setting her glass on the desk, she came around to his left side. "I've been saying for years that you need to let the medics look at it." Cordelia shooed his hand away and began to rub. "Hush."

It was annoying that when she rubbed, it stopped hurting. "I didn't say anything," he protested mildly.

"And I said hush."

William decided that he didn't understand any of it. "I told Grell that I wanted to fix it."

"You're very fortunate to have made it back alive," Cordelia scolded him, fingers combing through his hair. "There are times, my old fellow, when things cannot be fixed, but must be mended."

Will simply leaned his head on her belly. Cordelia was always warm, since her heart beat and lungs worked from the habits of her mortal life. For the life of him William could not remember if he took Cordelia to bed or she took him to bed, only that she was warm and sweet. Being freed from the mortal consequences of disease and pregnancy allowed her passion to bloom.

Other things he had left unattended brought themselves to his attention now. "I do not think I understand grief, as mortals feel it. I, too, deeply miss Rachel's presence. I have been remiss if I did not make that clear."

Reapers did not procreate, a mercy granted to those who must archive the Akashic Record and take each soul to the Origin to be spun out again. Reapers had no kin aside from each other - no parent, no child. Though Rachel had lived more than a century, mortal flesh gave way, and Cordelia had attended the Passage of her offspring herself.

"If you thought me to be… unaffected by her Passage or your grief-"

"William. Hush." Her fingers carded through his hair and he wrapped an arm around her hips, sitting in silence Cordelia rubbed the pain right out of his head.

When she stopped rubbing, Cordelia stayed in his arms and stroked his hair. While she bore him a tender affection and friendship along with her puzzling passion, William was unsure that he had earned such. As remiss as he might be in the appropriate placement of emotions and their application, perhaps Cordelia was a better friend to him than he to her.

"Come, dear fellow. Get your coat and we'll be off. Mustn't give the juniors ideas about overtime."

~

There was chicken and gravy on top of mashed potatoes and kale, and Sleeping Twinkie turned into Eating Twinkie - no doubt with an assist from the brownies. Eric was bemused, both with Humphries and with himself. Had he really become that much of a social hermit?

Apparently so, if his first question was, "Can you eat?"

This was only marginally mitigated by Humphries consuming a pile of chicken and gravy and so forth. Eric dug into his own portion with a solid appetite. Sometimes there was nothing more satisfying than the basics. He almost wanted to twit the guy about the salt, but after a meltdown like that Eric couldn't be much of an asshole.

"The gravy's really good." Humphries spoke softly, and Eric almost jumped out of his skin.

"Thanks. It's a reduction added to a brown roux."

He took another spoonful, tasting instead of just filling up. "Dripping? Not butter. It's richer than butter."

Eric eyed him. "Dripping. What are you, a food critic?"

"I'm a forensic accountant and risk consultant at a capital management firm." The spoon scraped the bowl. "I've been enjoying the food since I moved in down the block. I really thought that there were three or four chefs working out of one kitchen. You're really versatile."

"I like to cook. It's my version of music, or painting." And it was. Since he was a kid, Eric wanted to make good food. Mom had been a grilled-cheese and Campbell's soup kind of cook. Eight-year-old Eric got his hands on a cookbook for the kiddies and was out of the gate from then on. "I've been doing it since I was a kid."

"How did you get started?"

"Mom loved used bookstores." Some of his best memories came perfumed with the scents of old books. "Ronnie and I would each get ten bucks to spend on books of our own. One day I bought this book because it had brownies on the cover, and Mom sat down with me to pick out something to make."

"Ronald told me that she'd passed. My condolences." Then Humphries' eyes opened wide. "The Brew Bash! Oh, FUCK. You were supposed to go-"

Okay. This guy actually seemed nice and not like some Wall Street BSD.

"It's cool. A friend of ours went with him and-" Eric pulled out his phone and showed him the selfie of Ronnie and Rox. "He took second, but that's fifty grand in brewing equipment. With what he has going in the basement, that's about doubling his capacity to 500 barrels a year."

Eyebrows raised at the sight of Rox, but he only said, "But that's just brewing - what about bottling, storage, and distribution costs?"

"Wholesale bottles, used four-bottle filler, hand-crank labeling machine, and a printer. Huge basement. And he's going to be exclusive to Pearl Street for a while." Eric nodded at the empty bowl. "Want seconds on that?"

"Please." He looked embarrassed and a little self-conscious. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to lose it like that-"

"It's okay. I understand it."

Mortality punching you repeatedly in the face - yeah. Something to lose it over. Humphries gave him a somewhat skeptical look, but was smart enough not to pick a fight with a cook in his kitchen. Well, Eric was just in what Ronnie would call 'That Kind of Mood.'

Setting the bowls on the table, Eric shrugged down one shoulder of his jacket and pulled aside the strap of the tank top, showing the biohazard trefoil, then shrugged back into his jacket. "Believe me, I did."

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I had no idea." Humphries stared and Eric waited for the questions, the revulsion, even a freak-out at eating food prepared by a person with HIV. "You're waiting for me to lose it, aren't you?"

"Yeah. A lot of people do, even other fags."

"Well, a lot of people are ignorant, bigoted assholes - including other fags." Pointedly looked at the empty bowl, he asked, "And what do you use to get the texture on the red potatoes when you mash them?"

Eric tamped down the smile that wanted to come. "Steam. You have to steam them until they fall apart on the fork, then mash with garlic and a little olive oil. The butter doesn't go in until the kale's drained and evenly beaten in."

He picked up both bowls and refilled them, adding a drench of gravy. Humphries reached eagerly for his bowl, and looked blissful when he put a spoonful into his mouth. "It's not just the after-effects of the brownie. About twenty-four hours after chemotherapy, all I can do is eat and sleep."

"How do you feel now? Ronnie gave you one hell of a dose." It was an opening, and the guy didn't seem to be upset. "That was also some pretty heavy stuff. I use it for my PTSD - I'm not symptomatic."

That made for some wide eyes. "Wow. Iran? Afghanistan?"

Eric laughed without humor. "No. My ex. I'm just a little bundle of fucking sunshine, huh?"

"I can see why it would be good for that. I'm very calm for someone who's just lost his mind. And his hair." He took another bite. "And there's no pain. I noticed that right away. No nausea at all. And I'm warm."

Goddamn, that was hard. The only way you knew you felt good was when you didn't feel like absolute shit? "They're not giving you anything for all that?"

"Well, vicodin and ativan. And it doesn't so much make the pain go away as it makes me not care that I'm miserable." He frowned. "How long was I asleep?"

"A little over eight hours."

And Twinkie burst out laughing. "That's great! That's amazing! I haven't done that in over a month."

As loath as Eric was to part with his medicinal brownies, he'd have to be a hard-hearted son of a bitch not to. "I can hook you up. Can't charge you for them, because that's a no-no, but I can make sure you're good."

"I can't ask you to do that. It's your medicine."

"I can always make more." Because he had a big closet, LED grow lights, and a commercial-grade vent with layers of charcoal filters. "It's cool."

"It's tempting. I haven't felt good, normal, in weeks. And I still have almost two years to go, if everything goes by the book."

"Okay, chemotherapy takes it right out of you. You've lost weight, you can't get good rest, you're anxious, you're nauseated and hurting. Right?"

"Right, but-"

"The stuff they're giving you doesn't make you feel good, it just knocks you out. Right?"

"Right, but-"

"So when you get something that not only lets you eat, knocks out the pain, and puts you in dreamland for a full eight, that's a good thing. Right?"

"Right, but-"

"But?" Eric prompted.

"I'm not sure, I was waiting for you to interrupt again."

"Okay! Happy to help. So, if you find something that works, you should go with it because you're not an abstract - you're sick, you need to eat and sleep. So be practical - what works? Cannabis. What doesn't work? Ativan and vicodin - both addictive. Ah-ah-ah - sit back and relax." He wagged his spoon at Huffy Humphries. "I'm interrupting, here. So, you need a pan of brownies and I do not under-salt though it is possible you're depleting a lot of minerals such as magnesium, calcium, potassium, and iodine provided by high quality unrefined salt and perceived as a salty taste-"

"You just had to go there, didn't you? And I do not eat crappy Chinese food-"

"- as proven by the fact that you've eaten two bowls of chicken and etceteras without commenting on the salt."

"It's the reduction."

"My ass, 'reduction.'"

"Mr. Slingby?" Humphries deadpanned, "Mental image not good. Please enunciate the comma."

Eric cracked up. "Oh, man!"

"I mean, I know that Ronald claimed you were a stickler about your seasoning." He was grinning and had a wild gleam in his eye. "But I had no idea about that particular personal touch."

It was weird and on some level Eric knew that it was Humphries being brownied to the the eyeballs and him being… himself, but it felt good. Like something missed for so long that you forgot how good it had been, and that you'd really missed it that much.

"Look, eat some dessert, have another brownie, and you can crash upstairs until Ronnie gets in. I'll run you and your bike home in Ronnie's car." Eric offered. "It's pouring rain again, and this time of night, on a weekend, in the Financial District you're going to wait forever for a cab."

He considered. "I'm not bumping anyone out of bed or getting in the way?"

"Nope. I'll fix you up a spot on the couch. It's warmer than it is down here after I put the kitchen to bed for the night."

Warm and comfortable were powerful persuaders, so after dishing out the ricotta cakes and berry coulis, that's just what Eric did. The Purple Passion Pit made a nice nest when it was miserable outside, so Eric just loaded it with extra bedding and an electric blanket. And this time, a smaller brownie would do.

It was nice, when Eric thought about it, to have an appreciative eater. Humphries might not be a chef, but knew his shit nonetheless.

Eric came back down to find empty bowls and a Sleeping Twinkie. It was hard work digesting all that food. Poor squirt must feel like a python with more ambition than room. "Wakey-wakes, sunshine. Let's get you upstairs."

They didn't even have to part Sleeping Twinkie from his comforter, and the second brownie was not needed. Humphries was asleep before his head met the pillow. Eric turned on the electric blanket, took off Humphries' glasses and put them out of harm's way, then spent a few minutes in the kitchen cutting and wrapping brownies. It was a little after three in the morning when he turned out the lights and pulled the covers up, thinking that he might not get to sleep.

He woke up, slightly confused, at around noon on Sunday. Ronnie was home, passed out in his room, and there was a note from Rox on the fridge that ze had a marvellous time and Eric's benjamin was back in his wallet.

I took Ronnie for a treat at Jack's Oyster Bar. We smoked pipes and drank port - both of which made him queasy - and then I brought him home. Alan was sleeping soundly. I helped myself to two roast beef sandwiches and apple mini pies. Call me when you're up and about.

XXX,

Rox

Chapter 13

Summary:

Alan Humphries is a man who has it all together - until a diagnosis of leukemia leaves him adrift, alone, and afraid.

In this chapter - new courses.

Notes:

I am very sorry to be so late with this chapter, but have tried to make it worth the wait. With thanks to Kitty and Poppy for their endless patience and to my readers for theirs. And especially than all of you who let me know in whatever way, what you think of the story.

Chapter Text

Alan woke to kitchen sounds. Eyes closed and warm in his guest-nest, he listened as someone rummaged the fridge and started coffee. Still no pain and no nausea, though the real test would be injecting the Filgrastim this evening. Part of his mind clung to the state of feeling good and wailed for those brownies. Though Alan did not want to deprive Eric of his medicine - that was some ex - he did not want to feel miserable long enough to become accustomed to it.

A peek out of the quilt-cocoon provided him with a view of his host in a pair of tartan-pattern flannel pyjama bottoms and a pair of… bear-paw slippers?

Nicely toned back, though. Complete with gravy train.

Hush, Alan.

His host stumbled down the hall and into the bath - which Alan had found well enough at some point when it was still dark - and turned on the shower. Ronald came down the hall a few minutes later and peered blearily at the coffee pot.

"Aw, fuck. Hurry uuuup."

Alan made 'waking up noises' to let Ronald know he was here, then lifted his head out of the blankets as he adjusted his glasses. He must have scared Ronald horribly, breaking down like that.

"Um. Good morning, and congratulations."

"Hey, Alan! How're you doing?" Ronald, hung-over and steampunky ensemble nowhere in sight, took three mugs down from the hooks under the cabinet. "About the brownie…"

"Ronald, your brother explained things. It's fine, and I am honestly grateful." He still felt pretty good, too. "I haven't slept so much or so well in a month."

A wave of coffee scent rolled from the kitchen and Alan breathed deep.

"Good. You look better, too. I mean, that's a lot of sleep."

"And food," Alan added.

Ronald grinned. "He stuffed you, didn't he? That's Eric - if it holds still, feed it."

"Wiped out again after two bowls of chicken and gravy, plus ricotta cakes and coulis."

"Yeah, I ended up not liking oysters and port so much."

"But you took one hell of a prize - one I think might be better than first place."

"I was bummed for about five minutes until I figured that out." Coffee was forthcoming, and Ronald brought Alan a cup with cream. "I mean, I'll be exclusive to Pearl Street for a while, but I have my brand to build." The shower shut off and Ronald held up a finger to Alan, signaling for silence, then shouted, "I'm making breakfast!"

"Touch that stove and I break your fingers, Beer Brat!" came the bellow. "And we've got a guest, so keep your fucking voice down!"

"That's a poor thing to do to someone before coffee," Alan reproached, trying not to laugh.

"Yeah, but it's fun." Ronald raised his voice again. "And lend Alan some sweats!"

"Be reasonable. Your brother's clothing would fit me like a lawn bag."

"Quit jerking my chain before I have my coffee, you ass," Eric growled. "I can do things to your food that would fuck you up for life."

"He's under the impression that I can't feed or dress myself," Ronald confided.

"You do look more mature without the face foliage and with the the new glasses," Alan ventured. "Very Millennial Alternative Entrepreneur."

Ronald absolutely preened. "You think? I thought my look was getting too mainstream."

"The Trinity knot is very distinctive." Good Lord. It wasn't just Eric who was the peacock. Ronald was fanning his tail and having a strut, too.

"He buys a shirt without someone else's name on it and all of a sudden he's Joe Fashion Forward." Eric came grumping down the hall in a bathrobe that looked to be a concession to Alan's presence and made straight for the coffee maker. "You probably blew the competition away last night, though."

"It was Rox that made the scene, man. When I grow up, I want to give that few fucks." He laughed. "The guy from the Village Voice interviewed her first, then the Hot Sheet, and the Daily Smoke blog."

"I told Rox ze'd class up the joint too much." Eric poured an extravagant amount of cream into his coffee and drank deeply. "Oh, coffee. How I love you. Hey, Humphries, how're you feeling?"

"Really… good. Rested. Hungry again. Good. After sixteen hours plus of sleep, it's like getting my body back." And it was. How could he be this relaxed? It was amazing.

"You want to grab a shower, go ahead. I'll make pancakes and then run you and your bike back home in the…"

Ronald growled with unexpected ferocity. "Don't you dare."

"Moby Melon," Eric finished with Ronald glaring at him.

Alan hid his smile in a long sip of coffee. Brothers.

"And then I'm drafting you to bring back the new equipment with me, Eric."

"What, second place doesn't include delivery? What a fucking rip. Do we need a U-Haul?"

"Yeah, and it's in Brooklyn."

"Of course it is." Eric sighed.

"Alan, Eric's a total Manhattanite." Ronald proclaimed, "He just won't budge out of the borough. He's like Dracula with sunlight."

"Nuh-uh. Not getting in that one." Alan made the time-out sign. "I'm in no condition to duck flying pies."

"Keep it up, Ronnie. Keep messing with me. I'm the one who makes the pancakes."

"Eric makes beer pancakes, Alan." Then he turned to his brother. "I want blueberries."

"It's good to want things, butthead." Eric grumped and hooked a thumb at his brother, bringing Alan back into play. "This guy, Humphries. Big brass balls."

"Beer pancakes?" Alan steered for the neutral course, trying to stave off laughter. "How does that work?"

The two of them launched into a whipsaw explanation of the art and science of brewing and the exacting nature of pancake making, and Alan went along for the ride. Yes, he and Eric might be awful at new people, but they had their enthusiasms. Nothing would do but to make a batch of pancakes with pumpkin, spice, and a rich brown porter ale. And Eric was right. Most pumpkin pancakes were soggy mess, but the addition of beer lightened the dough, and made for spongy, airy cakes that sopped up butter and blackstrap molasses.

Alan, as guest, was given dibs on the bath next. Ronald was detailed to the dishes and Eric went downstairs to sign for and put away a delivery of eggs and dairy. A pair of sweats from Ronald replaced his slept-in clothing, and Alan bundled them into his backpack. The moment of truth was looking in the mirror, then running his fingers through what hair had not washed down the drain. It felt like a punch in the chest.

That was him.

This was real.

He came out of the bath to find Ronald with a rather smaller brownie on a plate and a glass of milk.

"Eric says." Ronald held them out.

"It's a bit hard to deal with." Alan pointed at his head and the patchy brown hair remaining before taking the brownie. "I don't think I'm handling it too well."

"It's not like stubbing your toe on the sofa, man."

The brownie went down with a swallow of milk. Extra chocolatey. No 'herby' taste at all, just a rich and buttery undertone. "Eric offered me a share of his brownies, but I don't want to take his medicine from him."

"If they did you that much good, I'd take him up on it, Alan." Ronald leaned in and confided, "That, and he can be an enormous pain in the ass."

"You tease him, Ronald." This time Alan did laugh - the image of competing peacocks was just too strong.

"It's my job!" Ronald asserted. "It keeps him on his toes."

"Beer Brat. Pie. With your name on it." Ronald jumped a foot in the air and then turned, coming down facing his brother. "You have a delivery. Cayuga Farms bundled your oats and barley with mine. Go check yours in."

Ronald looked around for imminent flying pies, and seeing none but perhaps not wishing to push his luck, scooted down the hallway.

Awkward was really awful. Hands. What did you do with them? Alan stuffed his in the pocket of the sweatshirt as Eric tried not to look at his patchy head. "Um. Chemotherapy's catching up with me, I guess. It looks awful."

"I have clippers. Can lend them to you." Eric took a good look - his eyes were such a piercing blue-green that the effect was unsettling. "It's not even that bad. You could even get away with kind of a low fade."

"Probably, but for how long? At least it wouldn't be as bad when it fell out, though." Alan ran his fingers through and came away with more hair. "I'll make an appointment with my barber tomorrow."

The thought was dispiriting, but it probably would feel better to be sheared short. At least then it wouldn't fall off in hanks. Perhaps not especially in front of Mr. Hot Butch Honey, but his pride simply could not get any lower than this.

Eric seemed to be having hands issues as well, stuffing them in the pockets of his jeans and giving Alan another of those unsettlingly keen looks. "I can give you a fade. I do my own 'hawk and clean up Ronnie's undercut when he's tight on cash."

And in a few minutes, Alan was sitting on a stool in the middle of the bathroom floor, towel around his neck, and the clippers humming along his scalp behind the combing of Eric's fingers. There was a quibble over a fade or just an overall buzz, and excellent care taken around his ears. And it might make him a big wuss, but Alan had closed his eyes when the clippers started.

Eric had very gentle hands for such a brusque presentation. Though since he was a chef, perhaps Alan should not be surprised. There was a hint of a citrusy aftershave and a warm, almost spiced scent that Alan could not put a name to.

The clippers clicked off. "Okay. You can look."

As if it was Eric's idea to have Alan close his eyes. But okay. Alan opened them and regarded his reflection in the mirror. It was a fade, but with the thinning of his hair at least he didn't look so pathetic. "Thank you."

"S'all right." Eric unplugged the clippers and removed the blade.

Objectively, it wasn't so bad. Alan ran a hand over the scant quarter-inch fuzz left him. "It's a good job. Looks good."

Eric shot him a look of disbelief, but said nothing.

"I need to jolly myself along sometimes, so just let me do it, okay?" Right now, Alan couldn't bear to have that taken away. It might have to go at some point, but not yet. "I'm trying, you know."

"Yeah. I know."

"Thanks."

"You can roll over here any time, you know," Eric blurted. "I'm shit for company, but Ronnie thinks the world of you."

Simple presentation, Alan reminded himself, but complex seasonings. "That means a lot, but I don't want to… you know… be a Debbie Downer."

"You're not bad company. You don't tell me how to cook."

Alan was not going to mention the fennel. "I promise to at least check in."

"And if you feel like shit, we can bring stuff to you."

Alan parsed for a hint of pity or condescension, and found only the blunt pragmatism of someone who isn't interested in theory, just results. "I'd appreciate that. But I really like coming down here. It feels less like I'm living in a fishbowl."

Eric nodded. "Just so you know."

Alan pulled his knit cap over his new fade. "All I need is a goatee and I'll look like a hipster."

"Facial hair is so mainstream." Eric smirked. "Next thing you know they're going to cultivate their ear hair."

"Fuck, but that's gross." Alan laughed out loud, carefully taking off the towel so that the hair didn't go everywhere. "But you know, someone's probably already thought of just that?"

"If they haven't, there has to be a way to plant the idea somehow. It would be a good laugh." The towel went in the hamper, hair and all, quite neatly. The clipper took a spray of Clippercide and Eric glanced at him. "Okay?"

"Yeah. As okay as I'm getting. I appreciate… everything. You and Ronald have been wonderfully kind over this." Andrea was kind, but he took care not to let her know how bad it could get in his head. "The brownies have really helped. More than I thought they would."

"Good. Because you've got a pan waiting downstairs."

Well. 'Eric says' indeed.

"I am not going to take your medicine away from you."

"I have a steady and reliable supply."

"I don't know how that works but I know that if you need it for yourself, I don't want you running short-"

"Which is not going to happen-"

"People do not normally talk when I am talking-"

"New things happen every day." Eric took his arm. "Come and see."

Somehow Alan managed to argue down the hall and into Eric's room - a rather monastic space with a daybed, desk, armoire, reading chair, bookshelves, and dresser. No carpet, bare walls, and a… capacious closet full of… stuff. Lights and little tubs filled with squat, bushy plants, a pump humming quietly from under the tables and a vent that sounded like a 747 taking off from LaGuardia.

And a rather… sweet funky smell.

"I'm not sure when I'm looking at, here. The stuff I had in undergrad was green and smelled like skunky corn chips."

"This is a hybrid - about 40 percent indica and 60 percent ruderalis. I wanted something lower in THC and higher in CBD." Alan must have looked blank at that, as Eric continued. "Cannabidiol - it's the 'second cannabinoid' behind delta-9-tetrahydrocannabinol."

"THC being the stuff that gets you stoned?" Alan hazarded, hoping he didn't sound like a total idiot. "The munchies and all?"

"Yeah, it does that, but a lot of other things, too. I have some research." Eric took a binder out of a desk drawer and held it out. "Most of it's related to PTSD and HIV, but there's a lot of other stuff in there. There's even evidence that THC is cytotoxic to certain cancer cell lines."

Alan took it, looked in at the plants, and thought of all the time put into growing and learning about them. "If I'm not putting you out by taking your medicine and your research, then thank you. Yes, I will take the brownies."

They drove back to Alan's in Ronald's station wagon - and there was a discussion about Ronald's color aesthetics. Eric mentioned that he called the car the Snot Rocket, and Alan dubbed the sofa the Grape Grope Grotto. "Still, he did look well in his outfit."

"Rox dressed him. Alan, you should have seen it before. He looked like Scarlett O'Hara coming down the stairs in that dress made out of her drapes-" Eric peered at Alan's building and whistled. "Nice."

"Thanks. I bought my co-op here about the time that you and Ronald opened up." Eric eased Alan's bike out of the wagon, visibly impressed with the light titanium frame and the fat urban wheels. The brownie pan Alan strapped to the cargo deck. "I'll run Ronald's sweats back tomorrow when I come to pick up my supplies. Thanks for everything."

"Welcome. No problem." The awkward came back and Eric stuffed his hands in his pockets again. "See you Monday?"

Alan smiled. "See you Monday."

Upstairs he hung his bike on the stand and put the brownies in the refrigerator. The place felt quiet and empty, as if it hadn't missed him at all. As it he was not really home.

"Come on, asshole. Do not brain, do yoga."

Unzipping the hoodie, Alan went to change and then set up the Wii.

~

Eric drove Humphries home in the Snot Rocket, that fancy-ass titanium hardtail bike in the back of the station wagon. Alan held the pan of brownies on his lap like precious cargo. Eric watched him wheel the bike in the lobby door, waving awkwardly when the squirt looked back at him. So he was just making sure that he made it home.

And then Alan waved back.

[aves-ery]

The Woman in the Cabin; W. Maximoff

*not my gif*

pairing; wanda maximoff x fem!reader

summary; a runaway happens to stumble upon wanda maximoff

warnings; talk of physical abuse

You had sprinted away from the small town, immediately into the mountains and into the forests. The man you called your boyfriend, now ex boyfriend, had gotten drunk and threw you into the wall. If you didnt get out then, it would've been worse.

It had been a few days now, and you were growing inpatient with food and water. You hadn't packed anything, you had just left, which the more you think about the more you have mixed feelings about.

Your dress was now dirty and your flannel was the only thing protecting your arms... not that it was doing good now, it was torn from leaves and branches and soaked from blood and tears.

You heard the stream of water running, and you stumbled while running towards it. The ground began to shine and you threw your flannel and dress off before shoving yourself into the water.

You sighed in relief, wrapping your arms around your body. Some wounds stung, like the ones on your calfs and your knees.

As you were washing your body, your eyes started to wander over the view. Quickly though, you noticed a small, log cabin in between the valley of mountains. How had you not noticed it before?

You almost tripped trying to get out of the river, stumbling to cover up, deciding to just throw the flannel over your undergarments. It barely touched mid thigh. You slipped on your shoes, and stumbled down the rest of the mountain and into the valley.

As you stood outside the cabin, you were debating if someone lived in there. If someone did, you would have to explain why you were a mess, even still dirty after sitting in the river for a few minutes. You'd have to explain why you were miles away from civilization.

With a deep sigh, you made your way up onto the deck, your dress neatly folded and draped on your arm. You bit your lip hard, and knocked lightly three times.

There was the sound of ruffling on the other side, you backed up just a little, and tightened your grip on your dress.

"Who is it?" A voice asked from the other side. Before you could answer, the door flung open, revealing a ginger woman in jeans and a button-up. She had a bright smile on her face. "Hello!" She said.

"Um hi." You said nervously under her gaze. The woman eyed your choice of clothes, and her eyes quickly turned into concern, and then widened in realization.

"You're- You're the runaway from town." She spoke fast, and took your hand and drug you inside. You panicked, she knew who you were. She'd take you back.

"Please don't take me back. I can't go back th-"

"Hey. No. No. After you left, I was there that day, word quickly spread on what he did. I'm sorry that he did that." She closed the door, and tilted her head. "I have some brownies baking in the oven? How about you stay? It's much better than... staying out there." She gave you a warming smile, and you nodded, already intrigued by the woman and how sweet she was.

She walked farther into the cabin, it wasn't that late but it was nice and quiet. A lot different from the small but loud town. The woman gestured to the couch, inviting you to sit. You did, and watched as she cleaned up a few dishes and took the brownies out of the oven.

"So, my name is Wanda. You might want to know that if you're staying for awhile." She said, already taking out a brownie, and hissing at how hot it was on her hand. You laughed, and adjusted to sit on your legs.

"Y/n. You probably already know that," You smiled as she set another brownie on a plate and handed you one. "Thank you," You said softly.

"Can I wash your dress and flannel? I'll get you a sun dress and another flannel if you'd like, I have plenty. Or anything else. You can look through my closet if you'd like. And you can take a shower. If you want. It's totally up to you." Wanda rambled, already shuffling to her room to grab a sundress.

"I'd like a shower! I can go in after and look at some of the clothes?" You yelled. Wanda gave a thumbs up from our her bedroom door, and came back with a towel.

______

Wanda was a very caring person, she let you wear her clothes and walk around without your socks on. She did tell you you have to atleast wear socks when outside. Your ex boyfriend, Jakob, wouldn't allow you to. You had to have your socks on inside, and you hated it. You liked to be barefoot, like to have your feet feel the different surfaces.

It wasn't just the fact she let you walk around with no shoes or wear her clothes, but the first night she had let you sleep in her bed, and didn't complain when you had shakily told her that you didn't like onions on your food.

"Holy shit! I'm so sorry." she quickly took it away from you. Silently cursing herself for not asking you what you like on your food.

"It's okay! It smells delicious though, Wanda." You beamed at her, and messed with the hem of her dress you were wearing.

It's another thing you liked about her. The way her clothes smelt, and why did they fit perfectly on your body?

"So off topic," Wanda was already cooking you new food as she spoke to you, "I have to go to town. I just went, but I didn't know I'd have an extra women staying with me. So I need some more food," She looked up at you. "You don't need to come with, I actually don't expect you to. But I just wanted to give you a warning before I left."

"That's fine. I'll probably hangout here and take a nap," You said and waddled over to stand beside her. The ginger looked at you, her green eyes dark and hazy, making you shift on your feet. "Maybe you should take a nap too, you look tired."

"Yeah, the couch isn't all that comfortable to sleep on," She looked down at the food, chuckling to herself.

"You can always take the bed, Wanda. Or we can share it. We are both adults." You took the oab off the stove, and preparing your meal.

Wanda blushed profusely, looking away and turning off the stove. You smiled at her side profile, and slipped behind her, lightly brushing her lower back.

______

When Wanda came back, you were cuddled up to her pillows and in one of her bigger shirts. The ginger blushed at it, and set the bags down on the floor. She had shut the door so she wouldn't bother you.

Wanda put everything away, and set the few things she got for you out. She has bought you a new flannel jacket, hence fall was coming up. There was also a few new outfits. They were mostly jeans and skirts, because it was most the stuff of hers you wore.

"Wands?" You groggily asked, standing in the doorframe, her blanket wrapped around your shoulders.

Wanda's stomach fluttered with butterflies at the sight, and she quickly looked away. "Hi, Y/n. I bought you... um I bought you a few things."

You smiled brightly, and waddled over to look at them. The second you looked at the clothes, tears welled your eyes and you closed them. "Wanda..." You whispered.

"I just... I don't mind you in my clothes but since you're staying for awhile- I don't know- I thought you might want something of your own! And maybe you're own bedroom too, we could hire someone for an add on. I just- I want you here, Y/N, here with me. Safe. So no one else can hurt you. Not him. Not the townspeople. No one." She looked at you, now realizing her words probably scared you away. They didn't though, they calmed you. Someone wanted you. Wanted you safe. You wanted to kiss her, to show her you wanted her too. Wanted to be here. Instead, though, you hugged her.

The woman hugged back immediately. Her arms tight around your waist, lifting you up slightly. Your arms around her neck, and then one dropping to her stomach so you could bury your face in her neck.

The hug was comforting, the best hug you've gotten in awhile. She smelt of the blossoms that were scattered through the yard.

The older woman rested her chin on top of your head, standing on her tiptoes to do so. Eventually, the two of you pulled away, still close enough, though, to be able to want to kiss her. That it was insanely hard to not press eachothers lips together.

Wanda leaned her forehead onto yours, brushing her fingertips along your forearm, and then wrapping around your back, to bring you in even closer.

The proximity of your guys' lips was now unbearable. The two of you so close, that you'd do the thing were you'd nudge your head up and get closer, but still resisting.

"Wanda, I really want to kiss you..." You mumbled, wrapping your arms around her neck once again. Wanda bit her lip tightly, probably drawing blood.

"I..." Wanda closed her eyes tightly, before backing away. You were shocked, and immediately wrapped your arms around your body, backing away too. "I think um, I'm gonna make some pasta tonight," Wanda turned away, eyes shut tightly. She regretted not kissing you, why did she pull away? You said you wanted to kiss her, what was pulling her away from you?

"I'm gonna-" Your voice cracked, you wanted to cry. It made you stand up straighter, knowing that she might catch you about to cry over a non-existent kiss. "Gonna take a shower." You quickly finished.

You spun around fast, immediately going to Wanda's room to grab a pair of shorts and a sweatshirt. You then headed into the bathroom, immediately breaking into tears.

Not wanting Wanda to hear you cry, you started the shower. Stripping yourself of your clothes and stumbling into the shower. Tears were streaming down your face, and you accidentally let out a loud sob, one Wanda would most likely hear.

You sat, too lazy to stand. The one person who cared to even have you around, didn't even want you the way you wanted her. You held your hands to your ears, crying harder, biting your lip so she wouldn't hear you.

It meant nothing to her, a silly mistake with a random girl who showed up on her doorstep, that she felt obligated to take care of. That was it.

______

When you woke up in the morning, you were curled on the couch, face still red from crying yourself to sleep. You tried convincing yourself you were overreacting.

Wanda was already up, sleeping great for the first time in awhile. Wanda felt guilty for not taking the couch, but when you had emerged from the shower last night, you hadn't said a word to her. Didn't eat. Just laid on the couch, trying to hide the fact that she knew you were crying. The redhead also felt bad for not kissing you, despite wanting to feel your plump lips against her own. Because she knew the moment you'd kiss her, or vice versa, you would tangle your perfect hands in her hair. And then she'd drag her hands down your neck, adding light pressure. It'd make you gasp for air, and then she'd find a way in, so her tongue could dance with yours. The kiss would end up in Wanda with an extreme attachment, more than the one she has now. And attachment leads to heartbreak, and Wanda sore to never let anyone hurt you. Ever again.

You turned around, eyes blurry, not adjusted to the light yet, or the smell of pancakes and bacon. Her figure was there, humming and listening to a Taylor Swift song.

"And there's a dazzling haze, a mysterious way about you dear," She sang out loud. You're heart swelled at her voice. "Have I known you twenty seconds, or twenty years?"

You sat up, stretching slightly and walked up to the counter. Wanda jumped at your presence and held her hand to her thumping heart. "Give a girl a warning next time, bun."

You're stomach filled with butterflies at the name, and you turned away clenching your jaw at the thought of last night. Wanda noticed and looked down at the food.

"Do... do you want to.. to um talk about it?" Wanda asked with a deep breath and close of her eyes. You bit down on your lip controlling a sob.

"Yes... yes please," You looked at her, your eyes welling with tears. Wanda panicked, and turned off the stove. She sat you down on the couch, her full attention on you as she sat with you.

Tension filled the air and Wanda played with the hem of her tank top. "Okay, what happened last night. Y/n... I wanted... I want to kiss you. But-But I... I. God this is gonna sound so dumb. I told you I wouldn't let anyone hurt you, and that means me too, Y/N."

Your heart fluttered at her words, and then you frowned, "Wanda, it's what a relationship... it's what relationship is. And I want you, to kiss me, please." You looked at her

Wanda laughed, a little bit at you, and moved her hands to wrap around your waist, "Relationships also mean talking about things."

"Well, I want you, Wanda. And we can't be shared to go into it. I know, you'd never hurt me like him. The month I've been here you've been the sweetest, and you are nothing like him. I trust you. With all my heart," You grew happier with every look she gave you. "So, I think, we could kiss? Once, baby?" You kissed her

Wanda gasped, kissing back and hugging you into the kiss. She ran her hands up your back. You grabbed her shoulders pushing her onto the couch. The kiss was sweet, even if you and Wanda didn't acknowledge the underlying hunger, even if both of you felt it. Wanda had smiled in the kiss, causing you two to break apart.

You let your head fall onto your shoulder, and you laughed. "Twice? Can we kiss again?" Wanda laughed too, pulling you into her again, a deep, lovely kiss.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

I’m late to the party but “I’ll take care of you” for the five sentence fic?

(B/Daniel belongs to @hackles-up - Scott and Connor Manning are mine.)

CW: Death threats, whumper trying to be a better person but being shit at it, recovering whumpees

"I don't like the way you look at me, lately." Connor waves the chef's knife in his hand lazily, and Scott's eyes track it, his heart beating a little faster as he kneads the dough, punching and then rolling and stretching, over and over again. "Like you're going to put arsenic in my soup."

Scott forces himself to take a deep breath, and looks down. Kneel, his instincts scream. Tell him to have your mouth, or you. Make him happy.

Romantics are only safe if someone's fucking them.

He fights it off with every ounce of strength he has. He keeps working the dough, reminding himself that there are other things his hands can do, now. "I don't even know what arsenic is."

"It's like poison powder. My Aunt Anne used to watch this movie-... That isn't the point. The point is that I don't like it. I feed you, I get you clothes, I take you into town sometimes. You know? I hide you from Ferrick when he visits-"

Scott feels a chill down his spine and closes his eyes against the memory of John Ferrick's wandering, cruel hands. He stills, hands buried in the elastic dough.

"Like, I do whatever you and my sweetness need me to do," Connor continues, seemingly oblivious. "And still you look at me like I have three heads and four sets of fangs."

"He deserves better than you." Scott can't help it - the words come out on their own. He takes in a breath but despite the panic inside him, his mouth won't stop moving. "You're a handler."

"I was a-"

"You're still a handler. You don't get to just shrug off everything you-... you did to us because you feel bad about it now. If I thought Daniel-"

"B-"

"Daniel wouldn't be angry with me, I'd k-kill you right here and n-n-now-" He shudders, terrified of himself, of what might happen next.

Connor only stares at him, dark eyes wide, chef's knife aimed squarely at Scott's chest. "What?"

"I'd-... I'd take Daniel." Scott shapes the dough into a rough loaf and drops it into a bread pan, trying to hide his shaking hands. "And leave. Go somewhere."

"Where?"

"Anywhere. Away from y-you. You're still... You're still everything terrible that ever happened to us and I hope you choke on a bone one day when Daniel isn't inside and I swear to God, Handler Manning-... Connor, I swear if that happens I'll w-watch you die."

There's another long silence while Scott opens the preheated oven and shoves the bread pan inside, hearing it thunk against the back as it slides along the metal rack. He lets the oven door close with a thump, and turns around to find Connor's knife just touching his breastbone, pricking the cloth of his shirt.

"I'm taking care of my baby," Connor says, voice low. His eyes are darker than ever. "You get that? I got him out of there, I gave him a place to stay, I gave him the barn cats, I gave him you-"

"I don't want to be given to anyone anymore!" Scott is pushed backwards by Connor's weight. Their hips push together, a feathery pleasure twisted sick in the base of his pelvis. The oven digs against the small of his back, heat rising up his shirt, tickling the nape of his neck. "Don't-"

"Why not? You just said you would." Connor hums. Outside, B is singing to himself as he works on the yard. Scott could cry out. That's all. Just one yell...

"Listen to me," Connor whispers. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'll take care of you, because my sweetness wants me to. But if you take him away from me... Before he's ready-"

Scott sees the twist of pain and guilt that Connor shudders with before he shoves it away.

"-if you take my baby... I'll find you. And I'll take care of you a different way. All it takes, Scott, is one little scan of that barcode. So stop looking at me like that, and enjoy your fucking life out here. All I want is to be here with my baby. Just my fucking luck he loves you, too."

Connor turns and stalks out of the room, the knife dropping with a clatter onto the counter as he goes. The door opens and shuts. Connor calls out a greeting to B, who shyly returns it.

Scott closes his eyes.

They're kissing.

He knows it.

He sinks slowly down to seated on the old tile floor, his back against the oven, hands pressing slowly over his mouth.

He hates it here.

But he can't leave Daniel, and Daniel won't leave Connor Manning.

[the-bau-quinjet]

Hygge

Summary: Y/N introduces Bucky to the little things that he missed out on since the 40s.

Warnings: Absolutely none, just fluff :)

Word Count: 3527

a/n: Hygge is a Danish word, and from what I can tell it perfectly encompasses finding happiness in the little things.

This request honestly had me smiling the whole time I wrote it. Thank you to everyone who gave me suggestions of things to introduce Bucky to (including my sisters who don't know why I asked them that question lol)

Also, I find happiness in looking at this gif so I would like to thank @thebritishstanfan for its existence on this app

You heard the door open just as you finished running the bath.

"Bucky!" You ran out to the living room, throwing your arms around him in greeting.

"Hi, Doll." He whispered into hair, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. He instantly relaxed at your touch.

"I have a surprise for you." You grabbed his hand, leading him to the bathtub. "I thought you might want to relax a bit, so I ran you a bath."

Just being in your presence was relaxing to him, but he wouldn't turn down a bath, especially one with the potential of you joining him.

"Are you going to relax with me?" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively eliciting a laugh from you.

"Maybe later, this is about you right now." You smiled softly, eager to help him unwind.

He undressed quickly, lowering himself into the warm water as you searched through a shopping bag.

"Okay. Big Blue, Intergalactic, Love Boat, or Goddess?" You looked at him expectantly.

He stared at you, confusion evident on his face.

"Oh, do you want to smell them and then decide?" You questioned with a tilt of your head.

"Smell what?" His brows furrowed, mouth slightly agape.

"The bath bombs silly." You smiled brightly, bringing the bag closer to him.

"Why would I want a bomb in my bath?" He questioned your odd behavior.

"It's not a real bomb, Buck." You shook your head, randomly removing one of the bath bombs from the bag, Goddess. You held it out for him to take.

"Smell it." You instructed.

He was apprehensive in his movements, but slowly moved the purple ball to his nose.

"It smells like flowers." He stated plainly, waiting for you to explain more.

"Yep. Here, smell the rest of them." You handed him each of the bath bombs, waiting to hear his verdict on each one.

"Oh, that's surprisingly citrus-y." He held out Love Boat for you to take back.

"This one smells too clean." He shook his head, dropping Big Blue into the outstretched bag.

"I like this one." He held Intergalactic in his hand, smiling proudly.

"Perfect. Lower it into the water." Your eyes were filled with love as you watched him follow your instructions.

"It's fizzing." He looked at you, concern evident in his bright blue eyes.

"It's supposed to. It dissolves in the water, coloring the bath and also adding scent from essential oils." You did your best to explain.

"Why?" He narrowed his eyes in confusion.

"It's just... have you ever heard of hygge?" You waited for his answer.

"Yeah, I've heard the word. It's like feeling cozy and happy from little things." He looked to you for approval.

"Exactly. That's what bath bombs are for, at least to me. They make me happy, so I thought you might like to try one."

The bath water had turned a dark blue, glitter floating throughout.

"Nobody thought to explain bath bombs to me, I guess." He smiled at you, relaxing into the bath. "What else makes you happy?"

"You know what, I'll make a list of little things that I love and then we can spend a day together where I show them to you." You bit your lip in anticipation of his response.

"I'd love that." He grinned.

"Yay! I'm going to get started!" You quickly left the bathroom, leaving him to relax on his own.

-

"What's got you so excited?" Sam gestures to your bouncing knee.

"Oh, I didn't even notice. I'm just showing Bucky some things that he's missed out on since the 40s." You smile grew as you thought about the list you had made.

You were just about to find Bucky and show him the list when you had to leave for an impromptu mission.

You were definitely annoyed your plans had been delayed, but it made you a force to be reckoned with while fighting.

"So that's why you were so ruthless. You've got a hot date." Sam winked.

"Whatever you say Sam." You shook your head. "I've got to drop by Starbucks before they close. See you later!" You called as you ran from the jet, still in mission gear.

The disheveled state of your clothing and hair earned you some looks from the Starbucks employees, but you were too excited to care.

You quickly stopped in your room to change before heading off to find Bucky.

"BuckyBuckyBuckyBuckyBuckyBuckyBuckyBuckyBucky!" You said his name over and over as you ran to the common area.

Skidding to a stop, you held up the drinks in your hands. "Bucky! Are you ready?"

He seemed to be in the middle of something with Steve, but abandoned it immediately at the sight of you.

"Sorry, punk. I've gotta go." He grabbed a drink from you, sliding his other hand into your newly empty one.

"Wow, jerk. You get a girlfriend and replace me!" Steve yelled after you in a joking tone.

"Don't worry Stevie. Nobody could replace you." You called back over your shoulder, dragging Bucky to the kitchen.

"Okay, I've got a few different categories. The first one we're going to tackle is food!" You smiled brightly, nearly bouncing in anticipation.

"Can you preheat the oven to 350 degrees?" You asked as you grabbed a bag from the freezer.

You swiftly dumped the contents onto the tray, shoving them into the oven while it preheated.

"Aren't you supposed to wait until it's hot?" Bucky watched as you slid around the room.

"Yes, but I've always been impatient. It'll be fine. I promise! While those are cooking, I've got a few other things for you. These are from the 90s."

You handed him a bag of flamin' hot cheetos, watching with bated breath as he opened it and sniffed the contents.

"They smell bizarre. Why are they so red?" He looked at the cheeto in his hand with confusion.

"It's the flamin' hot cheeto dust! It may be unnaturally red, but it's so satisfying to eat." You grabbed the bag from him, eating a cheeto of your own.

He eyed you carefully, slowly popping the cheeto into his mouth and chewing carefully.

"Doll, these are terrible." He deadpanned, grinning when you pouted.

"Bucky!" You whined. "You have to eat more than one for the full experience. It doesn't matter that they aren't the best flavor wise, there's just something about them that's addicting." You laughed, eating a few more cheetos.

"Alright, alright. I'll follow your lead." The two of you snacked as you brought his attention to the next item.

"Okay, these don't really go with the cheeto flavor, but they still make me happy. Starbucks only does holiday drinks around the holidays, obviously. These are my two favorite."

You handed him one beverage, gesturing for him to try it.

"Minty..." He waited for an explanation.

"Yes. Peppermint mocha!" You swapped the cups, letting him try the next drink. "That one is an eggnog latte."

"They're both pretty good, although I still like my coffee black." He placed the cup back on the counter.

"Yeah, I thought you might say that. There's just something about them. Probably because they're seasonal drinks. It makes me associate them with the holidays and spending time with friends and family and that makes me smile."

He pressed a kiss to your nose. "You are too cute."

"I know!" You scrunched your nose, knowing he finds it adorable. "Next item!" You presented him with three different packages of Oreos.

"Why so many?" He questioned.

"Because, they're different flavors. I now Oreos were originally produced in like 1912 or something, that's why I got different flavors."

"Actually, I don't think I've ever tried one." He eyed the blue package excitedly.

"Ahh, while I got double stuffed because they're obviously better than the regular ones. I've also got peanut butter and mint. Honestly, pretty mild flavors all things considered." You laughed, picturing the key lime flavor you avoided.

Bucky grabbed one of each, excited to try all three.

"I think the mint one is my favorite. It really goes with the peppermint mocha." He nodded as he spoke, as if he needed to convince himself.

"I'm glad you're enjoying yourself." You smiled, watching as he ate three more cookies.

Before he could reply, the timer went off.

"The dino nuggies!" You reached for the potholder, pulling the tray out of the over. "This is the last food item."

He looked at the tray, confusion clear in his eyes.

"Doll, are these just chicken nuggets?" He picked up a brontosaurus from the tray.

"Well, yes." You huffed. "But! They're shaped like dinosaurs!" You bit your lip in excitement, bouncing on the balls of your feet.

"So? They still taste the same..." Bucky clearly did not understand the hype.

"Right again. It's so much more fun to eat though. Gives you a childlike enthusiasm, even as a fully grown adult." He eyed you skeptically as he bit off the head of a dino.

He couldn't help but smile as you watched him, anticipating his reaction.

"Ya know, you might be right. That was weirdly satisfying."

The two of you spent the next few minutes eating chicken nuggets, hot cheetos, and oreos, occasionally sipping from the holiday beverages.

After quickly cleaning up the kitchen, you lead Bucky to your bathroom.

"Sit down." You gestured to the toilet.

"Why?" He still did as he was asked.

"Because." You answered petulantly. You filled a paper cup with water, carefully dumping it on his head to get his hair wet.

"Y/N!" Bucky jolted from the cold water.

"Sorry! I forgot it was cold!" You quickly plugged in the blowdryer, letting the warm air waft over his head.

"You know, if that thing was quieter, I think I could fall asleep right now." Bucky stated calmly as you ran your fingers through his hair, trying to evenly distribute the warm air amongst the hair.

"I know, right! There's something about someone else blow drying your hair that is so soothing."

You spent the next few minutes drying Bucky's hair and massaging his scalp.

"All done!" you exclaimed, unplugging the blow dryer and putting it back in the cabinet.

"Are you sure you don't want to do that again?" Bucky questioned, still sitting on the toilet.

"Yes. We've got more things to cover!" You pulled him off the toilet, nearly dragging him to your bed.

"Next category is entertainment, I guess." You brought out your laptop, certain apps already open to show him different things.

"We'll start with animals!" You were buzzing with excitement, and caffeine, as you opened two different browsers.

"Doll, animals existed in the 40s." He shook his head, endlessly amused by your behavior.

"I know that. Have you ever seen a Highland Cow?" You raised your brow, challenging his statement.

"I can't say I have." He shook his head slightly.

"Well, there you go. Animals it is. Actually, have you ever used Alexa?" You questioned him.

"No... Who is Alexa?" His confusion earned a laugh from you.

"An AI." You explained before bursting out into laughter again.

"Oh, like Friday?" He questioned.

"Yeah, but Alexa's not nearly as advanced. Here, watch this." You cleared your throat, making sure to speak clearly. "Alexa, show me pictures of Highland cows."

After a brief buffer, the AI responded. "Here are pictures of Highland cows." The google search appeared on your screen.

"So you can ask her anything?" Bucky questioned.

"Sort of, Friday knows way more. Alexa's good for little things though. Tony gets annoyed if you ask Friday to do too many small things because it can take up too much RAM and... You know what, it's not important." You decided against explaining since Bucky already looked confused.

You shifted your screen so he could see the many pictures displayed.

"Okay, so what's so special about a Highland cow?" He scrolled through the images, unaware of the smile forming on his face.

"There's just something about them. You'll find that same explanation for a lot of things I'm showing you, but it's true. They just make me smile. Look at how cute they are!" You emphatically gestured to the screen, nearly squealing at the adorable display.

"I actually see what you mean. Looking at them just makes you smile." He nodded his head thoughtfully, a small grin still pulling at his lips. "What other animal are you introducing me to?"

"Well, I assume you know what a puppy is." You said in complete seriousness.

"I do, indeed." He matched your tone, mocking the seriousness. He was really enjoying the playfulness you were showcasing.

"Well, here is a video of actor Tom Holland... you know Tom Holland, right?" You turned to face him.

"Tom Holland. Tom Holland... What's he in again?" His brows pinched together in thought.

"We've watched a few of his new movies together. Chaos Walking, The Devil All the Time, a few animated films, In the Heart of the Sea."

"Oh! The British one?" Recognition crossed his features.

"Yes! That one. Okay so, this is an interview of him..."

"Okay?" Bucky was more confused now than any other point of the night.

"Playing with puppies!" You're mouth dropped open in a wide smile, clearly excited about even the idea of puppies.

"I think I understand this one without even watching the video." he laughed, laying back with you to watch.

-

"You can't have pitbulls in England?" Bucky was affronted.

"I know. It's so sad." You pouted, still staring at the puppies on the screen.

-

"I have actually always thought puppies smell really good." He easily commented, agreeing with the famous actor.

"I know, Buck. I know." You shook your head playfully.

-

"Twinkies are pretty gross, he's not wrong." It was your turn to comment on his answers.

"I see your point." Bucky agreed as well.

-

"I definitely understand why this one makes you happy." Bucky smiled, kissing you on the cheek. "You know, he kind looks like Peter."

"I mean, maybe a little." You shrugged moving on to the next thing on your list.

"Still in the realm of entertainment, I've got some music for you." You knew Bucky was going to pout here.

"Doll, you know I'm just fine listening to my 40s music and calling it a day."

"Yes, but this is my list and you have agreed to be subjected to it." You queued up a few songs. "The first one, again, just makes me smile. I babysat a lot when I was younger, and there's something about this theme song that really hits different."

"Hits different?" Bucky stared at you like you had two heads.

"Yep. Just listen."

I was a girl in the village doing alright, then I became a princess overnight. Now I gotta figure out how to do it right, so much to learn and see.

You bobbed your head, mouthing the words as the theme song to Sofia the First played.

"I don't get this one." He figured honesty was the best policy.

"You say that now, but a week from now... You'll be singing it while you punch a bad guy in the face." You deadpanned, earning a laugh.

"Okay! Actual songs now." You took a deep breath, tring to prepare for his rejection. "Taylor Swift."

"Taylor Swift?" He repeated, waiting for you to say something else.

"To quote one of my favorite tik toks I've ever seen... 'If you don't like a single Taylor Swift song, I'm taking a crowbar, and I'm propping open your chest to see what's powering that thing in there, because it's not a heart.'"

"That's a bit extreme, don't you think." He eyed you cautiously.

"No. It's true. Her discography is so versatile, everyone can find at least one song they like." Your playful mood from earlier was still present, but hidden behind a slightly threatening glare.

"Which song are you going to play for me?" He was honestly nervous to hear it.

"Actually, you can pick. This playlist is songs of hers that make me smile, so pick whichever one you want." You smiled, eager to see his choice.

He scrolled through the playlist, reading each title carefully.

"Okay, You Are In Love or New Year's Day?" He asked your opinion.

"Both good choices, why those two?" You eyed him curiously.

"Well, You Are In Love because that's how I feel about you and New Years Day because you put it last in the playlist, so I know it must be one of your favorites."

You couldn't hide the way his words made you smile if you tried.

"I love you so much." You kissed him quickly. "Go with New Year's Day, I think it will resonate with you a bit more."

He smiled, tapping the screen gently to play the song.

The two of you remained quiet through the song, just enjoying the soft melody and storytelling.

"Please don't ever become a stranger whose laugh I could recognize anywhere." He quoted when the song ended.

"I'll be there if you're the toast of the town, babe, or if you strike out and your crawling home." You sang softly in response.

He cleared his throat. "I think I understand this one."

"I'm glad. I mean, it obviously doesn't have to be Taylor Swift, but everyone should have at least one song that makes them smile." You leaned into his embrace, enjoying the time spent together.

"What else have you got for me, Doll?" He held you close.

"Two more things. Here." You handed him two slightly sticky balls.

"What the hell is this?" He laughed, prying the toy from his metal hand.

"Throw it at the ceiling." He did as he was told, following your lead.

"Friday, can you turn off the lights?" You asked the AI.

"Of course, Ms. L/N."

The two of you were quickly shrouded in darkness. The balls you had thrown at the ceiling were glowing.

"How do we get them down?" Bucky whispered, his voice matching the darkness of the room.

"Just wait..." You stared at the ceiling, waiting a few seconds before the balls began to fall.

"So you just throw it and catch it?" Bucky questioned, again following your lead.

"Yep! It's weirdly relaxing after a long day." You smiled, catching and throwing the neon balls over and over again.

"You're absolutely right." He laughed, catching the blue ball before it could hit him in the face. "Especially just laying in the dark."

"Exactly! I'll go get the last thing, you can keep going." You pressed a quick kiss before heading to the kitchen. You tossed a few stuffed animal heating pads into the microwave.

While they were heating up, you grabbed yours and Bucky's water bottles to fill up with the fridge filter.

The beep sounded, indicating you could grab the animals and head back to Bucky.

"I'm back!" You called softly as you closed the door again. The room was still dark, causing you to turn on the lights. Bucky was frantically catching and throwing all four balls.

"It's a bit less relaxing when you've got to keep track of so many." He laughed as one fell and stuck to his elbow.

"Yeah, more like a game then." You smiled, happy to see him having so much fun.

"So, what's the last thing?"

You held up a bright yellow duck and an equally bright green frog.

"Stuffed animals? Doll, how old do you think I am?" He laughed lightheartedly.

"They're not just stuffed animals. They're also heating pads." You smiled, handing the duck to Bucky.

"What do you do with it?" He questioned.

"Men." You couldn't help but mumble it under your breath. "Well, after a mission, when you're feeling sore you can cuddle with one of these and it helps soothe the ache."

"Really? Nothing else you've shown me has been this practical." He chuckled again.

"That is true, but the fact that it's a stuffed frog makes me happy, even after the worst day."

"I guess you have a point." He pulled the duck close to his body, snuggling with it. "I like cuddling with you better." He pouted.

"I like cuddling with you too Bucky. Promise." You turned to face him, holding the frog to your chest with one arm.

"Thank you for sharing all this with me. I honestly don't remember the last time I smiled this much." He looked at you fondly, still smiling.

"Me either. There is one more thing that makes me really happy, though." You whispered.

"Yeah, what's that?" He watched you eagerly, waiting for the last thing.

"You." You watched his smile grow. "Even just spending ten seconds with you makes me happy after a totally shit day."

"Y/N, you make me happier than anyone I've ever met, Steve included." He joked. "I love you so much. More than I ever thought I could love someone."

"I love you too. So, so much." You rested your head on his chest, cuddling as close as the stuffed frog allowed. "Goodnight, Bucky." You whispered softly, eyes already falling closed.

He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, sighing contently.

"Goodnight my love."

Permanent taglist:

@averyhotchner @jesuswasnotawhiteman @madewithsebstan

[rafesgfs]

love me, hate me - part two

Warnings: explicit sexual content, swearing

Word count: 3.3k

Summary: Christmas comes around and Ransom wants you more than ever.

part one

"You're telling me you actually want to date this guy? The one who can't even make you cum?" you asked, licking the remaining frosting from your finger. You placed the messy bowl in the sink, watching your best friend trying—and failing—to get the egg shells out of the mixture.

Meg gave up, dumping the brownie batter down the sink with the water running, fed up with the shells. "Yeah, but sex isn't everything, you know. I don't know—it's just this guy isn't like my exes. He genuinely cares about my feelings, and doesn't control me. Besides, he made me cum a few times. He's nice."

With Mariah Carey's Christmas music playing in the background, the miniature Christmas tree on the table, and the snow falling, the Thrombey household felt festive. Although, the people bundled up and arguing in the next room—not so much. Yet, neither of you cared while you continued to work, helping Martha out, on the desserts. It wasn't going as well as planned, but you took it as a positive considering you hadn't started a fire. Yet.

"Ah, yes, nice. Can't relate. I'm currently attracted to assholes who have anger issues." you commented, passing Meg the flour once again. Your creation was in the oven, and all you hoped was that no one got food poisoning because of it. Even you couldn't live with the guilt of Ransom, or his touchy father, throwing up Christmas morning.

"Currently?" Meg asked, raising an eyebrow, getting eggs out of the fridge for the hundredth time. She glanced at the direction of the door, the sound of it opening drawing both of your attention. "I'm pretty sure your daddy issues didn't just happen recently. Speaking of which, you may be the main reason Ransom decided to come back for Christmas instead chasing a model around."

You rolled your eyes, sitting back in your chair while contemplating whether or not it's too late to ditch. While Ransom was hot, his spoiled attitude wasn't worth tolerating for a quick fuck. With sarcasm dripping, you sighed. "Oh, how wonderful. 'Cause, that's exactly what I need right now."

Meg chuckled, focusing on the task at hand, trying not get shells in the mixture again. She had held off on mixing the dry stuff, much to your dismay, but to her it made sense to get the hard part out of the way so it wouldn't fuck everything up. Your best friend had just finished cracking her last egg when Harlan walked into the kitchen, Ransom trailing a few feet behind him. The playboy's eyes immediately landed on you, yet you didn't meet his, too preoccupied with the phone in your hands.

Harlan's slight frown lifted into a smile, surveying how messy the kitchen had gotten. "My, my, I wasn't aware a cake had exploded in my kitchen."

Looking up, you grinned at the old man, the smile reaching your eyes until you saw who was behind him. Ignoring Ransom, you giggled at Harlan's remark. "You call it a mess, we call it baking."

"As long as you ladies are having fun." Harlan replied, patting your shoulder before heading off towards his office, too tired to deal with his dysfunctional family at the moment.

Ransom lingered, walking up to you, a smirk impended on his face. Yet, you refocused you're attention back on your phone while Meg left the room, her apron still attached to her. You didn't question her sudden disappearance, knowing she was just as annoyed at Ransom's presence. The man in question peeked over you shoulder to see your screen showing off another man's dick, the words right below it explicit.

His jaw clenched in jealousy. Much to his chagrin, the man's dick was just as big as his own. But, he kept the icy exterior up. "Would it be offensive to ask whether or not your baking will make me sick this evening?"

You scoffed without looking up, tapping out of the dick pic your previous hook up had sent. "Since when do you care if you're offensive or not? Who are you, and what have you done to Ransom Drysdale?"

Ransom shrugged, leaning against the kitchen island while facing your annoyed expression. His smug behavior got under your skin, and the bastard was well aware. "Maybe all this Christmas spirit got into me. Or maybe I'm trying to be nice."

You raised an eyebrow, getting off your chair, rushing to the window, pretending to be looking for something. After a few seconds, Ransom's curiosity got the best of him and he joined you, looking for anything unusual outside. The snow-covered land showed nothing out of the ordinary, furthering Ransom's confusion.

"What are you looking at? I can't see anything." he said, squinting at the general direction you had look at.

Shrugging, you moved back to your seat, propping your elbows on the back of the chair, allowing a smug smirk lift your lips. "I thought pigs were flying. Ransom Drysdale isn't capable of being nice, yet alone say the word. I'm shocked hell hadn't freeze over. Yet."

The playboy rolled his eyes, crossing his arms as he took your body in, wrapped in his favorite color, the dress hugging your curves. "What's a guy have to do to be taken seriously with you? You and I both know I can give you everything you want, and more."

"Are you trying to buy me right now?" you asked, half teasing, half annoyed. Ransom could not take a hint, and you hated the fact that he didn't back off despite the sarcasm and insults you threw his way.

"I'm trying to be nice but you're making it really hard." Ransom answered, his cockiness wearing off. He was growing frustrated the more you looked at him like he was a piece of trash. All you wanted him to be was nice, now that he was trying to be, you wouldn't believe his intentions, despite wanting to prove it to you.

Pursing your lips, you tapped your finger against the table, the acrylic nail making a clicking noise. "You wanna prove it? Fine. You've got til midnight tonight. If you're unable to change my mind, you have to buy me my spring break vacation, all the fees and expenses."

"And if I do change your mind..." Ransom smirked, brushing a stray hair behind your ear, earning a half-hearted glare. "... you have to go on a date with me."

Ransom nearly burst out laughing from your shocked expression, the genuine look of surprised slapped on your face with the words. You shut your hanging jaw, still not processing what he was saying. "Excuse me?"

"You have to go on a date with me if I convince you that I'm willing to change my, and I quote, 'bratty and douchebag ways.' An actual date where we sit down, eat dinner, talk about our feelings, and get drunk. Whatever happens, happens." Ransom purred, placing a finger on your bottom lip. You slapped his hand away, and his smirked grew. "Are you going to back out of this already, princess?"

It was your stubborn side that made agree, pressing your lips into a thin line, you grabbed Ransom's hand, shaking it. He raised an eyebrow while you sighed. "You're on. Hope you have enough money to pay for a lengthy trip. I plan on drinking every bottle of wine in Italy."

Despite your baking debacle, you left the kitchen, leaving Meg's monstrous creation on the counter along with Ransom. You went into the living room, trying to find the girl in question when you happened to stumble upon Richard. He barely got to say a word before you turned around, and left the pervert behind. It was always a puzzle how Ransom turned out so hot with Richard and Linda as parents.

Climbing the stairs, you heard the family arguing growing quieter with each step. The second floor was almost a safe haven considering Harlan didn't let anyone raise their voice in the upper level, making it the only quiet place in the house, safe from any Thrombey fights. It was a wonder how the family hadn't murdered each other yet; it was only a matter of time.

Unable to find Meg in your shared room, you sighed, patting your body to find your phone only to realize you left it in the kitchen. With Ransom.

"Looking for this?" Ransom held out your phone, coming up behind you. His usual smirk was gone, a small, genuine smile in its place. It made him look less arrogant.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

You took your phone back, half expecting him to take it back just as you wrapped your fingers around it. But he didn't. You realized he was pulling out all the stops, all the little things that you found annoying was gone. He was acting. Eyes narrowing, you unlocked your phone, studying him. "Thanks. I think."

"Meg is helping the Brazilian maid." Ransom answered your silent question. Your thumb hovered her contact, going back to the home screen. Your eyebrows had risen by his mis-categorization of Martha's race and employment. "Pretty sure they went to the grocery store or something."

"Oh, okay." you replied lamely, putting your phone in your back pocket, the tight jeans making it nearly impossible. Opening the door to your room, you stepped in, not giving Ransom another look. But he followed inside, making you turn around. "Do you need something?"

Ransom stuffed his hands in his pockets, the cream-colored sweater shifting with the gesture. "You didn't exactly give me much time to prove myself. And looking around, we're all alone. I can't think of a better time."

As much as you hated to admit it, he had a point. The bet was a bit unfair considering how stubborn you were, and the amount of time he had to convince you. But it was a bit unsettling seeing Ransom try so hard, let alone being nice. You nodded, agreeing. "Fine, but can I change first? I'd rather not be covered in flour while you try to seduce me."

"You and I both know I wouldn't seduce you before dinner. There's no way in hell I'd treat you like the others." he mumbled to himself, but you heard it. Clearing his throat, he stepped out of the room. "Yeah, I'll be outside. Waiting. Take your time."

As soon as the door closed, you looked around the room to check if you were being pranked, expecting Ashton Kutcher to burst out of the closet along with a bunch of cameramen. After a few seconds, you came to the conclusion that Supernatural was in this universe, deciding "Ransom" was a shapeshifter or a demon possessed him. It was the only reasonable explanation.

Reaching for the hem of your top, pulling it off in one swift move, dropping it on the bed. Your jeans piling on top, allowing your legs to breathe. Despite Joni's hippie side, she had let Meg sneak in a few joints, the smell becoming stronger as you neared both your suitcases. You didn't think Harlan would be too please to have weed in his house, no matter how lenient he is.

You took your time, a little baffled by what to wear. Ransom hadn't exactly given you an agenda on his plans, leaving you to grab a clean pair of black jeans, and a classy, yet simple, red top. You looked decent enough to fit in a nice restaurant, but casual in case Ransom decided he wanted McDonald's, and most importantly: warm. If he wanted to take you to the North Pole, then he'd have to give you his cozy-looking sweater.

You opened the door, the sight of Ransom rocking on his heels greeting you. His back was to you, his hands inside his pockets as he looked out the window, frost crawling along the edges. It genuinely concerned you how much this man was acting; if you didn't know better, you'd think it was real.

Clearing your throat, you watched him jump in surprise, quickly turning to you. Raising an eyebrow, you tucked your phone in your pocket, meeting his warm, blue eyes. "I'm ready."

"Okay." said Ransom, motioning for you to follow him. You walked down the stairs without a word, the air becoming thick as you walked behind him. The sweater did little to no good disguising his broad shoulders, the muscles somehow still visible under the clothing.

As soon as you reached the bottom, you glanced around, the Thrombey fighting becoming louder with each second. It wouldn't be long before one of them stormed out of the room, muttering a curse under their breath. You'd seen all of them do it at least once. You crossed your arms, wary of whatever Ransom was planning. "Be honest, you're not just going to drive me off to the middle of the woods and murder me, are you?"

Ransom chuckled, giving you a wink as he held his hand out. Without hesitation, you took it. "If I was planning to murder you, I wouldn't do it in the woods. If you're going to die, it's going to be epic."

"Oh, well, that makes me feel better." you sneered sarcastically, instantly rolling your eyes. In the back of your mind, you pondered how long it would take for your eyes to get stuck in your brain with the amount of times you rolled them at Ransom.

He led you towards the door, smirking. "You ready?"

"No. Let's go."

—

"Fuck, baby."

He spent a few moments just staring at your spread pussy, amazed and aching for you more than he ever ached for anything.

"Don't you know why I want you to see it, Ransom?"

Ransom just shook his head without taking his eyes off the your pneumatic body.

"Because it's yours," you sighed. "All yours, baby. You're the one I've been keeping it nice and fresh for."

"Fuck," he muttered.

He kept staring at you, waiting for you to rub you pussy again, but you didn't. You just kept holding it spread.

"Don't you wanna taste me, Ransom?" you purred, barely above a whisper. "C'mon, baby, please. I want you to lick it so bad. I love you so much and I want to give you everything that belongs to you."

The playboy was all but paralyzed by your words. He finally dragged his eyes off your open pussy and looked at your face. You were staring back at him with a glazed look in your eyes. His solid cock was pulsing hard in the tight grip of his fist. No girl had ever looked at him the way you were at that very moment, yet at the same time, he knew you were playing with the hottest kind of fire there was.

"Sweetheart, you know this wasn't the deal." he whispered, distracted.

You smirked. "But you still won."

He finished the thought by leaning down and sliding his tongue up and over your generously offered pussy. You pulled in a sharp gasp when Ransom's tongue lit up your heavily tingling pussy. Your hips rolled instantly in response, your gasps turning to moans while Ransom eagerly slathered his tongue all around your creamily delicious slit. He soon focused his attention on your clit and slipped a finger up inside your hole at the same time.

The man's finger curled and twisted inside you, searching for you g spot while he suckled and lapped at your fully swollen clit. You could barely form words as you gasped and moaned, your luscious body now writhing with desire.

Your pussy oozed heavily the more he licked and fingered you. Your cream was sweet, tangy and intensely intoxicating. Ransom probed at your hole with his finger and the tip of his tongue at the same time, but he soon drew his soaking wet finger out of your hole and wedged it between your ass cheeks, searching for your puckered rimhole.

You gasped deeply and lifted your legs up higher, giving Ransom better access to your asshole. He massaged your tight bud with his honey-coated finger and made deep, hungry love to your pussy with his mouth.

"God god god god, Ransom!" you cried, your hips rolling harder and harder against the man's mouth and finger.

Your body went tense for a few moments and then relaxed. Ransom backed off and watched you languish after your orgasm, pausing briefly to catch your breath. Then you shifted your body and took the hem of your outfit into your hands and peeled it off over your head. Ransom pulled off his T shirt and slid over on top of your luscious body, grinding his rock-hard cock against your pussy as he lowered himself to kiss you.

You whimpered while Ransom's chest mashed down against your heavy, naked tits. They felt amazing against his body, and he was beyond reason when the your mouth opened and set your tongue into motion against his.

Ransom had never kissed any girl so hard or hungrily in his life. Nor had any kissed him back the way you had. At the same time, you were grinding your slick, wet pussy against his cock as hard as he was grinding against you. Then he squeezed his hands in between them and grasped at your tits, kneading them eagerly with his strong hands.

He released your mouth and said," Baby girl, reach down there and put my cock inside you for me. I need that pussy bad, but I can't bring myself to let go of these fantastic tits now that I finally have my hands on them."

You giggled happily and kissed him again while you worked your hands down between your naked bodies. Finally, you got one hand on your pussy and spreading yourself open while you wrapped the other around Ransom's thick cock.

"Oh geezus, fuck, Ransom, you're so fucking hard," you cooed. "Oh god fuck me deep."

You tucked Ransom's cock head into your wet maw and he began grinding his shaft deeper into your sheath. Your pussy felt so tight and creamy, and you both groaned as his rock-hard flesh gradually filled your body. You looked at each other in disbelief, even though nothing had ever felt more right or natural.

Ransom growled as he began to pump his cock in and out of your spectacular body with long strokes. His grip on your tits went tighter and he lowered his head to suck and lick on your swollen nipples.

You whimpered with pleasure, wrapping your legs around his hips and grinding your pussy hard against his thrusting cock. It wasn't long before he was straining to hold on and keep fucking you deep and hard. You didn't make it any easier because of the way you were moaning and your cunt squeezed his pounding cock every time you came.

Finally, Ransom raised himself up on his hands while he pumped your succulent pussy hole as hard and fast as he could, watching your pretty face twist with pleasure while your tits heaved with the force of his lunging body.

"Gimme your cum, baby. I want it in me...fuck!"

With a final, frenzied volley of full body thrusts, Ransom's pulsing cock exploded in your pussy, filling you with a hot flow of jetting spunk.

After, they spent a long time kissing while Ransom caressed the your beautiful tits. He kept his cock buried inside you until his flesh finally started to relax.

You fell asleep in each other's arms, and Ransom knew he had the girl he always needed right there with him. He had been right, all the sarcastic comments and stupid fights had been worth it.

In the morning, Ransom awoke from a haze of dreams to look down and find you lying between his legs with your lips sliding up and down his swollen cock. When you realized he was awake and watching you, you released his big cock from your mouth, giving his shaft a long lick before greeting him.

"Merry Christmas, Ransom."

[writing-good-vibes]

Hi friend! I know I've already requested twice but I couldn't resist, I'm loving your fics! totally don't take this if it's too much though. But if it's no trouble, maybe 6 or 18 from the scene starters with either Sheriff Brackett or Tommy Ludlow? Thank you! <3

ahh friend, i hope you're doing good !! your requests are no trouble, thank you so much for keep coming back !! 😊💖 it was fun writing for tommy this time and i can never deny our favourite sheriff b !! ✒ enjoy as always 💖 and happy halloween 🎃👻

tommy ludlow

It was barely light out as you waited by the curb outside your apartment building for Tommy to pick you up. That sallow grey light that waned away as each autumn day passed.

You pulled your coat tighter around you, a thick scarf wrapped around your neck and as many layers as you could manage underneath. You hoped Tommy would be here soon so you could finally escape the chill for a while on your drive to the studio.

Like the angel he was, Tommy showed up right on time. The station wagon pulled up beside you and you blew a kiss to him through the window. You pulled open the passenger door and climbed in, relaxing into the beat up front seat.

"Good morning," you greeted, leaning over to kiss him quickly before settling back down.

"Mornin'," he looked away, back to the road as he pulled the car away from the curb and started on the well travelled route downtown. That was, until he noticed something.

He glanced back at you; once, twice. "Is that my sweater?"

The question confused you for a second before you look down at what you're wearing. A NY Knicks basketball sweater. Your bedroom floor is, more often than not, a mess of clothes and laundry. It's no surprise that Tommy's things get muddled up with your own now and then.

You giggle, "Oh yeah, I guess it is."

He shakes his head in faux disappointment, "Is nothing sacred?"

"Well," you shrug coyly, "if it comes off later, I suppose you can have it back."

"If?" his hand leaves the wheel and rests gently on your knee.

You smile at him, "I'm sure you can work your magic."

He looks back at you again and you wink. His grin tells you that he agrees.

sheriff brackett

Baking was something you loved to do when you were younger, but as time went on you'd fallen out of practice. However, since being with the Sheriff, something had put you in the mood to go back to these little domestic routines.

Pretty much everyday you had a few hours spare between finishing work and the Sheriff coming home for dinner and, seeing as the weather was taking such a cold turn, with fall quickly giving way to winter, today seemed a good day for some baking.

Rummaging through the cupboards, you mange to find pretty much everything you need to get started. What better cookies to make on a crisp autumn day than gingerbread?

Quickly you fall into a rhythm and no sooner have you started, the cookies are cut and laid on the baking tray. The whole house smells of sweetness and spices when they start baking and you bask in the warm glow of the oven while you wait.

So engrossed in watching the cookies rise, you don't hear the sound of the front door opening and closing. In fact, you don't notice anyone else is there until two hands on your waist startle you.

You jump in surprise and the Sheriff chuckles, "Honey, I'm home."

You relax into his hold, giggling yourself as he turns you around to look at him. Leaning up you kiss him softly, glad that he's home for the evening.

"Guess what's cooking?"

"It smells good, whatever it is."

You grin and kiss him again, "It's gingerbread."

Time with the Sheriff passes easily, languid on the couch, warm and content, until the timer goes off and the cookies are ready.

Bringing a plate back with you to the couch, you offer the Sheriff the first try. "I made them for you, really," you insist.

He concedes, taking a cookie before you and taking a bite.

"You're an excellent cook," he says.

"I'd make a good house wife? If I started baking more often?" you lean into him, lips ghosting close to his but not close enough.

"If I could keep you home all day, I would," he teases, hand trailing up your thigh before pulling you over to straddle his lap, "But I don't think that'd go down too well." He closes the distance between you.

You melt into the kiss and smile when you realise he tastes of gingerbread.