#like better than storing stuff in her sleeve

[yardsards]

the plot points that could've been avoided if amity blight just wore (and used) a fanny pack

[strang3lov3]

Spencer's

Summary: You and Joel visit Spencer's. You snag some toys, then steal some batteries from Joel for those toys. He's not pleased.

Warnings: DRAMATIC!Joel, implied age gap, Joel is jealous of certain inanimate objects, Joel is winnie-the-poohing it, overstimulation, masturbation (m/f), general filth, unprotected piv, creampie, brat-taming (if you squint), spanking, use of sex toys, joel is pro-participation trophy, joel reads Savage Love, soft!dom joel, dom!joel, mall rats!joel

A/N: thank you thank you thank you to @papipascalispunk for editing and proofreading this story. I am so thankful for her help and lucky to know her 🩷

W/C: 4.3k

It’s patrol again. You’re in that old mall with Joel. And he’s quiet today, like he has been the past couple weeks. No shitty comments or dumb jokes. Hardly any of his usual grumbling, just quiet and stoic. He’s wearing a green flannel, sleeves rolled up. Beard recently trimmed, his hair a little less unkempt than usual. And he seems nervous, antsy, bouncing his foot as you both sit on a bench, taking a short break. 

You could help him relax. 

“Victoria’s Secret is back that way. Kinda wanna try on some more lingerie,” you suggest, hoping he’ll take the bait you’re offering.  

“Pass,” Joel says, “You know I don’t like that place.”

“You could watch. We had fun last time we did that, didn’t we?” you reach for Joel’s arm and try to pull him from his seat and toward that dreaded underwear store. He doesn’t budge. 

“Joel?” you ask, confused by his reluctance.

“I don’t know about all that, hon. Thinkin’ we should go to that bookstore, find some more books for the library back home,” Joel points toward a nearby Barnes & Noble, “Yeah?”

You shrug, “Sure, after.”

“After what?”

“This,” you lean toward Joel and grip onto the collar of his flannel, pushing it back to expose more of his neck. Pressing your lips to his throat, nipping and kissing the skin as your hand trails down his torso, fumbling with his belt. 

You’re not wasting time. 

“Oh,” Joel breathes shakily, “That.”

“Yeah,” you say with a satisfied smirk, “That.”

You nudge his head to the side with your nose and try to push him back into the bench, pushing his flannel further over his clavicle to expose more of his neck, but he stays firm. He grabs the hand fumbling with his belt and pulls it away. “I don’t think so,” he says. You pull away immediately and Joel looks at you with sympathy, concern. 

“What’s wrong? What’d I do?” you ask, feeling insecure, self-conscious all of the sudden.

“You didn’t do anything,” Joel says. 

It’s been a while since you’ve been with him, he knows you’re probably antsy for more because he is too. But he’s feeling apprehensive. Each time you’ve fucked, it’s been quick and dirty. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course. He’s not sure what exactly your history with other men is, but Joel fancies himself a gentleman and believes in the campsite rule. Believes that you deserve better than what he’s been giving you. Starting with, say, a bed. You’re exhausting, troublesome, and you’re like a tick the way you get under Joel’s skin, but you still deserve decency. 

Decency won’t stop him from fucking the living daylights out of you, though. He’ll just be a little more gentlemanly about it all, moving forward.  

Joel clears his throat, “You’re young, you know. And I–”.

“And you what?” your tone is snarky.

“Jesus Christ, motormouth,” Joel snaps, “Would you let me finish speaking before you start arguin’?”

You shrug but remain silent, motioning for him to continue. 

“I just think we should do things by the book from now on. Dinner, talking, that kinda stuff. You know, I just want things to be sort of…nice for you. I dunno the word exactly, just...nice, I guess.” You watch Joel blush as he struggles to spell it out.

“Do you mean romantic? Like a date?" Excitedly, you gasp, "Are you taking me to the Rainforest Cafe?”

Joel stares at you blankly before speaking. Rainforest Cafe is a no-go, you're guessing. “No. Not romantic. And not like a date. A date is for two people that actually like each other.” 

And just like that, the attitude is back. He just exudes charisma. 

You pout, “You don’t like me?”

“No, I don’t. I barely tolerate you. But, you know. I still wanna - want you - I want us to…I don’t know,” Joel groans. It’s entertaining, watching him try to spit it out. 

Awh. He barely tolerates you.

You smile, “I barely tolerate you, too.” But Joel won’t look at you, keeps his eyes focused ahead. Still nervous, he fidgets with his hands and continues bouncing his leg.

“Was thinkin’ tomorrow,” Joel mutters quietly, “Y’could come over. Could be…nice. Maybe. Probably not, ‘cause you’ll be there.”

“Yeah. Sounds nice. Maybe. Probably not. ‘Cause you’ll be there too,” you mock his low tone. 

Joel glares at you, “Seven. My place. Be on time.”

—

After your break, you explore the mall further. There’s a store called Spencer’s, which looks neat. Joel agrees, unaware of exactly the kind of store Spencer’s is, so you both go inside. There’s funny t-shirts, cool knick-knacks and tchotchkes. Joel is looking at various lava lamps as you make your way toward the back, and he follows you. 

Holy shit.

There’s all sorts of things on this back wall. Handcuffs, lingerie, lubricants, vibrators, dildos, costumes.

“Wow,” you say, “Looks like your kind of party, Joel.”

Joel rolls his eyes, annoyed, “Shut up.”

“This looks nice. Not romantic at all,” as you poke Joel with a vibrator. 

He flinches, “Get that shit offa’ me, freakazoid.”

“We could use it tomorrow. On our not-date,” you smirk.

“Don’t need it,” he huffs. 

“Wow. You seem confident about that,” you say. Joel shrugs, a look on his face you can’t quite read. “Whatever. Maybe I’ll take it for myself. You know, for alone time.”

His face falls immediately. Joel, prudish as he may seem, truly does not have an issue with masturbation. It’s natural, it’s human. But something about you doing it makes it a little… jealousy-inducing. The thought of you, one of those toys between your thighs, you making all sorts of pretty noises that he can’t hear; it’s just too much for him. “Yeah, knock yourself out,” he says sarcastically, “You’ll have a lot of fun with a battery-less vibrator.”

“You still have some, don’t you?”

Joel scoffs, “I do. But they’re mine, and I sure as shit ain’t sharin’ with you, ‘specially not for those things.” 

“Sharing is caring, you know.”

Joel rolls his eyes, “S’a bold assumption you’re making there. That I care about you.” 

Rude. 

You poke him with the vibrator again. “Quit that,” he grumbles, “Now stay here a minute. Gonna take a leak, I’ll be right back.” He drops his bag and heads for a private area nearby. You stare at his bag on the floor and wonder if he’s fucking with you, because he never goes anywhere without his bag. Better to be safe than sorry is what he always says. And you know he keeps batteries in that bag. 

Ah, fuck it. He won’t know. 

There’s a sign that says “buy two toys, get one free”, and you’re not one to pass up a good deal, even if that deal means nothing now being twenty-or-so years into a fungus apocalypse. So you stuff three toys in your bag, along with one of the lava lamps Joel was checking out. You rifle through Joel’s belongings and pull out a handful of batteries, then stuff those into your bag too. Six should do it, hopefully. After twenty years, a lot of them are duds. You’ll try the toys out tonight, then sneakily put the batteries back in Joel’s pack tomorrow night on your not-date. And Joel will be none the wiser. 

—-

Joel is livid. 

Someone called off patrol today, so he was volunteered by Tommy to fill in. He’d still be back in time for your not-date, and although the change in his plans was not ideal, it’s not what set him off today. No, that was all you. 

His radio had died toward the end of his shift. No big deal, he thought. He reached into his pack and fumbled through his belongings to find his spare batteries. Only, they weren’t in his bag. So he searched a little longer before he realized he actually knew exactly where those precious batteries would be. No doubt inside you at the moment. 

Was he in danger without a working radio? Could’ve been, but no, not really. Will he never find batteries again? Yes, he will. Joel’s crafty and good at scouting supplies like that, even when supplies are sparse. What did pissed him off, however, is the fact he knows you consciously went behind his back to steal his batteries for those toys. You’ve probably spent all last night and all day today fucking yourself silly, couldn’t have waited just one more day. He feels a little insulted, topping off the jealousy already simmering.

Joel comes back to Jackson around five in the evening. He should be showering, cooking, setting the table, and tidying his house. But instead, he makes a beeline for your place. 

He doesn’t bother knocking on your door. He knows you keep it unlocked, something he constantly advises you against. He closes your door, and hears your long and pretty moans coming from upstairs. He’s not sure what’s coming over him or why he cares so much. He prides himself on being level-headed, rational. But all of that’s out the door when he hears your moans, moans that he believes should have been all for him and him alone. 

At least he gets to catch you in the act. 

Joel tiptoes up your steps, fighting his urge to stomp angrily. Your bedroom door is wide open, lights dim. There’s a lava lamp bubbling next to you on your nightstand. You’re laid out on the bed, legs spread, one toy between your thighs and two others lay next to you. Your eyes are squeezed shut as you moan Joel’s name. It’s a nice touch. Maybe he’ll go easy on you. 

Probably not. 

He stands in your doorway and clears his throat, “Enjoyin’ yourself?” 

“Joel!” you yelp and your eyes fly open. Joel moves to stand next to your bed, his gaze dark and intense, his mouth forming an unamused frown. 

“You think you’re slick, don’t you?”

Your words are caught in your throat. Ohh, you are so busted.

“How many’d you steal from me?”

The vibrating dildo you were fucking yourself with is still humming loudly, and in the otherwise silence of your room, it’s deafening. You fumble to try to turn it off. 

“Oh, no. Don’t let me interrupt your date. That’d be awful rude of me.” 

Too shocked to make any moves, you freeze, dildo still humming away inside you. And as anxious as you feel, you’re equally excited. You’ve picked up on Joel’s jealous side, and you’d be lying if you said some part of you wasn’t trying to rile him up. 

“I just, mmmm,” you moan, “Just missed you a lot. Couldn’t wait for tonight.”

“S’that right?”

“Yes, Joel.”

“You missed me so much you decided to deliberately go through my bag and steal my batteries?”, he spits, sarcasm lacing his words, “Yeah hon, sure looks like you missed me, fuckin’ yourself on that plastic cock.”

“Silicone,” you correct, though now definitely isn’t the time to bother with semantics. Joel notices you rocking your hips ever so slightly, chasing your orgasm as subtly as you can. You’re right, right fucking there. He can see it on you, you’ve got that look about you. Your breathing is shaky and your body trembles. 

“You’ve got some fuckin’ nerve,” Joel hovers over you, one hand next to you on the bed and his other reaching for your toy. 

“Please,” you beg. 

“Think you’ve made yourself come enough, impatient goddamn brat,” he mumbles as he pulls the toy away from your center, tossing it aside. You groan and whine in frustration. Just three more seconds, you would have been there. 

Fucking Joel.

“I’m at a loss on what to do here, sweetheart,” Joel says as he kicks off his shoes before sitting on your bed, his back against the headboard, “Can’t fuckin’ take those batteries back on account of they’ve all been inside ya.”

“Joel, I did not fuck myself with your batteries. That’s…not how that works.”

“Shut up, wiseass.”

“Joel, I was gonna give them back, I swear. I just wanted–”.

Joel cuts you off, not caring to hear the rest of your explanation, “All half used and out of juice? How generous. Lucky me,” he muses, annoyed.

“Joel–”.

“Don’t think you fuckin’ get it,” he snaps, “Y’got no fuckin’ self control. You’re lyin’ to me, stealin’ from me, sneakin’ around. And it breaks my heart, ‘cause I was startin’ to look forward to our date.”

“Date?” you ask in confusion. Joel’s cheeks turn rosy as he refuses to acknowledge his slip up. The not-date turned actual-date. “Joel.”

“Need to get through to you somehow,” he ignores you, still too upset,  “Got a couple different ideas in mind. I guess we’ll have to see which one sticks.”

He pulls you up and over his lap, your head laying on the crumpled sheets. He presses a hand firmly on your neck, holding you in place as he gently runs his other hand over the swell of your ass. 

You know what’s coming. And it’s been a long time coming, at that. You've noticed the way Joel looks at you, his angry stare and how he chews on his inner cheek. How his hands ball into fists, like he’s fighting the urge to strangle you. Wrap his hands around your neck and just fucking squeeze. 

Crack. 

The sting of his hand striking your ass is as delicious as it is painful. He smacks you again, harder. And it’s just as incredible. That sharp bite, how it sends arousal gushing from your core. You can’t help the moan that slips from your mouth. 

Joel pulls you off his lap abruptly, onto your knees between his thighs, and faces you towards him. He wears a puzzled expression, like somehow he wasn’t aware that spanking is more of a reward than it is a punishment, at least to you. “Ya weren’t s’posed to enjoy that so much.”

“Joel–”.

“Yeah, we’re not doing that. Fuckin’ weirdo,” he interrupts, shaking his head a little. Joel thinks for a moment, staring at you as he contemplates his next move. His eyes flicker to yours, and you can practically watch the gears in his head begin to turn. “I think,” he lifts his hips to pull both his jeans and boxers down his thighs, and his cock springs free. It’s the first time you’ve really gotten to see it. Long and thick, prominent vein, blushed tip a bit wider than his shaft. Curly dark hair surrounding the base. It’s artwork. “Think we’ll try Plan B,” he says firmly as he reaches forward, wrapping one hand around himself to stroke his member, thumb swiping across the tip. 

It should be your hand. And he’s well aware of this, but he’s giving you a taste of your own medicine before moving on to the main event. You extend your arm in front of you, but Joel doesn’t allow it.  “Ah ah,” he tuts, slapping your hand away, “You can go play with one of your rubber cocks. Since you love ‘em so goddamn much.” His words are biting, acrimonious.

He’s throwing you off. Joel, who says he couldn’t give a “fiddler’s flying fuck” about you, is upset that your pleasure wasn’t brought on by his hands today. Joel, who barely tolerates you. “Joel, please, I want you. I’m sorry,” you cry, “I need you, Joel, been missing you so much. Please, Joel. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

“Layin’ it on pretty fuckin’ thick, sweetheart.” 

You cry in frustration, “Joel, I’m sor-”.

“Cut that shit out. You ain’t sorry. You’re sorry you got caught, ‘cause now you’re in trouble,” Joel keeps stroking himself, taunting you, “This is on you.”

Joel thinks back to when he was a teenager, when his father caught him with a lit cigarette hanging from his lips, how his father’s punishment was to make him smoke the whole pack, and how before he was even halfway through the pack the nicotine had made him sick to his stomach. 

Same idea.

Still stroking himself, Joel grabs one of the vibrators sitting next to you. It’s a wand type, light pink in color. He holds down a button and it buzzes to life, “C’mere. Between my legs. Do it now,” his voice is stern, authoritarian. You assume the position. Joel parts your legs wider, pulling your knees back before guiding your hands to hold the backs of your knees, keeping you open nice and wide for him. “You stay like this. Don’t move.” His flannel feels soft and warm on your skin. You feel his hot breath on your neck, his chest rising and falling steadily against your back. Wordlessly, he brings the vibrator to your core. He drags it over your lips, through your folds, coating it with your arousal. 

Joel circles your clit with the toy now, and your hips to follow the sensation. The way you’re sighing, moaning, grinding with his movements, Joel can tell you haven’t picked up what he’s putting down yet. 

Poor thing. Fucked herself stupid on all these plastic cocks. 

“Yeah, Joel, like that. Fuck, feels good,” you breathe, “Right there. S’good.”

Joel’s silence is disconcerting. There’s no dirty talk, no snide remarks like usual. But you’re too worked up to worry about why. Within seconds, you’re coming. Sweet, breathy moans and whines falling from your lips as you ride out your high. 

Joel presses the button on the vibrator, taking it up a notch. The buzz is louder, the feeling intense, nearing on too much. Finally, he speaks, “I really do hope your thievery was worth it, sweetheart,” he whispers in a low, raspy voice behind the shell of your ear, “Now tell me, exactly how many batteries am I short?” 

It’s getting uncomfortable now. You wrap your fingers around Joel’s wrist and try to pull him away from your core but he doesn't budge, “What? Joel, let up.”

“What’d I say? Hands on your thighs. Y’don’t move,” he barks. You do as you’re told, and he hums in satisfaction, “Now answer my question.” 

“I don’t know, six? I–oh, fuck. I was gonna give them back. Please, Joel, I can’t– ”

Joel scoffs, “Six? You stole six batteries. What, were you stashing them for winter? Squirrelier than I thought.”

“No, just…you know how sometimes, they-they-they, and they’re old, so–Joel, m’serious–”, you whine, almost pleading for mercy from the overstimulation he’s causing.

Joel pulls the vibrating wand from your core, and you exhale in relief, resting your head back on his shoulder. He’s showing you mercy. Or so it seems. 

But the sound of the vibrator clicking on is back in an instant. Slightly different pitch this time. You pull your head off his shoulder and watch in shock as he guides it to your pussy, notching the longer end inside. He doesn’t bother going slow as he parts your insides with the toy. You worked yourself up plenty.

“Whatever. Damage is done. So here’s the deal,” Joel starts, “You’re gonna come for me six times, one for each of the six batteries you stole from me. You’re gonna keep count, too. Got one down, right?” but you’re a mess of whimpers and whines, which is the wrong answer, “Or are we doin’ more?”

“One, one, we’re at one. Oh, god. Joel, please. Please.”

“Y’don’t even know what you’re beggin’ for,” Joel mumbles. His hand crosses over both his and your bodies to hold your jaw firmly, keeping your sight set on the picture between your thighs. The toy sliding in and out of you, wet and sticky with your juices. The shorter end sliding over your clit. He’s hitting your g-spot with precision, each thrust sending you closer to the edge. Within seconds, you’re seeing stars as Joel fucks you through it. 

“Count,” he demands. “T-two,” you moan, but Joel doesn’t relent. A third washes over you just as quickly as the previous one. “Three, s’too much Joel, please,” you beg.

“Quit whinin’,” he mocks, “I’m goin’ easy on ya, considering the fuckin’ stunt you pulled. You wanna make it more?”

“No, please. M’so tired.”

“Quit your whinin’. S’a punishment. Ain’t supposed to feel good,” he growls, “You’re gonna give me my batteries’ worth out of these little fuck toys. Make you come until you can’t fuckin’ walk.” You’re still holding your knees back as Joel fucks you through your third orgasm. The hand that was holding your jaw is now traveling lower, groping your breasts and teasing your nipples. Hot, salty tears of overstimulation and exhaustion roll down your cheeks. You’re shaking, trembling, and he knows it’s all too much. He wonders how many times you came before he showed up. So Joel decides to show a bit of mercy, feeling that pulling three orgasms from you is sufficient enough. For now.

He pulls the toy from your pussy and tosses it on your nightstand. He gives you a moment to breathe, to let your legs down. He rubs deep and firm circles into your sore, aching hips before lifting your limp, pliant body up to straddle his lap and face him. His eyes are soft and sincere, his quiet way of telling you he’s still here. And when this is all done, he’s gonna take care of you.

He’s still gonna fuck the living daylights out of you, though.

“You’re doin’ so good,” he tells you, “Almost there.” You nod and Joel lifts your hips, guiding the tip of his cock to your entrance and pulling your aching pussy down onto his cock with a soft groan, slower than he did with the toy. He knows you’re sore. 

He fucks you deep and hard, just how you like. You fall forward, resting your forehead on the thick line of muscle between his neck and shoulder. Whimpering his name into his hot skin, moaning somewhere between agony and ecstasy, “I-Joel, I'm serious. It’s t-too much, please.”

“I know it is,” he whispers as he bounces you on his cock, chasing his own release, hanging by a thread with the way you’re squeezing around him. You think Joel is feeling sympathetic maybe, as he decides to offer a compromise. “I’ll make–oh, fuck,” he gasps, “Make ya a deal.” You mumble incoherently against him, and Joel sits you upright, his cock stiff and filling deep inside you. 

“Right here. Look at me,” he breathes out, gently gripping your jaw to tilt your face up. You look at him with burning, tear stained eyes. He can see the exhaustion on your face. “Breathe, sweetheart,” he coos, “How many left you owe me?”

“Three,” you answer, breathlessly.

“Mhm,” he mumbles, rolling his hips slowly, “I know you’re tired, honey. Probably pretty sore. S’that right?”

“Yes, Joel.”

“Christ, poor thing. What a mess you got yourself into. I know you didn’t mean to, hmm?” You nod in agreement quietly as he fucks you a little more gently, offering you a slight break. “Just curious, wanted to have some fun, huh? I know how ya are,” his tone is soft and kind, but still teasing. 

You smile with a slight shrug. 

“Tell me you’re sorry for stealing, and you only have to give me one more tonight. Just gotta apologize, real nice f’me.”

“Mmm,” is all you can muster. You’re so spent, muddled and incoherent noises seem to be the only sounds your voice can make. 

“Words, c’mon now, baby. ‘I’m sorry, Joel’,” he instructs you.

“I’m sorry, Joel,” you repeat, “For taking your batteries.”

“There ya go, sweetheart. That's it. Good girl,” he praises.

You sigh and collapse on his chest once more as Joel snakes a hand between your bodies. He finds your clit, his fingers warm and soft. With your face against his body, you bite down on his shoulder as his fingers begin rubbing slow, precise circles over your aching clit. No toy in the world could compare to the way his touch makes you feel. 

Just one more. 

He starts to fuck you deeper again, his free hand sliding up your up to grip around the base of your neck as he thrusts up into you, bouncing you on his cock. You’re liquid in his hands as he continues to steadily work your clit. That all too familiar pooling heat in your core is building back up for the last time, this one far more intense than the previous three orgasms he’s pulled from you. It crashes over you in waves, white-hot pleasure coursing through your veins. Joel feels your body tremble and shake, your fluttering walls choking his cock, pulling his own orgasm from him as he spills inside of you, filling you up with loads of his hot seed. 

God, how you missed that. Missed him.

It could have been minutes, maybe hours that you stayed seated on his cock like that, just breathing with Joel. He runs his fingers up and down your spine, strokes your hair.

Finally, you sit up and extricate your body from his to remove the batteries from the toys. “Here,” you hand them to him.

Joel wears kind of an affected scowl on his face as he takes them from you. “Batteries feel light.”

“Sorry,” you say.

Joel smiles softly, his eyes glimmering as he hands them back to you, “Keep ‘em. Got a stash at home anyhow. Now get dressed.” 

“Why?”

“Jesus, sweetheart. Y’got the memory of a goldfish. Cause we’re havin’ dinner, that’s why.” 

You bite your lip and smile mischievously, “Because it’s a date.”

“No. S’not a date, wiseass. You’re a lady and you deserve…hey-”, Joel stops himself, noticing the bubbling lava lamp next to you, green with blue bubbles, like the one he was eyeing back in Spencer’s, “S’a cool lava lamp. I always wanted one.”

“I know,” you smile shyly, “Picked it out for you. Just wanted to make sure it worked first.”

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[silkscream]

bullfight of love

ੈ✩ choso x reader

ੈ✩ tags: flirting, masturbation, porn watching, vaginal sex, riding, soft sub!choso, 2000s au, coworkers, workplace relationship, film bro stuff

ੈ✩ wc: 4.7k

ੈ✩ a/n: i wanted to write choso being a weirdofreak pervert boy that's all. this is part of my fics for gaza <3 there will be a part two for this. do not ask me about a part two because it's already being made

Maki could kill you for being late again. Five missed texts, the final exaggerated with periods and exclamation points – and she never used proper spelling, let alone punctuation. It wasn't serious the way she made it out to be. 

Toji never cared about your track record. The bastard was never in the shop anyway, probably high off his ass in whatever shed of a place he lived in. Maki already hated her cousin enough for the rest of the crew, running that stupid video store like it was a real family business. It was a summer job to you and nothing else.

She sighs when she sees you walk through the door, handing you your name tag without a word before fucking off to the storage room to look at the new shipments.

“Don’t give me the silent treatment!” you yell after her. In response, you only get a middle finger, chipped black nail polish with half a skeleton decal hanging on.

It’s always slow on Mondays. Considering the new cinema that opened across the street, it's slow every day. You should’ve taken a job there, scooping buckets of buttered popcorn instead of telling off porn-stached men who continually mistook the shop as the old adult video store. 

You mindlessly watch Reservoir Dogs on the CRTV, shaken by the sudden flood of middle school students paving their way to the used video game section. Fumbling with the remote, you meet a hard-faced Maki once again. 

“You can’t put on Tarantino, dude. Kids are in here.”

“It was already on,” you shrug. 

Maki rolls her eyes and points to a small stack by the register – some John Hughes VHS tapes. Sixteen Candles. The Breakfast Club. Most shit that both of you hated.

“Gotcha.”

“Can you deal with the new kid, today? Toji didn’t scan all the new shit in like he was supposed to last week.”

“New kid?”

“Uh, yeah. Goth-ish. Like he got spit out of a Hot Topic or something,” she snorts. “No hazing.”

“I should be saying that to you.”

She scoffs at you before rushing back. You’d had a crush on her when you started working there, back when she still had an eyebrow piercing before she let it get infected. She had that Silent Hill look about her for lack of better words. Resting bitch face with a raspy pout. 

Your head swims a little, pounding from dehydration. The morning joint didn’t help, either, nor did the fact that you had to train a newbie today. 

It’s quiet after the kids leave, snatching up some forbidden R-rated movie that’ll traumatize them during a basement sleepover. You nearly doze off once the clock hits three, but loud footsteps bring you back to life. 

A boy that couldn’t be much older than you stares into you, narrowed eyes boring into your soul. You see the dark birthmark across his nose first, as if someone had slashed him with a blade in one straight swoop. He smells like cigarettes and his eyes are decorated with some reddish eyeshadow. Either that or he had the complexion of a sickly Victorian child. 

“Hey,” you deadpan. “Can I help you?”

“I’m the new hire,” he says. His voice is low. He reminds you of the goths that would hit on you at high school parties. He's prettier, though. 

You give him a once-over quickly – he’s taller than you expect, for some reason, and you notice the blooming swirls of abstract tattoos peeking from beneath his sleeves.

“You don’t sound so sure about that,” you smirk. 

He rolls his eyes and introduces himself. Choso. You repeat his name, tasting it on your tongue. He has half a mind to shake your hand but pulls away awkwardly. You take note of the silver rings adorning his fingers.

You tilt your head. “I like your, uh, space buns…”

“Uh, thanks,” he narrows his eyes.

“Okay, so… have you ever used a cash register?”

“Yes.”

“Great. That’s basically half the job.”

You show him the ropes – how to make sales and deal with teens. Cash drops and tracking inventory. You ask him what attracted him to the idea of working at a run-down video store and he says he likes movies and easy money. His brother liked the place, too. 

“You got the Human Earthworm series, boss?” he drones, bored.

“Yeah, think so. You like romance-horror or just terrible practical effects?”

He snorts. “My little brother likes it. Wants to have a marathon with me.”

“Cute.”

Hours pass and he’s gotten the hang of it. If anything, there are more customers than usual today, because you suppose that Choso is conspicuous in appearance and the teenage girls that hang around at the food court need something new to play with. 

It stirs something uneasy in your gut, the waft of saccharine perfume in the air. Girls with tongue piercings, lollipops staining their lips as they bend over the counter to talk to Choso. Ripe girls.

They probably thought he could buy them alcohol, take them for a joyride. He’d only offer them an aloof, blank stare in return. It makes you almost giddy. By the time night comes around, you tell them to fuck off like flies.

“Closing time.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Choso mock-salutes, an amused smirk on his lips. Half-lidded eyes like a cat, maybe a stoner, though he didn’t smell like it. You saw him on his break anyway, sipping down an Asahi Super Dry in the back as if you weren’t looking.

He already knew his place, knew that you wouldn’t rat him out. It was the way something flickered in his eyes when you caught him. A taunt, a quiet challenge. 

You watch him count cash. Chipped black fingernails looked odd on his veiny hands like they were painted in a rush by a child. You notice scrawled pen on his pale skin. Smudged phone numbers.

“Getting hit on already?”

He glances at you and shrugs, hiding a smile. “Half were just from bored teenagers. Other half bored single mothers.”

“Any takers?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

You narrow your eyes. 

“Ha. Don’t be jealous.”

“I’m not,” you snort. “As long as we get customers I guess.”

“Oof. You’re cold. You don’t care how I get these people to buy these movies as long as they buy ‘em, huh?”

“You’re not whoring yourself out by being a cashier. Relax.”

He shrugs on his jacket. Crumpled leather, the kind that held the smell of smoke over generations. It made him look like Takuya Kimura in that way, maybe if his hair was down.

He grins when he finds you staring.

“We done for the night, then, boss?”

You roll your eyes at the nickname. “Uh-huh. Night, newbie.”

He smiles sardonically, looking out and noticing the rain. He curses inwardly, knowing that skating home would be a bitch, and the next bus to his side of town wasn’t for another half hour. He clears his throat.

“Leaving already?”

“Yeah. What, don’t have a ride home, kiddo?”

“Fuck off. I’m not a damn kid. I’m just not someone with a car,” Choso mutters dryly. “I work at a movie rental place for a living. I take the bus everywhere.”

“Sucks to suck then,” you smirk, saluting him goodbye. You throw him the keys. “I trust you to lock up then, yeah? See ya.”

He lets out a frustrated scoff but doesn’t bother to convince you, opting to watch you go. Once you’re out of reach, he sighs and turns, shoving his hands into his pockets and looking around the dim store. 

Yuuji was probably out with that sea urchin–haired punk again. He had to remind himself to save up for a car instead of constantly having to share their parents’ beat-up Toyota.

He could take advantage of the shitty TV in the office, maybe. Watch a stupid re-run while he waits, because he sure as hell isn’t going to wait out in the rain. He walks in and settles on the black leather couch straight out of an amateur porno. He snorts and looks through a fat stack of DVDs in the corner. 

His mouth twists when he picks up something with a racy title. His eyes widen when he realizes it’s an adult film.

“Holy shit,” he mutters, scoffing. He lets out a low whistle, glancing around the office as if someone’s out there, ready to jump him. It’s eerily quiet. He can’t even hear the pitter-patter of rain from in here.

He skims the back cover. It looks crude, but Choso has never really been one to turn down something raunchy. He liked stupid movies, gory ones, art films with weird unsimulated sex. He’d gotten off to In the Realm of the Senses when he was thirteen. Skimming through something this cheap shouldn’t hurt. It wouldn’t arouse him — it would be as entertaining and silly as watching a sitcom for him.

He inserts the disc into the DVD player and waits for it to load. There are no cameras in the office, he notices. Figures. The way you talked about the owner made it seem like the place was barely being held together if not for you.

And then, he thinks of you. He immediately thought you were pretty, not that he’d ever let you know that. Plainer than his usual type, but something was alluring about the curve of your mouth, the way you spoke. He liked that you didn’t take shit most of all. It was probably the hottest thing about you.

He knew better than to fuck around with a coworker, however. It never ended well and resulted in petty drama. He was too old for that shit, wasn’t in high school anymore — he was a man.

When the intro to the film finally loads, a woman in a skimpy, barely-there dress appears on the screen. It’s something vintage, for sure, given the grain. She’s in a love hotel. 

Choso fast-forwards through blurs of messy kissing, colored lights illuminating a heart-shaped tub. He pauses on a frame of the girl riding, her mouth wide open in ecstasy. He presses play.

After about ten minutes, he finds himself in a trance watching with rapt attention at the way the actress moves. His cock twitches when he realizes that she looks a little too much like you. 

She moans particularly loudly and his mouth parts. Something snaps inside of him. 

He has to pause it again. Jesus.

Choso feels like a pervert. No, he’s a man with urges, needs. It’s a pure coincidence that the actress in the porno looks like you of all people. It’s not like he sought her out himself. A movie like this shouldn’t even be in here.

He grits his teeth, hands clenching around the couch leather until his knuckles are white. He takes a breath before pressing play again and his eyes widen when the girl gets even louder.

Ah, fuck it.

He mutters under his breath, shifting on the couch. Glances at the blowjob lips on the screen, soft and plush. He thinks of you and swallows. He bites his cheek, conflicted.

Maybe he shouldn’t.

Then again, no one has to know.

He lets out a shaky exhale, trying to resist the pressure building inside him. It feels like trying to contain a geyser with a cup, and he hasn’t even touched himself yet. 

After contemplating for a beat, he sighs and unbuttons the fly of his jeans, using his other hand to press play again. A gasp escapes his lips as he watches the girl on the screen. The curve of her back, the bounce of her tits. She looks soft. He wonders if you’d be as —

No. No. He’s not doing that.

He spits in his hand and strokes himself, his breathing starting to come out in short, uneven pants. There’s a rush of heat in his gut as he watches. His head tilts back slightly, eyes roaming the ceiling before closing them as he attempts to calm himself down. It’s no use.

His breath hitches, eyes glued to the screen. He’s memorized by the slick flowing out of her. Fuck, he hasn’t gotten laid in a long time. It’s killing him.

It’d be okay if he pretended it was you. It’s not like you would find out. He could imagine fucking your face the way the guy was doing right now in the video, making the bitch gag and moan. Whimpering at being called a good girl. 

“Oh, god–” he mutters, his voice a strangled gasp. She really did look like you. Disturbingly so. When he’s done, he’ll have to wash his hands for five minutes straight from the shame. 

He pants, his grip on himself firm as he squeezes his shaft. Precum smears over his tip and he groans at the sound of the woman’s whimpers getting louder and louder. It makes his lungs seize. He’s getting close.

He doesn’t even register the jingling of the doorknob.

Choso’s head jerks up, his eyes widening in shock as his head turns to see you in the doorway blinking at him. 

“Oh.”

His throat’s dry. What a cruel fucking joke from the universe. There’s no coming back from this. Not when the video’s still going and he’s still half dressed, hand on his fly in mortification.

You tilt your head, smirking. “Nice cock.”

Choso’s at a loss for words, staring at you with embarrassment and utter daze. What the fuck?

“I, uh…” he chokes out, his voice rough and more high-pitched than usual. Face burning. 

He’s going to get fired. No – he has to quit before you even get another word in, save the little dignity he has, maybe convince Yuuji to move to another shitty town with him so he never has to see you again —

“Forgot my wallet,” you say, snapping him out of his thoughts. 

You walk into the room, peering at him. Your eyes fall on the TV, which is still going. The moans feel cheap and tacky now that he’s back in reality. 

Choso scrambles to press the stop button on the remote, his other hand moving to put a pillow on top of his leaking dick. His eyes flicker wildly between your face and the screen.

“You find that in here?”

“Uh… yeah… I, um—”

You snort. “Forgot to tell you that this used to be an adult video store.”

“That explains the selection,” he mutters sheepishly. 

You eye him carefully. He blushes. “Didn’t finish?” you taunt.

He feels too fucking humiliated to say anything, so he mutely nods instead. He fumbles with the zipper of his jeans underneath the pillow.

“Need some help?”

He gapes at you for a moment before looking away. You look amused as you scan his face. Was he hearing you correctly? Was he dreaming?

“Are you— are you offering?” he gasps out, dumbfounded. 

“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve done something like that in here.”

Choso’s jaw drops. 

He stares at you for a moment at a loss for words. Curiosity begins to win out over embarrassment.

“With… who?”

“None of your business,” you chuckle.

He doesn’t like that answer. His jaw clenches, knowing that it’s stupid that it hurts his ego a bit for no reason at all. It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t press the issue as his gears turn back to your previous offer.

“Then you… uh… want to…? With me?”

“You want to, right?”

He swallows nervously, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. He looks at your body shamelessly for a bit. He’s still so fucking hard. Finally, he nods shyly.

“Okay. Take your clothes off, then.”

For a moment, he wants to protest. This is the last thing he expects from you. Maybe it was a blackmail situation — if he doesn’t let you fuck him, would you fire him? 

He realizes that he doesn’t care either way if he gets to fuck you.

He pushes his jeans down with his boxer briefs, shoves the pillow in his lap away with a blush. Slowly, he strips off his t-shirt, leaving him completely exposed. He can feel your gaze on him, raking his chest and arms, the tattoos on his skin. He looks up at you again almost desperately. 

“I meant it,” you drawl. “You do have a nice cock.”

“Th-thanks…” he croaks. 

“Why so nervous?” you tease. “You were flirting with me all day.”

“Yeah, but–” he mutters, huffing defensively. “I didn’t think you’d actually—”

“Wanna fuck you?” you finish for him.

You say it so bluntly that it catches him off guard. He hadn’t really given it too much thought. You were somewhat receptive to his advances if he could call it that. It was mostly him being himself. His sarcasm was meant to be flirting, but none of it was that serious. He found you hot and interesting. He liked that you could keep up with him. 

When he started touching himself with you in mind, everything was thrown out the window. He wanted you, and would probably dream about you when he got home, but the guilt and shame of doing something so depraved in his place of work made him embarrassed. He wouldn’t have been able to face you on his next shift, and then you decided to barge in and ruin everything. 

And now, you’re offering yourself to him on a silver platter. It was absurd.

He narrows his eyes. “What’s in it for you?”

“I think you’re hot. Isn’t that enough?” 

“You… you actually wanna… uh–”

“Yeah, Choso,” you roll your eyes. “I wanna fuck you.”

He shifts on the couch, eyes roaming hungrily over your body as his breaths grow labored. He swallows a lump in his throat.

“Then… do it,” he mumbles.

You grin, moving to straddle his lap. His hands flex and he has to remember to not appear so eager. This is just a casual hookup with a coworker. One born out of bizarre circumstances, sure, but he needs to play it cool. He grips the edge of the couch.

“Don’t wanna touch me?”

He feels even more meek, if that was possible. He hesitates, throat bobbing as he swallows. He’d had girls in his lap before. Bouncing them on his cock until they cried. For some reason, he feels like the submissive one here just because you’re on top of him. 

“Uh,” he stammers. His voice is quiet, nervous. You think it’s cute. “I didn’t know if I was, uh, allowed to—”

“Go ahead.”

He holds back from kissing you. Instead, he smoothes his large hands over your hips, the curve of your waist. He lifts his hands to the edge of your shirt and hooks his fingers into the hem, slowly tugging it upwards. The reveal of skin is tantalizing, makes his mouth water like a man stranded in a desert. 

Sparks jolt the length of his spine as his fingers brush over the bare skin of your stomach. Fuck, you’re soft. He knew you would be. He pulls the shirt over your head and ogles stupidly at your chest. 

“Someone’s worked up,” you tease, playing with his hair. You undo his buns, leaving his hair down.

“Of course I am,” he mutters, his voice strained. “You’re sitting on my lap, looking like that—”

“Can I kiss you?”

His eyes widen. 

“Please,” he breathes. It almost comes out like a desperate whine. “I mean— yeah—”

You raise a brow, laughing. It makes his face heat up down to his neck. 

“Begging already? Thought you’d be more of a dominant type.”

You’ve thought about me?

“I— I am,” he grumbles. 

“Uh-huh. I’ll let you prove it later.” You lean in.

“Promise?” He looks at you with something eager in his gaze and your eyes soften. 

“Mhm.”

Finally, he captures your lips with his. You sigh into it and it makes his cock throb underneath you. He takes that as an invitation, his tongue immediately pushing past the plush of your lips. He reaches up to grab the back of your head and tangles his fingers in your hair as if he’s done it all before. It makes you moan a little in his mouth.

He moans back, pulling you flush against the hard planes of his chest. You pull back slightly, leaving him to chase your lips for a moment as he lets out a small huff of protest. When you look at him, his eyes are half-lidded, lips slightly parted and shiny with spit.

“You’re pretty,” you say without thinking. “Real pretty.”

He flushes, unable to form words. His expression immediately floods with disappointment when you get off his lap to stand. 

“Where are you going?” His voice would be whiny if it wasn’t so gruff from desire. 

“Relax, idiot.” You unbutton your pants, sliding them down slowly. He assumes you’re teasing him, which he doesn’t particularly mind. You’re a sight to behold. His cock twitches as his eyes look at your smooth thighs. 

“Get over here,” he huffs. You laugh, moving to straddle him. 

He doesn’t have time to react before you lean in to immediately nip at his neck. He lets out a moan, hips bucking involuntarily. You can feel his pulse quickening, the vibration of his moans underneath your lips. 

“Fuck,” he gasps. His fingernails dig into the meat of your waist. 

He can’t stay still. It takes him everything in him to not rock his hips up into you. It doesn’t help that he can already feel your wet heat hovering over his cock. His brain nearly short-circuits. He preens under you, grabbing at you like you’re going to fly away. 

“Be patient. Wanna play with you first,” you mumble.

Choso’s eyes flutter closed as you speak. You sound so fucking sexy right now, he can’t stand it. It’s better than the stupid filler plot he scrubbed through in that damn porno. Miles better. 

“Play with me,” he grits. “Fuck — later.”

“Oh, yeah. Forgot you were pregaming this before I walked in.”

He glares at you. It’s entertaining watching the expression melt off his face when you lift your hips and immediately slam down on him. The moan he lets out is guttural. His hands immediately find your hips.

“Hah – fuck,” you breathe. “You’re bigger than you look.”

Choso lets out a strangled chuckle, head falling back on the couch. It makes him look even hotter, the way his tattoos flex with his collarbone. 

“Told you I wasn’t a kid.”

Your laugh tapers off into a moan when he gives a small, tentative roll of his hips. Testing the waters. You’re so fucking tight that it’s making it hard for him to even think. When he hears you gasp at being filled by him completely, his eyes widen.

“Shit,” he gasps. “Wanna make you do that again—”

“H-Huh?”

His eyes lock on your face as he grins, grinding into you slowly. 

“That noise–” he groans, his throat taut and dry. “You made this little gasp—”

“Ah–”

“There it is,” he snickers. His eyes gleam. “Just like that.”

Your eyes roll back, mirroring the roll of his cock inside you. Your cunt clenches around him and it feels like fucking heaven. He can feel all your wetness drool into his lap. He had the urge to push you into the leather, cant his hips up like something rabid. 

It feels like his brain was going to fall out of his nose, the head rush in tandem with the blood pumping into his cock. Impossible tightness. Snug cunt, petals closing into a bud. 

When you wrap your arms around him, it almost feels romantic. It’s dangerous.

He kisses you, then. Quivers when he feels you getting lost in it, tasting nicotine in your swapped spit. He whimpers as you start to move your hips with more intention. You smile wryly at his reaction, pulling away, eyes fixed on where your bodies meet.

You’re a fucking wet dream while you’re riding him. The way your hair brushes messily over your jawline, the way your mouth parts with a gasp every time he feels you pulsate on his cock. Choso grabs your ass greedily and kneads it, mesmerized at the softness of your flesh. 

“God, you look so fucking good right now—”

His eyes flash as he watches you move. He tries to match your tempo, rutting up into you with frenzied effort. His cheeks are flushed as he nearly unravels himself for you, his expression raw and hungry. He leans in to suck on your tongue, descending his wet mouth down to your jaw, your tits. Oral fixation.

You can feel him deep in your stomach, buried in you. It’s as if he could pierce you through the throat. You’re sure that you’ll ache everywhere by the time you get home. You’d never taken a cock quite this big, never been this wet, your insides swirling around like a washing machine. Your guts all muddled with something that felt too warm for just lust.

“So fucking hot,” he mumbles, hands pressing into your bare thighs. 

All his preoccupations with you had disappeared. He didn’t care if you thought he was a pervert, since you were one too, in a way. Letting him fuck you like this when he barely knew you at all, yet a repressed part of his brain made his heart flutter at the thought of you. It didn’t help that he could practically feel your heartbeat with his cock.

It isn’t romance — it has to be the sex. He can’t think about it too much right now. Not when he’s in a state of delirium inside your cunt.

“Choso, I’m close,” you whine.

“Yeah?” he rasps. “Fuck, me too.” 

His hair is tousled and sticky. Eyes glazed, chest rising and falling rapidly.

He grabs at your hips, guiding them to grind on him faster. Your wetness makes it all so smooth — all buttery, no resistance. You feel full.

He feels like he’s being squeezed to death, to heaven. It sends him over the edge at the same time he feels your pussy clench around him. You tremble in waves as you gasp out a moan. It’s more like a choked breath. He can’t stop watching you as you come, the way your eyes roll back. 

A whine escapes his throat as he cums. Everything that seeps out is slick, feels like something new and primordial at once. Seraphic, he’d say, if he happened to be drunk. He certainly feels drunk.

Choso doesn’t expect you to kiss him so sweetly after such a vulgar affair. He lets out a long exhale into your mouth with eyes closed, letting his head fall back a little while your hands cup his cheeks. His body is all melted limbs, languid sex. 

“Jesus,” he mutters. 

“Hey.”

He opens his eyes and gazes at you through sleepy lids. He lifts a hand lazily, brushing the hair away from your face.

“Yeah?”

“Did you pick an actress that looked like me on purpose?”

He freezes. His hands tighten around your waist as he looks away.

“No,” he scoffs. “Just thought she was hot—”

You chuckle.

“I didn’t pick it, I found it,” he gruffs. “I’ll admit that… she looks like you… I guess.”

“Was I as good?” 

He scoffs again, his eyes flashing with a mix of playfulness and irritation. You were as much of a little shit as he was.

“You’re better,” he rolls his eyes. “I already told you what I think, dumbass. Real pretty.”

“Oh, did you?”

There’s a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “I’d be pretty pissed if you weren’t better than some stupid video—”

“Idiot. Those girls are probably like, Olympians at fucking. Porn isn’t like real sex anyway.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he grins. He pauses for a moment, suddenly looking timid. “It’s just… a decent placeholder for when I… y’know.”

“Just call me next time.”

Choso’s eyes widen slightly, unable to hide his surprise. He sputters for a second.

“What? I’m, uh— not gonna call you every time I—” he groans, “That’ll be way too many times.”

You raise a brow.

“Wait, no— that came out wrong. I’m not some horny freak or something—”

“I mean, given how I found you…”

“That’s—” he stammers, unable to complete a sentence without his brain completely blacking out every millisecond. “That was a one-time thing.”

“Hope so. I don’t wanna fire you, newbie,” you grin.

His pulse quickens at your smile. 

“Like hell, you will. You’re too understaffed to fire me.”

[maxislvt]

I've been thinking so much about omega Wanda and alpha reader and I was thinking about omega Wanda buying alpha reader hoodies and stitching in her last name on the chest just to show that Reader is hers, it started off as just a small w.m on the sleeve but then it grew and moved to the left side of reader's chest where Wanda always places her hand when she leans in to give a little peck to reader throughout the day

warnings: omegaverse, nonsexual dominance, suggestive

i wrote this in like 2 hours

As much as you hated to admit it, your wardrobe needed upgrading. Before Wanda, you were all work and no play and your clothes reflected that. All the formal attire you had was bought at the last minute for missions and barely fit. All your lounge clothes were just workout clothes you felt comfortable to sleep in. You had four pairs of shoes and two of them were technically a part of your costume. 

It was only a matter of time before Wanda had to intervene. 

“Sweetheart, I understand that these clothes mean a lot to you but you have to get rid of something to make space for new stuff,” Wanda said. She was having a hard time getting through to you. Alphas were quite territorial and had a hard time letting go of their things. She understood why to a certain extent. These were the clothes your mother had given you when you were rescued. It wasn’t easy for Wanda to get rid of them either, but some of your clothes were barely holding together. “Look at this,” she gasped. “I can fit my head through this hole!” Wanda put the hoodie over her head to show the truth of her statement. 

You chuckled at the sight of Wanda. “Can’t you just patch it up? There’s no point in buying a new one if it does what it’s supposed to.” You simply shrugged when Wanda groaned. The need for new clothes wasn’t above you, but admittedly you didn’t know how to go shopping for clothes. “Look, I’ll get new clothes but I’m not going to just toss all of the stuff I got already.” You began putting your clothes back on the hanger. It was easier said than done considering Wanda kept snatching clothes away from you. Some of them you let go, but when it came to a particular leather jacket, you refused to let it go. “Nuhuh” — you pulled the jacket back towards you — “I’m keeping this one.” 

Wanda pulled back. “It’s not even real leather. I promise you we’ll find a better one when we go shopping.” She was usually careful with your things, but the leather was peeling and the sleeves were stretched to their limit. She wouldn’t blink twice if it ripped in half right now. You were far too cute to be caught dead in such a tattered piece of clothing. She tugged at it again. “We’ll get you a new one,” she said, this time her words were more pronounced. A clear warning.

Of course, you were just as stubborn as Wanda. You wanted your jacket. Not a new one, not a better one — it had to be that jacket. “You’re not the boss of me. I want to keep the jacket and that’s final.” You said as you finally yanked the jacket free from Wanda’s grasp. You had the jacket, but now there was a bigger problem. Wanda wasn’t too pleased with your defiance. “Look Wanda I—”

“Bend over, and you better not miscount.”

After a brief conversation, you and Wanda agreed to go shopping. 

Wanda wanted you to explore different stores so you find clothes that interested you, but she wanted to get the essentials first. That unfortunately meant spending a dreadfully long time in a tailor. To make matters worse, it was 8 am on a Saturday. That was when you usually woke up, but that was for training. Not for playing dress up. The tailor was nice, but no amount of kindness could make you less upset about the detour in your schedule. The worst part was that Wanda insisted that you have plenty of accessories to go along with the new suits you bought. You were too upset to even bother looking for regular clothes. Wanda agreed to take you home after the fitting, but she hated seeing you upset. 

Wanda knew she had to apologize and there was only one way to do it.

It was supposed to be just the one jacket. It was a decently priced repair and sewing her name initials on it was a quick process. Then she found a few of your old hoodies and got a little carried away. Each time her name got bigger and bigger. By the fifth one, her last name covered the entire backside. She was thankful only a handful of your hoodies were truly salvageable. Once she was done, she simply placed them back into your closet while you were off on a mission. 

You noticed that they were back in your room almost immediately. The thought of Wanda owning you so blatantly made you blush, but you liked it. You began wearing them all around the tower. Whether it was a debriefing or while you were working out. It felt good knowing you were owned.

Wanda was just hoping for a little more.

“When I made these, I was thinking you’d wear them outside.” She wrapped her arms around your shoulders and snuggled into your neck. Wanda’s lips brushed against the mark she left on your neck months ago. “We’re not a secret anymore.”

You let out a deep breath to keep calm. “I’m more worried people will try and copy the design.” It wouldn’t be the only time a company copied something of yours for hero merchandise. “I love them, but all it takes is one picture of me in this thing, and suddenly everyone has one.” Your head leaned back against her chest. Sometimes you wished you were just a stay-at-home alpha. You had no idea how to take care of a home, but you’d be more than willing to figure it out if Wanda could have you to herself.

[cxrsed-angel]

I ♡︎ DILFS

word count: 3k

Warnings: smut 18+ only (minors DNI), Daddy kink (kinda expected), established relationship, age gap (reader is between 24-25, Joel is in his 50s), oral (male receiving), fem!reader

A/N: I've always thought Joel was hot but Pedro Pascal playing him really did it for me, trying to improve my smut so I hope this is better than my last one. <3!!

You were going through an old building as a short cut you didn't realize it at first from the decay and rubble, but the more you looked around, you could see that it used to be a mall. You looked inside a store seeing if you could find anything useful when you spot it. It was a sign from fate; you go and grab the shirt and hold it up to look at. Considering what it's been through, it was in pretty good condition, like it was saved for you. You quickly take off your backpack and put it on. It was a little small; you assume it was a baby tee from the fit of it, but you had a long sleeve under, so you were still covered. You hear Ellie call your name and grab your stuff and run over to them. Joel starts walking, leading you out once he sees you, “Took you long enough come on lets get out of here” You see Ellie looking at the shirt, trying to read it.

 “I heart-i heart, whats a DILF?” Ellie asks more so to anyone than directly to her you could see the gears turning in her head trying to figure out what each letter means. 

You wish you could take a picture of Joel's face when he heard that, he turned around so fast, “Where the hell did you find that at” “C’mon Joel you know this is my brand, my whole motto, this is me, it was fate that brought me and this shirt together and Im never taking it off.” 

“Dead I Like, Deadly I-ok I give up what is it” you both ignored Ellie trying to figure out what DILFS are. 

“I can't take you anywhere, how do you always manage to find the most ridiculous shit during an apocalypse.”

 “Hey! what is it, I don't get it.” You hear Ellie shouting at you clearly annoyed, but youre more focused on Joel at the moment. 

“Aw Joel don't be jealous you know you're the only DILF for me” 

“Can you shut the hell up.” You giggled slightly at the clear annoyance in his voice. You loved messing with him when you can, and when it wouldn't put you in danger of course, you added some much-needed fun to his life. 

You finally leave the mall and walk out onto the road; you were so excited about your DILF shirt, you had an eye for things like this. You knew you couldn't take back everything you find but if it was small or something you really liked you took with you like when you found an old hello kitty watch, it didn't work, but it was still cute. Another time you found a Britney Spears poster in decent condition that was currently hanging up in your room, but the DILFS shirt was definitely your favorite after the poster. You were happy to add it to your little collection. 

“Can someone please explain what is a DILF I don't get it and why is Joel one?” Ellie asks for the billionth time, getting frustrated at you both for not listening to her. 

“Its da-”  You were interrupted by Joel his deep voice, a little upset at you for almost telling Ellie, you didnt think it was too inappropriate but he clearly disagreed. 

“Absolutely not youre not telling her she doesn't need to know, way too young for that, Im surprised you even know what it means” he responded, looking back at you mortified at where you had learned it from. 

“Hey! I was born before the pandemic you know” you tell him, reminding him that you’re not that young. Although compared to him, you were. 

“You were what 4, 5 when it happened can’t have remembered much before.” you heard the sass in his voice but you continue trying to prove that it shouldn't be surprising that you know what a DILF is. 

 “Okay, Im not ancient like you but still I had older friends, and we would talk about-” He interrupts you again, staring at you with frowned eyebrows. 

“Please stop there I really don’t want to know what you and your friends talk about, can we just change topics please.” If they told you about DILFs, he really didn't want to hear what else teens talked about in this world. 

“Dude c’mon, why can't you tell me, Im not a little kid.” Ellie says again, trying to get both of your attention and get you to explain it to her. You know now she’s not gonna let it go since Joel told her no. But you decided you’ll explain it later, especially after the whole playboy magazine situation, and she was around the same age you first heard it from your friends so you didnt see the issue.

“Alright from here until we get to where we are headed we are quiet, no one says a word unless you're dying got it” you could tell Joel had heard enough, and considering that you were outside you told it was best to listen to him and not distract him or yourself. 

“got it” “yes sir” you lean towards Ellie. “He’s in a mood today huh” deciding to bother him one last time before you would have be serious. 

She was about to respond until you walked right into Joel, giving you a yet intimidating glare frowning his eyebrows at you.  “alright alright, i’ll shut up.” 

After a couple hours of walking, Joel found a small safe building to sleep for the night, and you had been talking to Ellie until she fell asleep; you walk over into the room Joel was in, deciding to tease him again.

 “Hey daddy whatcha doing?” you call out in his direction, watching as he rolls his eyes at the name. 

“Stop.” he responded flatly, clearly not amused by your jokes, but you decided to keep them going. 

 “What's wrong Daddy does it make you flustered?” You thought he was going to give you another flat response or tell you to shut up. But you were wrong, instead, he stands up and walks over to you, standing closer than you anticipated, you try to step back slightly, but his arm around your waist prevents you from going too far. You feel the blood rush to your cheek and ears, your mouth goes dry, not knowing what to say or how to respond.

“Oh look who’s flustered now, sweetheart.” His deep voice teases you back, having more of an effect on you than your teasing did on him. You feel yourself get hotter, your brain is unable to focus anything except on how close he was and his rough hand around your waist forcing you closer to him, though you didn't mind. You continue blinking up at him, speechless.

“Youre so quiet now what happened, thought you were teasing me baby?” 

You continue to stare at his brown eyes, the only thing you brain was thinking way, wow hes so hot. You look up into his face, taking in his features. The wrinkles around his pretty brown eyes, the scars and cuts around his face. God you always thought he was attractive but it still amazes you how hot and pretty he was. You could look at him all day. 

He wraps both his hand around your waist, pulling you to him,places his lips on yours. You loved kissing Joel. It was rare having him kiss you while you weren’t in the safety of the QZ. He usually couldn’t relax enough to kiss you, needing to be alert and focused just in case. So this took you by surprise but his kisses always made you feel warm and safe, and in that moment, you didn't have to worry about anything. All that mattered was him. 

You wrap your hands around his neck as you deepen the kiss, pressing your lips against his rough lips, closing your eyes as you melt into his embrace; his hands lower down your waist and squeeze your ass, which surprises you so much that you let out a small gasp against his lips. Joel pulls away slightly, smiling at you “youre cute” His actions confused you; you rarely ever are intimate outside the walls, but you trusted him and if he felt comfortable you knew you were safe so you decided to mess with him “hmm I dont daddy youre pretty cute yourself.” 

He guides you over to the makeshift bed, leading you by your waist, making you walk backward, as you continue kissing him, parting your lips slightly, allowing his tongue to slip inside yours. 

 “You ain’t gonna stop are you” he asks he sits down and pulls you down onto his lap; you couldn’t tell iif he seriously was tired of you calling him that or if he just teasing too. 

 “what you don't like it Daddy?” you ask, trying to gauge his reaction you didn’t want to push it too far or actually make him uncomfortable. 

 “I never say that now did I, sweetheart?” again, he confused you does that mean he liked it or that he didn’t mind you joking about it? you stare at his face trying to see. 

Your thoughts are interrupted by him pulling your lips onto his again. But more aggressively than earlier, moaning into his mouth and rolling your hips against him as he gropes your ass through your jeans.

“Joel” You moan against his lips before you lean your head into his neck.

 “Aw baby what happened to daddy huh” you pull away, looking up at him with wide eyes, surprised. Did he like it? You look at his face and see his eyes full of lust, and you realized he liked it. He liked it when you called him daddy. You look down, suddenly getting shy and embarrassed about saying it. It was one thing saying it as a joke and teasing him about it, but to moan, it was different; it was dirtier. 

He saw you getting shy and flustered in his lap, avoiding eye contact with him. Unlike you, he could read you like the back of his hand; he could easily tell you were embarrassed.

“c’mon baby no need to be shy, I can tell you like too don’t you” he softly stroked your waist when one hand and squeezes your ass with the other. you take your gaze off the floor onto him. nodding in agreement with him.

“C’mon baby need you say it, you like calling me daddy don’t you” you could tell he wanted you to say it out loud, his hand rubbing small patterns on your waist encouraging you, reassuring you that you didn’t need to be embarrassed. 

“Yea i like it daddy” you mutter quietly, still ashamed to say in a serious setting. Not quite ready to admit to yourself that calling Joel daddy turned you on as much as it did. 

You didn't think you would like it or find it this attractive. Maybe it was your lack of a father growing up, and Joel being older than you. You didn't know why; all you knew is that once you said it, you felt yourself getting wetter. 

“hmm good girl” he takes your face into his hands, kissing you again; you slip your tongue into his mouth, his deep voice letting out a moan against your mouth. You couldnt help but grind and roll your hips against him, searching for any type of release. 

He goes to lift your shirt but stops slightly, rolling his eyes “Want me to fuck you in the I heart DILFS shirt dont you?” you look at him, nodding laughing a little “you know me so well.” 

He sighs and shakes his head. Although there’s disappointment in his voice, you can tell there’s also amusement. “ I do, dont why I tolerate you” 

 “You love me, cant live without me, I bring adventure into your life you’d be so bored without me.” you remind him why he puts up with you.

“Shut up” he mutters, though you sensed the amusement in his voice because he knows you’re right. As much as you annoyed him, he couldn’t imagine living without your teasing and antics. 

You unbutton his shirt and take it off, lightly grazing your fingers across his chest, admiring his chest and body, you see more scars and healed wounds but you also see his muscles. You’ve always loved his body. You remember the nights in your apartment placing, kissing along his waist, his chest, his stomach. 

You thought about placing marks on his chest but were interrupted by him unzipping your jeans and lifts your hips up to slide your pants off, you get off his lap, taking off the rest of your pants.  You unzip his pants, pulling them down, you stare at his bulge through his boxers and press kisses onto his dick, teasing him through his boxers. 

“Wanna suck you off” you mumble quietly, focusing on how much you need him in your mouth. You weren’t even sure he heard or understood you until you hear his deep voice speak to you, breaking you away from your thoughts. 

“What’d you say darling couldnt hear” You know he heard you he just wanted you to say it louder. 

“Can I please suck your dick daddy” you look up at him batting your eyelashes while you rub your hand against his hard dick. You feel his dick twitch against your hand while he bites his lip, suppressing a moan. 

“Goddamn darling you’re killing me” his texas accent getting stronger as he gets harder in his boxers, you loved hearing his deep texas accent come out as he gets more turned on by you. 

He pulls down his boxers, and no matter how many times you’ve seen his dick, you’re still in shocked at how big he is. You can’t help but to stare for a couple of seconds taking it in, you smile up at him before teasing him licking the tip gently as you lightly stroke him, you continue placing kitty licks on his dick. He shivers against your tongue, and you love it, love watching him fall apart because of you and seeing how much your mouth affected him. 

 You gather some spit in your mouth before you drool some onto his dick. He rolls his eyes back as you slowly stroke his cock in your hand, using your spit as lube. You hear his deep voice moaning as you lean down and lick the tip while still stroking him. You start to slowly speed your hand when you feel his hand lightly tugging your hair making you stop and stare up at him.

 “you’re gonna have to speed it up sweetheart.” 

That was all he said before his hand grabbed the back of your head and forced your lips onto his cock. You hollow your cheeks and take him in further, feeling your nose brush against his hair at the base of his cock. He moves his hips gently fucking your throat 

“Fuck you feel so good” he murmured under his breath, his voice deeper than his usual tone. You closed your eyes as you felt yourself starting to choke on him,he started to thrust his hips faster into your mouth. 

“C’mon baby look at me, look at daddy.” 

You couldn’t help but moan around him at his words, feeling yourself getting more turned on as he called himself daddy. You listen, looking up at him through your eyelashes as you continue taking him down your throat. 

“Atta girl, so pretty looking up at me like that.” you feel yourself getting warmer from his praise, loving how vocal he was, you wish you were back at his apartment so he could be louder without the risk of drawing unwanted and dangerous attention. 

He moves the hair that was falling in front of your face behind your ears “you look fucking gorgeous sucking my dick darling” feeling butterflies in your stomach as he compliments you.  

You take him out of your swollen lips when you start feeling dizzy from the lack of air; you continue to stroke him in your hands as you catch your breath until he puts his hand on your head, guiding your mouth back onto his cock. His deep voice moans out your name under his breath as he gets closer to his release. 

“fuck darling i’m close keep on-yes like that baby god you like this huh like having daddy’s dick in your mouth sweetheart?”

You nod as best you could, trying to agree, but all that comes out is your moans against his dick. You could tell he was close as his started to get slightly louder, but you could tell he was trying his best to be quiet. His deep voice, making your head go fuzzy in arousal. He start making you gag as he thrusting into your mouth faster , sloppy fucking into your mouth as he closer to his release. After a few more thrust you hear him moaning your name as he cums into your mouth. You feel his cum shoot into your mouth and down your throat.

You held your head onto his cock until he finish before you slowly took him out your mouth. He holds your cheek in his hands, lightly caressing them. 

“Open baby girl let me see.” you happily open your mouth, showing how you swallowed his cum. “Good girl baby c’mere” he pulls you onto his lap again before placing a kiss on your lips , softly biting your bottom lip before pulling away. He holds you in his lap for a couple of minutes. you lay your head on his shoulder as he softly rubs his hand up and down your back.

“if we were at home you know i’d take care of you right baby” his deep voice makes you lift your head off of him, looking into his eyes. Before you met Joel, you thought older men didn’t have much of a sex drive, you didn’t know if it was just Joel or all men in their 50s but he proved you wrong. There have been many nights in his room where he would fuck more than one time; the first time caught you by surprise. Of course, you both paid the price in the morning; both sore, aching muscles had to spend the next day in bed, not being able to do much. So you know he would have fuck if you were back at home. 

“Of course i do” you play with the hair at the back of his neck for a little while before getting off his lap so he could put his clothes back on, and you do the same. You didn't mind; you knew sucking him off was as much risk as he could take, and you didn't really feel comfortable enough to fuck out in the open like this. After you both have your clothes on, you lay down with Joel, wrapping your arms around his waist as he turned, pressing your back into your chest, falling asleep. Trying to rest before you’d have to walk back to the QZ in the morning.

[vaspider]

Hi, Spider!

I have a fun question.

In August, I'm going to be attending a wedding. Husbff is the best man, and Tiny Human is the ring bearer.

I've put together an outfit that mimics the suits worn by the wedding party (navy blue pinstripe pants and vest and a white shirt), with the bride's knowledge and approval.

The bride is concerned that her parents may not be on their best behavior toward queer friends and guests, so she's given me permission to be as outrageous and QUEER as I like. If they're going to cause a problem, better that it happen before the big day.

As a member of the extended wedding party, I'm expected to attend the rehearsal and rehearsal dinner. The dress code is more casual than the actual ceremony. I'm not sure how to queer it up at a casual dinner. Any advice?

Suspenders go on jeans or other casual pants. I wear suspenders with pretty much everything. I like these for pants that don't have purpose-built buttons:

Personally, I love colorful socks for a little extra zhush on an outfit, and here I think a great choice might be from fellow PDX business @sockdreams:

You can't go wrong with adding a pronoun pin, of course, and even better if it glitters:

For that matter, if I'm going to recommend my own stuff, I might as well point out that if you don't want to go the suspenders route, you can't go wrong with a button-up shirt:

You know, maybe something really subtle:

:)

[possibilistfanfiction]

Wn prompt: buttons

[for @unicyclehippo as part of our little series for ea other — outside switzerland era pov, or: the kind, amused things a vintage shopkeeper & her wife in switzerland think of ava & beatrice. also on ao3.]

//

one hot afternoon the door rings and a girl rushes through, a little bit of a hurricane, and another follows, calm in the eye of a storm she seems both exasperated by and fond of at once.

you’re used to an influx of university students during the summer months. many are passing through, on their way from zurich to berlin or munich; some are just relaxing here, passing time before they’re inevitably swept back into their everyday lives. you’ve lived here for a long time, since you yourself stumbled on this town just after you finished a degree in marketing that could have been of use but sparked so little joy you decided to give yourself a year, or two, or maybe five, to figure out something better, something happier. you’d worked at the vintage store before it was yours, with its previous owner, clara, taking a shine to you, even though, in those days, you were quieter, reserved, kept mostly to yourself. when she had wanted to retire, she sold the shop to you for much less than you knew it was worth — you buy her groceries and weed her lawn and fix anything in her house; you have her over for dinner every sunday.

it’s a good life, especially when it’s quiet in the morning, just before the shop opens, and you spin the pretty ring around aleyna’s finger and kiss her while she laughs and tastes like coffee. in those moments, with her black hair and the wrinkles that have gotten deeper around the edges of her mouth, under her eyes — from smiling, from your small home and the blue eggs the chickens in your yard lay, from her books and her records in this store that she sells with care and fondness, the way she does everything — that you love. in those moments, and in so many others, too — there is no better a life that you can imagine.

‘hello,’ you say in german. ‘welcome. i’m lena. is there anything i can help you with?’

‘i’m ava,’ one says, enthusiastic and rocking on her heels once, trying to keep her excitement in; she’s beautiful in a pretty way, in a young way, with messy, tangled light hair and a t-shirt with a hole in the sleeve. ‘and this is beatrice.’ she gestures to the girl beside her, a little older, stoic and straight backed, although she offers a smile, almost apologetic. she has on a black jumpsuit and her hair is in a neat bun at the back of her head. she waves. ‘we both use she/her pronouns, i don’t really care, though. and we’re staying here for the summer!’ ava continues, in perfect german, a happy smile on her face. ‘at least that long, i guess. we’re on sabbatical. anyway, we need stuff!’

‘clothes,’ beatrice clarifies. ‘our apartment is already furnished, ava.’

ava doesn’t seem deterred in the slightest. 'we need fun things too.’ ava takes beatrice’s hand and squeezes, which makes beatrice’s eyes go wide and you want to laugh, just a little. ‘but, yes, clothes.’

‘clothes can be fun,’ you say. ava grins; beatrice grimaces at you, a small warning not to encourage ava too much, it seems. you lead them over to some of your more casual shirts and summer tank tops, which ava seems immediately delighted by.

‘is it okay if i try things on?’

‘of course.’ you point toward one of the small dressing rooms near the back, with heavy curtains.

‘by the way,’ ava says, while beatrice carefully looks through tanks and t-shirts with a frown, ‘your suit is gorgeous. i would think it would be hot, but what is that — linen?’

‘yes,’ you say, and you don’t miss beatrice’s curious gaze at your slim pants, your loafers, the way your jacket sits perfectly on your shoulders. ‘it’s quite comfortable, even when it’s warm.’

‘i love that for you.’ ava already has a whole armful of cropped tanks and a few patterned overshirts, two pairs of denim shorts, and a pair of jeans the color of wild roses that aleyna had loved when she found them at a market two towns over. ‘bea, i’m gonna go try these on! fashion show!’

beatrice blushes but she nods. ‘stay within budget, please. i don’t think you can get all of what you’ve picked.’

‘yeah, obviously. don’t worry, i’ll find my favorites.’

ava scampers off and you don’t miss that beatrice hasn’t picked up anything to try on; you remember a feeling, back when your hair was too long and your pants were too tight against your hips, when you fought yourself into dresses, and the way she touches the same kind of tank ava had been thrilled to put in her arms reminds you, a little, of yourself.

‘i like to tailor,’ you tell her, and she looks at you carefully as you walk over to a clothing rack with — if you do say so yourself, and also aleyna says so, which is more important — beautiful slacks on it. some are formal, could pair well with a jacket, and some are more casual and comfortable. beatrice follows you, a little reluctantly but with measured, sure steps, solemn, exacting posture in her neat jumpsuit. you pick up a pair of navy slacks you genuinely do love, an exaggerated wide leg, and a grey pair that sits high on the waist. there’s a collarless button down you’d found a month or so ago, and you hand it to her as well. ‘what do you think?’

she takes them almost reverently, and sometimes you forget: you have lived here in the mountains and woken up to your wife and her sleepy grumbling for so many years, now — what it felt like to understand yourself for the first time. ‘they’re …’ she shakes her head, at a loss, it seems. ‘i’d like to try them on, if that’s okay.’

‘of course.’

ava bursts out of the dressing room not soon after beatrice is in the one next to her, and when she notices beatrice isn’t still standing outside, she grins.

‘well, lena, thoughts?’

you’re ultimately and immediately charmed by ava — her grin and genuine delight over a tank and a pair of cutoffs. ‘do you feel happy?’

‘god,’ ava says, ‘so fucking happy! i had — honestly, it’s a long story, but i haven’t gotten to pick out much stuff for myself, at least not in a long time. it’s so fun.’

you smile. ‘i told you so.’

she laughs. ‘but, while bea is in there —‘ she hooks a thumb over her shoulder in the direction of the dressing room — ‘let me look at some knickknacks or something. she’s so serious but i can wear her down, i’m sure of it.’

you’re pretty sure ava could wear anyone down, but you don’t say that. ‘well, we have some records; my wife enjoys curating a collection so it’s fairly eclectic, but there will probably be something you’d like.’

‘sick,’ ava says, in english, and then laughs at herself. she starts looking through the few crates of records you have, pulls out blue by joni mitchell with a sad smile. ‘my mom loved this album.’

‘if you put it at the bottom of your pile of clothes, i’ll make sure it makes it into your bag.’ you wink when ava looks up at you and she smiles.

‘that’s very kind. thank you.’

it’s so sincere, ava immediately calmed and quiet, but then she perks up again when she hears the curtain of the dressing room open and beatrice steps out in the grey slacks and white button up you’d handed her. she’s a little awkward but her shoulders have relaxed and ava is about to drool next to you, you’re pretty sure, based on her complete lack of words; beatrice has to fight for a few seconds to look away from both ava’s thighs and her chest, but she does, eventually.

‘good?’

‘yes.’ beatrice offers you a real smile, not out of politeness but because she means it. ‘i think i need a belt?’

‘bea,’ ava says, rebooting and hurrying over to her, the record set carefully on the counter first. ‘you look so cool! like, whoa. conversely, also hot.’

‘ava.’

‘what?’ ava says, without any hint of an apology. ‘you do!’

you hand beatrice a simple black belt and find a few more button downs for her to try, a pair of loose levi’s, cuffed at the ankles, for lazy saturdays, and hand them to her too. she cradles them to her chest for a moment, and ava notices too.

‘thank you, lena,’ beatrice says. ‘i’ll finish trying everything on and then, if ava’s done, we’ll be out of your hair.’

you hair is perfect, thank you very much, and ava laughs when you primp it. ‘no rush, i’m just glad you liked some of the clothes.’

‘i do,’ beatrice says, then walks back into the dressing room.

‘whew,’ ava whispers. ‘am i right?’

it makes you laugh, her genuine distress. ‘i know the feeling.’

ava smiles. ‘well, bea wants to, like, get groceries, and clean, and go on a run, blah blah. but i’ll be back! i want to hear about your wife.’

‘she’s here most mornings, in fact.’

‘incredible.’ ava fist pumps. ‘i love mornings.’

you charge them far less, when beatrice brings two pairs of slacks, two button ups, and a pair of jeans so neatly folded you’re both a little concerned and a lot impressed, and places them on the counter, along with ava’s pile of tank tops and shorts and pants, and of course the album.

‘ava,’ beatrice says, ‘we don’t need that.’

ava pouts, but before she can argue, you say, ‘don’t worry about it. my wife will be thrilled it’s in good hands.’

beatrice looks torn; sometimes, kindness is difficult. but ava bounces on the balls of her feet and puts both of her hands on one of beatrice’s shoulders, practically begs. ‘fine,’ beatrice says. ‘thank you again, lena.’

‘sure thing,’ you say, accept beatrice’s neatly stored cash from her simple leather wallet, and send them on their way with a few bags. ava’s already trying to convince, you hear as they walk out, beatrice to skip their run and eat gelato by the lake instead. which, honestly, sounds like a good plan for the afternoon; you text aleyna and she comes by half an hour later, leaving the library a bit early, and kisses you in the golden sun.

/

ava comes in a few days later with a bag of pastries and three coffees and a giant smile.

‘hi!’ she says, delighted when she sees you and aleyna both sorting through a new box of books.

‘hello, ava,’ you say, stand and smile. aleyna stands too and steps forward to offer her hand. ‘this is aleyna, my wife.’

‘yes!’ ava puts the coffees down on the counter and then steps forward to shake her hand with enthusiasm. ‘i’m ava, it’s nice to meet you.’

‘i heard you’re a joni mitchell fan,’ aleyna says, with her black curls streaked with silver, her bright smile, her deep accented voice, her brown skin particularly gorgeous against the yellow of her summer slip dress, and you want to laugh at how ava’s eyes widen, how she seems to go a little weak at the knees.

‘i — uh — yes.’ she fumbles with the bag of pastries and then holds them out. ‘these are — thanks for the record. and for bea’s pants.’

you do laugh, then, but you take the bag from ava’s clumsy hands. ’thank you, ava. that’s very thoughtful. and i’m glad beatrice likes her pants.’

‘she does.’ ava sighs. ‘and i love her pants.’

aleyna smiles into her cup of coffee. ‘i heard from hans you both got jobs at the bar?’

‘yeah! it’s fun. i’m kind of terrible at it but i love to learn. bea is, of course, perfect.’ she rolls her eyes. ‘but i get to meet so many people. they’re really nice when i mess up their drinks.’

you take in ava’s tiny shorts and the way she’s tied an overshirt over a bralette, leaving just a sliver of her stomach exposed, and her soft, pretty features, her bright smile. ‘enthusiasm goes a long way.’

ava grins. ‘exactly!’

‘do you want to help us sort through some books?’ aleyna asks.

‘really?’

‘sure.’

ava sits down on the floor, crossed legs and scuffed converse and bright eyes. ‘i love to read; i’d love to see what you have. bea is still asleep; maybe i could surprise her with something.’

you let aleyna and ava go through a few boxes together while you work on a suit in your back workroom, but you can hear ava laughing brightly and eventually she pops her head through the doorway.

‘bea and i are gonna go swimming,’ she says, ‘but i’ll be back soon, i’m sure. aleyna is wonderful, you’re really lucky.’

‘i am,’ you agree. ‘what book did you get?’

it’s tucked under her arm carefully. she smiles. ‘the spring flowers own. i don’t know it yet.’

it’s tender, the way she means that she will know it; she’ll read it with care and meaning. ‘ah, etel adnan. one of aleyna’s favorites.’

‘that’s what she said; i’m excited.’

‘it’s very beautiful.’ you don’t add that it’s sad, that adnan’s bright paintings have brought your wife to tears on more than one occasion.

ava might understand; she is so young and pretty and bright but there’s an ache that’s hard to miss — a displacement, a longing.

‘enjoy the lake, ava. and tell beatrice hello from us.’

ava knocks twice on the doorframe. ‘i will.’

/

it’s a rainy, damp afternoon, nowhere in town terribly busy, when beatrice ducks into your store.

‘apologies,’ she says in form of greeting, looking a little lost without a jacket or umbrella. ‘i made the mistake of not checking the weather this morning.’

‘not a problem at all, beatrice. you’re always welcome here.’ beatrice smiles, gracious. ‘my wife was just making tea, if you’d like some? jasmine green tea.’

‘that sounds wonderful,’ she says.

‘hello!’ aleyna calls from the small back kitchen.

you gesture for beatrice to follow you. there’s a small table and four mis-matched chairs, carefully chosen, and aleyna smiles.

‘aleyna,’ she says, offers a hand.

‘beatrice.’ you know her handshake is firm and serious but she swallows once and you don’t miss the rise of pink on her cheeks. ‘pleasure.’

‘you’re british,’ aleyna says.

‘yes, from london, originally.’

aleyna smiles. ‘finally, someone to enjoy my good tea with.’ aleyna kisses your cheek to soften the upcoming blow: ‘lena is wonderful, and so handsome, but has awful taste in tea. she’s happy with just an over-steeped bag.’

beatrice grimaces around a laugh. ‘ava can’t make tea if her life depended on it. i’ve shown her many times, and she seems to get lost about halfway through.’

you suspect that might be because of beatrice’s careful hands and the serious set of her jaw, but you don’t mention it.

‘ah, ava,’ aleyna says. ‘she’s wonderful.’

‘she is,’ beatrice says. ‘exhausting, annoying… full.’

‘is she enjoying her book?’

‘she is,’ beatrice says, ‘very much. she’s been reading to me at night sometimes, so i’ve been enjoying it too.’

you share as quick a glance with aleyna as you can.

‘adnan is beautiful,’ beatrice continues. ‘you’re lebanese?’

‘yes,’ aleyna says. ‘you know her work?’

‘her paintings, mostly. i would love to read her work in arabic, though. ava’s fluent in a few languages, but all of them romance.’

you laugh — as if this is, somehow, a shortcoming beatrice would love to remedy — as aleyna perks up. ‘you know arabic?’

beatrice nods. ‘not as well as i’d like. i’m better with it spoken than written. but i’d love to improve; it’s beautiful.’

aleyna smiles, then says, in arabic, ‘i would love to speak with you, whenever you want.’

beatrice blushes down into her mug, then looks up. ‘your tea is excellent,’ she responds, a little slow, with an accent much more careful than aleyna’s lyrical and gravely lilt over the words, but perfectly. ‘i do know how to say more than that, also,’ beatrice says, and aleyna laughs, ‘but it really is wonderful.’

‘i appreciate it.’

‘lena.’ beatrice turns all her attention to you. ‘i was wondering if you had a sweater or two? ava continues to take my jacket when it’s cool. i’m sure she’ll enjoy taking my sweater too, but it would be helpful to have more than one.’

‘that would be,’ you grant her and spare her the embarrassment of clearly ducking into your shop because she’d gotten caught in a rainstorm with no jacket which is, apparently, ava’s fault. ‘want to come look at a few?’

‘sure.’ beatrice carefully rinses out her mug in the sink before following. ‘thank you,’ she says to aleyna, in arabic, ‘for the poems, and for the tea.’

‘come around anytime.’

beatrice smiles and follows you out, and you show her a soft green cotton crewneck you’d just gotten in. she holds it to her chest for a moment in the mirror, considering, and you wonder if ava ever gets beatrice to do anything without carefully thinking about it first. ‘this is perfect, thank you.’ she pulls it on immediately, definitely a little cold still, and you’re glad for her: that she has ava; that ava has her — in whatever capacity that is right now, the capacity you hope it’ll be eventually — and for her quiet, persistent kindness.

‘of course, i’m glad you like it.’

beatrice touches one of the suit jackets you’d finished recently, a little reverent. ‘i love a lot of the clothes you have, honestly. i — i’m not sure if i know, yet, how to be who i want to be.’

‘you’re young,’ you say. ‘not as a platitude, i promise.’ she nods. ‘but i didn’t figure out that i loved suits until i was years older than you.’

her shoulders relax a little, at the small out, the gentle understanding. she smiles, indulgent, and meets your eyes. ‘i can’t imagine you were ever anything other than very handsome.’

‘well, that is true.’ she laughs. ‘but impeccably dressed? that’s a journey. and you’re on your own.’

‘was it scary?’

‘terrifying.’

she touches one of the gorgeous opal buttons on the suit.

‘but very, very beautiful too.’

she tucks her hands into her pockets. ‘i’m sorry, i have to get going. ava thinks she can cook but we cannot afford another grease fire.’

‘better avoid that.’

‘how much is the sweater?’

you charge her a few euro; she eyes you suspiciously but doesn’t argue. she calls goodbye to aleyna, says a soft farewell to you, wanders back out — warmer, now — into the rain to make her way home.

/

ava bounces in on a sunny, hot morning, her hair sweaty and now short, cut to her chin, and you laugh when she gives you a high five.

‘your hair looks great,’ aleyna says, and you voice the same. ava preens, which aleyna happily laughs at.

‘bea cut it for me!’ she smiles and then looks at a few bracelets. ‘well, i tried to do it myself, but it’s, like, impossible. i had no idea. but, you live and you learn. bea fixed it, though, and then i convinced her to let me give her highlights! they’re so cute.’

‘how long have you been together?’

‘just a few months,’ ava says, trying on a little cap, and you raise your brows — you’d had a little ongoing wager with aleyna, after you’d run into the two of them at a summer festival in the city center, market lights and food and music; they’d been holding hands and ava had kissed beatrice’s cheek on multiple occasions. ‘but it feels like i’ve known her forever.’

‘young love,’ aleyna says, looks to you fondly. ‘remember when we felt like that.’

ava freezes, still looking at herself in the mirror.

‘i still feel like that, my dear.’

aleyna rolls her eyes fondly and kisses you on the temple. ava is still stock still in the corner, with the cap crooked.

‘i’m bisexual,’ she says, then puts her head in her hands, definitely embarrassed and you just laugh. but one thing about ava: she soldiers on: ‘i just mean, i like girls, and, anyway — is it — hypothetically, if someone wasn’t together with their best friend because of … prior commitments, but you’re pretty sure there’s, like, reciprocal feelings, and those commitments are… a little less strict now, and i know bea is — well — is it — should i kiss her?’

you wait for her to take a few breaths and steady herself. ‘so… you’re not dating?’

ava groans. ‘i wish.’

aleyna owes you twenty euro; you knew they were too jittery to have made that jump. you’ll remind her later. ‘do you think beatrice is ready for that?’ you’d seen the way her hands shook when she bypassed a row of dresses for a pair of men’s pants you’d hemmed for her; the way she blushed around aleyna when they spoke arabic together over tea some afternoons; the way she grinned when you’d handed her your favorite bronkski beat record and said, ‘my parents never let me listen to them, but i always wanted to.’

ava frowns; you think she might legitimately be about to cry. ‘i don’t know.’

‘well, it’s clear to me that you love each other, and you have your whole lives,’ aleyna offers. ‘you’ll sort it out.’

ava does cry then, and you thought that was going to be soothing response, but you wait a beat and then hug ava: small, slight — scared, clearly, of something you don’t understand.

‘you’re right,’ she says, after a few moments, and dries her tears. ‘we’ll — there’s time.’ she fiddles with the cap, runs a hand through her hair and then can’t help but smile, just slightly, as she tucks it behind her ears. ‘we’ll have time.’

‘you will,’ aleyna says, looks to you and you know she means it as a promise, the same one you made to each other years and years ago.

ava sniffles and nods and then laughs. ‘wow, sorry! crying in front of my two favorite lesbians. other than bea, obviously, but — fuck.’ she looks a little panicked but then, ‘oh well, you already knew, right?’

‘yes,’ you say, and aleyna laughs.

‘well, you’re tied for number two on the list, sorry.’

‘an honor.’

ava bows with a flourish and giggles at herself. ‘anyway, now my hair is always in my face, something i did not think through. so i’m gonna get this hat.’

you ring her up and she puts it on backward with a little grin and waves on her way out.

/

‘hello,’ beatrice says, wandering as you’re near closing, without ava in tow. ‘if it’s too late, i’m happy to come back another time.’

‘not at all.’

she smooths her already perfectly neat bun. ‘i was wondering —‘ she takes a deep breath and settles herself, like she’s about to shoot a gun— ‘can i try on a suit?’

‘of course,’ you say calmly, and it works: she nods in thanks and lets the air out of her lungs. you find her a beautiful, light linen suit — a little oversized, still a little feminine, and a pair of loafers you love, a collarless button down to go under the jacket. she takes her time in the dressing room, but when she steps out, her hair out of its bun, swept over her shoulder, her shirt tucked in neatly, she looks in the mirror and bites her bottom lip.

‘this is beautiful.’ it’s wistful, and sad.

‘you look handsome.’

she looks up at the ceiling, then tries to wipe tears of her cheeks as discreetly as possible. ‘you love being who you are.’

‘i do,’ you say. ‘i love being butch; i love that people know who i am, and how i want to be.’ you bring her some elegant cufflinks and she lets you put them on.

‘i love this suit.’

‘you’re more than allowed.’ you squeeze her wrist, just once. ‘it is a great suit.’

she smiles, grateful for the levity, and then lets out a big breath. ‘it’s quite a gift, to be in your own skin.’

‘it is.’

she tells you that she can’t get it — not yet, she says, a promise more to herself — and after she’s changed and meticulously hung the suit back up, she gives you a hug. you put your hand to the back of her head, as protective as you can. you had had an older dyke who had given you your own suit, had taught you careful stitches to tailor a waistband and how to comb your hair back neatly.

‘i do have something for you,’ you say, and hand her a small necklace, an opal drop on a black cord; aleyna had found it at a market in geneva and given it to you for the express purpose of giving it to beatrice. it’s meddling, but you think, in this scenario, maybe a little push is kind.

‘i can’t — this is too generous.’

‘it’s not.’ you put it in a small velvet bag for her. ‘i’m old, and have a beautiful wife. you get to go be yourself. and i think there’s a girl who cares a great deal for you.’

beatrice nods. ‘thank you. ava will love it, i’m sure.’

/

when you get to the shop a few weeks later, there’s a note shoved under the door; you open it and see what you’re sure is beatrice’s careful handwriting:

Dear Lena and Aleyna,

We are deeply sorry to leave without saying a proper goodbye; we’ve had a family emergency and have to get there as quickly as possible. Your generosity — your tea, and books, and music, and the beautiful suit I’ll think of for years to come — has changed my life. Your love is somewhat of a holy thing, I think. Ava also says that she appreciates all the crop tops you had for her because it made flirting more fun (she made me write this). In any case, we’ll miss you greatly; hopefully, we will be back eventually to visit again. I hope my Arabic improves, and Ava would like to make you drinks one day.

All our love, Beatrice + Ava

/

it’s a warm morning in may, spring giving way into the purple blooms of summer, when the door opens and you almost drop your coffee because you hear laughter you could never really forget, and then ava and beatrice walk in. you haven’t seen them in two years, and they both look older, a little tired, but they’re holding hands and ava is just as bright as you remember, a cap still backward on her head, short hair tucked behind her ears, an exuberance in her steps; beatrice’s hair is long and blonde and she smiles with a lightness in her eyes you’d never seen before. aleyna walks out of the back, absolutely delighted.

‘what are you two doing here?’

ava smiles. ‘we were visiting some friends in berlin, then heading to andalusia for a few weeks. we live in los angeles now.’

‘california!’ aleyna grins.

‘right on the beach,’ ava says. ‘but, well, we wanted to stop by, say proper goodbyes and then a new hello!’

beatrice laughs, free and open, and the hand that sneaks its way across the back of ava’s shoulders seems second-nature at this point. ‘i, um, actually — we have a wedding soon.’

‘not ours,’ ava says, but then looks to beatrice, ‘but one day, right.’

beatrice flushes red, but her smile doesn’t falter at all. ‘one day, yes.’ she turns to you and sets her shoulders. ‘could you help me with a suit?’

you give her a hug; you can’t help it, and no one mentions it when she lets ava wipe a few tears when she backs up. ‘it would bring me immense joy to do so.’

and you do — ava sits with aleyna and whistles at everything beatrice tries on, and beatrice puts on a slim navy suit — without a shirt underneath; she had smirked at ava when she walked out — and then looks at herself in the mirror. she meets your eyes in the reflection and nods, just once.

‘that’s the one, then?’

she nods. ‘i think so.’

‘this isn’t fair,’ ava pouts, ‘bea’s gonna look so much hotter than me. she’s gonna upstage the bride and the groom at this point.’

aleyna laughs. ‘terrible problem to have.’

ava rolls her eyes, joyful all the same. ‘you would know.’

aleyna smiles in your direction — a lifetime, a whole lifetime; your heart still swells like it did the first time you ever saw her. ‘i would.’

[nikamuhlstattoo]

in a good way (1)

"i didn't know that i was capable of being happy right now...but you showed me how."

cw: angst, mentions of death/su!c!de, mentions of self-harm, marijuana usage, drinking, explicit language, slow burn (im so sorry), panic attack(??), dad joke near the end, idk what else

a/n: this isn't really my first time writing angst (not on here) buttttt im still nervy. idk how to feel. i spent a dumb amount of time on this and it still sucks!! this series is also gonna be long so i apologize. but its necessary i promise! i just feel like ppl don't write about ellie falling in love enough. all of it. i wanna see and write all that stupid lovey stuff, from the start. idk how to write so be nice (ori'llcry) also listen to this song i love it sm.

you shoot awake, beads of sweat forming on your forehead and your breath quick. in out in out in out in out. for the past month you've been plagued by nightmares, making you wake up hyperventilating nearly every night. earlier this month marked the one year since your best friend passed away.

lucy meyer, the only person who truly understood you, took her own life last year on november 3rd. there's no word in the entire dictionary to express the pain you constantly felt. you tried so hard to cope, therapy sessions after therapy sessions. nothing helped. nothing could replace the comfort of being with lucy, just knowing she existed used to bring you happiness. lonely wasn't even a good word to describe how you felt, it was so much more than that. you felt so empty without her.

you had been doing "good" before now. you made a few new friends, dina, jesse, abby, and you left your house more. but the sudden reminder of lucy's absence sent you tumbling down again. it had only been a year. how were you meant to live a whole lifetime without her? without your best friend? the dull ache you felt in your chest worsened every day without her.

your eyes stung with tears as you slowly caught your breath. you were sitting up in your, almost overwhelmingly so, cozy bed. your eyes blinked quickly and rapidly, your eyes darting across your pitch black room. you eventually shoved the suffocatingly thick duvet off your body and stood from your queen bed. you lumber over to your bathroom, flickering on the warm lights and squinting from the brightness. you slowly adjust to the nearly blinding light, rubbing your tired eyes.

what you see in the mirror looks like a whole different person. you frown, seeing the dark under eye bags and sunken face. your hair's all frizzy and messed up from the terrible sleep you were having, you flatten it with your hands. your weary eyes glance down at the picture frame that sat on the sink, picking it up to get a better look at the photo in the frame. the photo was one of you and lucy two years ago in june, it was a selfie of you both in a pool. her long and curly black hair was pulled up into a high bun on top of her head. her dark blue eyes store into yours as you examine the photo, making you let out a choked sob as a tear runs down your face.

lucy was always beautiful. she was the most beautiful person you had ever met, inside and out. she had fairly pale skin and soft features. some acne was on her chin and left, rosy cheek. she had fluffy, arched eyebrows with a slit in her left one. you remember the day she put it there. she claimed she wanted to "look more edgy" with a giggle as she lifted the razor to her eyebrow, exposing her slit wrists when her long sleeves accidentally slipped down a little.

you set the picture frame back down and wipe the tears that must've fallen from your face at some point. you didn't exactly remember when they did. you quickly piss and wash your hands before you shut off the light and walk back into your bedroom, flopping onto your warm bed. the time on your phone said 4:24 am in a bright white font. you laid on your back in your bed, staring up at the dark ceiling. you didn't fall back asleep that night.

you were so glad you had no classes today, you rarely had fridays off but you just so happened to today. you were fucking lucky too, having something as drastic as your best friend dying happen and being a busy college student wasn't for the faint of heart. currently, your closest friend at the moment, dina, was dragging you to a party with her boyfriend jesse and one of their friends, ellie, who you've never met.

"damn...i'd hit. seriously though, you look hot." she winks at you after you exit your closet, dressed in a tiny jean skirt and see-through, hot pink, long sleeved shirt. since it was fairly see-through, you could see the pink bra you paired with it underneath.

if you were being honest, you didn't want to go to this stupid fucking party. you wanted to stay home, and maybe cry a little. most of all. you wanted lucy. you needed lucy.

while you fix up your hair for the party, dina's phone buzzes. the message was from jesse, telling her that he was there and ellie was gonna meet you guys there. as you stand, dina gives you a wink and playfully smacks your ass as you roll your eyes and walk out the doorway. walking up to jesse's black jeep ranger, you slide into the back seat and dina sits in the passenger seat, dina mumbling a small "hi, babe" with a giggle. jesse smiles at her, pressing a kiss to her forehead before he turns his attention to you.

"yn! you hoe! i missed you, where've you been!?" jesse practically yells at you, making you flinch slightly before chuckling. you really had missed jesse.

"y'know...i have a mysterious reputation to uphold. gotta go ghost every now and then." you jokingly huff out, looking down at your lap and flattening your jean mini skirt. the words them both chuckle out a small laugh, it was comforting to hear that noise again. but you knew dina knew. she always did.

already feeling nauseous, the car pulled over and parked on the street near the house. the cool night breeze burned your exposed legs, making you shiver slightly. people were spilling out of the front door and sitting on the lawn, most people smoking with a drink in their other hand. the base boosted music could be heard from outside the house, making your head hurt already. you felt sick, you needed a drink or something.

walking past loads of drunk young adults, all three of you make it into the house, finding it fairly crowded. jesse goes off to find a place to sit while you and dina make your way to the kitchen, finding it slightly less crowded. dina poured you both shots, which you downed immediately, cringing as the liquid burned your throat. you perk up when you notice a stack of red solo cups, quickly grabbing one and pouring whatever drinks there was out into your cup, making a brown drink that hurt to swallow.

dina leaves you to find and probably make out with jesse, leaving you alone to babysit your drink. bad idea. you never could drink responsibly, finding it impossible to stop once you've started. the warm feeling that grew in your lower stomach and how your mind melted into mush was unbeatable.

"hey, you were lucy meyer's friend right?" a voice rang from in front of you, urging you to look up at the stranger. it felt like you've been here for an hour, your heels aching from the constant standing. "were". your chin quivered at the reminder of your best friend's permanent absence. you look up at the stranger, blinking away the haze in your eyes.

"uh, yeah...w-why?" you mumble out with a chuckle, tripping over your words. while drunk, everything was funny, letting you feel something good for the first time in a while.

"oh, no reason, you just looked familiar. um...sorry about what happened n' stuff.." and suddenly nothing was funny anymore. it was too crowded, too many people. you found yourself overwhelmed and suddenly you felt like you couldn't breathe. constantly breathing in warm, used air, you thought you might choke.

you don't even reply before stumbling away, almost frantically trying to get to the back door. you elbow your way through the crowds of people, not bothering to apologize to the people who curse at you. you quickly slide open the glass door to try and get fresh air. you plop down on the top step of the back porch and attempt to catch your breath, completely unaware of the person who was sitting beside you, curiously eyeing you up and down.

your elbows rest on your knees, your face in your hands as you try not to cry. maybe you were overdramatic, but just hearing lucy's name made you tear up. still unaware of the girl next to you, you sniffle and huff into your hands. suddenly there was a soft tap on your shoulder, making you jump a little as you pull your face out of your hands, looking over to your left at the mystery person.

"hey, uh...you alright?" the girl asks, scratching the back of her neck. you want the world to swallow you, bury you in a hole to never be found again.

you take a moment to take in her appearance. she had auburn hair that stopped a little above her shoulders, the layers made it almost look like a mullet and it was styled in a half-up half-down bun. she had mossy green eyes, the kind you could easily get lost in. the way her right eyebrow was slightly raised made you notice the small scar through it. you immediately thought of lucy. you wonder how she got it. her face was covered in pretty freckles, clusters of them painting constellations across her face. she had a half-burnt blunt in her left hand, her elbow resting on her bent knee.

you stare at her with wide, teary eyes, mouth slightly agape and seemingly out of breath. you blink a few times before haphazardly wiping your eyes -- trying not to smudge your makeup -- and looking away, looking up at the night sky. "fine... sorry, have you been sitting there this whole time?" you ask, your eyes drifting over to her again.

"kinda, yeah.." she responds with a quiet chuckle, huffing a small laugh through her nose. her smile makes a warm feeling flutter in your stomach. even though you literally just met her, you felt sorta comfortable around her. she had some weirdly nice presence. "you look familiar, what's your name? i'm ellie."

ellie. what a pretty name for such a pretty girl... seriously, she was crazily handsome. wait. suddenly it clicked in your head. "ellie? as in ellie williams or...?" you asked hesitantly, snapping your head to look over at her. she was already looking at you, silently admiring the way the moon hit your face.

"yeah... how'd the fuck you know that?" she asks with a laugh, her eyes narrowing at you. she shifts on the step slightly, turning to face you a little more. your knees almost touch, both of you angled at each other. there's a small smirk playing on her lips, a playful glint in her jade eyes.

her smile makes you dumbly smile as you explain, "dina and jesse told me about you, they really wanted us to meet." you're not sure why you're smiling. there isn't really a reason to smile, especially not when you think about the whole reason you came out here in the first place.

"oh shit! are you y/n?" the blunt in her hand was completely forgotten about. she put it out on the spot next to her on the old wooden steps. she shifted to face you even more, her body nearly completely turned. you did the same. you nod at her, a small smile still on your lips.

you both talk. and talk. and talk. for what feels like hours. strangely enough, being around ellie made you forget about everything. all the shit that went down last year, this dumb fucking party. all of it. you felt sorta free. you didn't think about lucy, about what you two would be doing right now, if she was still here. no. none of that. you're in the present for once in your fucking life. you didn't even think about how cold it was outside, you didn't care.

ellie made you feel free. even though you only just met her. thinking about it too hard made you feel a little crazy. 'you only just met this girl, how do you already feel so good around her?' so you don't think about that either. a loud buzz buzz came from your handbag, pulling you away from the conversation you were having. you open your phone to a text from dina.

dee 🩷: wgere tf r u girl

you: outside

you: r u guys trying to leave?

dee 🩷: yss

dee 🩷: hrry my feeet hurt

you look back over to ellie, frowning. "i gotta go."

"aww, you didn't even get to hear the rest of my cool dad jokes."

"i knowww. this stinks."

"can i at least get your number... y'know, to show you all my cool dad jokes?"

you huff a laugh through your nose and wait for her to pull out her phone. you quickly put in your number as you hear your own phone buzz again. dina was so impatient. you save your contact name as "y/n :)"

"can't wait to hear 'em all!" you joke to her as you walk back into the house.

the drive home was fine. they blasted some pop music dina loved, she screamed along to the lyrics, still plastered. they quickly arrived at your house.

you walk up the carpeted stairs to your apartment room, keys jingling in your hand. as you open the door, you flicker the lights on and kick off your shoes. fuck high heels.

home. a lot of people say "home is where i'm happy." or whatever. but its kinda the opposite for you. home is where you allow yourself to feel, where you think. your mind's not mush anymore, you can think and feel again. and all you feel is hurt. that stupid ache is back. the dull feeling in your chest that just won't budge. at home you feel like you're slowly being sucked into a black hole.

you huff and toss your bag onto the table, phone in your other hand. you shuffle to your bedroom, turning off the main lights and on your bedroom lights. you strip from your uncomfortable clothes and into comfy clothes, sleep shorts and a big t-shirt. you flicker the lights back off and flop onto your big bed, letting the comforters consume you.

you sit there for a few minutes until your phone buzzes. it's a text from ellie. she texted you on your ride home so you already saved her contact.

you stupidly smile at your bright phone screen, shaking your head and turning it back off. you plug it in and set it on your bedside table. you lay back in your bed, staring up at the dark ceiling. your hand reaches up and grabs the necklace you were wearing. it was lucy's. you rub the L shaped charm between your pointer and thumb, turning to lay on your side.

that night you dreamt of green eyes and short, auburn hair.

[givemea-dam-break]

hi!! i absolutely adore your writing, and i have a request for reader x lockwood :) what if reader is smart and likes to read and stuff but is super oblivious and can’t make a first move for the life of her? and maybe it’s her first kiss or something idk :D

a/n: ooooh yes this is a cute idea!!! i hope you enjoy <3 this is in spite of netflix cancelling the show. fuck netflix.

warnings: none female reader

Correct Me If I'm Wrong - Anthony Lockwood

You're not sure when the last time you felt truly pretty was.

Most days are spent either in tatty pyjamas that are due a wash, or clothes with a myriad of ectoplasm burns and a permanent smell of lavender that clogs up your nose and makes you need to sneeze, no matter what kind of fabric conditioner you shove into the washing machine. Your hair? Well, it's certainly seen better days.

But today. Today.

Lucy stands behind you, zipping up the back of your dress as you smooth the front of it until some of the wrinkles have flattened out a little. The satin gleams in the hazy light of your shared attic bedroom, and you find yourself smiling at your reflection in the mirror. When was the last time you dolled yourself up for something?

That's not to say you're overly concerned with how you look on a day-to-day basis, it's just that the ghost-fighting business doesn't really allow for nice outfits. Except for tonight, you suppose.

The Fittes at Fifty Ball is tonight, and you've been dreading it. In all honesty, you would much rather stay at home and get as much research done about the Bone Glass before the members of Lockwood and Co take on a heist to retrieve it, but you've not got much of a choice. You all need to look as inconspicuous as possible seeing as the very thing you need, a book by Mary Dulac, is stored in the Black Library at the Fittes headquarters.

"All done," Lucy says. "Ready to steal from the biggest, most well-protected agency in the UK?"

No, not really, but still you say, "Always."

"I'm going to get our stuff ready." She fiddles with the billowing sleeves of her blue dress. "Want me to pack those biscuits you like?"

"Absolutely, Luce," you say. "Thank you."

When she leaves, you find yourself staring at your reflection for a moment longer and liking the person you see. With a satiny green dress and hair that looks like more than a few minutes of effort have been put in, you look starkly different from usual. It makes you almost yearn for more party heists.

As you're tugging on your boots, there's a knock on the door. The pattern rapped out on the wood is familiar and it makes you smile, and you say, "Come in."

Lockwood steps through the open door and makes his way up the steps into the bedroom. His dark suit makes him look even more professional than usual, and his hair has been combed back neatly, showcasing those mischief-filled dark eyes you love so much. He's carrying something behind his back, making sure to keep it hidden. But the thing you take the most notice of is his tie. It's green.

It likely means nothing. Lockwood wears whatever he wants whenever he wants with little regard for colour - come on, he wears salmon pink socks! - but something about it feels purposeful. You've never seen him wear a green tie. Hell, you didn't even know he owned one. And this is the exact same shade as your dress.

He stops a few feet short of your bed, watching with glittering eyes as you stand and smooth out your dress once more. There's a smile playing on his lips, softer than his usual grin, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

"How do I look?" you ask, trying to sound more confident than you feel.

Having him see you in a dress, with your hair styled and your makeup done, feels like standing on a stage in front of thousands of people. You're way more nervous than you should be.

For a moment, he says nothing, and you worry that he thinks it looks terrible. Maybe you should've picked the chiffon dress rather than satin, or maybe the red instead of green. You thought you had made your hair look quite nice, but maybe it looks quite stupid...

And then he says, "You look - you look beautiful, (name)."

There's a fluttery feeling in your chest, but you shove it down. You can't let yourself hope for anything that likely won't happen. Friends tell each other they look beautiful. You and Lucy do it all the time! This is no different just because it's Lockwood. Well, maybe it's a little different.

"You, too," you say. Your cheeks flush. "Well, not beautiful. Actually, I mean, if you want to be then sure. I just meant -"

He laughs, and your voice fades off. It's quite possibly your favourite sound, his laugh, because of how light it sounds. After working with him for a few months now, it's easy enough to tell that Lockwood isn't doing great a lot of the time. With his recklessness, the little jokes he makes that aren't really jokes, it's more than evident. So, now, hearing his laugh sound so genuine makes you smile and you feel a little less embarrassed.

"Thank you," he says, his smile becoming brighter. "I, uh, I have something for you. That is if you want it, of course."

"You know I hate surprises."

"Trust me. You'll like this one."

The hand that was behind his back appears, holding what looks to be an old book. The cover is faded, and the pages have browned, but he holds it delicately on the flat palm of his hand. Curiously, you step closer to him and gingerly take it from his hands.

Upon reading the title and flipping through the first few pages, your heart swells with gratitude. "This is a first edition."

"I'd certainly hope so with the trouble I went to finding it."

Your fingers carefully slip through each page, and you smile so widely you're afraid your cheeks might tear. "Lockwood, this had to have cost a fortune! You didn't have to get me this."

His posture is casual, but there's a glimmer of happiness in his eyes that is unmistakable. "I heard you talking to George about it a few weeks ago. It's your favourite book, and your birthday was recently. In all reality, I'd hoped to give it to you then, but today was the day I managed to get my hands on it."

"You -" The words get stuck in your throat, and you can almost feel yourself tearing up. "I've wanted this since I was a kid. I - Thank you, Lockwood. Seriously. This is..."

"You work so hard here," Lockwood says softly, "and I want you to know it doesn't go unnoticed. Besides, you've always been here for me. I wanted to give you something in return."

"I don't need anything in return for being a decent human being."

"Oh, all right. I'll take it back then."

Clutching the book tightly to your chest, you listen happily as he laughs again, throwing his head back a little. It's a wonderful sight, one that has your heart racing, one that makes you itch to throw your arms around him in the tightest embrace you can muster to simply show how grateful you are for the book, for his laugh and his smile and his presence.

But you refrain. Who's to say he won't just push you away?

"Thank you," you say again. "You're the best."

"I hope you're not just saying that because I pay your wages."

It's almost unnoticeable, but he shuffles forward ever so slightly. Already, you can feel the warmth radiating off of him and smell the faint scent of bitter tea and cheap shampoo underneath whatever aftershave he's put on. Your breath catches in your throat. There's less than a foot between you, but it has you fumbling for something to say or do.

"We should probably head downstairs," he murmurs, gaze fixed on yours. "The taxi will be here soon."

You nod. Neither of you moves.

He looks at you with those coppery eyes of his with a smile that feels distinctly private, and your heart thuds so loudly in your chest that you're convinced he can hear it, too. Words echo in your mind, words you want to say to him more than anything else, but your lips stay firmly shut.

How are you meant to tell him how you feel? That every time he merely looks at you, your heart starts beating as if you've just run a marathon? That you long to be the only person he shares his private smiles with, the only one that ever hears his true, unburdened laughs when you make a joke or make a fool of yourself? How are you supposed to explain that the times you spend with him are your favourites or that you search a dozen different shops simply to find his favourite biscuits to make him smile?

It's easy enough to list it to yourself, to find the words, but to say them to him? It's a different thing entirely, and it makes your mouth feel dry and your hands tremble a little.

"I need to tell you something," Lockwood says, and his voice has become breathier, quieter. "Just in case things go wrong tonight.”

"Nothing's going to go wrong."

He makes to take your book from your hands, and you hesitate. He only laughs, promising that it isn't going far, and slips it onto your crowded bookcase with gentle hands.

Gentle hands that soon reach for yours.

The touch takes you by surprise, but it's welcome. His hands are soft and warm, and they envelop yours. Now he has to be able to feel your racing pulse, surely. There's no way he can't.

"(name)..." He pauses, looking away from you for a moment. When his gaze returns, it's soft, nervous, even, and you find yourself transfixed, unable to look away. "I've been trying to tell you this for a few weeks now, but I couldn't - I couldn't figure out the words, so I resorted to other things. Making your tea in the mornings, asking you to come along with me on errands."

Bright, beautiful hope flickers in your chest, and this time you don't push it down. This time, you nurture it, letting it bring a small smile to your lips. Lockwood sees it, and he straightens a little with confidence. Not much, nowhere near as confident as he usually seems, but it keeps him speaking.

"Ever since you walked through the front door for your interview, I've never stopped thinking of you. Day and night, you're on my mind. The way you scrunch your nose when you're listening for Visitors, or how you become entirely unreachable when you read. How I can ask you anything, and you know the answer to it almost immediately."

His hands are shaking a little bit. You squeeze them softly.

"I like the way you smile, and how happy you are when I remember your order for Arif's. Most of all, I like -"

He's struggling with the words.

"Are you trying to say you like me?"

Part of you doesn't believe it. How could he? He's Anthony Lockwood, a boy from the city who owns his own company that breaks how the system of ghost-hunting works by simply having him be in charge. And you? You're a girl from some tiny town, a nobody whose only virtues are being relatively smart and being able to hear ghosts, though not on a grand scale. In reality, your paths would never have crossed if not for you finding a little clipping in the newspaper advertising for an agent.

So how could he like you? With his admirable Sight, the confidence that you always lack, the charm that could be used to entrance any girl he could ever so wish?

But here he stands, so close to you with shaky hands and faltering words, looking at you as if you've been placed here by some otherworldly forces solely for the purpose of enchanting him. He looks at you as if you're more than you really are, like someone a person could love and cherish.

"No," he says.

And your heart sinks all the way down to the floor, followed by your eyes. Your hands slacken in his, and your skin feels hot with embarrassment. You dread to think of how red you've become, and you turn your face away from him, instead looking at the book he gifted you. Were you stupid for hoping it meant more? Probably.

"I love you."

Three words. Three simple words that have your gaze snapping back to his, your heart rushing to your throat, and your hands tensing all at the same time. Three simple words that spark a blazing fire inside your chest. But, still, there's an ache in your throat.

"Don't kid with me, Lockwood."

His eyes are completely sincere, crinkled slightly with humour. "I'm not."

"You're about to laugh."

"Only because you're funny."

"I -" Your hands slip from his, and you brush your hair out of your face, faltering back a step. "You're being serious?"

With slightly pink cheeks and an almost shy smile, he says, "I am. I wouldn't joke about this, (name)."

"You - You love me? Why?"

"Didn't you listen to that long spiel I just had?" Once more, he takes a step closer. Then another until he's standing even closer than before, close enough that you can feel his breaths ruffling your hair slightly. "Because you're you. Because I admire and adore every single part of and about you."

You have to tilt your head to look at him with him being so close. "Have you hit your head recently?"

"If I have, and this is a dream, then I'm glad you're the girl of my dreams."

"Girl in your dreams," you correct quietly, halfheartedly.

Lockwood smiles. "I love that about you, too. That incessant need to correct me on anything I say."

"Someone's got to."

"Okay, well, correct me if I'm wrong, but would I be right in assuming that you feel the same?"

The words catch in your throat, but you nod regardless, smiling when his smile melts into his wide grin. This grin, it isn't the newspaper one. The infamous Lockwood Grin. This is only for you, something for you both to share solely between yourselves, and it's something you feel eternally grateful for being able to see, never mind be the cause of.

"Fantastic," he says, "because there's something I've been wanting to do for what feels like a lifetime now."

Your voice comes out shaky. "Would it perhaps involve kissing me?"

It does, apparently, because he leans closer until your faces are almost touching. His hands cup your face so gently it's as if they've been created from the air itself, but he waits, searching your eyes for any hesitation or rejection.

He never finds it. When your face tilts in accordance with his, he takes his cue and presses his lips onto yours.

You've never kissed anyone before, so the feeling is surreal. It's as if the very world around you melts away into nothingness until all you're aware of is him and his hands on your face, yours on his chest, his lips on yours. By no means is the kiss long, but it feels like eternity in a single second. Everything feels right and perfect.

When he pulls away, you're a little lost for breath, but you smile at him nonetheless, egged on by his dazzling grin. His hands still cup your face, and you're still clutching the blazer at his chest, but neither of you makes to move. Not when this feels so right.

"I'd do that again," he says softly, "but we have a taxi to get in."

"Who cares? One more?"

And he obliges before taking your hand in his and leading you out of the room. All the while, you yourself grin. Maybe you should be hopeful more often.

[becasbelt]

the beca + cooking character study that ATTACKED my brain that nobody asked for

* * *

Beca Mitchell hated cooking.

At least, that’s what she would like to be put on the official record.

Not all children of divorce are forced to grow up fast. Beca knows this, in a very tangible way. She had friends growing up whose parents were also divorced, and life continued much in the same way for them as it did before their parents separated. Sometimes they’d even joke that life was better now since they got double the gifts on holidays, double the parties for their birthday.

Beca always let them have their moment, didn’t feel the need to shut down what optimism they could find in whatever turbulent custody schedule their parents’ lawyers had worked out. Didn’t feel like shoving her own thoughts about her divorced parents in their faces.

By the time she was 12 years old, Beca could make a few pretty decent casseroles. They weren’t all that complex, mostly just cheese, noodles, and different sauces mixed together in a glass pan. But after about 6 months of living off of PB&Js, Lunchables, and Spaghettios, waiting for her mom to snap out of whatever work-induced daze she’d been in since her dad walked out on them, Beca decided that they needed actual food.

So, she’d rolled up her sleeves and designated herself the man of the household.

Grocery shopping took a while for her to figure out. Beca would walk to the nearest Walmart and stare wide-eyed at all the different aisles, foods, and brands available. Overwhelmed and out of her league.

At first she’d just grab whatever she vaguely recognized and buy it, avoiding eye contact with the cashier and handing over her mom’s credit card before hightailing it out of the store as fast as she could. But eventually she found she actually liked grocery shopping. She’d slip her headphones over her ears and peruse the aisles, wondering what different vegetables and seasonings would taste like in a stir fry or pasta.

By 14, Beca had a pretty solid routine. Saturdays were shopping and laundry days. She’d make a list of all the stuff they needed, ask her mom if she had any meal suggestions (which she didn’t), walk the two miles to Walmart, then haul all the bags she could carry back.

It got easier when she was 16 and could drive. Faster, for one, and she could actually bring home more than four bags at a time.

Every day after school she’d come home, make dinner, wait around until 7:00 to see if her mom would be home to eat with her, and when she inevitably didn’t show, put the food away and go work on her her music until she couldn’t keep her eyes open.

If her mom ever noticed Beca’s efforts in keeping them both fed, she never let on.

Beca kept up that routine until she was 18, until the decision to go to college was made for her by a father who was suddenly interested in being a part of her life again.

The day before leaving for Barden, Beca put together a week’s worth of freezer meals - which, for one person who often forgot to eat, would last more like a month, really. The next morning a taxi picked her up and took her to the airport.

Her mom was already at work by the time she left.

When Beca stepped foot inside her dorm room for the first time, the first thing she noticed was the strangely hostile energy coming off in waves from her roommate. The second thing she noticed was that there was no kitchen. She would be getting all her meals from the cafeteria on the main floor.

The first meal Beca ate from the cafeteria was chicken parmesan. It was bland at best, probably frozen chicken that could be prepared and served en masse.

Beca didn’t lift a finger to make it.

It was perfect.

When Beca moved into the Bella house a year later, with all the rest of the Bellas piling in behind her, her heart sunk at the sight of the large, fancy kitchen just off the living room. She’d spent the last year living off of cafeteria food, energy drinks, and chips, and the thought of meal prepping and grocery shopping again was enough to make her sick.

That sickness lasted all of two seconds before Chloe loudly started to explain to everyone how their kitchen and cooking duties worked. How they would all rotate through who went shopping for food, but for the most part they’d fend for themselves unless someone felt the urge to cook for everyone.

They were adults, after all. They were old enough to look after themselves.

That was enough for Beca to breathe again.

Beca sort of stuck to how things were the year before, eating out often for meals, but mostly just snacking a lot. It was hell on her digestive system, sure, but she had more important things to worry about. Like school and her music and the Bellas.

The rest of the Bellas liked to tease her about it. They would joke that she probably couldn’t even boil water and that’s why she didn’t cook very much. Amy liked to say she was forever trapped in a 12 year old boy’s body; her stomach a bottomless pit that only craved Cheetos and Red Bull.

Beca didn’t mind the teasing, really. She’d just laugh it off and shove more chips in her mouth.

When the other girls cooked for everyone, Beca would thank them politely and enjoy her food, feeling no pressure to return the favor. The most common group cook was Chloe, who always served her Bellas with a smile. Which was awesome, really, except-

Chloe Beale, for all her charm and beauty, was not a great cook.

Her food was fine, for the most part. No worse than the cafeteria food Beca lived off of for a year. Chloe just wasn’t... particularly gifted in the kitchen. Most of the time her noodles were ever so slightly undercooked, her cookies a little overdone, and the girl didn’t know how to use any seasonings besides salt to save her life.

And yet Chloe loved to cook. Not out of necessity or obligation, just out of a genuine enjoyment for hearing things sizzle in a pan, or watching bread rise in the oven. She’d turn on some music and waltz around the kitchen like she was Rachel Ray, not even realizing her sauce was thickening to a worrying degree.

It was, Beca had to admit, one of her favorite sights in the world.

Sometimes Beca would just sit at the counter and watch Chloe prance around, joking and laughing with her, and sometimes she would lend a... secretive hand. If Chloe was distracted with a picture of a dog on her phone, Beca would stir the meat cooking on the stove. When Chloe would get caught up talking with Stacie about a guy in her class, Beca would add a pinch of garlic powder onto the veggies.

No one ever noticed Beca doing it, and the look on Chloe’s face when she discovered how good her food had turned out always made Beca want to do it again.

It wasn’t until they’d all graduated and went their separate ways that Chloe figured out Beca could cook.

The NYC apartment that Chloe, Beca, and Amy called home was about the size of Beca’s bedroom back in her mom’s house. The shower was in the kitchen, the kitchen was in the living room, and the living room doubled as Chloe and Beca’s bedroom.

Their refrigerator oscillated between too cold and too warm, their oven worked seemingly only when the moon was in certain phases, and their microwave took twice as long to heat food up as it should. Most of their food cooked unevenly or had the inexplicable taste of cigarette smoke to it, and if they had anything on the stovetop for more than two minutes the fire alarm would go off.  

It was something close to hell, if Beca was being honest, but Chloe thought their tiny studio apartment was just about the most charming place on earth, which made Beca hate it just a little less.

“You would not believe the day I’ve had.”

Beca smirks from her place by the stove. “I’m sure I won’t,” she drawls, prodding at the chicken cooking in its pan. “Tell me all about it.”

Chloe launches into the chaos that was her day at the animal shelter, and the longer the story goes on, the more Beca starts to understand why she’s home so late. Normally Chloe would get home before Beca and start on dinner, finishing up around when Beca got home so that they could eat together. When Beca had gotten home today, expecting the same, she was instead greeted by an empty apartment and a text from Chloe simply telling her she’d be home late.

Beca had considered going out and getting McDonald’s for all of two seconds before shrugging and starting on dinner herself.

As Chloe finishes up her story, Beca plates food for both of them and settles at the table. Chloe digs in right away, still talking a mile a minute, and pauses after one bite with wide eyes.

“Beca, this is really good,” she says, mouth full of food.

Beca spears a piece of chicken. “It’s just chicken and rice,” she says with a shrug. “Not too complicated.”

“No, but this is, like, really good,” Chloe repeats emphatically. “Like, the chicken isn’t dry and the rice isn’t crunchy and-” she smacks Beca on the arm and Beca yelps. “You’re telling me I’ve lived with you for five years and I never knew you could cook? I thought you were incompetent!”

Beca stifles a laugh. “I guess you don’t know me as well as you thought you did,” she says with a grin.

Chloe laughs delightedly. “Yeah, I’ll say,” she agrees, leaning back in her chair to appraise Beca in a new light. Beca ducks her head at the attention and pushes her food around her plate.

After dinner when Beca is washing dishes, Chloe slides her arms around Beca’s middle from behind and buries her face in Beca’s neck. This is also part of their routine, at the end of each day when Chloe is feeling a little sleepy and affectionate, but today has the added bonus of Chloe murmuring her thanks for dinner into Beca’s skin, warmth and gratitude oozing from the words.

Beca closes her eyes and remembers countless nights waiting around for someone who didn’t care enough to make it home in time for meals, let alone thank Beca for preparing them. She sinks back into Chloe’s embrace and allows herself a moment to enjoy the affection.

She tells Chloe “anytime,” and means it.

And maybe starts to hate cooking a little less.

[astaraels]

Simple Gifts

Debbie and Mickey go gift hunting for Ian. It's not as easy as they thought it might be. Set post-s10, in the same continuity as New Traditions and Keeping Warm Against the Cold. For @lovekenney, thank you so much for your patience and I hope you enjoy! (on ao3)

The task at hand had started out simple enough—Mickey needed to get Ian a gift that was appropriate enough to open in front of the kids. Debbie may have been fine keeping her vibrators and dental dams in the room she shared with Franny, but she’d known Mickey long enough by now—and heard more than she cared to about his and Ian’s sex life—to think that it’d be smart to leave him to his own devices. And in fairness, Mickey had come to her, asking for help in his own Mickey-ish way that only a few other people could understand. So after breakfast, Debbie asked Ian if he could watch Franny—she knew he’d never turn down an opportunity for baby-sitting.

“You be good for Uncle Ian, okay, Franny?” Debbie told her daughter. Franny gave her a big hug and nodded.

“Yep! Gonna play outside today!”

Ian grinned at the little girl and scooped her up into his arms, causing her to giggle with glee. “Don’t worry, Debs. Just thought we’d go to the park for a little while, maybe get some stuff to make hot chocolate.”

“Don’t forget-”

“-her mittens and her hat,” Ian finished for her. Debbie might have felt silly, since Ian had always kept an eye on them when she and Carl were younger, but she was Franny’s mom, after all. Frank and Monica never bothered caring if any of them were dressed properly for winter. Doing the opposite of their example seemed like a pretty sound strategy to her.

“She’s got some snacks in the fridge, too. Hot cocoa only if she’s a good girl.” Debbie tapped the end of Franny’s nose.

Ian chuckled and tossed his niece into the air, just a little bit. “Franny’s always a good girl, aren’t you, Fran?”

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” the little girl cheered. Debbie couldn’t help but smile—her kid really was a good one.

“You coming or not, little miss sunshine?” Mickey asked, shoving his boots on as he thundered down the stairs. Ian’s face lit up at the sight of his husband, pulling him into a quick kiss before Mickey took a full step into the kitchen.

“I’m ready if you are,” Debbie told him, grinning at his lack of grumbling about the very open display of affection. Sometimes it was hard to believe how far they’d come—Debbie still remembered having to storm into Mickey’s old house and practically drag him back to Ian’s side when they were all trying to handle Ian’s bipolar disorder the first time around. He’d been terrified, she knew that now, and sometimes when things got to be too much you just needed someone else to give you that last push to do what had to be done.

Such as now. Not so much because Mickey was scared, not anymore; now it was just him being indecisive. Really indecisive, like nothing seemed to be quite right. And it made sense, at least to Debbie. It was his and Ian’s first Christmas together as a married couple. Of course he’d want to get just the right gift, if what Ian had told her about Mickey’s pre-wedding antics was accurate. Honestly, the mental image of Mickey Milkovich being a bridezilla about his very, very gay wedding was pretty damn funny. She was just sorry that she hadn’t gotten to see any of it.

“Okay,” Debbie said, after they’d gone to what felt like every damn store in the mall. The place was pretty bougie for the South Side, but better than getting some bullshit gift at Goodwill or Costco or something. “Wait—we haven’t been to this one yet.” She grabbed Mickey by his coat sleeve, leaving him no choice but to follow after her. The storefront in question was small and a bit out of the way, almost impossible to spot among all the gaudy Christmas lights that were thrown around everywhere else.

The sign said “Hazel’s Hideaways” in a fancy script, although Mickey barely had a chance to read it before they were inside. The store itself may have been small, but it was crammed full with wood carvings and wood-burned signs; wooden knick knacks of all kinds were displayed on every possible available surface.

“Whoa,” said Debbie as they both looked around. Mickey only nodded in agreement. They stepped around some of the larger pieces on the floor, careful not to fuck up anything that looked particularly expensive. Mickey had some cash left over from his “savings,” at least, so he knew he could afford to get Ian something decent. But some of this shit—like a whole ass deer that came up to Debbie’s shoulder—looked pricey as hell. Not only that, but nothing really stood out to him right away as something Ian might like, but Mickey was not going home empty-handed. Fuck that shit. He would find something for his husband, today, no matter what.

“Hi!” came a cheery voice from somewhere to Mickey’s left, causing him and Debbie both to jump and nearly land on several worryingly expensive-looking items. “Can I help you?”

A very, very short woman about ten years older than Mickey with bubblegum-pink hair sat on a stool behind the checkout counter. She grinned at them both a little too widely, which put Mickey slightly on edge. Thankfully Debbie stepped up to save him; she was way better with people than he was.

“Hi! My brother-in-law is looking for a gift for his husband—my brother,” she explained, like it was no big deal. “But we’ve been all over the place and we can’t seem to find anything that’s just right.”

“Well, I’m sure I’ve got something around there that will be just the thing!” the woman said. She was way too fucking perky, but Mickey nodded his head and clenched his jaw so he wouldn’t say anything too asshole-ish. Normally he’d already be out the door, but this was for Ian. He could put up with almost anything for Ian.

Twenty minutes later Mickey was about ready to hightail it out and call it a loss. They’d been through half of the bubblegum lady’s shit and still nothing seemed right. Even her perky smile had slowly faded—now she just looked all fucking depressed and shit that she didn’t have exactly what Mickey wanted. It wasn’t even really her fault, considering Mickey himself didn’t really know what he wanted, either.

“Hey, Mickey, what about this?” Debbie asked, holding up some weird-looking wooden circle thing. He put down the deer he’d been staring at for the last few minutes and walked over to her, frowning as he tried to figure out what it even was.

“The fuck is it?” he finally asked, giving up.

“That,” said bubblegum lady, “is a family tree wreath. I can customize it with different family members’ names, birthdays, wedding dates…” She gave Mickey a knowing wink and a glance at his wedding ring. He didn’t blush, but yeah, it might have been a near thing.

Debbie clasped her hands together and grinned. “That’s perfect! Ian would love it, seriously.”

“Yeah?” He glanced over at her, and she nodded. Mickey knew how much Ian’s family meant to him. And it also meant that Mickey could have his name right there next to Ian’s, permanently, with their wedding date and everything. And sure, it seemed cheesy and fucking kitschy as hell, but he knew Ian was gonna light up like the goddamn Christmas tree they’d all put up in the living room when he saw the thing.

“All right, little red, you’re the one who knows all five million Gallagher birthdays,” he said. Debbie beamed and gave him a big hug, which only made Mickey roll his eyes, even as he gave her a reluctant pat on the back. These Gallaghers were making him a sensitive bitch. But maybe that was okay once in a while. Not that he’d ever admit to it out loud.

—

Christmas morning dawned cold and bright, the weak sunlight shining right through the tiny opening in Mickey and Ian’s curtains. Mickey could have gone back to sleep, at least for a little while, except for the fact that Franny came barrelling into their room, crowing, “Presents, Uncle Ian! Uncle Mickey!” She jumped up and down, beaming with excitement. “Christmas presents!”

“Your mom up yet?” Mickey asked, barely half-awake. Nothing against the kid, but he’d rather get more sleep, Christmas morning or no. But the little girl was determined, climbing clumsily onto the bed and starting to jump on the mattress.

“She said no presents till everyone’s awake,” Franny told him. “Uncle Ian, wake up!”

Ian grumbled and felt around for the sweater he’d apparently tossed onto the floor in the middle of the night, but still managed to give her a tired smile. “We’ll be up in a minute, okay, Fran?” he told her. “Go get Uncle Carl and Uncle Liam up, how’s that sound?”

Franny giggled, jumping one more time and landing on them both in the biggest hug she could manage. Mickey groaned, the air practically punched out of his lungs, but Ian just laughed at him, the fucker. Then Franny bounced off the bed and scampered out of their room as quickly as she’d run in, calling out for the other Gallagher brothers as she raced down the hall.

Ian said something into his pillow as he rolled over. “What’s that, mumbles?” Mickey asked, shoving Ian onto his back, heart nearly skipping a beat at the sleepy smile his husband gave him.

“Merry Christmas, Mickey,” Ian said, hand going to the back of Mickey’s neck and pulling him into a soft kiss.

“Yeah, yeah, Merry Christmas, Red,” said Mickey, ruffling Ian’s hair to make his bedhead even worse. Not that Ian seemed to mind, though. “Better get up if we want first dibs at coffee.”

Ian shook his head. “It’s Christmas, Mick, you’re supposed to have cocoa, not coffee.” He said it like it should be obvious. Mickey didn’t bother reminding him that his and Ian’s understanding of the holiday were very different—but if his husband said cocoa, then that was what they’d do. Little domestic bitches, indeed.

Mickey had expected Christmas morning with the Gallaghers to be chaotic, and he was absolutely right. Everyone in the house was milling around the kitchen, Debbie handing out mugs of hot chocolate with marshmallows in them, the younger kids ducking under arms as the older Gallagher siblings tried not to spill whatever breakfast they’d managed to scrounge up. Sandy had Franny sitting in her lap and was trying to tame the little girl’s ginger flyaways. Debbie leaned over and gave both of them a loud kiss on the cheek, earning her a giggle from Franny and a soft smirk from Sandy. It was the sappiest look Mickey had ever seen on his cousin’s face, which…well. In Mickey’s own experience, it definitely meant something, coming from a Milkovich.

Finally they were all gathered in the living room, unwrapping gifts and tossing the leftover wrapping paper every which way. Organized chaos—well, disorganized, much as Debbie tried to keep it contained, at least to start with—especially where the kids’ presents were involved. Debbie was the kind of mom who clearly spared no expense when it came to her kid, not to mention Tami and Lip on the other side of the room getting pictures of Fred “opening” his gifts. What that really meant was just Lip holding the baby’s hand pulling paper off some box, but even Ian thought it was cute enough that he took pictures on his phone of every one.

“Here,” Mickey said to Ian as they sat on the couch, squished in next to Debbie and Sandy, watching Franny play with her new Easy Bake oven knock-off. It wasn’t plugged in, thank fuck, but that didn’t stop her from going through all the pieces and parts with ridiculous levels of enthusiasm. Debbie had mentioned to Mickey during their shopping expedition that Sandy wanted to get the kid a BB gun—it wasn’t a bad idea, in Mickey’s opinion, although personally he thought they oughta wait until she was at least six—but that Debbie had vetoed it quite adamantly. Maybe some toy guns were a better idea to start with so she could understand gun safety, at least until she was a little older.

Ian was in the middle of fixing the watch he’d gotten Mickey; he insisted on setting it to the same time as his own, so they wouldn’t have to argue about who was late and who was early. “Oh, shit, I hadn’t even seen this,” Ian said, his eyes lighting up. “Your watch is good to go, by the way.” Not that he bothered handing it over to Mickey, though, as Ian was already pulling the paper off of his gift. Mickey felt his stomach twist almost in a knot—it wasn’t stupid, he reminded himself, it was thoughtful—and Ian’s face split into a wide grin, almost looking astonished as he realized what he was holding. He traced the burned-in names of each of his siblings, ending with his own, his fingers lingering on Mickey’s name and their wedding date.

“Holy shit,” Ian said under his breath, his voice sounding exactly like when he’d turned around in their shared prison cell and seen Mickey standing behind him for the first time. “Mick, this is…” But apparently words weren’t enough, because he leaned over and kissed Mickey, both hands coming up to cup his face. “I fuckin’ love you.”

“Fuckin’ love you, too,” Mickey said, and kissed his husband again. “Debbie helped me pick it out, by the way.”

Ian reached over and gave Debbie a hug behind Mickey’s back. “Thanks for giving my husband a hand, Debs.” His sister grinned at him and elbowed Mickey with a conspiratorial smile before Sandy pulled her into her lap. Franny hopped up into Debbie’s lap, too, causing Sandy to laugh and let out an exaggerated groan. Carl was standing nearby, snapping pictures of them all on his phone with a look of glee.

Maybe there was something to this whole Christmas spirit thing after all, Mickey thought, Ian finally putting the watch on Mickey’s wrist himself. Because as they sat on the couch, surrounded by the people they loved, snow falling outside the windows, Mickey felt happier than he could ever fucking remember.

[kelyon]

Courtship 5: Outfit

Lacey figures out what she's going to wear on her date

Read on AO3

The pile of clothes covered Lacey’s twin bed. She’d spent the better part of an hour matching blouses with slacks with sweaters in a vain attempt to find the magic combination that would make her look less like the president of the student council and more like Mr. Gold’s perfect slut. 

Nothing worked. So far, her best options were to wear her summer sundress in the middle of winter with no coat, or to take a pair of scissors to the long black skirt she had worn to her mother’s funeral. That last one might have been an option, if she had a sewing machine like Mara. But she didn’t, and showing up at Mr. Gold’s house wearing unhemmed rags was probably as bad an idea as showing up wearing pants. If she had a sleeveless top, she might consider wearing the skirt as it was. She could try to go for a sort of hippy, Bohemian look. But the most revealing blouse Lacey French owned had puffed-up sleeves, like a fucking five-year-old. 

Groaning, she fell backwards onto the pile. Some of this stuff she had got in middle school. The fact that they still fit her had been an advantage every time she’d decided to spend her limited funds on books instead of clothes, but it also meant that Lacey had never aged up her personal style. She didn’t have anything that made her look or feel like an adult. 

The purple-blue dress shimmered in her dirty clothes hamper. She had jumped the gun by wearing her only sexy outfit on her first date with Mr. Gold. She had set the bar too high. Now he would have expectations of how Miss French liked to dress. More than that, Mr. Gold in his suits had standards. If she met him looking like a mess, he’d drive off and leave her on the curb.

At least he didn’t seem to mind if she left him looking like a mess. He hadn’t minded bringing her home with a wrinkled skirt and no stockings or underwear. She wanted that to happen again, but before it could, Lacey had to look presentable. None of her clothes were cutting it. She had to take action. 

She pulled a white button-up off the pile and rubbed a smear of foundation over her hickey. Then she went downstairs into the shop. Dad was sitting by the cash register, looking through a faded design book. 

Mom had known all the designs for bouquets and arrangements by heart, but Dad always needed to double check with the book. 

“Anything happen today?” Lacey asked.

He shook his head, didn’t look up.

“We should call up everyone who ordered from us last year and remind them that V-day is in less than three weeks.”

“They know,” he grumbled. “This time of year, no one has any money. The men at Fish King will get paid on Friday, that’s when the orders will start. But they won’t really pick up until the next payday, the eleventh.”

He was right. It happened like that every year. All the orders came in at the very last minute. Valentine’s Day weekend was two solid days of constant work getting everything put together. 

And it was too far away to do Lacey any good.   

“So I’m guessing this is not a good time to discuss the subject of me ever getting paid for the hours I put in?”

Her father looked at her like she had just told an offensive joke that wasn’t even funny. Had his eyes always been so bloodshot? Had he always looked like a sad cartoon dog?

“You keep your tips.” He looked down at the book again. “You have money when the store has money, when we’re not racking up daily fees from that bastard Gold.”

“Yeah, I figured.” Lacey rubbed her hands on her jeans. “Just thought I’d ask.”

Of course Dad didn’t have any money to give her. That was their whole problem. Game of Thorns was a family business, the only income any of them had. For as long as she’d worked in the store, her pay had come in the form of food and shelter. Her reward for helping keep the place open was that it stayed open. It might not have been unreasonable to ask for more, but she knew it was unattainable.��

“Ask again when Valentine’s is over,” Dad said. “We get out of this hole… I’ll try to make something work.”

She’d heard that before. Her father always had all kinds of plans and dreams for when things got better. Not that things ever did get better. Not that they ever would. The only thing worse than knowing that fact would be admitting it. So Lacey gave her father a tight smile and pretended she believed him, just like she always did.

****

She made her way over to Marine Automotive, where her Uncle Manny was locking the front doors from the outside. When he saw her loitering, he beamed.

“Hey! There’s my favorite niece!”

Uncle Manny looked like Dad if nothing bad had ever happened to him. He had the same height and stocky build. He had the same curly hair that was also the bane of Lacey’s existence. But where Moe French was loud when he was angry, Manny French was loud when he was happy--and he was always loud. He wrapped Lacey up in a bear hug.

“How you doing, Ace? What brings you by?”

She cut to the chase. “Are you going to the Rabbit Hole tonight?”

Her uncle wasn’t a huge drinker, but he was the only person Lacey knew who regularly went to Storybrooke's only bar.

“I wasn’t planning on it. They’re aren’t any games tonight. But I take it you need an escort?”

Lacey raised her shoulders in a half-apology. “They won’t let me in without a parent-slash-guardian.”

“Ah, to be young again!” Uncle Manny wrapped one arm around her. “You’ll miss it one of these days, I promise you. But yeah, we can have a night on the town. I’ll even buy you a Shirley Temple.”

“Oh come on,” she gave him a playful nudge. “I am an adult, even if I can’t drink. I should at least get a Coke and Coke.”

“Sounds like a plan.” 

****

The Rabbit Hole was dead. Between the lack of sports on TV and the town-wide lack of money until payday, most people were staying home. The only ones here were people like Leroy Miner, people who had nowhere else to go. Like the old song said, sharing a drink they called loneliness was better than drinking alone. 

Undeterred, Lacey took her uncle-approved non-alcoholic beverage over to the pool table by the fireplace. She took off her hoodie and unbuttoned her blouse a little. This whole thing was a risky move, but it was the best plan she had. Hustling pool paid off more often than it didn’t.  

Eyeing the room, she bent over the pool table, just far enough to get a little attention. She lined up a shot and missed on purpose.

“Oh crap!” she said too loudly. “Must not be my night.”

After ten minutes of staged failure, Lacey let herself land a shot. She squealed when the ball went into the pocket. The sound made people’s heads turn, and she treated them all to a too-wide, too-apologetic smile.

Only one person smiled back. Keith Sherwood turned on his bar stool to watch her. Lacey tried to remember her other encounters with Keith. Did he usually stare more at her ass or her boobs? For safety’s sake, she did both. She leaned far enough over the table that Keith could look down her cleavage, then moved around to the other side for the next shot. She stuck her ass in the air, practically humping the felt to keep his attention.

“Boys always make it look so easy,” she pouted after another ball just barely missed the pocket.

When Keith began to walk over to her, she turned her back to him. That way she could pretend to be surprised by his arrival. With careful concentration, Lacey managed to get a ball a full foot away from what anyone watching would have assumed was her target. It was actually harder to be bad on purpose, but it paid off.

“You having fun, sweet thing?” Keith leaned against the pool table, beer in hand, right in front of her.

Lacey giggled. “It’d be more fun if I had someone to play with.”

Keith chuckled. A lock of his hair fell down into his eyes. “I bet it would be. You had a lot of fun playing with me last time, didn’t you?”

How much money had she taken from Keith the last time she had tried this? Sometimes she got cocky and her marks got mad about being taken. Lacey couldn’t remember if she had ever crowed about fleecing Keith. Unfortunately, he probably did. 

She fluttered her eyelashes. “It was a lot of fun,” she cooed. “I think I got lucky that night.”

“I bet you’re gonna get lucky again.” He was standing too close to her. “I bet your luck will get better and better all night, especially when we start playing double or nothing.”

Crap. She had definitely rubbed Keith’s face in it last time. Now he was wise to her. That was the problem with a small town. Oh well, at least she’d tried.

“So is that a bet?” she said in her real voice. “Do you wanna put money down on whether or not I’m actually hustling you? Cuz I’ll take you up on that one.”

Keith shook his head. He put his hand down on top of hers on the edge of the pool table. He was still smiling.

“You know there’s another game we can play together. It’s a lot more fun than pool.”

Ugh.

Lacey backed away. “It might be fun for you, but I don’t think I’d get much out of it.”

He followed her. “How do you know? Maybe it’d be more fun if you hustled me. That’d make things interesting, wouldn’t it? Twenty bucks says I can make you see heaven.”

She snorted. “Did you just say you’ll pay to screw me?”

Keith kept smiling. “You were gonna screw me all over this table and take my money anyway. I like my version better.”

Lacey’s blood suddenly went cold. This wasn’t funny anymore. It wasn’t a game. This asshole would seriously give her money if she went home with him. It would be so easy to go along with it. Twenty dollars for two orgasms--his would be real, hers would be fake. 

Would that be enough to buy a new skirt? Was she seriously fucking considering this?

She clenched her jaw. 

“I’m not a fucking hooker, Keith.”

He raised his arms in a pacifying gesture. “No harm, no foul,” he said. “I just don’t see how it’s any different from taking a girl to dinner first. Man pays for sex either way.”

Turning away, she slid her pool cue back on the rack. 

“You’re a pig.”

“Go ahead, darlin’, keep talking dirty. See what happens.”

Lacey kept her head held high as she went back to the bar where her uncle was nursing a beer.

“I need to get out of here,” she told him.

“Sounds good.” Uncle Manny took out his wallet and tossed a few crumpled fives onto the bar. “I’ll walk you home.”

****

 Outside, Lacey pulled her arms out of the sleeves of her hoodie and hugged her arms over her chest. This stupid button down was too frumpy to make her sexy and too thin to keep her warm. 

“Pool wasn’t any good for you tonight?” Uncle Manny asked casually.

“No,” she admitted. “Fricking Keith threw me off my game.”

“What do you need money for anyway? That dad of yours not feeding you?”

“I need money cuz I don’t have any.” Lacey kicked at a chunk of dirty snow. “Nobody does.”

“I’ve got a little, for the smartest kid in Storybrooke.” He stopped walking and turned to face her. “You wanna tell me what it’s for?”

Lacey bit the inside of her mouth. She didn’t want to lie to her uncle, but she sure as hell didn’t want to tell him the truth. She walked in silence for a minute. He stayed with her. Finally, she said it.

“I wanna get some new clothes.”

“Like a real coat?”

She shrugged. “I mean, maybe. I could. If I had enough.”

“And this is a sudden yearning that couldn’t wait?”

She shrugged again. There was nothing like being around a parent-slash-guardian to make her feel like a complete child.

“Ace, what’s going on?”

She took a breath. “I… don’t want to tell you.”

He put his hand on her shoulder. “Lacey French, if you’re doing things you don’t want people to know about, then you shouldn’t do them.”

“It’s nothing bad!” Lacey pushed him away. “It’s just… personal.”

“That’s not reassuring,” he said. “What’s going on? What do you need money for?”

“I told you, to buy clothes!”

“Clothes for what? You can tell me, Lacey. I’ll help you out if you’re honest.”

“I just want to look nice on a date!” She shrieked the words out into the night. They hung in the air with the cloud of her breath.

Uncle Manny looked at her, confused and sympathetic at the same time. Eventually, he broke out into a broad smile.

“But that’s great, honey! You should go on dates. Why-- why didn’t you say so to begin with?”

She pulled her hands up through the neck hole of her hoodie to rub her face.

“I’m… It’s because of who I’m going out with.”

Uncle Manny scoffed and put his arm around her as they walked. “You shouldn’t be ashamed of dating someone. Unless it’s someone you should be ashamed of, but then you just don’t date them. It’s not a girl, is it?”

Lacey shook her head, to which Uncle Manny nodded.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with that, not in this modern world. You know I’m with you no matter what.”

She nodded. 

“And of course, no boy is ever going to be good enough for you. But as long as he’s not married, or some kind of asshole like that bastard Gold, there’s no reason to sneak around like--Lacey?”

She had stopped in her tracks. She looked up at her uncle and chewed on her lower lip.

Realization dawned. Uncle Manny let out a long breath. 

“Lace.” His voice was rough. “Tell me you’re dating a married man.”

Lips pressed together, she shook her head. “Don’t tell anyone.”

Standing in place, Uncle Manny stomped his work boots onto the sidewalk. The intent seemed to be half to warm his feet and half to cool his head.

“Gold,” he whispered. He pointed in the direction of Mr. Gold’s pawn shop. “That Gold? The guy that has every working person in Storybrooke by balls? The guy who’s practically the reason all of us are living paycheck to paycheck? You’re going on dates with him?”

She shrugged. “It’s only been one date so far, but he asked me to come to his house on Friday.”

“And you said yes? What, does he have something on you? Is that why you need money?”

“No!” Lacey insisted. “I was telling the truth! I just need clothes that are good enough for him.”

“‘Good enough for him?’ He’s not good enough for you, Lacey! That man is a scourge. He’s a parasite. He’s--he’s old enough to be your father!”

“If he was my father, I wouldn’t be in this situation. I’d actually have a good life.”

“You have a good life.” Uncle Manny wasn’t angry anymore. Or if he was, his anger had become still and stern. “Your parents worked every day to give you a good life.”

“And where did it get them?” Lacey snapped. “Where did it get me? Yes, we work hard, but our only reward is getting to work even harder. And I’m so tired.” Her face was hot. God, she was sniffling. “Being with Mr. Gold feels like a break, and that’s all I want anymore. Just a freaking break.” 

Uncle Manny’s arms were around her. He pulled her against his coveralls that smelled like motor oil and sweat. He squeezed her tight and patted her back as she tried to stop crying.

“Sorry,” she sniffed when they broke apart.

“Hey,” he tilted her chin up and looked her in the eye. “Love means never having to say you’re sorry.”

Despite her tears, Lacey laughed. It was an old joke for them. She knew what her next line had to be: “That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard.”  

He hugged her again, kissed the top of her head. They didn’t talk until they were in front of Game of Thorns.

“I’d stay for dinner, but I’ve had Moe’s cooking before.”

She snorted at another joke she’d heard a thousand times, then she turned serious. “Um. You’re not going to tell anybody, are you?”

“About your…” he searched for the words, then shrugged, “love life?”

“Yeah. You know my dad will blow a gasket if he finds out I’m even talking to Mr. Gold, let alone--”

“Yeah, I know.” Uncle Manny cut her off. Clearly, he didn’t want to hear what she was doing with Mr. Gold.

“So, please don’t tell him? Promise?”

Her uncle sucked his teeth and slowly shook his head in silence. It took a long minute before he looked at her again.

“Okay,” he said. “You’re an adult. You know your own mind, you can make your own decisions. It’s just--be smart, okay? You are an adult, but you’re also our little girl. Me, your dad, your mom, rest her soul--we don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“I promise I won’t get hurt, if you promise not to blab my business all over town.”

“Aright,” he sighed. He pulled her in for a tight hug. “I promise. Just--please, take care of yourself.”

  She squeezed her uncle, then headed for the door. “That’s exactly what I’m doing.”

****

Lacey spent the entire working day on Thursday psychically willing the phone to ring with orders, preferably orders that had to be filled as soon as possible. Doing a rush job would give them an excuse to charge extra. She wouldn’t wish a funeral on anyone, but wouldn’t this be a great weekend for an impromptu wedding? So many of Lacey’s problems would be solved if just one panicked bride would come in and beg them to fill Dodci’s Dance Hall with centerpieces and garlands, not to mention all the bouquets and boutonnieres and flowers for the church too. Or maybe someone important could get sick and everyone in Storybrooke would send flowers to the hospital. Wasn’t there anyone in Storybrooke who was celebrating anything? Did people not have birthdays in late January? There were so many reasons people could need flowers. But this wasn’t a day when people did.

Hustling at the Rabbit Hole wasn’t an option anymore. If this were any other occasion, she would borrow a skirt from Mara or Janine, but that didn’t seem like a possibility. They wouldn’t take the news of her going on a date with Mr. Gold any better than Uncle Manny had. Mara’s store, where she also lived, was rented from Mr. Gold, and Janine had taken out a loan to pay for her beautician supplies. Both of them--really everyone in Storybrooke--saw him as the enemy. As far as they cared to think about it, he was the reason they were poor. If Lacey told her friends how much she wanted to be around him, they would think she was crazy, or morally degenerate.

Maybe she was. 

Or maybe they were wrong. Had her friends ever eaten at Bella Notte? Had they ever worn a dress that made them feel like sex on two legs? Had they ever watched a hapless waiter get strong-armed into breaking a stupid law for them? Had they ever been inside Mr. Gold’s house? Had they ever taken clothes off just because a man had asked them to? Had they ever known the thrill of promising to do whatever another person told them to do? Had they ever known the peace of being an object, of kneeling silently at someone’s feet?

Could they even understand why that was something anyone would want? Let alone that it was something Lacey craved in a place deeper than her bones? Some dark, hidden part of her soul wanted Mr. Gold, like she had never wanted anything else. 

And not having enough money to buy a stupid fucking skirt might keep her away from him forever. She could not abide that thought.

When Friday was another dud--a few orders came in, but they wouldn’t pay until delivery--Lacey knew that she was out of options. Since Mr. Gold would be picking her up tonight at eight, she was also out of time. So she did what everyone in Storybrooke did when they had nowhere else to go.

She went to the pawn shop. 

****

Lacey had always been intrigued by the phrasing of Mr. Gold’s store. The sign said Mr. Gold Pawnbroker and Antiquities Dealer. Most stores advertised the goods sold inside, but Mr. Gold advertised himself. This was who he was, this was what he did. No one came to this store because they needed things, they came because they needed what only he could offer them. Usually, they needed it enough to pay whatever price he set. 

When it came down to it, Lacey really wasn’t that different from any other desperate soul who came to Mr. Gold. The only difference was what she wanted.

It was three in the afternoon. Not technically her lunch break, but it wasn’t like she was getting paid to stick around the flower shop. Lacey changed into some gray dress pants and covered her work shirt with her least-frumpy cardigan. She stuffed her purse full of old toys and oddities that might--cumulatively, optimistically--be worth about ten dollars. She yelled at Dad that she was going out for a minute and then walked over to Mr. Gold’s.

The bell rang over her head when she walked through the front door. Mr. Gold was behind the counter, writing something in a ledger. He looked up at the sound and gave the slightest grin when he saw that it was her. 

“Miss French,” he said, with just a touch of warmth. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Lacey bit her lip, but forced herself to stay cool. She looked around at the shelves and display cases, slowly making her way forward. Another time, she would have marveled at the art and jewelry and historic do-dads, but now she slunk past them.

“I…” she dragged out the word, unsure of what she was saying as she said it, “was wondering… if you have any clothes for sale.” 

Mr. Gold raised his eyebrows. “Clothes?”

“Yeah.” She stopped in front of a spinning rack of necklaces. She couldn’t look at him. “You know, like vintage stuff?”

He walked over to her, behind the display case. “I’ve got some historic naval uniforms, but nothing that would suit you.”

He was in front of her now, so they were separated by nothing but two feet of glass and gadgets. She didn’t raise her head. Some of these necklaces were really pretty. One gold chain with a mother-of-pearl pendant spoke to her for some reason.

“What do you need, Miss French?”

His voice was gentle, coaxing. He understood how much she hated what she was doing. He probably talked to a lot of people who were feeling what she was feeling. At least he didn’t seem to be enjoying her discomfort.

Lacey took a breath, and looked up at him.

“I need a skirt,” she admitted. “I don’t have anything to wear on our date tonight.”

He blinked. Then his face grew infinitesimally softer. 

“I see,” he said. 

“I brought some stuff.” She set her purse on the counter, began to pull out the junk she’d brought from home. “I thought I might--”

“Please,” he held up a hand. “You don’t need to do that. I’m more than happy to assist you, Miss French.” He turned away from her, went back over to his antique cash register. 

“I can pay you back…”

“Oh you will,” he grinned. He took a bill out of the cash register and set it on the counter. Lacey came closer and saw that it was a fifty. “Will this be enough?”

She fought the urge to snatch the money and run all the way to Modern Fashions. It was the same feeling she’d had when he’d given her the money to tip that stupid waiter. The thrill, the rush, of having cash and knowing she could do anything with it. Fifty dollars was more than she had spent on clothes in the past year. Fifty dollars could cover the bill at Granny’s for her whole family--or at least for Janine and Mara to have real lunches.

Fifty dollars was more than twice what Keith had offered her to have sex with him.

Lacey pulled her hands back. She dug her fingernails into her palms. 

“I… I shouldn’t accept this,” she said.  

“Why not?” Mr. Gold asked, unperturbed. “Are you worried I’ll take advantage of you? Wouldn’t you say that ship has sailed, Miss French?”

She looked down at the dirt-stained sneakers she wore for work. In a resigned whisper, she told Mr. Gold the same thing she said to Keith at the Rabbit Hole.

“I’m not a hooker.”

“Of course not.” Mr. Gold’s voice was smooth and confident. He came out from behind the counter to stand in front of her. Slowly, he raised his hand to cup her cheek, subtly forcing her to look at him. “You’re a woman who knows what she wants and who will do whatever she needs to do to make it happen.”

Lacey’s breath shook. Her eyes were hot and she was trembling.

“What do you want?” he asked her. He really was being very patient. 

“I want to go on another date with you, Mr. Gold.”

“And what do you need to do in order to make that happen?”

“I need--” she stopped. I need a skirt wasn’t the right answer. Mr. Gold had asked her what she needed to do. “I need to get some money, Mr. Gold.”

“Ask me for it.” He gave the order like it was a caress. “Ask me for the money and I’ll give it to you, Miss French.”

 This wasn’t like with Keith. This wasn’t being so desperate for money that she’d have sex with a stranger. This was being so desperate for sex that she’d take money to make sure she’d get it. She’d let Mr. Gold pay her like a whore just to make sure he kept treating her like a slut. 

She swallowed. She had to swallow a few times before she was brave enough to speak.

“Please, Mr. Gold, will you give me fifty dollars so I can have something suitable to wear for our date tonight?”

“I would be happy too, Miss French.” He lowered his hand from her cheek and picked the bill up off of the counter. Gently, he took her hand by the wrist, placed the fifty on her palm, and closed her fingers over it.

He grinned at her.

“Buy yourself something pretty.”

Lacey clenched her jaw. Now he was enjoying this. She bit back words that would make him take the money back. Instead, she said what she knew he wanted her to say.

“Thank you, Mr. Gold.”

“You’re quite welcome, Miss French.”

He turned around then, went back behind the counter. Lacey understood she was dismissed. Facing the door, she took a breath and checked to make sure none of her tears had spilled out onto her cheeks. 

Before she opened the door, Mr. Gold called over to her. 

“Miss French,” he said. “If you happen to buy a red skirt and wear nothing underneath it, I will eat your cunt for dessert tonight.”

Lacey’s eyes went wide. Her shock was less for what Mr. Gold had said and more for his nonchalant tone. He was talking about sex in the same way he would talk about running errands.

“Do you understand me, Miss French?”

What about it did he think she didn’t understand? Then Lacey realized she hadn’t answered him. Mr. Gold expected an answer when he spoke to people. 

“Yes, Mr. Gold,” she said. Shock had made her voice a little breathy. “Thank you for telling me, Mr. Gold.”

He gave her a nod. 

Dazed and excited, Lacey left his shop and made her way down the street to Modern Fashions. She had a red skirt to buy.

[buckyrighthandedbarnes]

She couldn’t get the lug nut off. No matter how she tried, it wasn’t coming loose. It was too hot out for this. Wiping her brow, she stood up as she planned her next move. If AAA didn’t take so long she’d have called them but maybe at this rate that was the better option.

An older model pickup truck pulled up behind her own. Sun glinted off the windshield and she couldn’t see the person behind the wheel. Please don’t be a murderer.

The driver’s side door opened. “Hey,” a man greeted, swinging the door shut. He held his hands up in front of him, as if aware she was prepared for battle with her tire iron. “Need some help?”

He wore a long sleeve shirt and work gloves, which she found odd in the Louisiana heat. Sunglasses covering his eyes, what she could see was definitely handsome. Okay, maybe this was better than AAA. As long as he didn’t turn out to be a serial killer or something.

“Can’t get this one lug nut,” she replied, gesturing to the flat tire. “I swear I’m not weak, it was just clearly put on with torque wrench and I can’t compete with that.” She couldn’t help the word vomit. It was just in her nature to over share.

The man laughed, “Not judging. These things can be a pain. May I?” He gestured to the tire iron. She eyed him wearily but handed it over.

He made it look easy. So easy. One push and the nut started to spin. “You just stopped up show off,” she crossed her arms with a grin.

“You did all the work and loosened it for me,” he replied, taking the rest off one by one. “You live around here?”

He smelled good. A mix of soap and a hint of sweat, like he’d been outside a while. She leaned against the fender, watching as he did all the work. She was capable, this wasn’t her first flat. But if he was going to do it for her, she wouldn’t complain. “Yeah, about ten minutes from here. Was heading to the feed store for hay.”

“Cows? Horses? Guinea pigs?”

She laughed. “Horses.”

“How much is hay these days?”

She quirked an eyebrow. “Thirteen to twenty dollars a bale, depending. You have horses?”

He was really making this look easy. “Nah. Worked on a farm as a kid. Horses and cows.”

“Round here?”

“New York, actually.” He tightened the lug nuts back on the spare tire before setting it down on the ground, tightening them to the max.

“What are you doing down here?” She rounded the truck, grabbing two waters from the cooler in the bed.

“Helping a friend work on his boat,” he took the water with a smile of gratitude.

“You’re a good friend.” She sipped the water. “Thank you for coming to the rescue.”

He pulled his sunglasses off, wiping the bridge of his nose with the collar of his shirt. “You didn’t need rescue, just a little elbow grease. I’m sure you could’ve done that all by yourself had the nut not sabotaged your chances.”

He was handsome. Very handsome. Lines of life stretched across his features but his crooked smile was boyish. “Then we wouldn’t have met.” He flushed.

Okay, wow. Adorable.

“This is true,” he held her gaze, “maybe I can come see your horses sometime.”

“I might put you to work. I could use someone with your strength.” He was too easy to flirt with. He had a comfortable way about him. It felt so natural.

“I can do stuff around the farm. It’s been a while but I’m pretty decent with a pitchfork.” That made her laugh. He matched it with his.

“That’s exactly what I need,” she replied. “Thank you again, I would still be dying in the heat if you hadn’t come by.”

“Lucky chance.” He extended his hand, “Bucky.”

“Rachel. Nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine.” They shook for moment and she could feel the roughness of the gloves against her palm. She wondered what his hands felt like and then laughed at herself inside.

“Well maybe I’ll see you around,” she pulled away, reluctantly stepping away. She could stand here all day if she didn’t have to get feed for evening chores.

“I hope so.”

She blushed and grinned as they threw the remaining tools in the bed of her truck. Then they parted, though it felt like he didn’t want to either. “My farm is on Steed Lane. If you ever want to stop by.”

It wasn’t smart to throw her address out like that. But she couldn’t help it. What if there was something there? It had been so long and being a single mother meant she didn’t meet men very often. Especially gentlemen. Which this some appeared to be.

“I think I might. Drive safely, Rachel.”

“Thank you, Bucky.”

[everydayfrimmel]

July 16, 2024

"The L Word (Love and/or Leaking Roofs and/or Late-Night Cable Television)" 2200 words, roommate AU, part 12/?

Frieren’s been ordering things on Yukon again. 

She tends to get that way when she’s bored. Usually, her packages are heavy and rectangular and almost certainly books. Another time, she had ordered madeleine pans, made and eaten six batches of chocolate madeleines in them in two weeks, and then become so tired of them that she never touched it again. (Himmel, never one to waste anything, now makes comically oversized ice cubes in it.)  He wonders what’s in the packages every time he sees one on the front porch. And lately, there have been a lot of them. 

“Snacks,” she tells him. Which—she seems to be eating a different strange candy shipped from overseas every day now—looks to be accurate. 

“You can’t go to the grocery store?” 

Frieren glares at him. “They don’t sell the good stuff at the grocery store.” 

And even when they do, she doesn’t add, she’s much too lazy to go get it.

Frieren goes to the grocery store only under the greatest possible duress. If she didn’t order so much takeout, she might actually be able to afford to live alone. Thus, shipping in chips from Germany or gummies from Taiwan doesn’t really seem like much of a stretch for her. 

“Can I try?” he asks, gesturing to a brightly-colored sleeve of cookies with a label written in Spanish. 

Frieren clutches the sleeve to her chest and gives him a dirty look. 

“So mean,” he says lightly. “You’d think I would deserve something for giving you all this eye candy.” 

“I didn’t ask for any eye candy,” she says. “So I don’t see why I would need to thank you for being good-looking in my presence by giving you food that cost me a fortune.” 

If she’d given him that cookie, he would’ve choked on it. “You think I’m good-looking?” 

“What? You just said yourself that you were.” 

“But you never say that.” 

“Objectively speaking,” Frieren says, then turns back to her cookies and her book and leaves Himmel’s head spinning. 

“Sooooo…what I’m hearing is that you love me.” 

“Nothing I just said could be reasonably interpreted to mean anything of the kind.”  

“Aww, Frieren, you should’ve said so!” 

She glares at him again. “I know you don’t really think that.” 

Then, of course, comes the inevitable crash, the part when he realizes he’s admitted too many of the things he wants to be true and wishes he could disappear but can’t yet because he still has to cover his tracks. 

“Just messin’ with ya,” he says, then swipes a cookie off the top of the sleeve and smiles sweetly. “I’ll buy you a new one.” 

“…you better.” 

He does, that night. A whole case of them, actually, because he’s feeling stupid and repentant and unable to understand why he’s such an unbearable idiot when it comes to Frieren sometimes. Why would he even have said that? 

He is contemplating this, head in his hands, when Frieren knocks on his bedroom door.

“You wanna go see glow-in-the-dark algae?” 

He is on his feet to open the door before he even has time to call himself an idiot for it. 

“Glow-in-the-dark algae, you say?” 

“Bioluminescence.” She’s reading off her phone and turns it around to show him an article. “A kind of algae that lets off a blue glow when it’s disturbed is blooming off the coast.”

His heart leaps, even though it shouldn’t, even though there’s always a catch when it comes to Frieren. “Yeah. I’d love to.” 

“Good,” she says. “’Cause I don’t wanna drive.” 

…there it is, huh. 

“You little freeloader,” he tells her with a lopsided smile, and reaches out to ruffle her hair. “’Course I’ll drive.” 

She brings things to bundle up in: coats, blankets, probably more than she needs. She’s only wearing leggings and a university crew-neck, but she’s brought half her wardrobe to pile on over it if she’s cold, and—he smiles—his coat from the hook by the door. He had been wondering where it was.

“Thanks,” he says, embarrassed to feel as moved as he does. “For getting my coat.” 

“It was hanging by the door, so it wasn’t any extra effort.” 

“Still. Thanks.” 

It amuses him, after another moment, to realize that Frieren has hot chocolate, and that she’s dipping her (he remembers from the order he placed) Colombian cookies in it. She must have been in the mood for an outing, and more prepared than she let on. 

This could be a date.

This could be the kind of thing where she sets her hand on his thigh across the center console, and they take blurry flash photos together where the bioluminescent tide isn’t even visible, and he wraps a scarf around her wind-bitten cheeks and kisses her nose because he notices it’s gotten cold, and he carries her in from the car to a bedroom that is both of theirs. 

Himmel tries not to think too hard about that. 

“Have you ever seen this glowing algae stuff before?” he asks, mostly to distract himself. 

“Once.” 

“With Flamme?” 

“With an oceanography class I took in uni.” 

“Oh, you like the ocean?” 

She shrugs. “It was the least boring biology gen ed they had.” 

“I see.” 

“It was neat.”

“Must’ve made a big impression if even you remembered it,” he comments. 

“Yes, I suppose it did.” 

“Thanks for asking me to come with.” 

“It’s not personal, I just wanted a driver.” 

He says nothing for a moment, but, for once, he’s decided to be bold, and this time he doesn’t think it’s a stupid choice to make. 

“You ever thought it might hurt a little when you tell me things like that?” 

“Hurt?” Frieren asks. “No, why?”

“We’re friends, Frieren,” he says. “Sometimes I wanna believe you want to do things with me just because you, you know…like doing things with me.” 

“It goes without saying that I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t enjoy your company.” 

He sighs. Leave it to Frieren to make even a compliment sound cold. “It’d be nice if you said that sometimes.” 

“Oh. All right.” 

“I know you don’t mean any harm,” he says. “It’s just…hard for me.” 

“Because you’re insecure?” Frieren asks. “You definitely shouldn’t be. Everyone in town-“

“No, Frieren, because I really like you.”

He can say he means that platonically and not be lying, but it feels like a confession nonetheless.

“Why?” 

“What do you mean, why?”

“Why would you like me enough to feel insecure?” Frieren asks. “I’m not a very appealing person.” 

“Frieren…” 

“What? I’m not.”

How strange it is that he hates hearing her say that more than he hates admitting anything even a little bit personal and offering it to a woman who doesn’t handle anything with care. 

“You make me laugh,” he says softly. “You’re so smart I almost can’t believe it.” 

“Why would my intelligence make you-“ 

“You know so many random things,” he goes on, resolutely ignoring her. “I never know what you’re gonna tell me next, and I love that.”

“You…do?” 

“You’re a puzzle,” he tells her. “You make people look for it, but if they’re patient enough, soon they start seeing little hints that you really do care. And that’s…I don’t know, Frieren.” He swallows hard. “I just like you so much.” 

She’s quiet, he embarrassed, and neither looks at the other for a moment.

“Himmel.”

“Yeah?” 

“Do you mean that romantically or platonically?” 

“You had to go for the jugular, didn’t ya?”

“It’s a relevant question. Flamme says you’re in love with me.” She looks at him questioningly. “And you keep making suspicious jokes.” 

She knew enough to be suspicious? 

“Of course I like you as a friend,” he says feebly, then hates himself for a moment for the cowardice of refusing to say what she so clearly already knows. 

“But…but…yeah.” He swallows hard. “It’s both.”

“Hm,” Frieren says, then nothing more. 

It is a long, quiet ride to the beach, and Himmel has never more acutely wished he could teleport himself to the destination and be done with it. Even when they do arrive, Frieren gets out before he can so much as apologize, pulls on a coat and hat, and trots off towards the water. 

So often he feels like he’s chasing something determined not to be caught. It’s the same now, jogging after her with his arms full of blankets. She doesn’t turn when he catches up to her. 

“It’s dimmer than I remembered,” she says, watching the faintly-glowing blue waves roll in with pursed lips. “Maybe this is a smaller bloom.” 

Himmel watches for a moment, feels pathetically grateful that Frieren is speaking to him at all, and says, “I still think it’s pretty neat.” 

Once more, they’re quiet. He notices Frieren digging her hands into her pockets, curling in on herself as if she’s cold, and, though it may be too much, he drapes a blanket around her shoulders and leaves his hands there for a moment to make sure it stays there.

“Thanks, Himmel.”

“’Course.” 

After a moment of quiet, she says, “Himmel?”

“Yeah?”

“What do you mean when you say you love me?” 

His stomach turns. “I didn’t say that.” 

“Or whatever it is you said?” 

“Well, I already told you my reasons.” He tries to sound gentle, but his voice wants to crack. “I’m really sorry, Frieren. I wasn’t gonna say anything.” 

“I’m…I’m not upset, Himmel.” She adds, quietly, “and that would’ve been dumb.” 

“Huh?” 

“Not saying anything. Where is the logic in that?” she asks. “How was I supposed to know how you felt if you didn’t tell me?” 

“You weren’t,” he says. “Supposed to know.” 

“But why? Isn’t it pretty dishonest to hide that from someone you’re living with?” 

“I…I just didn’t want to make you feel pressured.” 

“I wouldn’t,” Frieren says. “It would be helpful to be aware of those things.”

“…oh.” 

“And I’m not the kind of person who would actively think about being in a relationship, so I have to be prompted.” She looks at him searchingly. “I don’t understand why you would just not prompt me.” 

“But you don’t…you wouldn’t…” 

“I don’t know if I would.” 

“You don’t?” 

“I would need to understand what kinds of things you want,” she says. “And to have a frame of reference for what you mean when you say you have feelings for me. To decide if I like the idea.”

He smiles in spite of himself. “You’ve thought about this?” 

“Well, yes, Flamme is very pushy.” 

“You’ve…you’ve considered it?” Himmel could be sick with joy. “Being with me?” 

“Gathering data.” 

“Damn, you’re cold.” 

“I’m not cold.” 

“Kinda stings to be seen as a walking spreadsheet.” 

“You don’t understand what data really is,” she says, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “It isn’t just numbers. Or spreadsheets.” 

“Then what is it?”

“Patterns,” she says. “A way of making things recognizable to us. Data’s how we know what to think about the world.” 

It’s such a Frieren explanation, and yet such a gentle one, so quietly human, that his throat tightens. There really is no coldness at all in this woman. She just doesn’t realize that people don’t see the beautiful things in her head past the curt explanations of them that she gives out loud. 

She probably doesn’t realize that any of the things he loves about her are beautiful at all. 

“What does that make me, then?” Himmel asks. 

“Something I need more data on.” She looks up at him to see if he’s getting it. “I need to see you act on your feelings and make inferences.” 

“And then-“ 

“I’ve never even wanted to date somebody,” she says. “I have no frame of reference.” 

“So?” 

“I would need to build one from the ground up.” 

He smiles, and he thinks he finally gets it. “Can I help?” 

She almost smiles at him. 

“Start by saying what you actually mean.” 

It’ll be days before Himmel begins to unpack what all of this means, but on the drive home, the glow of the headlights seems happier than it ever has. It is less exasperating than endearing when Frieren falls asleep in the passenger’s seat. And when he arrives home, he feels feather-light, ready to do just about anything.

She doesn’t wake even when he parks, even when the automatic porch lights come on, and she doesn’t wake when he opens the passenger door and slips his arms beneath her to lift her out of the car, either. 

If she wants him to be honest—if that is really what Frieren wants—then he’ll be as honest as he can stand to be. Data is easy to provide if all it takes is acting the part of the person he hopes she’ll allow him to be. 

Midway to her upstairs bedroom, Frieren stirs. 

“We’re almost there,” he says. “You can go back to sleep.” 

She curls her hand into the fabric of his sweatshirt instead. 

“Oh,” he murmurs. “All right.” 

“Himmel.”

He could die, hearing her say his name that way. 

“Yeah?” 

“You smell nice.” 

And even when he sets her down, he doesn’t stop smiling for hours into the night. 

Data, huh? 

[stonesparrow]

Early Riser Ch. 3

My Senku-Wakes-Up-Early AU where Senku wakes up 10 years after the petrification.

Chapter 2

By the time they manage to get to the bank where Yuzuriha’s dad works, she’s made a very compelling argument for reviving him, if only because he can, yknow. Actually drive.

Senku concedes the point with only some minimal protests about how he’s totally improving on the driving front, and notes the fact that it probably would be a good idea to have at least one adult in their party since the farmers in northern Kanto probably won’t take three fifteen-year-olds very seriously, potentially jeopardizing the overall mission.

Yuzuriha says she’d be okay with reviving only her dad since she knows their revival fluid supplies are limited, but Senku shrugs and says it’d be better for their psychological well being to bring her mom along too. Plus more bodies is still more bodies, especially since even with Taiju lugging around a bunch of stuff is getting to be a bit tiring. He pretends not to see how Yuzuriha obviously deflates in relief and gratitude when he mentions this.

And so Ogawa Makoto is the fifth person to wake up in this strange new world.

Yuzuriha throws her arms around her dad as soon as he starts breathing again, and he blinks down at them curiously as he hugs her back.

“You know, I suspected the three of you might have something up your sleeves when everything went dark,” he remarks nonchalantly as he takes in the petrified bank workers and customers. “So, any particular reason you woke me up?”

“You’re weirdly relaxed about all this,” Senku remarks, eyebrow raised. Mr. Ogawa has always been a pretty chill guy (a good thing, considering the shenanigans his daughter and her friends get up to), but being so nonchalant about waking up in the post-apocalypse feels like a bit of a stretch. 

He shrugs. “Eh, I’m just well practiced in compartmentalizing my emotions, the fear and panic is pretty well locked up in here.” He taps his forehead. “The other tellers say it’s almost creepy how relaxed I seem in stressful situations.”

“He once stopped a bank robbery by just talking calmly at the thief until they got so unnerved they left,” Yuzuriha says.

“You know this does kind of explain why Yuzuriha didn’t even flinch when she told off those bullies back in fifth grade,” Taiju remarks.

When they tell him about the car situation, the only thing Mr. Ogawa says about it is that he’s genuinely surprised it took this long for Senku to try driving without a license.

With that handy little insight into the trio’s parents’ view of how chaotic they are, Mr. Ogawa drives them to Yuzuriha’s house and they add Ogawa Hikari to the party.

While Yuzuriha definitely got her nerves of steel from her dad, Senku’s pretty sure she got her intense work ethic from her mom. The first thing Mrs. Ogawa does when waking up other than greeting her husband and daughter is to immediately take inventory of all their supplies and suggest they raid the nearest camping equipment store without a hint of hesitation.

“We should go wake up the Okis too,” she says before anyone can say they were already planning on checking on Taiju’s house. “Mrs. Oki has that old hunting rifle that might be of use.”

When they all just stare at her, she frowns. “Well we can’t rely entirely on canned meat, you know, and without steady protein we’ll start to get weaker. Plus I’m concerned about the wild predators we’ll encounter in the north. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not have to worry about bears who aren’t used to seeing humans around anymore.”

It’s a good point, and after loading up all of Yuzuriha’s crafting things they quickly head over to Taiju’s place to pick up his grandparents. 

Oki Kazuhiro immediately bursts into happy tears and embraces all three teenagers at once, saying he was so scared when everything went dark even if he knew Senku and Yuzuriha would take care of “our little Taiju.”

His wife Chie smacks him lightly on the shoulder and tells him off for being such a worrywart before sternly telling the teens that just because they’re saving the world doesn’t mean they’ll be off the hook for any past or future “incidents,” especially since they’ve done more breaking and entering in the last few days than they’ve ever had before.

They find a larger vehicle to carry the party of now seven people to the nearest camping store, and Senku helps Mrs. Oki repair her hunting rifle as she complains about how her license is definitely expired by now.

Mr. Oki manages to somehow Tetris all of their supplies into the new van they borrowed and can remember exactly where he put everything, which is great because Senku’s plan was more or less “throw it all in and deal with it later.” 

Then after ensuring that they have extra batteries on hand, they head north. 

It only takes a few hours to get there, but somehow Senku finds himself nodding off, both him and Yuzuriha resting their heads on Taiju’s shoulders. Before he fully falls asleep though, he hears snippets of whispered conversation from the adults.

“Looks like they’re getting sleepy, huh?”

“I can only imagine. Why do they feel the need to put so much pressure on themselves, you think? They’re just kids.”

“Just kids, you say. About the three hellions that nearly blew up their school gymnasium?”

“Now Oki-san, they did promise never to do that again.”

“She has a point though. They may be young, but they’re not really…ordinary, are they? Even Yuzuriha says she feels like the other girls think she’s weird.” 

“So it might be that they don’t really trust anyone else but each other when it comes to special situations. Why else would Senku-kun wake them up before any adults?”

“Well I’m glad he at least trusts us. I think that boy tries to act too grown up sometimes. And with his father gone—“

“Shhh, let’s not talk about that right now. We have to focus on the plan, alright? No use worrying about something we have no knowledge of.”

“But it’s a real concern. There’s no way Byakuya-san is—“

“We don’t know that. Maybe the astronauts were able to come down to Earth on their own, you know? Some sort of escape pod scenario or whatever.”

“But if he—“

“We can’t. We can’t just talk about him like that. Not in front of the kids. Not in front of Senku. That hope…we all need that right now. You know?”

“…I see. But you didn’t let me finish.”

“Alright?”

“I was saying, that if the worst case scenario happens…then we all have to share the responsibility of taking care of Senku-kun from now on. I’m sure he’ll act like he’s fine on his own, and we can let him think that, but he’s been an Oki as much as he is an Ishigami since Taiju chose him all those years ago, and that’s never going to change.”

“…Well of course. I thought it was a given that we’d do that.”

“I know Yuzuriha would give us hell otherwise.”

“Hmph. Good.”

“Awww Chie, you’re such a sweetie inside aren’t you?”

“Shut up. The kids are sleeping.”

Senku feels someone placing a quilt over him, Taiju, and Yuzuriha, and the softness of the fabric and the rhythm of the van rumbling along finally pulls him into sleep. 

[lucysarah-c]

Flowers

Summary: Well... We kinda reached a milestone in ao3 with the number of subs in the story and I wanted to do a little gift for all of you, it's a little side story. Nothing special but I couldn't add it to the past chapter and decided to do it a bit more extended and added as a small spin off.

Hope you like it! Thank you, thank to all of you who support this story <3 It truly means a lot to me. And, despite the main focus being in the past, YN and Levi as some old married couple makes me so soft and warm inside haha. 

Pairing: Levi x reader stablished relationship

Words: 1485

Year 849

Exhausted tired eyes scanned the bookshelf in search of what he needed. His tongue clicked as it was the fourth volume he had taken out and it yet didn’t have the information he was looking for. Pushed another out with strength as the squeezed books refused to go out as they had been stored with pressure to make them fit.

“Fuck,” He cursed as the big red leather book came out with another in the process, a smaller one what had been hidden between the military law’s books.

“Everything ok?!” A female voice came from the attached bathroom, extremely loud to get her point across the falling water from the shower.

“Yeah! don’t worry,” Levi replied as he bent down to pick up the small notebook, hissing as the muscles of his thighs hurt from heavy training that day. His fingers grabbed the cover as it had splitted in two on its trip to the floor and the interior splashed on the floor “Fucking shit,”

Resignated, he squatted down to pick up all the little objects that the book apparently contained. 

“Levi! You ok?!” The shower water stopped momentarily as she inquired once again.The alluded man scoffed slightly entertained at her worryness that was, somehow, endearing as he questioned what she could probably do in case he, humanity’s strongest, was in danger.

“Yeah, just keep going”

It was late at night, both of them done with their formal working hours. His hair was slightly wet as he refused to shower after her, insisting that she always used all the hot water. A pair of light grey drawstring sweatpants hanging loose from his hips and a loose white long sleeve t-shirt. Walking back to his desk and slacked against his chair, his hand full of all the stuff that came out of the small notebook trying to comprehend what it was and how to put all that stuff back on its other. Legs parted and tilted to the sides. 

The pages were slightly stuck to each other as the ink on it had run dry. He quickly spotted the handwriting of his girlfriend, the dates on top of the pages.

“I shouldn’t read this,” Levi murmured to himself as quick as he realised that it was one of her old diaries, probably ended up there by mistake. Putting the little notebook away with all the extra content at the corner of the desk.

Levi tried to focus back on work, as the paperwork wasn’t going to fill itself and then remembered why he’d gotten up in the first place. ‘I still need that damn book,’

She came out of the shower, Pjs on as hair slightly wet as her hands scrunch it with the towel.

“In which volume it’s the training petitions inner codes?” Levi wondered to his girlfriend who knew her way around the books better than him.

“The number 5,”

Her lazy steps against the wood pranks echoed in the place as he climbed the bookshelf. Y/N’s strong gasp got his attention, making him turn around hastily only to find out his girlfriend's angry face.

“You ruined my flower!”

“Your what?”

“My flower!” She insisted, showing up a small dry bouquet of baby-blue flowers that was obvious that was missing a piece.

“Ah. It fell from the shelf,” Levi replied uninterested.

“Well! Obviously!” Her irritation didn’t go away. “Four years I had this well preserved and you ruined it!”

Levi remained stoic as it seemed stupid to get worked out for a piece of plant. Book in his hand he went back to sit down on his chair and she kept looking at him with demanding nature.

“I don’t even get why would you keep that shit,”

“Don’t tell me you don’t remember what this is,” her grave tone made him look up to her just showered appearance.

‘I fucked up,’ He quickly concluded when her faked up anger changed to “You better answer correctly if you want to keep your balls,” tone. Levi had the intentions to come up with a worthy reply but his silence was delator.

She scoffed loudly, sitting in her chair trying to put everything back on its respective place inside the diary. Noisily complaining as she cursed under her breath. The captain chose to remain quiet, hoping that the incident would wash away.

“This is the flower you gave me when we started dating!” She returned to the topic after a few minutes “Don’t you remember that? With the chocolates?”

‘Ah.. that,’

“Why did you keep that? It’s been ages,” Levi argued and he quickly notice that didn’t help his case “What I mean it’s that I’ve done you better gifts than some random cheap flower,”

“Because it makes me happy,”

Her broken tone as she pouted looking at the broken flower made him feel guilty somehow, even when it was an accident.

“I can try to glue it,” he insisted as reaching across the desk but she pulled away.

“I even remember what I wrote,” She murmured as if didn’t feel guilty enough.

“You wrote about some cheap fair’s chocolates and picked flowers?”

“Of course!” She insisted and then proceeded to search inside the notebook. Then it was read outloud, as her anger washed away and was replaced by a highly contained smile and blushed cheeks. Levi remained stoic. She sighed as if love took over her, then her eyes locked with his, expectant “What did you think back then?”

“Wait… you think I thought all that shit that you wrote?” Levi got suddenly terrified as if he was put on a pedestal that he hardly deserved.

“Well… I got it close at least?” her loving eyes became a soft frown as his silence gave him away once again “What were you thinking?” She insisted.

“Tch, Y/N, I’m not that romantic and you know it,” Levi replied as he took a sip of his tea “I don’t remember what I wrote in yesterday’s grocery list and you want me to remember what I was thinking around five years ago?”

“Levi!”

Her insistance made him click his tongue “I don’t know, probably that women like sweet shit, like chocolates and flowers. I didn’t have money for both so I brought the chocolate and picked one up on my way, that’s it.”

Her faked offended face didn’t disappear as reality was extremely more disappointing than fiction. She refused to face him as a cat, ignoring being called. Levi glued his eyes on her as after all these years he knew that her pain wasn’t real, a mere scene.

“So… you don’t think that our indefinable love can only fairly be represented with something as pure as a wildflower?” her voice as a whisper echoed in the place as how desperately she pretended to be offended made him chuckle.

He moved across the desk to plant a kiss on her humid hair “I think my love is loud enough because I keep letting you get away with your hairs getting stuck in the shower’s drain,” 

Levi perhaps wasn’t the most romantic man inside of the walls and he was well aware of it. Those actions hold no value for him, or at least not in the way she desired them. He felt touched that she decided to keep the most small details so dear, he valued that. He also adored how happy she even appeared just for the memory, which meant that he had made her even happier back in the day with the gift itself. Flowers and chocolates made her happy, and she made him happy. So it was a win.

So when he crossed the door frame of their shared office after he came back from a meeting with the military board at Sheena with Erwin, he was holding her a small bouquet of peonies. Her parted lips as she left out a quiet gasp, her crystal eyes of emotion as she blushed intensely.

“Oh my god!” She started to do little jumps of happiness “They are beautiful!”

He groaned a sort of positive reply as she grabbed his face to give him repeated little peaks on the lips.

“I’m going to put them in water!” She rushed to it but stopped abruptly to turn around back at him “Thank you so so much! I love you!”

Levi nodded before murmuring “I love you too,” as he took off the green coat and hung it next to the door.

“Shut up!” her exclamation made him wonder what was the deal now. “Did you do it on purpose?!” She exclaimed as her finger pointed to her sweater and the flowers colour. Both of them in a purplish slightly bluish pink colour.

“Y/N,” Levi sighed as he picked up part of his abandoned paperwork “I know you backwards. You truly thought I would show up here with stupid flowers that don't match your clothes?”