#oh shit there were four laundry baskets actually

[ghostsinthecellar]

turned three laundry baskets three bins and a box of clothes into one tall laundry pile, one tall underclothes-and-sundry pile, and a closet full of hung-up clothes. :) now I'm sitting on the floor avoiding getting up because the underclothes-and-sundry pile covers my whole bed (with some help from the stuffed animals) and dealing with it requires moving a table and a storage bin and I don't. wanna. currently

[roosterforme]

Batting Practice Part 27 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Moving in with you and Everett was the most natural thing Bradley could have done. He felt loved and comfortable, and he hoped the two of you felt the same. But it took a night out drinking at the Hard Deck for you to mention some things that Bradley would have preferred you told him when you were sober.

Warnings: Fluff, smut, angst and swearing

Length: 4900 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female single!mom Reader

Check my masterlist for more Top Gun fun! Batting Practice masterlist.

"Do you even own anything?" you asked, looking around Bradley's beige apartment. There was a stack of about ten moving boxes, two tubs of baseball cards, and some laundry baskets of clothing. "This is alarming. I'm marrying a man who doesn't own anything."

Bradley rolled his eyes at you. "I tried to tell you we didn't need Molly and Bob to come help. I could have done this with Everett." He had explained to you that his apartment came fully furnished and he had claimed that he didn't own much. But this was next level.

"Listen, Kitten," he added, wrapping his arms around you while Everett tossed Bradley's baseball caps into one of the laundry baskets. "I haven't really had a home since I was in high school. Barracks and fully furnished apartments were it." Your heart melted as he added, "Thanks for inviting me to live in your home."

"It's about to become yours, too. You can do whatever will make you happy and comfortable."

Just then Molly and Bob showed up, and Bradley's eyes lit up. "Everett!" he shouted. "We're getting a Phillies room!"

"What?" you sputtered, laughing at his excitement. "I didn't say-"

"A Phillies room!" Ev chanted, pumping his fists in the air.

"Shit," you whispered as Molly came up behind you and gave you a hug.

"This is it?" Bob asked, looking around at Bradley's stuff. "You needed my truck for five boxes?"

Bradley shrugged. "I tried to tell her not to bother calling you. Actually," he said, turning toward the refrigerator, "can you help me finish these beers?" He opened four bottles and handed two of them to Bob.

"Ladies?" Bob asked, but you both shook your heads. 

You and Molly dropped down onto the couch together while the three boys messed around in the kitchen, talking about this theoretical Phillies room. She looked a little worried, and you didn't like the way she had been chewing on her fingernails. "What's wrong?" you asked her softly. 

"Nothing," she replied immediately with a smile so fake, you were shocked she even tried it on you.

"Maybe Bob still believes that smile is genuine, but I know better. Tell me what's up."

She sighed and stretched out on your lap. "I'm so tired from work. I don't like the one douchebag doctor who works day shifts. He keeps giving me a hard time."

Your skin started to prickle. "What did he do? Did you tell Bob?"

"Yeah," she groaned, closing her eyes as you rubbed her shoulder. "I told Bob. The doctor just hates me and acts like I'm incompetent. No biggie. I know I do a good job."

It was a fight to calm your breathing down. "You actually save people's lives before the doctor even shows up in the room."

"See? You get it," she mumbled, and then she fell asleep while the guys loaded the Bronco and Bob's truck with Bradley's meager belongings. 

She slept until it was time for Bradley to lock his door one last time, and then she stood to use the bathroom. You popped up and pulled Bob into the completely empty bedroom, but before you could say anything, he was talking.

"Is Molly mad at me?" he asked softly, his eyes sad and searching yours. 

"Oh, Bob," you gasped, reaching for his hand. "I don't think so. But she seems a little stressed out, doesn't she?"

He shrugged helplessly. "She keeps telling me it's because of work, but... I'm afraid she's been so quiet because she's tired of me."

You gasped. "No!" you whispered in a harsh voice. "She loves you!"

But he just looked at the floor and held tight to your hand until Bradley walked in and asked, "Ready to go?" If Bradley thought it was strange that you and Bob were holding hands and that you hugged him so tight he groaned, he didn't say anything.

"You'll tell me if she says anything to you?" Bob asked quietly as you and he followed Bradley out to the living room.

"Of course," you replied. But when Molly came out of the bathroom, she went right for Bob's arms, and they both looked immediately happier. They were fine. They had to be fine.

"Mommy? Can I ride in Bob's truck?" Everett asked, and Bradley looked scandalized.

"I thought you liked the Bronco!" he said, tossing his hands in the air in exasperation. 

"I do, Dad! But I wanted to see the truck, too!" You pressed your lips together as Bradley scooped Everett into his arms and kissed him.

"Okay, but you can't end up liking it as much as the Bronco, alright?" he asked, ushering everyone out of the apartment.

"I won't," Everett promised, and Bradley carried him down the stairs and out to the parking lot. Then he switched Everett's booster seat to the second row of Bob's pickup truck and helped him get buckled. 

When you and he were finally alone in the Bronco, you asked, "Going for dad of the year?"

He looked smug as he kissed you and said, "I'm already Coach of the year and fiancé of the year. I'm going for broke. Plus Bob drives like an elderly person. Ev will be so bored."

You laughed as he pulled out onto the main road and headed toward your house. His house too, now. "I was thinking about... changing my last name when we get married," you told him as he changed lanes.

"Yeah?" he asked, glancing at you with eager eyes as he drove. "Really?"

You groaned. "I still have Danny's last name, so I think I'd like to change it to Bradshaw if that's okay with you."

He reached for your hand immediately. "Hell yes! It's more than okay with me, Kitten! I just didn't want you to think I'd be upset if you didn't."

You wanted to say something about Everett. You really wanted to tell him about Danny and the child support and the fact that the papers had been served. But you just couldn't. Not right now. Because he was parking a little crookedly in the driveway and reaching for you, and you were in his arms and his lips were on yours.

You were moaning with his hand up your shirt and underneath your bra when you heard Bob's truck.

"Told you he drives slow," Bradley grunted. "Could have fucked you real quick before they got here."

You burst into laughter as you climbed out of the Bronco and went to get Everett. When he bounded toward Bradley, you heard him whisper, "It was fun, but not as fun as the Bronco."

Bradley tousled his hair and said, "I knew you wouldn't let me down."

Then you and Molly sat on the porch steps with some cookies while the guys did all the work. 

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

A few days later, Bradley was waiting next to Bob in their matching Navy Waves uniforms. The first game of their season was about to start, but none of their promised spectators were there yet. "Did Molly get hung up at work?" Bradley asked him, checking the time again on his phone. 

Bob sighed and tipped his head back. "I don't know, Rooster." He looked miserable. "I guess. Maybe."

"Well, did you text her?"

"Yeah. She didn't respond."

Bradley paused for a moment. "Is everything okay?"

"I don't know," Bob sighed, running his hand over his mouth. But then Bradley saw you and Molly running from the parking lot with Everett leading the way.

"There they are!" Bradley said, lightly hitting Bob's arm before he headed toward Everett.

"Bradley! We got stuck in traffic!" Everett said, running into his hug. Bradley, Coach, Dad... he liked it when Everett called him any of those things. 

"We were missing you," Bradley replied, kissing the top of his head as you hustled up next. 

"Good luck!" you told him, kissing him softly as you were out of breath. Then Bradley realized that all three of you were wearing matching white and navy blue shirts. He looked at the back of Molly's as she headed toward Bob, and he noticed that it said Floyd along with the number 30 on it.

When he spun Everett around in his arms, he laughed. "Bradshaw shirts? I love it!" Then you turned for him as well, and he got such a lovely view of your ass in your denim shorts along with his name on your back. He'd be taking all of that clothing off you later.

"Go," you told him, turning back around and pushing him toward the dugout. "The game is about to start!"

Bradley collected Bob from Molly and dragged him down to the field for the game against the Army Rockets. Bob seemed to have perked up a bit, and after the national anthem was played, Bradley took to the pitcher's mound. 

After he struck out the first three batters in a row, he stood there, shocked. "Hell yeah, Bradshaw!" the left fielder said, as they switched to offense. Bradley batted fifth, and the Navy Waves managed to score one run. 

And the whole time, Bradley could hear Everett shouting for him. When he looked up into the stands, you waved to him. Every single time. He could even see the light catch your ring. "Fuck," he groaned, trying to stay focused on the game. But he was so in love with you now. He loved living at your house and using all your cool body washes in the shower. He loved the way you woke him up with kisses in the morning. He loved tucking Everett in at night. He loved making pancakes in your kitchen.

You were the best kind of distraction. As the game progressed, he kept pitching pretty well. By the last inning, The Waves were up by five runs, and even though Bradley was tired, he told the coaches he'd be able to finish the game. 

When he struck out the last batter in the ninth inning, Bradley heard Everett screaming over the rest of the fans. And he made sure to collect one of the game balls to take home.

"Good game!" Bob told him, gathering up his gear as he kept glancing over his shoulder at Molly like he was afraid she was going to vanish. 

"You too. Nice double play," Bradley replied, following him up into the bleachers. 

"I've never felt more patriotic than I do right now," Molly said with a laugh. "A military themed baseball game. Americana at its finest."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Bradley replied with a laugh as he handed the baseball to Everertt. 

Molly rolled her eyes so hard, Bradley feared for her vision. "Really, Bradley? You're the most patriotic thing here." Then she cleared her throat and puffed out her chest and tried to imitate Bradley in a deeper voice. "Hi, I'm Bradley Bradshaw. And I'm in the Navy. And my dad was in the Navy, too." Bradley couldn't contain his laughter, and neither could you and Bob as she continued. "And my mom was red, white and blue striped. And I'm so patriotic, I could only propose on Independence Day. And I'm going to rename my son Everett the Bald Eagle."

Bradley was doubled over in laughter. "You're obnoxious," he told Molly, but she just smirked at him.

"Where's the lie?" she asked, snuggled up against Bob as he laughed too.

Bradley sighed and shook his head. "I'm not going to change Everett's name. At least not to that," he mumbled, following everyone as they made their way to the parking lot. When you wrapped your arm around Bradley's waist, he groaned. "I'm so sore."

"Poor thing," you crooned. "You want a backrub when we get home?"

Home. Bradley was going to drive home. Where he lived with his family.

"Are you offering?" he asked with a grin, but all he got in response was a sassy shrug. He loaded Everett and all of his gear into the Bronco and followed your car home. 

And it's not like he ever meant to take over your job of parenting your son, but Bradley absolutely loved helping with Everett's bedtime routine. So he told you to go relax while he got the bathtub ready. Bradley sat on the bathroom floor against the wall, chatting with Everett about baseball and summer camp. He let Everett ask him a million questions and promised to teach him how to keep baseball statistics.

"You should teach my mom, too," he said. "Since she's really good at math."

"We should get her a stats binder for her birthday."

"We should get her a lot more baseball stuff, because she doesn't really have any."

"Yeah," Bradley agreed. "We wouldn't want her to look ridiculous when we're all decked out in Phillies gear and she's not."

Everett started to drain the tub while Bradley handed him a towel. "Do you think she'll let us paint the extra bedroom red when we make it a Phillies room?"

Bradley winced. "I don't know, kiddo. Let me discuss that one with her."

Bradley followed him into his room and got out some pajamas, but once Everett was changed and tucked in bed, he gasped. "Dad! I left the baseball from your game in my booster seat!"

"I'll go get it," Bradley replied, heart swelling.

"Can you autograph it for me, too?"

A strange emotion took over Bradley's entire body, just like it always did in these moments. He felt like laughing and crying at the same time. "Sure, Ev."

By the time Bradley retrieved the baseball, signed it and came back upstairs, Everett was sound asleep. So he left the ball on the dresser and kissed his forehead.

And then he walked into your bedroom. Well, the one that he shared with you now. And you were sitting in the middle of the bed wearing one of his oversized tee shirts. You had removed your makeup, but you still looked beautiful as you reached for him.

"Pulled out a big win today, Coach. Let me rub your back."

"Somehow I keep winning," he muttered, quickly undressing and tossing his baseball uniform into the hamper. You coaxed him into bed, on his stomach, and Bradley groaned softly as you straddled his lower back and sat on his butt. "Feels good, Kitten."

Your soft laughter filled the room. "I didn't even do anything yet." But your lips met the back of his neck as your hands worked at his stiff right shoulder, and Bradley was melting into the soft bedding.

"Fuck," he grunted as you worked at a knot with your elbow. 

"Does it hurt?" you whispered, taking a break and kissing that spot.

"No," he replied. "Keep going." But you kept going with your kisses instead of your massage. You gently grabbed his biceps and kissed along his spine and back up again until he was panting. "Kitten."

"Hmm?" you hummed against his shoulder blade. Then you licked his salty skin, and Bradley let you pin his wrists in place on either side of his head. You whispered something filthy in his ear. "You're getting me worked up, and you're not even the one doing the touching, Coach. I'm gonna need you to fuck me."

But when he tried to move, you were firm with your hands, so he stayed put, feeling the throb of his erection against the mattress. You licked along his neck and behind his ear, and Bradley had to keep from bucking for relief. He was gritting his teeth against the sensation of your mouth brushing the shell of his ear as you said, "Your back is sexy. How is your back sexy?"

"Baby, please let me fuck you," he begged before you climbed off of him and stayed on all fours. Bradley slipped himself inside you with one quick thrust that had you moaning, and he slipped his fingers around your necklace chain. Very gently, he pulled you closer to him, careful not to harm your little paw print charm. Your back was arched deliciously, and he pushed the tee shirt up to your neck and caressed your tits.

"Bradley," you whined, but he didn't go any faster. Just languid thrusts, his cock brushing every sensitive spot inside you. He watched your pretty pussy take him as he yanked a little more on your necklace. With one hand on your ass, he guided you through a slow buildup to an orgasm that had you moaning his name for a solid two minutes. 

"Oh hell," he growled, spilling himself inside you, eyes closed and head tipped back. He released your necklace, and let you collapse onto your belly. You squealed as he pressed himself on top of you and kissed your upper back. "You're sexy here too, Kitten."

You giggled as he ended up giving you a back massage instead. "Ugh...your hands are so big."

"I pitched a full game, and I only got a two minute massage," he complained.

"Your fault for getting a boner," you replied, clearly enjoying the way he was touching you. 

Eventually Bradley took a shower and pulled on some clean underwear. You were nearly asleep when he climbed into bed, but you said, "I've been thinking about our wedding."

"Go on," he replied, kissing your scrunched up nose. "I'd love to hear more."

You yawned and whispered, "I think you'll like my idea." And then you told Bradley what you wanted to do. And then you said you wanted to do it in the next month or two. And he had you on your back, smothering your face in kisses while you giggled. 

"Wait," he said, pausing his kisses to look at you. "Is that even possible? Can we actually do that?"

You nodded. "I think so. If you know the right people. You wanna do it?"

"Yes, Baby. One hundred percent."

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

Thunderstorms had rolled in overnight, and you woke up to find Everett in your bed with you and Bradley. It had been quite a while since a storm had sent him into your room, but this one was particularly loud. Everett was curled up in the middle of the bed with Bradley's arm wrapped around him and his head on Bradley's shoulder. They were both sound asleep.

You gasped at how sweet they looked and grabbed your phone to take a picture. And then you checked under the covers to make sure Bradley was wearing underwear. Okay, great. You'd have to remind him to keep doing that. 

As you swiped through a bunch of texts from Molly, you cringed. She had sent them at three in the morning. She wasn't getting enough sleep, trying to transition from overnights to daytime shifts. You knew she needed to take better care of herself. "Oh, Molly," you sighed, climbing out of bed, leaving the boys to sleep a little longer. 

Bob and I are going to that Navy bar tonight. You and my future turd-in-law wanna come?

You snorted as you turned on the coffee maker. Maybe Everett could hang out with Maverick tonight? You'd have to see if that would work. You also needed to make a ton of phone calls at work today. When Bradley and Everett never surfaced, you had to go back upstairs and wake them up for work and summer camp respectively. And then you had to listen to them both bug you about turning the extra bedroom into a Phillies room. 

You just shook your head until they were both starting to whine. "I don't care!" you finally said with a laugh. "Do what you want, but you need to keep the spare bed in there."

Then they rushed out to the Bronco together with just enough time for Bradley to drop Everett off and still make it to North Island on time. You were being outnumbered. You were being overruled. They were teaming up against you. But honestly, you didn't even mind. They could have a Phillies room. Because now that Bradley was living with you, your life already felt less hectic. You felt like you could breathe with the way he did things like take control of bedtime and breakfasts. 

You practically floated into work. You even waved to Frank, with your left hand so hopefully he'd see your ring. Then you got settled at your desk and made a few phone calls. And it turns out, you can have the wedding you want if you just drop the right names. And it was a good thing you saved Jake Seresin's number in your phone. 

While you were desperately trying to finish up one of your projects that was precariously close to becoming overdue, Molly started texting you again. 

ARE YOU GOING TO ANSWER ME?! Bar tonight?

"Chill," you whispered, texting Bradley instead to try to find out if Ev could play with Maverick for a little bit at his hangar. When you left work that afternoon with the reassurance that Bradley would take Everett to hang out with Mav, you went home to get ready to go to the bar. 

It was amazing how you had the time to do your makeup and hair. You even tried on several outfits before settling on your black bodysuit and some denim shorts with sandals. Bradley was definitely going to like this. You just had to make sure he enjoyed it later and not right now, because you could hear his key in the door as you ran down the stairs. 

"I told Molly we'd meet them at the bar in twenty minutes. There's a plate of leftovers in the fridge for you. And I planned our wedding."

Bradley was in his flight suit, frozen just inside the front door with his keys hanging from his hand. "You planned our wedding? And you're wearing your kitten bodysuit?" he asked with a small smile. 

"Mmhmm," you hummed, kissing his cheek and unzipping his flight suit as you pulled him toward the kitchen. "We have a wedding date."

His smile grew. "You gonna tell me when that might be, Kitten?"

"September third."

"Sounds perfect. And you gonna let me play with you and your kitten costume?"

You bit your lip. "You're really just going to be okay with getting married in a few weeks?"

"Of course," he rasped, kissing your neck. "I'm ready."

"Okay, Coach. And if you're really good, I'll put on my ears and whiskers after we get home later. Now eat your dinner."

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

Bradley had seen you drink before. But he had never seen you drunk before. It was highly entertaining. You and Molly were truly a sight to behold, both wearing skin tight tops and giggling. Even Bob looked like he was enjoying himself more than he had the past couple days as Molly clung to his side and kept tucking her hand up the hem of his shirt. 

"Those sailors keep buying me drinks," you whispered so loudly, Bradley had to laugh. Sure enough, there were some guys at the bar who were buying drinks for all the women, hoping one of them would stick. "I've had like four whiskey sours," you said, holding up three fingers.

"You're so fucking good at math, Kitten," he replied, placing a kiss on the swell of your breast as you wrapped your arms around his neck. 

When you giggled next to his ear, Bradley briefly considered taking you to the bathroom for a quickie. But to his dismay, he saw that Molly and Bob seemed to be on their way back there already. 

"Well scratch that idea," Bradley murmured as you tangled your fingers in his hair. 

"Rooster! Come play pool!" Nat called, and you started to push him toward the pool table. 

"Go play with your friends," you insisted. "I'm going to get another drink and then look for Molly."

"Yeah, I wouldn't do that just yet," Bradley said with a grimace that he was sure just went right over your head. "And don't flirt with too many sailors, Kitten."

"I'm not, Coach," you insisted, patting his abs through his shirt. "But they are just so friendly. They won't let me pay for anything."

Bradley shook his head as you weaved your way back to the bar. He kept an eye on you as Penny served you another whiskey sour, and then he saw Molly and Bob stumbling back as he took a shot at the pool table. Bob's cheeks were flushed, and his hair and glasses were a mess. Bradley had never seen him look happier. Molly kissed Bob and then made a beeline for you, and Bob definitely wasn't the only one watching her walk away.

Bradley was laughing as Bob made his way to the pool table. "They're okay over there with those guys, right?" Bob asked, jerking his finger over his shoulder.

"You afraid Molly's going to ditch you or something?"

"I mean..." he started, adjusting his glasses and fixing his hair. "I didn't give her a ring yet. You're a step ahead of me. So honestly, I'm always a little afraid something like that's gonna happen."

"Bob. Get real, man," Bradley said, chuckling as he watched Nat obliterate him at pool. "She just rocked your world in the bathroom."

He stuttered for quite a while before he managed to say, "Yeah, but look at her. She's gorgeous."

"Give it up, Bob. You're stuck with her now."

"Hi," you said, wrapping your arms around Bradley's waist from behind. You managed to make that one word sound like it had about seven syllables while you laughed. 

"You having fun?" he asked. "Not getting into trouble?"

You were swaying on your feet and laughing. Even Molly wasn't this bad, nursing her glass of wine and whispering something to Bob that was making him blush again. 

"I'm being so good," you promised. "Jake bought me a drink."

"Of course he did," Bradley replied when Jake handed you a beer. "I'm going to have to keep a close eye on you whenever I bring you here. And you might not be allowed to wear this next time." He ran his knuckles along your bodysuit that fit you like a second skin, and you sighed. "The sailors can look, and they can spend their money on you, but they can't touch my Kitten."

"That feels good," you gasped, and Bradley kissed your nose.

"You'll feel even better when I get you home later."

You handed your beer to Bradley and sunk your fingers into his hair, leaving him standing awkwardly with the bottle in one hand and his pool cue in the other. 

"I wish you were Ev's dad," you whispered against his lips. 

He set the cue against a stool and wrapped his arm around you. "Me too, Kitten." Truly, he would love that. But he didn't need it. He already had the two of you which was more than enough. More family than he ever thought he'd get. 

"You'd never force my hand like Danny is," you added softly, looking up at him with unfocused eyes and a soft smile. "Never."

He could feel the goosebumps on his arms as he asked, "What do you mean, Baby?"

"You know," you sighed, rubbing yourself against him. "I'm paying for a lawyer, and what good is it going to do? I can't get Danny's name off Everett's birth certificate. I can't get full custody and parental rights. I can't have anything except child support, which I don't even want, because he's going to be a complete jerk and contest it until I'm ready to scream. And I'll have wasted 

thousands of dollars on nothing when we could have taken a vacation or something."

Bradley was stunned. This was way more information than you'd given him about what was going on. "Kitten, if you want to go on vacation, I'll take you and Ev anywhere you want to go. Or I can pay for your lawyer."

"You sound just like Molly!" you complained, booping him on the nose and squishing his lips together. 

Bradley tried not to laugh as Molly looked up from kissing Bob. "Did you call me?" she asked, and you started laughing hysterically. 

Bradley checked the time and shook his head. As the designated driver, he should probably round the three of you up and get everyone home and pick up Everett on the way. But now you and Molly were both over by the jukebox, dancing with Bob to whatever song was playing, and Bradley just didn't have the heart to break it up yet.

But thirty minutes later, he was carrying you out to the parking lot while Bob and Molly stumbled along as well. And now he was mentally planning a family vacation. Maybe to the mountains over Everett's winter break? Disney World in the spring? He didn't know what the two of you would want to do, but he'd make it happen. Hell, he could even take you and Everett up to Los Angeles for a weekend. Whatever it ended up being, it would be perfect. 

And Bradley would let you know when you were sober that you were by no means finished with the conversation about Danny. 

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

Coach Daddy Bradley has moved in. And the boys are getting a Phillies room. And they have a wedding date! Thanks to @beyondthesefourwalls and @mak-32

PART 28

Don't forget to check out Bob and Molly in The Curveball!

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[stevenose]

w wearing steeb’s clothes and letting him cum in you as many times as he wants ☺️

yezzz i wrote this for afab!reader - i hope that’s okay!

===

Steve can’t stand it. He’s going to implode if he doesn’t touch you in two seconds. And he knows it’s going to take longer than that to cross the living room. So he might as well just die.

“You don’t mind, do you?” You ask. Your thighs are on full display, his shirt just barely covering the edge of your underwear. It’s one of his stupid polos, which should have decreased the sexiness level by a thousand, but both of you are still turned on. It’s stolen from his laundry basket, which drives you a little crazier - it smells like him. And it drives Steve crazy, too, because it’s just kind of dirty for you to have done that. Like, literally.

“Do I mind?” He asks, finally moving towards you, taking broad strides. “Actually, yes, I do.”

You gasp when he pushes you to bend over the back of the couch. “I can tell.”

“You love being a little pervert, huh?” he asks, running a hand down your back. “What possessed you to wear something dirty?”

“Uh, smells like you?” you reply. “Sue me.”

“Oh, I’ll do something,” he says, and you scoff because its not very slick. He giggles, too, a higher pitched noise that Steve doesn’t usually make. “Stop. I’m trying to be sexy.”

“I believe in you.”

“Thanks,” he says, his hand finally reaching your ass. He pulls his shirt up to expose it. Your underwear doesn’t do a great job of covering you up. The urge to turn your skin red nearly overpowers him, eyes locked on your backside. “Hey. Scale of one to five. How crazy can I go?”

You think for a moment. “I’d say, like, four and a sixteenth.”

“Four and a sixteenth. Got it.”

“Wasn’t that fun-“ You interrupt yourself with another gasp as his hand collides with your ass. “Steve, Jesus Christ.”

“Know what I wanna do?” he says, pushing you into the frame of the couch harder, knocking more wind out of you. “I want to come in your little pussy til you can’t take anymore. Til you can’t hold anymore. Til you’re all dripping and dirty and beggin’ me to give you a break.”

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Yeah. Yes. Do that. Got myself ready for you.”

Quirking a brow, Steve slips his fingers under the fabric on your cunt. He’s shocked at how wet you are. “Did you touch yourself?”

“Edged myself for at least two hours,” you admit. “You were at work and I was bo-red”

Steve slips two fingers into you, easy, the sounds of your slick loud enough to be embarrassing. Both of you moan and Steve continues moving them, fucking his long digits in and out of you. He wraps a strong arm around your torso, just underneath your breasts, and holds you to his chest. “Fuck. What’d you use to stretch yourself open like this? Your fingers are too tiny to do all the work.” He slides a third finger in and you thrash, keening, trying to sink down on him.

“The - the - the -“

“The purple one? Pink one? The one that looks like skin?”

You nod, trying to find words. “Th- the one that’s as big as you.”

“Shit,” he breathes, finally fucking your cunt all the way up to his knuckles. “Wanted to be ready for me, huh?”

You nod, straining and moaning. “I - I’m really close, babe - have-haven’t cum- came? yet.”

“Just from my fingers? Haven’t even touched your cute little clit yet. You must be so desperate, huh? Poor thing.”

If you had the energy, you’d roll your eyes - but Steve’s other hand moves away from your breasts and down to your clit, flicking it once. That’s all you need before you cum around his fingers, crying out as he fucks you through it. His fingers curl and hit your pleasure spot, prolonging your orgasm - or maybe he just gave you a second one. You’re not sure. Steve removes his fingers as you pant, tsking behind you.

“So damn loud,” he tuts. “Christ, look at the mess you made.” He reaches around to show you his fingers, covered in you. As you open your mouth to apologize, he slides them into your mouth. “Maybe that’ll help shut you up.”

You moan and lick them clean, sucking on them as he uses his free hand to push his jeans and underwear down. He’s ready, too, only taking a moment to quickly spit on his cock before lining up with you. “You’re gonna take everything I give you, right? Be good for me? Let me fill you up?”

“Yes,” you groan around his skin. “Whatever you want.”

Steve stretches you - not enough to hurt but enough to feel. Buried to the hilt, you’re not sure how it’s possible for him to fit. He groans, exhales into your shoulder and bites it as he starts thrusting. The couch is moving under you with the force, which is objectively hilarious, and would probably put both of you on the floor if you weren’t so insatiable.

“Like velvet,” he groans, leaning up to the shell of your ear. “Wanna b-bury my cock in you all day.”

“Yes,” you whine. It’s the only word you can remember.

Steve leans back from you to get a better grip on your hips and to plant his feet into the carpet. He fucks you harshly, pulling you onto his cock and growling each time he bottoms out. “Gonna,” he grits out, pads of his fingers bruising your hips as he pushes in deep and cums inside of you. The warmth floods up to your stomach and you whine, immediately trying to fuck back on him again.

“Desperate for it?” Steve pants. “Course you are. Perfect little doll, huh? Wanna take all of me?”

You nod, voice caught in your throat.

“Say it,” he demands, pulling you up and against his chest. His cock is still hard inside of you. “Push your ass out, baby - yeah, like that. Good. Now tell me how much you want me.”

“Want you so bad,” you whisper, grinding back onto him as best as you can, given the awkward angle. “Want all of you all the time. Missed you. Thought about this cock in me all day.”

“Take this stupid shirt off,” he says, grabbing it for you. His hands fly to your tits the moment it’s off, thumbs rubbing over your nipples. “God, you shouldn’t look so good in a polo.”

Steve starts fucking you again before you can reply. He wraps an arm around your torso again to keep you close. It hurts your spine, the way you have to bend back for him - but you can’t really care when he’s fucking you so deeply and so raw.

“Gonna keep my cum in you,” he rasps. “Gonna have to beg for me t… to let you push it out.”

“Fuck!” Your hands grasp at his arms, trying to steady yourself, because just the thought made your knees go weak.

“Gonna dirty up more laundry?” Steve asks. “I- I’m gonna - gonna make you keep your cum soaked underwear on. No,” he corrects, pumping into you even faster. “G-gonna keep ‘em on me so I can remember h-how full of m-me you are.”

You’re only aware now that they’re still on you - Steve’s only pushed them aside to gain access. Your eyes roll back. “Pervert,” you groan, and Steve pushes you down into the couch again, ribs hurting from the impact.

“Sorry,” he says, slowing and moving a hand to them. “Shit, I’m sorry. I got -“

“Fuck me!” you groan. He can kiss you all he wants later - the pain doesn’t really matter right now.

“Shit, ‘kay.” He picks back up where he left off, fucking you hard, less fast but more deep. “Can you feel me here?” he asks, moving his hand down to your stomach.

“Full,” you moan. “So full.”

“I’m not done with you yet,” he pants, pace now picking back up. “I’m gonna - mmph - I’m -“

Steve stands on the tips of his toes as he cums, pushing himself as deep into you as possible. You wish his fingers were back in your mouth, because the scream you let out is more than enough for the neighbors to call the police on you. Steve, still mid-orgasm, chokes out, “You -?”

You nod, mouth open wide as he fills you up again. You already almost feel too full, but Steve can totally flood your cunt all night if he wants to. You’d let him do anything to you. Literally.

He shudders as he finishes, leaning down to kiss your shoulder and back. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

“No,” you moan. “Jesus, Steve. Think you’re sluttier than me.”

“I am,” he says into your skin. You can feel him smile. He pulls back and slides out of you, careful to grab your hips and pull you up. “Don’t spill a drop, okay? Let’s go to the bedroom. Got a surprise for you.”

“Is it another load?” you ask, walking awkwardly, clenching your muscles.

“Maybe,” Steve says. (It definitely is.)

[blooming-violets]

[Under the Silver Lake, Sam x Fem!Character]

Summary: Sam relocates after the events of UtSL and stumbles into the life of a new, captivating woman with an enticing profession. He can’t seem to keep his eyes off her. 

Warnings: 18+ smut, panty stealing, voyeurism and masturbation, porn making, use of the word “cunt” (I know some people don’t like that word so adding it to the warnings), mentions of a graphic suicide

A/N: Merry Christmas, @squiddtheekidd​ here’s some Sam smut for you. Kind of. He doesn’t actually fuck anyone in it. Except for himself. Sorry for the spoilers. ily I didn’t intend for this to be posted on Christmas but it happened that way and I can’t stop it. Santa has me on the naught list.

His new apartment was about half the size of his last one and lacked the artistic charm. 

Four, stark white walls with light gray laminate, fake hardwood flooring and zero furniture. A vacant, rectangular void created to purge a person of all their quirks. Whoever thought gray floors and white minimalism should be the new trend deserved to be tarred and feathered. Most of the furniture at his old place came with the apartment. He had to sell the rest of his belongings when he left. Apparently when you don’t work or make any money, landlords don’t take it well when you can’t afford rent. In a last ditch effort to avoid homelessness, he sold nearly everything he owned and grabbed the first cheap place he could find. 

That’s what Sam did best.

Like a parasite searching for a new host, he sought out someplace fresh to sink his teeth into and drain of life. 

At least the skunk smell had finally worn off. That was a shining positive he couldn’t ignore. 

One week spent at this apartment and he had only acquired an old, leather couch he found on the side of the road which he paid two homeless men five dollars to carry upstairs for him. One couch and a trash bag full of his dirty clothes was all that he possessed. As he stared at the crumpled bag sitting across from him, Sam took a deep breath and pushed himself off his ass. He might as well take advantage of the laundry room this building had. 

The bag slung over his shoulder like a disheveled, depressed Santa Claus as he shuffled into the basement. The overhead light flickered a few times before finally illuminating the large room with a persistence, static humming sound. The smell of musty mildew hit his nose. There were four old washers against the far back wall and a row of dryers opposite them to match. A, once white, now yellowed ironing board was set up next to washers and a wooden bench, missing a few slats across the seat, was perched next to it all. It wasn’t much but neither was he. 

Sam flipped his bag upside down to dump the pile of clothes into the wash. After putting in his cheap detergent, he attempted to turn on the machine, only to find none of the buttons working. 

“Come on, you piece of shit,” he grumbled, slamming his fist against the side. 

“That one doesn’t work.” 

A scratchy, feminine voice filled the empty space behind him. Sam turned around, already putting a dazed smile onto his scruffy face, as he sought his sights on the woman. She was standing in the doorway with a purple laundry basket tucked under her arm. She looked vaguely familiar but he couldn’t quite place her. 

“It’s supposed to have an out of order sign on it but the asshole kid from 3B thinks it’s hilarious to take it off.” She sighed, walking in further to claim a spot by the washer at the end of the line. “He also thinks it’s funny to stick gum under door knobs so watch out for that.” 

Sam nodded, looking down at his feet, finding it hard to make eye contact with her, “Oh…okay. Thank you.” He started pulling handfuls of his clothes out of the broken washer to relocate them to the one next to hers. “I just moved in right next to 3B so I have a feeling I’ll be at the mercy of his attacks. I hate it when kids are assholes.” 

“You moved into 3A? You must have gotten it for dirt cheap then.” 

He blinked. The apartment was a lot cheaper than anything else on the market but he never thought to ask why. 

Like she was reading his mind, she continued, “Yeah, the guy who lived there last, blew his head off with a sawed off shotgun. The thing is, though, was that he did it during the Fourth of July fireworks so no one heard the gunshot. Guess he was an old veteran or something. PTDS, probably. Anyway, his body laid there for the entire month. No one noticed he was dead until rent was due. By then his body was all gross because of the heat. Congealed and shit. He was starting to liquify. There were millions of flies everywhere. The smell was awful but, of course, no one does shit in this building to fix things. We thought it was a dead raccoon for a while until the smell got worse. They had to scrape him off the floor and his brains off the wall. No matter how hard they cleaned, they couldn’t get rid of the stains. I heard they threw some laminate tiles over the hardwood and painted over the walls to hide the red.”

Sam grimaced at the imagery she was providing him with. Now that he thought about it, the apartment did smell weird. Smells weren’t something he typically took much notice of though. 

“But you get it for cheap so that’s a plus! Death for one person means financial help for another.” She flashed him a cheery smile, not at all bothered by the death talk. 

“Why do you think I need financial help?” He asked. 

She snorted and raised her brows like it was obvious, “You’re doing laundry out of a trash bag, moved into a blood covered apartment, and look like you haven’t slept in about two weeks.” 

He chuckled to himself, “Okay, you’re right. I’m poor.” 

“Who isn’t struggling out here? Welcome to LA. It’s a land of struggle and failure.” She bent over to put the last of her things into her washer and glanced up at him. A wave of perfectly sculpted hair fell over her right eye to block off half of her face from his view. 

“Veronica Lake,” he whispered. 

Her brows pulled together in confusion, “Excuse me?”

Sam cleared his throat and felt the back of his neck heat up in embarrassment, “Sorry, sorry. You just…you looked like Veronica Lake for a minute. You’re hair. My, uhm, my mother used to watch a lot of old movies. Veronica Lake was famous for her hair. It was straight at the top and wavy at the bottom and would cover one of her eyes. When you leaned over just then, your hair looked like that. Elegant and old fashioned and perfect…” 

Her piercing eyes bore into him. He struggled to read her thoughts but that wasn’t unusual. He always struggled to read women. He couldn’t tell if she was insulted or charmed by his strange observation. Either way, he made a mental note to go home and jerk off to The Blue Dahlia later while thinking about her. She was beautiful. And so familiar. Not because her hair resembled the old Hollywood actress but for something else. 

“Hey, are you planning on hanging around for a while?” She asked, ignoring his vacant stare as he struggled to remember her face. 

He shrugged, “I guess so. I don’t really have anywhere else to go.” 

“Want to do me a huge favor? I have a work appointment in twenty minutes. If you could pull my clothes out and throw them in the dryer when you switch over yours, that would be amazing.” 

He nodded again, unable to say no to a pretty face, and gave her a smile, “Yeah, no problem.” 

“Cool, thanks!” She flipped her perfect hair over her shoulder and picked up her empty basket. “I’ll see you around, 3A.” 

“Sam,” he managed to call after her. “My name is Sam.

The sound of the washer’s alert buzzing jerked him from his sleep. Sam wiped the drool from his chin and blinked around, trying to remember where he was. He must have dozed off on the wooden bench. He didn’t remember falling asleep but he pushed himself off the hard seat with a deep groan. The back of his neck was killing him from his head flopping to the side while he napped. 

Her machine had finished before his. 

Sam looked around the empty basement and wondered what kind of work appointment she had to attend. What did she do for a living? How old was she? Did she have a boyfriend? He wondered what apartment she lived in. She was pretty, whoever she was. He wanted to run his hands through her wavy, Veronica Lake hair. The image of her head snapping back as he wrapped a fistful of those soft waves into his fist and drove his cock into her wet pussy flashed through his brain like a strike of lightning. He gave a sleepy smile. He wanted to fuck her. At least he had a goal now. He didn’t like feeling aimless and floaty. He needed to have something to do to keep his mind busy. Hopefully she would be that thing. 

He pulled open the washer and scooped out an armful of her wet clothes then walked over to the nearest dryer to toss them in. This would give him Good Boy Points in her eyes. She would be pleased he was helping her out and doing as she asked. Maybe he could get a blowjob as a reward. If he knew what apartment she lived in he would even be willing to hand deliver all her dried clothes when they were finished. Fuck, he’d even fold them for her if she asked. It wasn’t like he had any money to spend on her. In order to win her over to his side, he’d have to charm her instead. 

Another washer buzzed to signal that his clothes were finished as well. He scooped them up and dropped them into the dryer directly next to hers. Then he stood back and watched the hypnotic swirling motion as her clothes tumbled in circles through the heat. Round and round and round. So much purple and black. His drier resembled more of a mismatched rainbow of colors. Her’s felt darker and more mysterious. 

A devious thought popped into his head then. 

Sam sought his sights to the door. He couldn’t hear anyone coming and he was clearly alone. He quickly pulled open her dryer. The clothes came to a stop, sticking to the walls. Sitting directly on the top of a damp, black blouse was a simple, lavender thong. It was practically calling out to him. His eyes darted to the door once more before snatching it from the pile and shoving it deep into his sweatshirt pocket. 

This was fine. This was okay. She wouldn’t notice one piece of underwear missing. She’d probably just assume the washer ate it. He lost his clothes all the time. 

Sam stepped back, despite weighing next to nothing, the thong felt heavy as a rock in his pocket. His fingers slipped over the fabric. It was damp and cold, the heat from the dryer already evaporating. He wished he had stolen it before it got washed. He could have smelled her scent clinging to it. That was alright, he could make do with what he was given. The familiar, uncomfortable ache in his crotch returned. He tried to adjust the front of his jeans to better accommodate his stiffening manhood. Just merely possessing a part of her was enough to get him hard. He had to walk it off. 

Despite nearing the beginning of Autumn, California weather remained the same. It was comfortably warm and sunny outside. The afternoon sky was a deep blue as he aimlessly strolled around his new apartment building. He hadn’t done much exploring yet. Not that there was much to explore. His mystery woman’s thong stayed laced through his fingers, hidden in the safety of his pocket, as he walked. His thumb ran over the small piece of fabric that covered her most intimate parts. It would have rubbed over her cunt anytime she moved. He pretended that he was fingering her tight folds instead of an article of damp clothing. He wondered what she would look like with her legs spread just for him. 

A guttural moan stopped him dead in his tracks. Sam had wandered around to the back side of the apartments. Nothing but desert hills stood behind them. His ears perked up in the hopes of hearing that familiar noise once more. 

A low, feminine whine, followed by a whimper, and then the sound of a man’s shuddered sigh. 

He would know those noises anywhere. Someone was fucking. 

Sam took a few steps back away from the building wall and casually inched closer to the source of the noise. Someone’s window was open. When he finally located the culprit, his heart leapt into his throat. The blinds were left wide open, probably due to there being nothing in the back of the building, and the window was open halfway so the intoxicating noise floated out to fill his ears. It was his laundry room girl. His Veronica Lake haired beauty. She was sitting on the floor of her bedroom, facing the window, between the legs of a toned, muscular man. They were both stark naked. He had her legs hooked on either side of his so he could keep them pried open. His fingers were buried deep inside of her soaking pussy. Even from the quick glance he got through the window he would tell how wet she was. The couple were sitting directly in front of a camera that was aimed and filming their every move. 

Sam gulped, his erection springing to life with a force even he wasn’t used to. He stumbled back away from the window and ducked behind the nearest, half dead palm tree. If he wasn’t so skinny it would have been obvious where he was hiding but, luckily, he managed to fit nicely behind the trunk. 

“Holy shit,” he whispered to himself. 

They were filming a sex tape. Or a porn. Or livestream. Or something. This was her “work appointment”. 

And then it hit him. 

He knew exactly where he had seen her face before. She appeared in a porn he watched ages ago, the summer after he graduated highschool, when he still lived with his mom. Someone had been handing out vhs tapes at an underground party he once attended. He remembered thinking it was weird that someone was still using vhs. He took the mystery tape, of course. He never turned down free shit. He had to dig up an old player from a pile of junk in his mother’s garage to watch it. 

The video started with a black and white title screen labeled “The Vampire’s Kiss”. It was done in the style of an old Hollywood movie. That would explain her hair style. She was embracing her niche role. She had worn a long, sheer nightgown and pretended to be asleep when a man with fangs crawled through her window. It was a silent film cued with title cards of vague, written dialogue to push the loose plot along. She was tied up by her nighttime stalker, her dress torn from her, and her body crudely displayed to the audience as the vampire sucked her blood. It looked real, too. Well, as real as an old style film could. She looked like she was really bleeding and that man was really drinking from her neck. Sam remembered jerking off to her black and white pussy almost every night that year. It wasn’t until his mother caught him one evening that she hit him over the head with a broom handle and forced him to throw out such filth. He moved out the next month but, sadly, lost the tape forever. 

It was strange to see her in color now. This new film seemed to be much different than whatever pornographic art she made in the past. This looked less artistic and more straightforward. He wished he could remember her name. He peeked out from behind his tree to watch her work. The man was still fingering her. To be honest, he didn’t seem very good at it, but she was acting like it was the best thing she ever felt in her life by the way she was moaning. Sam could do better. He could make her really moan. None of this fake porn shit. He could make her scream if he wanted to. 

Before he knew it, his jeans were unzipped and his cock was wrapped around her thong as he used it to pleasure himself. That should be him in there. He should be the one with her. 

She shoved her partner’s hand away from between her legs and made him stand up. Sam watched as she better positioned him in front of her camera as she fell to her knees. The moment she opened her mouth to receive his massive dick, Sam slumped against the spiky tree bark as his knees went weak. He wanted to remember every single detail. This would go straight into his spank bank for the next few months. He had never been treated to such a live show before. 

She looked remarkably like an expert at sucking a cock. Happy, even, like the feeling of her mouth being stuffed was everything she could have wanted. The man’s moans helped cover the tiny squeaks of pleasure coming out of his own mouth. He furiously beat his meat into her panties as he watched. She was such a little whore. Her long hair was tossed back and cascading down her smooth back. Her ass was sticking out from between her legs. It looked in desperate need of a face buried between her cheeks. Her entire body was responding with such vigor to the simple act of having a cock her mouth. It was like nothing he had witnessed. No woman had ever been that excited to give him a blow job before. Not even the ones he had paid to act enthusiastic. Her hands toyed with the base of the man’s cock and fondled his balls as she swallowed him whole. Sam nearly tumbled to the ground when he watched her hold the man’s cock against his stomach as she slowly licked up the veiny underside of his long shaft. Then she shoved him back onto the bed and climbed on top of him. She was completely in charge of this show. She called all the shots. 

Her leg swung over his head and she arched her back as she lowered her dripping cunt onto his face. Her ass was perfect. Porn worthy perfection. She clearly chose the right profession. The noises she made the second his tongue dove deep inside of her were the most erotic thing Sam had ever heard. She bent down to resume her hungry need for his cock. This woman took to sixty-nining like a duck to water. A natural. 

Her hips ground against his face. His mouth was full of her glistening, juicy pussy. She only sucked on his cock for a moment before she let out a whimpered moan. Her back arched as she rolled her hips faster against his mouth. 

“Oh, I’m close,” she gasped. “I’m…oh…I’m…cumming!” 

It was like he was watching a Goddess of sexuality emerge and blossom before his very eyes. Her orgasm was true magic. Naked and spread open on top of the toned man’s face, her body spasmed. Her wet, syrupy pussy crushing his head into the pillows. She tried to hold in her squeal of pleasure at first but nothing she could do could ever stop it from bursting from her lungs. Her entire body moved with rhythmic energy. Her eyes squeezed close almost as if she was in pain but the euphoric expression that softened her features proved the opposite. 

Sam thought that would be the thing to push him over the edge. His balls felt tight and ached for a release. He could have finished then and quickly scurried off like the rat that he was but he held strong. The moment her orgasm subsided, she dived straight back to the man’s cock like she was positively ravenous for it. He never stopped licking at her pussy despite her orgasm, clearly helping to fuel her sudden greedy obsession with stuffing her mouth. She took him so deep down her throat. He was a large man and she swallowed him straight to the base, even giving off perfect gagging sounds as she did. She was a master of her craft and Sam was in love. 

She gasped for breath as she pulled up from the depths back to the surface. A thick string of saliva connected her lips to his meaty head. His entire shaft was coated in her glistening spit. Her hands took up the stroking motion the second her mouth left so he was never unattended. She knew how to take her man. If that was Sam, he wouldn’t have been able to hold back. He would have shot his load down the back of her throat without a second thought but this man was more controlled than he could ever be. She took him back into her mouth after catching her breath, deep throating his entire cock. A flash of her eyes towards the window caught him off guard. 

Sam froze. 

She was looking straight at him. Not at the camera. At him. 

He was caught. A deer in the headlights. He hadn’t even realized he was no longer hidden behind the safety of the tree. At some point, he had stepped out to get a better view. Now he was in full view of her window, his cock in hand and wrapped around a pair of her stolen underwear, as he was clearly furiously jerking off to her spectacle. 

She paused for just a moment. Not enough to be noticed by her partner but to be noticed by Sam. With her mouth still stuffed, her lips curled into a smile. She held perfect eye contact with him as she bobbed her head back down on the man’s cock. Her hips grind harder against his face and another, smaller orgasm bursts through her body. She shivered, convulsing slightly, but not breaking eye contact. She knew he was watching and it only turned on her. It was Sam’s presence that caused her second orgasm. 

He wasn’t just in love. He wanted to worship her like the Goddess she was. He would follow to the ends of the earth. He would lay down his life at her feet. He would be her slave for the rest of time if she’d allow it. 

Her head plunged down again, the connection between them breaking. She was a wild cock sucker. The man under her could hardly keep up. His cheeks glowed from her gushing cunt coating his skin. She rode his face like she was nearing death and it was the only thing keeping her alive. She was aiming for orgasm number three. Sam could sense it. He only had her in his life for less than an hour and he was already learning her signs. Her animalistic sounds of pleasure filled his ears. He didn’t even care to hide it anymore. He was openly watching her now. In all his years of being a porn connoisseur, he had never witnessed anyone quite like her. 

Her sneaky eyes were on him again. She was watching his hand, watching her underwear be used as a synthetic pussy, watching how he pleasured himself for her. It was as if she was urging him to cum with her. The three of them together. Her lips popped off her partner’s member as her body began the third spasm of the night. Her eyes stayed on Sam as she came. Her mouth hung open. 

“Cum for me,” she whispered. 

The man thought she was talking to him but Sam knew the truth as he read her lips. She was ordering him to cum. As her partner’s cock burst to life, spurting thick, gushing rockets up onto her chest, she broke her eye contact to quickly lean down to capture it in her willing mouth. His swollen cockhead snuggled between her lips as she drank his essence. At that moment, Sam pictured her mouth around him instead. He could practically feel her warm, wet tongue swirling around him. 

And he came for her. 

Breathy gasps and strained moans, he emptied himself into her stolen underwear, milking himself for every drop he had to give her. His semen was all for her. Her prize for being so good to him. He closed his eyes and imagined shooting it onto her face. He watched it drip slowly down her cheeks, her tongue darting out to lick up whatever morels she could reach, and he would lean down to crash his lips onto hers. He would hold her tightly in his arms and kiss her with the kind of passion he hadn’t shown to any woman since his ex left him for another man. He didn’t even know her name but he knew he would have her. She would be his. 

Sam’s eyes blinked open. The bright, sunny afternoon felt a little more colorful than it had earlier. He held up her soiled underwear for her to see before slipping it back into his pocket. That belonged to him now. It was no longer hers. 

He zipped his softening cock back into his jeans and turned to leave without giving her a second look. He could feel her eyes following him until he left the sight of her window. A smile danced on his face. 

She would be the one to find him. He showed her his hand of cards and now it was her turn to play. She could choose to take him if she wanted. He was hers for the taking.

She knew exactly where he lived. 

✨IF YOU ENJOYED AND WOULD LIKE TO SEE MORE, PLEASE GIVE THIS A LIKE AND A REBLOG! ✨ YOUR COMMENTS ARE ALWAYS APPRECIATED. ✨

I have zero idea what kind of audience Sam will bring, if he’d bring in any at all, but this was fun regardless. I love that stinky freak. 

[darkimpala1897]

More headcanons of my au of Chance and Eddie being brothers aka Munson brothers season four addition

The laundry basket joke was totally directed towards Chance because at home Chance uses laundry baskets that he finds around the trailer park to practice

Chance and Eddie eat together at the pinic table in the woods because Eddie doesn't usely pack his lunch he packs for Chance but not for himself because he packs drugs instead but Chance remembers to make him something

Eddie was at the prep rally but he was hiding under the bleachers because he didn't want anyone to see him and ruin his reputation

Eddie sent Steve to go to the game for him because Eddie didn't want to get out of Hellfire to sneak under the bleachers

Chance was the only one to believe that Eddie didn't kill Chrissy he actually believed his brother was kidnapped but he didn't say anything because if he did he knew his friends would turn on him

Chance had to watch as Jason beat up Gareth and Gareth is like a little brother to him he managed to convince Andy to stay and help fix up Jeff and Gareth

Chance was the one to give Lucas the idea of misleading them

Chance when they finally found Eddie didn't let go of his brother for like awhile

Chance was the one to tell them what Eddie liked food wise

Eddie was happy for once that he got to eat his food without Chance stealing it

Chance had managed to convince Jason and Andy to listen to him after Patrick died he even took them to skull rock were they spied on them Chance kept a tight grip on them so they didn't kill Eddie

Chance was the one to get them into Watergate even though Andy had a total fit about it being cold and Chance not wanting to hear it was like "come on princess don't make me drag you by your hair." And Jason also refused but Chance threw his shoe at him and that worked

Eddie had an absolute panic attack when Chance just popped through the gate he was so close to going full mother hen mode on him you don't even know

Chance and Eddie actually pretty much everyone took there rage out on the bats Andy and Steve both almost gotten eaten alive but they were alright

When Eddie threw his vest at Steve Chance stole Jason's Letterman without his permission because Chance knows Eddie gets cold

When they were trying to get in contact with the others on the other side and running around like chickens with there heads cut off Chance was already touching the werid glowing stuff with Andy because they thought it was werid and cool

Chance doesn't know how to ride a bike so he had to double ride with Eddie it was the fucking funniest thing ever especially because of how Eddie rides

Chance literally almost puked at Eddie's bed he made a mental note that he needed to do laundry

Chance was the one to get into Vecna's trance not Nancy and oh my god Eddie lost his shit he tore that trailer apart looking for Chance's Walkman and music because he was not losing his brother not like that

Chance was okay after that but Eddie still made him wear a Walkman just in case Chance saw Eddie dying Jason dying in that horrible way he saw what Andy would do to Erica and what was going to happen Hawkins he after that was determined to kill the bastard

When Eddie forgot he had a bandanna on him and didn't need a mask Chance absolutely died like laughed so hard and it made Eddie feel better hearing Chance laugh

Chance was the one to suggest the RV to steal but Eddie said it was his idea which Chance let him have because he knew that Eddie was trying to impress Steve

When Eddie said his dad taught him how to hot wire everyone looked towards Chance thinking he knew how to as well he just goes "not my father actually I don't know my father." And Eddie snickers under his breath

They used Jason's credit card to get everything at War Zone and no nobody has yet to inform him

Jason went with Lucas, Max and Erica Andy volunteered to go instead but Chance was like "no no your staying with us." And then he grabbed a hold of Jason looking right into his soul saying "please for the love of everything holy stay standing stand in once spot and don't walk around if Lucas have to tie you to chair he will." Well also tossing Lucas some rope

Chance and Eddie were on the trailer roof together Eddie playing his guitar and Chance playing his violin Eddie was honestly amazed that his little brother baby brother figured a way to play master of puppets on a violin just imagine this scene with me absolutely kick ass

When Eddie decided to use himself as a chew toy for the bats Chance let Dustin use his shoulders to get up into the upside down and those few seconds saved Eddie's life they almost lost him but they got him

The earthquake was unfortunately unavoidable because after Nancy and all of them including Andy killed Vecna the upside down it just sorta collapsed in on itself but Jason survived mostly because he listened and Eddie survived because of his brother

Gareth took in Eddie and Chance intill they had a new trailer and intill Eddie was healed

Bonus headcanon

Eddie graduated with Chance, Andy and Jason Eddie was a total mom that day taking pictures of Chance and his friends well Steve was taking pictures of Eddie obviously

That is it for now, I'm definitely gonna write the Munson brothers and post it on Ao3 eventually I promise but this is my new canon for the dumpster fire that was stranger things season four imao.

[heymrstargazer]

andreil and exams stress (bc my tests are going on and i need to cope)

so andreil exam season is just.. a time

because andrew's memory infuriates neil to no end

he's watching andrew just casually read through his text books sipping hot cocoa like you fuCKER

meanwhile neil is neck deep in math notes .02 seconds from actually losing it

andrew just looks so relaxed

he always keeps a very level head about that kind of stuff on the outside at least

because of his memory

but he absolutely has random bursts of panic like oH nO what if this random concept ive heard of once is on the final exam

andrew is reading for fun at this point and neil is Done™

fuzzy socks, big hoodie, hot chocolate, cookies he baked an hour before

neil is like if you even look at me i might scream

he's like i need to leave before i kill someone

andrew, five chapters deep into some murder mystery novel: want a cookie?

i'm turning it soft now buckle up

he comes back from studying and andrew has cooked him dinner cause he knows neil won't cook real food for himself right now

and neil is like i am trying to be mad at you

and andrew is like i made your favorite :)

andrew makes neils favorite foods too

(HAHA

look at us

our brain waves have synced i swear)

but yes and andrew cleans off the desk and sets up neils notes and texbooks all nice while hes out for a quick run to clear his head

neil comes back to everything nice and organized and andrew is like come relax you have a hard exam tomorrow and we both know you're prepared

neil is like who possessed you why are you doing this

andrew is like can't i do something nice??

andrew just like im trying to be nice now sit down you ungrateful asshole

he's trying to be soft to help neil with the stress but now he's worried he made it worse

when andrew has his first exam neil walks him to the building and gives him a little good luck kiss on the forehead

he just does it off hand but he accidentally starts a tradition where they give each other forehead kisses for good luck

andrew takes neil to his first exam too and has to get on the steps up to the building to give him a forehead kiss

andrew: not one word josten *forehead kith*

imagine like one of the other foxes were walking past at the same time and he gives them the 'ill murder you if you say anything' look

it's like matt and dan and they both make a big show of looking away

yes they literally put their hands to their eyes to shield their peripheral vision

andrew gives one (1) approving nod

if it was aaron hed just mime throwing up and continue on his way

anyway back to the actual exams neil would get really in the zone studying and andrew would have to have so much self restraint not to bother him

like he wants neil to do well but hes boreddddd

yes he's be so bored after finishing his textbooks

just imagine neil is so focused with his headphones on and andrew is just doing the most random shit behind him

like dramatically flopping on the couch, juggling fruits, launching neils socks he leaves everywhere into the dirty laundry basket

they end up with an entire kitchen full of baked goods

neil turns around to go to the bathroom a few hours later to see andrew standing with like four pans of cookies, brownies, etc on the counter and a mixing bowl in his hand

yes andrew is just fucking around in the other half of the dorm trying to stay out of neil's line of sight

the amount of christmas cookies they end up with during winter exams is insane

neil has never seen so many snowflake sprinkles in one place

he accidentally launches one of the socks onto neils desk and ducks down behind the counter so he doesnt get in trouble for distracting him

neil whips his head around like wtf was that cause he's been so lazer focused

andrew is covered in flour and icing by the end of each day and neil is covered in ink and they both just look at each other like what have we become

also imagine aaron or kevin was standing there while andrew threw said sock and gets it launched back at their head because neil thought they did it

andrew just keeps bringing plates of fresh cookies and cakes and brownies with bowls of fruit and neil is like babe pls stop feeding me for comfort

yes by the end neil has like a tower of plates and bowls hes taken like one bite out of

andrew: >:( but what if you get hungry

neil: drew you could feed the whole campus with this much im fiNE

andrew: but i need to feed yoU

the rest of the foxes watching this happen: can we have some

neil: yes

andrew: nO

neil packs up plates to bring to his and andrew's professors after each exam and they still have enough to last a week of dessert after all three meals

neil is like damn i could have practiced my math problems with these

neil: andrew you're the watermelon guy but with baked goods

also andrew would refuse to give any of the 100 extra plates to the foxes just because hes stubborn

it's the principle of it

those are HIS exam stress baked goods and he can delegate them as he sees fit

if he only gives them to neil that's his business

yeah and he finds out neil gives one of the extra three tier cakes to the girls and is like i can never trust you again

nicky and matt try pulling off a heist at like 3 am

nicky and matt take a one day heist planning break from studying and all it gets them is two barely dodged knives to the sides of their heads

andrew can hear the fridge door open in his sleep

neil, half asleep, feeling the bed move as andrew shuffles around: whats going on? are you okay?

andrew: theres an emergency

andrew: they're after the brownies

no one knows this but neil threw the second knife

andrew drags neil out of bed like quick we need to defend the our most prized possessions

neil: the exy gear??

andrew: the ✨baking✨

neil, jumping out of bed: oh shit

back to exams obviously they both pass (it was totally the forehead kisses) and they spend all of christmas break eating through the various things andrew stock piled

yeah they totally pass

they both did fine

neil probably was like oh thank god i reviewed that one chapter and andrew is like no no it was definitely the strawberry cheesecake

neil is like yes it was babe thank you :)

but it was definitely the review

(orange is @archiveofourfoxes )

[baldwinboy5ive]

I call this Cobra Drive. AU where a sad boy meets another sad boy in his building elevator and they just stare longingly at each other for extended periods of time. (Daniel LaRusso, who made the crane kick famous, gets to add to his repertoire of bird karate moves by stomping Mike Barnes to death in the same elevator like a secretary bird.)

I also wrote some crap for this AU, even though I am not much of a fanfic writer. However, it’s not that bad. It’s just regular bad. 

“If I drive for you, you get your money. You tell me where we start, where we’re going, where we’re going afterward. I give you a five minute window when we get there. Anything happens in that five minutes and I’m yours. No matter what. Anything happens a minute either side of that and you’re on your own. I don’t sit in while you’re running it down, I don’t carry a gun, I don’t do karate - not anymore. I drive. Do you understand?” 

The well-rehearsed speech was delivered in an accent that was undeniably East Coast, but from a man who knew well the 100,000 streets of Los Angeles. Daniel ended it every single time with a secret tribute to his beloved mentor, whose life lessons were always punctuated with “Understand?” 

And Daniel did. He always understood what Mr. Miyagi had told him, and replied “Yeah, I understand,” even if some of his lessons had taken awhile to really make their impact on him. 

-----

Daniel moved frequently. It was routine now for him. Funny how things changed. He often remembered how monumental that first cross-country move had been, how the course of his entire life had shifted that summer of 1984. Now, his moves were quick, efficient, and all within LA. 

On his second day in his newest building, Daniel returned to his apartment by elevator. Another building resident stepped in with him, hauling a basket of laundry from the basement. 

He was familiar. Daniel kept his eyes trained at his feet while he felt the familiar man’s gaze on him for a moment. He allowed himself one quick glance, but didn’t manage to time it as well as he’d wanted. The golden-haired man who now shared a building with him was still staring back at him. 

His eyes were beautiful and sad. 

It was Johnny Lawrence. 

-----

“You just move back to LA or something?” was the question Johnny finally settled on after he and Daniel hauled his groceries into his second story apartment. There was too much he wanted to ask. It had been 34 years. Something in those 34 years had hardened the look in Daniel’s eyes.

“No, I’ve been here for awhile.” 

“So just new here?” 

Daniel nodded. 

“What are you up to now, LaRusso?” 

“I drive.” 

“Like, those internet car things?” Johnny asked, a touch of confusion on his face. 

“No, for the movies.” 

“You mean all the car chases and stuff?” 

“Yeah.” 

Johnny let out a soft laugh. “Isn’t that dangerous?” 

Daniel fully met Johnny’s eyes, and stared challengingly, the words “Oh, now you care about my safety and well-being?” hanging between the two of them unspoken. Daniel’s lips quirked into a slight grin. So did Johnny’s. Then Daniel knew. Johnny remembered it all. 

The intensity of Johnny’s bright blue eyes and the pain they carried eventually became too much for Daniel, who was the first to drop his gaze. He broke the silence by saying placatingly, “It’s only part time. Mostly I work at a garage.” 

“Where?” 

“Reseda Boulevard.” 

After a few more beats of silence, Daniel nodded his head towards the teen boy sitting at the kitchen table doing his homework, as if only just noticing him even though he’d rode up in the elevator with them. “He yours?” 

“They sometimes just come with the apartment. Old place here is infested. Overrun with roaches, children, teens. You might want to check under your kitchen counters and shit if you haven’t already, LaRusso.” 

The boy snorted, not offended in the least. “I’m Miguel,” he said. 

A door in the apartment slammed open, and another teen boy wandered into the kitchen. “Who’s this?” he asked, pointing at Daniel.

“This is LaRu- Daniel. Daniel, this is Robby.”

Daniel stared at the two teenagers. Neither of them resembled Johnny. Perhaps Johnny hadn’t been kidding about them surfacing from under the kitchen counters. 

-----

At the garage, a sly smile spread on the face of the man who’d given Daniel all of his jobs. “Oh, you and the kid know each other,” he said, gesturing rapidly between Daniel and Johnny while leaning over the open hood of a car he’d been working on. 

“Don’t,” Daniel warned. He stalked off, but not without grinning at his employer. 

“Uh…” Johnny began. A “He kicked me in the face when we were teenagers, but I did sort of deserve it a little, and it’s actually at least a 126 minute-long story” died on his lips. 

“We’re neighbors,” Johnny said. 

“Ahh,” said Daniel’s employer, as if that was all there was to know. 

Johnny explained in more detail what was going on with his Firebird, and was told that the repairs would take a few days. 

“Miguel, call us one of those car things from your iComputer.” 

“It’s an iPho-” 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” cut in Daniel’s employer. “You and the kid are neighbors! He’d be happy to give you a ride.” 

Johnny met Daniel’s eyes from across the garage. He did indeed look happy.

---

“Hey, I know you. Come on, we met last year! Well - met again. It’s me. Snake. You drove me and Dennis back from Palm Springs. Hey, I got this sweet job planned out --” 

Fury blazed in Daniel’s eyes. Someone both recognizing him and talking to him about his jobs was more than enough to make Daniel disappear for a few months, but this wasn’t just any someone. This was one of Terry Silver’s men. Over the years, Daniel had done everything he could to be free of Terry and his mob. But every time Daniel thought he was safe, eventually, Terry would always come back. And there would always be a job. 

Terry’s man - and therefore Terry himself - reappearing in his life would have been bad enough before, but now? Now he had Johnny. He couldn’t just pick up and leave. He realized with anger burning up in his chest that he didn’t want to pick up and leave. 

Daniel cut Snake off with a low whisper. “How about this? Shut your mouth. Or I’ll kick your teeth down your throat, and shut it for you.” 

All Daniel had wanted was to finish his dinner and coffee in peace, until it was time to drive Johnny to the bar for his night shift. Daniel stared at Snake, never taking his eyes off of him until Snake quietly retreated from the diner. Only then did Daniel feel comfortable returning to his food.

-----

Daniel’s face took on a detached and aloof manner when he addressed the man Terry had sent. 

“When you get your money, his debt’s paid. He’s out for good. And you never go near his family again. Do you understand?” 

-----

Daniel did everything in his power to keep his voice even. Confident. Balanced. But that voice on the other end of the phone would always terrify him. Some things never changed. 

“I’m going to give you a time and a place and you’re going to come and get your money. Do you understand?” 

Terry barked out a laugh. “What do you get out of it, Danny boy?” 

“Just that: out of it.” 

Daniel hung up. For once he had the satisfaction of dictating terms with Terry Silver. 

-----

“They came to my apartment. How did they know where I live?” 

“I told you, I was going to call Kreese, I just wanted him to know that… that it wasn’t about the money… that you’re not interested in the money… that you just did it for him.” 

Daniel exploded at the man who had been his longtime employer. So this was how Kreese and Silver and known it was him. “Why?! You told them about Johnny! Why did you tell them about Johnny?!” 

“Calm down, kid. Just calm down.” 

“I should fucking kill you - you told them about Johnny! That’s how they figured it out, you know - that it was me. You told them about Johnny and then they knew it was me.” 

“I just wanted him to know… that as soon as you returned the money, that was the end of it, that’s all! I didn’t know. I didn’t know. How was I supposed to know?! How was I supposed to know… that everything led to Silver!” 

Daniel’s voice was breaking as he screamed at the old man. Daniel’s eyes were wild and he was breathing hard. Breathe in, breathe out, echoed the voice of his dear sensei in his head. Soon, his racing heart slowed just enough for him to calmly tell his employer, “They came for me, and now they’re going to come for you, too. You have to get out of here. Do you understand?” 

-----

John Kreese pleaded with his lifelong friend. “Anybody finds out you stole from the family, we’re both dead. The money always flows up, Twig. You know that!” 

Terry Silver fell uncharacteristically quiet amidst their shouting match. He looked at Kreese ruefully. “That’s why this driver’s gotta go, Johnny. That’s why he’s gotta go. He’s gonna tie me to this robbery.” 

It was too bad. Terry had always been fond of Daniel. 

-----

Daniel hoped he would never again have to fear for Johnny’s and his kids’ lives. He flicked his eyes up to the rearview mirror. Miguel and Robby were fast asleep in the backseat - and safe. Alive. 

Daniel did, however, find comfort in knowing that he didn’t have to pretend anymore, didn’t have to keep his karate hidden and tucked away. If Johnny ever needed it again, Daniel would use it. He’d help Johnny remember his. He thought fondly of the way Mr. Miyagi had once insisted that only Daniel’s root karate came from Mr. Miyagi, and had urged him to make his karate his own. 

If Daniel could do it, so could Johnny. Johnny’s Cobra Kai would be better - different, new. A product of the goodness Daniel was confident Johnny had inside of him. Johnny would use that goodness to teach Robby and Miguel. And Daniel vowed to be there with them. 

If anyone ever again tried to hurt any of them, the four of them would be ready. 

Another Mr. Miyagi lesson surfaced in Daniel’s memories as he continued driving. Back in 1994, Mr. Miyagi had returned to Daniel in LA after a long stay in Boston, and over the course of several days, had told him all about Julie Pierce, and the lessons he taught her. The final lesson had been: “Fighting not good, but if must fight - win.” 

That was what Daniel had done. 

Daniel smiled at the beautiful man in the passenger seat next to him, whose sadness never left his eyes, but who, despite this, could now smile back warmly at him. Daniel checked the rearview mirror once more, never taking his attention from the road ahead of them. Miguel and Robby were both still asleep. 

Daniel turned his gaze back to the road for a moment, feeling the hum of the car around him and those he loved. 

“I��m yours. No matter what. Do you understand?” 

-----

OH SHIT i forgot to mention, the idea for the cobra on the back of the jacket AND for including Robby both come from @idontknowkaratebutiknowcrazy !!!! Thank you for your moral support and help on these concepts! I always knew I wanted Daniel to be the Driver, so it didn’t even OCCUR to me to have the cobra on his jacket, until @idontknowkaratebutiknowcrazy said it, and then she said he can give it to Johnny later (even though it won’t fit him haha!). Just a note - I changed up the cobra design from the Cobra Kai logo though because the original logo looked kinda goofy as a silhouette. 

[supeson]

step one, step two

there is only one part left after this......

part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, part six, part seven, part eight, part nine , part ten, part eleven, part twelve, part thirteen, part fourteen , part fifteen, part sixteen, part seventeen, part eighteen,

"We need to talk." You jump at Bruce's voice coming from the entrance to the library. You rip out the headphone you have in, and pause the game you're playing.

"Um, okay?" You shift on the loveseat you're sitting on, sitting up, with the electric blanket slipping down from your shoulders. You had insisted on the purchase after finding out how drafty the Manor can be (and how Bruce keeps it staunchly at 64 degrees, winter or summer, despite the many, many protests from yourself, Damian, and Stephanie), and he had begrudgingly supplied. "Is-"

"No, you still live here, and I still love you," He cuts you off before you can make it anything more than it is. He sits beside you, lifting up the edge of the blanket, and inserting himself next to you. "This is different."

You quirk a brow at him. "O-kay?"

"I have come...to complain."

You're perplexed, to say the least. This man never complains about anything to you. Always just hides it behind a coy smile, or an irritated grimace. Never once, in all of your time knowing him, have you known Bruce Wayne to actually air his grievances to you. "Alright, that's progress. Lay it on me, my man. I'm more than happy to listen to what you have to complain about."

Bruce takes a deep breath, then looks you directly in the eyes. "I need you to stop leaving your laundry everywhere."

You squawk, eyes wide. "What! You came to complain about me?! Oh, what the fuck!" You stare at him for a minute, squinting, then finally relent. "Alright, you're right, I have a problem keeping my laundry strictly to the basket. That's fair."

"You also need to pick up your cats' bowls when they are done eating their wet food."

"Okay, but that one's not necessarily always my fault! Damian gets in there before I can and feeds them. Sometimes I wake up and they're already munching down. I can try my best to be more conscious of it, but I can't promise results."

He lets out a stream of air. "Okay, that is fair. I have seen him try to sneak them more wet food after patrol, so your claims hold some truth."

"See! I'm not that bad of a roommate!" Bruce gives you a glare when you say roommate. You just shrug back at him, lacking another apt descriptor for your situation.

"Lastly, Alfred-"

You cry out to the ceiling, exasperated. "Oh Christ alive, even Alfred has some shit to say?"

"Lastly," Bruce stresses, "Alfred has requested that you stop trying to do the household chores. You've ruined three of my suits from doing the laundry, and -"

"Oh shut up! I threw in like three Tide pods and a bunch of those little smelly things into the load! Those suits should've been clean as hell!"

Bruce takes one of your hands in his, laying it overtop your knee. "They were strictly dry clean only, sweetheart. I can't wear those anymore."

Your heart melts at the nickname, but then sours at the capacity in which he's using it. "How was I supposed to know? The laundry all gets put into one big basket! That makes me think it can all be washed the same!"

"We can start separating them by laundry basket, if that will help you," Bruce placates you the best he can.

You lay your head back against the back of the loveseat, exhausted by the conversation. "Anything else?"

Bruce rubs the back of his neck with the hand not occupying yours. "Well, Alfred would like you to refrain from the doing the dishes. You've ruined one of his cast iron pans."

You throw your hands up. "I give up! I try to earn my keep around here in the most innocuous ways, and that fucking butler rats me out! I'm done, you hear me! I'm done!"

[jujutsu-headcanons]

Team Tokyo First Years Headcanons

(Ft. Yuji, Megumi, Nobara, Gojo & Sukuna)

Gojo created a group chat with all three students to coordinate things. However, he never knows if Megumi reads the texts because he never says anything (he does), and all Yuji does is send memes, so basically that's its only function now.

Yuji and Nobara created a game: try to take a picture of Gojo with his blindfold off. He takes it off frequently, it's just impossible to catch an image of it. Surprisingly, Megumi of all people has gotten the closest. If you squint, you can see the baby blues.

This escalated into "who can take the ugliest picture of someone without them looking", after capturing an image of Yuji standing next to Gojo's desk with almost four chins. Nobara discovered she has many bad angles and Gojo discovered he's photogenic from ALL angles.

Yuji likes to use Nobara's ugly pictures as reaction images and memes. At first, Nobara beat him up whenever he did, but now as long as they don't leave the first-year chat she doesn't care. She'll even supply them if she's feeling silly.

Gojo started a prank war on accident and it shows no sign of stopping. It started because he enjoys Nobara's over the top reactions. When she found the LIVE snake in her bed (oh boy, everyone's soooo lucky she's good with reptiles), she immediately suspected this was Yuji's doing. She pranked him, he got her back, Megumi walked into a prank on accident, he got them back twice over, and now it just won't stop. Gojo was fully prepared to deal with the consequences, but he isn't complaining.

The First Year prank war is pretty well known around the school, and everyone's learned to stay away from anything that looks suspicious.

Gojo uses this to his advantage too; sometimes he'll pull pranks on the first and even second years just to watch them blame each other. He's even gone as far as pranking Principal Yaga hoping that he would blame the kids, but Yaga knows for a fact it's Gojo. He hasn't done anything about it though. This stresses Gojo.

Most of the time, when they eat out, each student pays for their meal. When Gojo's there he pays for all four of them, and if Yuji tries to use the "I don't have any money" excuse when Nobara decides to stop for a coffee, she'll buy him one too. She holds it against him, though.

If his kids are all craving a certain type of food (i.e. Chinese) Gojo will head out and pick it up and they'll all eat as a family.

Nobara proposed once a month they have a "spa" day. Surprisingly, the other two students agreed. She's allowed to give them manicures and pedicures (so long as she doesn't get carried away), trim and treat their hair, exfoliate their faces, and they help her re-dye her hair. Megumi is a good client, while Yuji gets bitched at a lot for squirming while getting his nails clipped and jerking when he gets his eyebrows plucked.

Yuji also proposed they have a movie night every Friday night. If they're busy, they'll move it to Saturday, or have it earlier in the day during the week. Sometimes the second years will join. Gojo is banned because he's basically seen every movie and always spoils the end. Everyone got mad at Yuji's request to use subtitles but gave up arguing with how loud Yuji chews.

They also have game nights, but they lost the pieces to most board games after Nobara threw them out the window, Megumi is the only one who knows how to play chess and Shogi, and Yuji fears the safety of his controllers after Megumi got dangerously close to beating Nobara in Smash. 

Yuji's room is the main hangout joint because of the electronics he owns. Literally, there's a whole ass common/living room for them to use. However, they go to Nobara's room for a spa day, as long as the boys are gone by sundown.

Gojo knows damn good and well his kids don't like each other in that way and would never have sex with each other, but he still feels the need to give them the talk ™. He's literally given each child a free box of condoms just in case. 

Gojo bought each student customized "if lost, please return to Jujutsu Tech" shirts. Yuji doesn't mind wearing his because it's just another hoodie to him, and Nobara doesn't mind hers because it's a crop top and it's cute. Megumi burned his in front of Gojo. 

Nobara takes the boys shopping a lot. Megumi is surprisingly good at picking out clothes that fit Nobara's physique and taste, and Yuji is there to hype her up when she walks out of the dressing room. He also isn't scared to tell her a dress doesn't look good on her, and she respects that.

Sometimes even Sukuna will pop out and give commentary. He gives really mixed signals, sometimes he tells her how she's not much to look at, sometimes he talks about the things he wants to do to that ass because of how good they look in those jeans. This results in Yuji getting slapped, Nobara yelling something like "Shut it, Fang Face!" And people staring at him funny because of it.

She also buys outfits for the boys and occasionally Gojo, because she's tired of hoodies and black. She was just as shocked as the rest when Megumi walked out in his outfit. He only wore it to shut her up, though, and hasn't worn it since.

No matter what they're doing, Yuji is ALWAYS the DJ. He has playlists for almost every occasion (spa day, sparring practice, car rides, game nights, even the times they just chill in the same room on their phones) and the only person that really complains is Sukuna, but only because he hates the Backstreet Boys.

Yuji bursts out in song a lot. No matter what he's doing, he'll just start singing. If they know it, Nobara and Gojo will join in too. Always ends in a giggle fit.

Sometimes Gojo's hand slips and boom! He has 18 dozen cookies instead of 4. He's been known to wrap the cookies up in nice tins and packages and leave them outside the kid's doors.

Gojo has also been known to cook meals for the kids and drop them off. This helps because Megumi is basically the only one who can actually cook. Yuji thinks instant ramen is okay for every meal, and Nobara burns food in a way it's still edible but you don't really want it.

The kids play wrestle, a lot. Yuji was scared to at first because the only one who really wants to fight is Nobara, but he learned quickly she can both take and deliver a punch just fine. She also isn't one of those girls that gets upset if there's an accidental grope, which is cool.

This is how the others discovered Megumi is ticklish. Yuji probably still has the scar and Nobara doesn't dare try to tickle him again.

Yuji fell asleep once and woke up to Sukuna's mouth on his cheek having a full-blown conversation with Nobara while she was reading a magazine. He swears they were gossiping about boys, but as soon as Yuji was awake enough to pay attention, Sukuna noticed and started bullying him. To this day Nobara still thinks she was talking to Yuji the whole time because she never noticed he fell asleep.

Yuji can fall asleep almost anywhere. Nobara draws on his face a lot. He's spent countless nights on Megumi's floor just because he's too lazy to move literally one room over.

Nobara has a habit of walking into the boys' rooms without knocking. Megumi is usually laying in bed on his phone or sitting at his desk, however, she's walked into Yuji doing some weird shit. Not gross shit, just... Concerning shit.

Once she walked in on him crying and didn't know what to do. She just kinda walked in and sat down with him until he stopped, occasionally rubbing his back. They didn't say a word until Yuji made a joke and Nobara continued with why she even came into his room, to begin with.

The three students are surprisingly supportive of each other like that, it's just kinda awkward and passive-aggressive at times. Sometimes they even confide in Gojo, and he takes it seriously, surprisingly.

Gojo has a Tik Tok account. He participates in every challenge, every dance, every trend, and apparently has a huge following. Yuji gets featured in the videos sometimes when he isn't recording, and he's mostly doing the stupid shit Gojo does, like doing backflips on building ledges.

While Tik Tok is Gojo's forte Yuji has done video game commentary on twitch and yt live. Megumi is quite popular on subreddits about urban legends and related folklore, and Nobara helps maintain blogs about current events, but... It's mostly celebrity gossip and new music.

Every Saturday is chore day and no one's allowed to do leisurely activities or leave until they're done. Rooms and hallways have to be vacuumed, swept, mopped, whatever. Gojo checks that the rooms aren't dirty. He doesn't mind clutter, he just hates wrappers and shit being left around. He especially pays attention to the cleanliness of the bathrooms for some reason. Megumi is good about cleaning his room throughout the week, Nobara usually just has clutter on her nightstand and dresser, and Yuji waits until the last minute to clean.

The first years used to do their laundry separately, but Nobara threw a temper tantrum when she witnessed Yuji just throw all of his clothes in the washer at once and simply turn it on. Now normally, she wouldn't help anyone get out of work, but she also likes things being done the right her way, so she does his laundry for him. Megumi got involved somehow and now they throw all of their clothes in the same basket and divide them by darks, colors, whites, and delicates. She refuses to let any of their overly- soiled clothes touch hers, so those usually get their own wash too. Each student folds and puts away their own clothes. 

Most arguments end with rock paper scissors. Pinkie promises are also sacred.

Gojo keeps a sticker board in the classroom. Whenever the kids do something good, they get a star. Whenever they do something bad, one gets taken away. When they get to five stickers they get a prize from the treasure box.

No one has gotten to five stars yet. This is good because there is no treasure box. Gojo is bullshitting everyone.

Yuji likes to steal Megumi's stickers because he thinks Megumi will not notice. He does every time.

Gojo has a stool in the corner of the classroom complete with a horribly cliche dunce cap he calls "the Naughty Corner" for when the kids "act up". Nobara ends up there because she's always on her phone, Megumi mouths off a lot and has days where he doesn't feel like doing work, and poor Yuji ends up in the naughty corner because Sukuna can't behave.

[pepperonijem]

Laundry || Bucky Barnes

MASTERLIST

Pairing: none

Warnings: swearing

Word count: ~800

Summary: Bucky doesn’t know how to do his laundry.

A/N: So I wrote this for class and I didn’t mean for it to turn into a Bucky story but uh... it did. The power his vibranium arm holds over me is strong. He’s giving very much Nick Miller vibes. This is pretty different from how I normally write so, enjoy!

2:53 a.m. 

Crickets. Branches against the window. But no more music.

He’s finally asleep. Time to move. 

I’ve had the last four hours to plan this, waiting for Steve to finally quit listening to that Taylor Swift album. He thinks I can’t hear him, but the walls in this apartment are too thin for true privacy. Which is why I had to wait until now. Now that he’s asleep, there is no way in hell that he’ll wake up for what’s about to happen.

I made it out into the hallway, glancing over at Steve’s door as I tiptoed my way past. He won’t wake up. He won’t wake up. I hope. It’s fine. No time to think about it. Not when the laundry room right there. I look down at the basket in my arms. I didn’t sort this shit out before, and now I wish I had. The longer I spend here, the greater the chance that Steve might actually wake up.

Now, sitting in front of the weird machines, I had to sort my laundry. White shirts here. The sweaty white t-shirt I’ve been wearing to gym is probably more yellow than white at this point, but it should be fine right? The dress shirt I wore to Steve’s ceremony, in. Oh shit, is this shirt white with blue stripes or blue with white stripes. Does it matter? What if I throw it in with the whites and everything comes out… wrong. Okay whatever, I can just buy a new shirt if it does. Okay, it’s in. God, I hope I don’t mess this up.

Next, detergent. There’s two bottles. Fuck. Is this detergent? Or softener? What the fuck is softener? Are clothes not already soft? Why do I need to add softener? I wish my mom were here. She’d know which one is softener. Detergent is like soap right? So which one feels like soap. Maybe if I just open it up and touch it… Jesus, they both feel like soap. Whatever, I’ll just pour one in, it’ll be fine. How much? How much softener could I possibly need? I’ll just fill the cap. Why is this is so complicated?

God, I just want to be done. I filled the cap of one of the liquids to the brim – maybe a little bit over -- and poured it in. What’s the worst that could happen? I just need my laundry done. None of this would have been a problem if I had the chance to go home this weekend, but Steve insisted on going on a roadtrip. Now, here I am, 21 years old, having to drag my clothes out in the middle of the night because I don’t know how to do my laundry and at this point I’m too afraid to ask.

Now that I’ve poured everything in, I just have to turn it on. The hard part is done… Wait— why are there so many options. Delicates? That should mean I don’t need softener, right? Would that be delicate enough? Heavy duty? How heavy duty can laundry possibly be? I guess I’ll go with heavy duty to make sure everything is really clean.

Shit, now it’s making a weird sound. Why does it have to be so loud? As if it wants Steve to find out I don’t have understanding of how to do basic adult tasks. God I hope he doesn— 

“It’s 3 in the morning,” a deep voice groaned behind me. Fuck. 

“Why the hell are you doing laundry right now?” Steve rubbed his eyes as he stepped closer to assess the situation. “And why is there fabric softener all over the floor?” Shit, I put in the wrong one.

“Um… I have an explanation, I swear.” I did not have an explanation.

“You have no idea what you’re doing, do you?” Steve asked with a smirk. 

I let out a pathetic sigh. “How’d you figure out?”

“I put it together a long time ago,” He shrugged. “I’ve never seen you do laundry and every time you go home to your parents’ your luggage seems way too big for just a weekend.” He opened the lid of the washer and grabbed the other bottle of liquid, which I now know is detergent, and poured in about half a cap full.

“Sorry I woke you up,” I mumbled.

“It’s fine,” he turned to me. “Just next time don’t use so much softener. This shit is expensive.” 

[lightsovermonaco]

His Good Sweater: Chapter 13

Masterlist

Thanks to @acollectionofficsandshit​ for being my bestie and beta reading! This would have never happened without her ❤ Make sure you read Roman Profile, set in the same universe!

Word Count: 6.7k

Recommended song: "Cupid’s Chokehold/Breakfast in America” by Gym Class Heroes

"I have to go."

"Can't you stay five more minutes?"

"I wish."

"Come on, just a few more minutes to cuddle." Pierre flings back the fluffy duvet and holds out a hand. "Please?"

"I have an exam," you say with a sigh but bend to press a kiss to his upturned palm. "I can't skip."

Pierre groans and slings an arm over his eyes. "What am I supposed to do all day?"

"I don't have a sim but I have an old PlayStation you're more than welcome to use. I think I still have one or two games."

"That won't keep me busy."

"I'm sure you'll find something. Just stay out of trouble okay? I'd like to get my security deposit back when I finally move out of this hellhole."

"Okay," Pierre grumbles, sitting up to give you a quick kiss. "What time are you getting back?"

"Four. We can go out to dinner or something." You smooth a hand over his hair, smiling lightly. "Or we can go for a picnic and take a walk through Saint James Park."

"Sounds like a plan." He turns his head to kiss your palm. "I'll be counting down the minutes."

You roll your eyes but your smile contradicts the sass. "I'll be home before you know it. Love you, champion."

"I love you too, mon coeur."

He was endlessly grateful for how easily the two of you had fallen back into each other. When he had shown up at your doorstep he had expected there to be awkward pauses and minutes of tense silence, but there had been blissfully little of either. As the days bleed into each other, your relationship only gets steadier, closer and closer to what it used to be. Maybe it was because you had been the one to break the silence or maybe it was because he had thrown himself into his career into someone's bed- whatever the reason, it didn’t matter. He was simply grateful to be welcomed back into your life. He didn't plan on leaving any time soon.

Pierre allows himself a half hour of lounging in bed before forcing himself to get up and shower. Off weeks were hard; all he wanted to do was rest and recharge but he still had to follow his workout regimen and sleep schedule or he risked falling out of the habit, making it that much harder to get back in the groove come race week.

First order of business: clean the clutter you had shoved in closets and the spare room prior to his arrival the day before. Folding the three baskets of clean laundry took an hour, washing dishes another thirty minutes, and vacuuming the entire flat took twenty. Once the counters are spotless and there isn’t a stray sock to be found, he takes stock of your pantry and notes what staples you were running low on.

Two hours later he trudges back up the three flights of stairs to your apartment, arms laden with reusable bags packed to the gills with food. His legs burn and he's slightly winded from the excursion; at least that could count as his work out for the day.

He's just about to start slicing vegetables for dinner when his phone chimes with a text from his PR agent, Sylvie.

You're supposed to be in an interview now. Where are you?

"Oh shit." He scrambles for his laptop which of course was dead. He manages to plug it in at the dining room table and angle it so the background is mostly neutral, just a band poster framed behind him. He checks his hair before logging into the interview.

"There's the star," the interviewer says, far too chipper to be entirely genuine.

"Sorry, I was having connection issues." He queues up his signature sweetheart smile that gets him out of any squabbles. It works, the woman's irritation melting into a more easy expression.

"Let's just get right into it. Since we're low on time I'll jump right in, if you don't mind."

Pierre leans back. He had an inkling where this was headed. "By all means, please."

"We just saw news of your deal with Christian Horner- if you take seventh in this year's drivers championship, it looks like you're at Red Bull Racing next year. How does that feel after being publicly demoted mid-season in 2019?"

A smirk tugs at Pierre's lips. He had known this exact question was coming. He had debated how to answer it without starting waves and still remaining truthful. If there was one thing he prided himself on, it was his ability to be diplomatic when others may have let their egos get in the way.

"Obviously I'm grateful that Red Bull has recognized the hard work I've been putting in at Alpha Tauri," he starts. "I think I've been able to push the car as far as I can but I still have pace in me, personally. So moving into the Red Bull would let me loose, so to speak, and give me a chance to prove that Red Bull is where I belong."

"Right, you have had quite a spectacular season so far with a race win under your belt and a few podiums for good measure. What do you attribute that success to? Why is it so different now in an Alpha Tauri versus that coveted second Red Bull seat?"

Pierre purses his lips. The answer he was expected to give wasn't one he was willing to voice. Instead he opts for neutral. "I've been able to focus and hone my driving this season. I've found a groove that works for me and with it has come an insane amount of confidence, which is something I struggled with for awhile after going back to Torro Rosso. I think it's really just that I'm finally comfortable in the car and with my team and that makes a huge difference."

"Thank you for that," the journalist says and Pierre nods. "Shifting gears, I have a few questions about your personal life if you don't mind."

This was the part he always dreads. Questions were often prying and he had to subtly skirt around them in a way that offered a satisfying answer without giving away too much. It was an art he liked to think he had perfected over the years but still didn't enjoy.

"As long as you don't mind me staying silent if I don't want to answer."

The woman laughs, the sound sharp and grating. "Of course. Unless I can bribe you into giving me an exclusive."

"Likely not. But you ask the right questions and we'll see."

"You've been seen hanging around a certain London neighborhood lately- that wouldn't have anything to do with you and your lovely lady, would it?"

He had been waiting for that one, too. When the two of you had returned from Red Bull headquarters he had noticed the man taking pictures across the street. He hadn't said anything to you at the time because really, there was no point in getting you worked up when he had a plan to handle it.

The question played right into his hand, in fact. 

Pierre sits forward, folding his hands in front of him. "Actually yes. We recently got back together and if you'll let me, I would like to make a request."

The woman leans back and checks her notes. "Well it's not quite what I had planned but please," she gives a flourish with a hand, "you have the floor."

"I know driver's personal lives are something that a lot of people are interested in and that's great. I don't mind sharing things with my fans or letting them get the inside scoop, but there's some things I would rather be left alone. My relationship is one of them. I know you all took note that she hasn't been around the past couple months and if I'm being honest, it's because of comments and press coverage that invaded her privacy. I think some people forgot she was more than just a name on a screen."

Pen poised to take notes, the interviewer prompts, "You said you had a request?"

He doesn’t stop to assess the damage he had already undoubtedly done. Sylvie was probably already on the phone doing damage control with every news outlet she could get her hands on, if her muted and black square at the bottom of the screen was an indication. 

"All I'm asking is that you leave her alone. If you have questions or comments you have to make, just direct them at me. Don't follow her around asking about me. Don't comment on her posts unless you're capable of being a decent human. Just… let her live her life in peace."

Maybe he was a love sick fool, but honestly he didn't care if he lost some support from fans. If they had such strong opinions on his personal life, he would be better off without them anyway. And his team could cut him and even if he was unable to secure a seat in Formula 1 after next season, he would survive. 

But if he lost you again, he would be broken. It had taken being apart from you for him to realize it and he'd be damned if he was ever disconnected from you like that again.

"That's quite the speech."

Pierre shrugs. "It was. She's the most important thing in my life, right up there with racing.” Now that he had started down the road of truth, he found it impossible to hold his tongue. “I lost her once because people couldn't be bothered to remember that their words have consequences. I won't let it happen again."

"So you see yourself with her for a long time then?" The woman's eyes glitter with the potential of getting an even juicer tidbit from him.

Pierre’s jaw sets, muscles feathering. "That's not something I'm prepared to discuss."

The woman purses her lips and tips her head to the side. There was clearly more she wanted to say. "Well, I have to thank you for what you've given me here. My boss is gonna love the exclusive. I won't push any further. Thanks for your comments, Pierre."

"Thanks for actually being respectful."

“We aren’t all monsters.” The woman shrugs. “I can’t say I haven’t had my moments but I try to be straightforward.”

“Right, yeah. I get that you have a job to do.”

“Anyway. I look forward to seeing what you can do the rest of this season. Good luck.”

He signs off and instantly anxiety washes over him. If she twisted his words he was screwed. Sylvie would be on the phone as soon as the article was printed, no doubt trying to soothe sponsors and investors. She'd give him an earful about being respectful and not poking the bear but he'd tune it out like he always did.

The sooner he got away from Red Bull, the better.

Instead of dwelling on it he busies himself with cooking. It was one of his guilty pleasures. He always requested a full kitchen when he was staying anywhere more than a few days so that if he had the chance to make a home-cooked meal, he had the option. For tonight he had selected his favorite recipe. Parmesan-Cesar chicken wasn't normally something you would ever touch with a ten foot pole but as long as he was making it, Pierre knew you'd at least give it a try.

Music blasting in the background, Pierre sings along quietly as he unpacks the rest of the ingredients and gets to work. He does a little spin between the island and the sink, rinsing the dishes and putting them right in the dishwasher as he uses them. A clean kitchen is the mark of a great chef, his mom had told him, drilling the phrase into him when he was young.

In the middle of cutting potatoes Pierre gets a call. He only has an hour until you're home so he doesn't bother stopping, just puts it on speaker and continues measuring spices.

"Hey Daniel."

"Heard you're in London," Daniel says, Australian accent thick. "And a little birdie told me you and your lady got back together."

"We did," Pierre says, a smile splitting his face. "Finally."

"Thank god, now I don't have to listen to your drunk woe-is-me rambling anymore."

Pierre laughs and sets aside the measuring spoons. "It's not that bad."

"Oh please." Pierre could practically hear the eyes rolling. "The number of times I had to send an uber to a bar after a grand prix is insane. Charles and I should be entitled to financial compensation with the amount of babysitting we've been doing."

"I can handle myself!"

"Not after a martini you can't."

He was right there. "Is there a point to this conversation?"

"Oh right- I'm actually in town today too, got some stuff to shoot for McLaren before we head to Austria for the race next week. You guys wanna come out with us tonight? We're heading to a bar or two."

"I actually had something planned-"

"She already said she's coming!" Dan's girlfriend shouts in the background.

“Well then why even ask me?”

“To be polite,” Daniel offers with a laugh. “We’re meeting at the rooftop bar at the Trafalgar hotel at seven. That give you enough time to do whatever you had planned that’s apparently more important than seeing your best mates?”

“We’ll be there,” Pierre says and hangs up. He finishes seasoning the potatoes and pops them in the oven, finally getting a chance to sit while they cook alongside the main course.

He's on his feet a few minutes later, decluttering the last bits of mess around your flat. It was clear it hadn't had a decent cleaning in quite awhile- hopefully you'd keep it tidy now that the effort had been made. The guys would tease him endlessly if they found out he was acting like a housewife.

You arrive home just as he’s setting the table. “God, it smells amazing in here.”

“Salut, mon amour.” Hands full with hot dishes, he settles for a kiss to your cheek. “I made dinner.”

“And you cleaned,” you observe. “You were a busy boy.”

“Pyry would kill me if he found out I was laying around all day. I had to do something.” 

You hang your backpack on the hook behind the door and take a seat at the table. “Well remind me to thank him again when I see him. This looks delicious.”

Pierre grins over his shoulder at you. “Me or the food?”

You throw your head back and laugh, loud and unrestrained. “The food, you goof.”

Pierre quirks a brow. "Is that the honest answer?"

"Okay, maybe both." 

The meal is filled with your ramblings about your exam and your new hobby- this month it was hiking. You went into detail about all the few trails in the city you’d been on as well as the more challenging ones that dotted the countryside. Pierre just nods along as you talk, already planning on staying up late to learn what he could about the topic so he could be a better conversation partner.

The pair of you work together to tidy the kitchen and put away any leftovers. “Did you bring something semi nice to wear tonight or do we have to make a quick trip to the store?”

“I’ve got some Tauri stuff I can wear. And not just team gear,” he adds when you groan. “You know that cream sweater you love? The one with the logo debossed on the front? I’ve got that.”

“Oh,” you say before biting your lip. Your eyes trail down his frame and back up like you’re imagining it on him. A tingle travels up his spine under your assessing gaze. If you kept that up, neither of you would make it out of the apartment tonight. “My favorite. Yeah, wear that. It’ll be on my floor by the end of the night.”

Pierre places his hands on your waist and grins. “Will it? And what will be on the floor from your closet, hm?”

“Your favorite dress.”

“The orange one?” He realizes half a second too late that you would never know how much he adored that dress from the gala. It had hugged your curves in all the right places and left your back exposed, which would leave him free to trace patterns on your soft skin whenever he pleased. He had missed out on worshipping you in it that night and he wouldn’t mind the opportunity to do so now.

You roll your eyes. “I can’t wear that to a bar.”

“Says who?” Pierre nuzzles his face against your neck, breathing you in. A light undercurrent of sweat from your walk home from classes mingles with the usual bright scent of you, only serving to rile him up further. Never in a million years would he have guessed that a simple scent could do him in, and yet here he was, completely wrapped up in yours. 

“Says me.” You sigh, tipping your head to the side when Pierre’s nose grazes your skin.

His lips follow until he reaches your jaw before he pulls back. “What one are you wearing then?”

“Does it matter?” You cross your arms, the smirk playing on your kissable lips tempting him.

“I have to mentally prepare myself.” And if whatever you chose was too sexy, he would need to get his handsiness out of his system before the pair of you met up with Daniel and his girlfriend. The last thing he needed was to be on the front of some seedy gossip column when his plan was to ease back into it. 

You smile up at him, broad and unrestrained as if knowing your answer would affect him greatly. “The cobalt blue one that makes you stutter.”

The dress in question was just as form fitting as the orange one, but shorter and decidedly more distracting. It fell mid thigh and the spaghetti straps left your shoulders exposed, which coupled with the low back displayed a downright sinful amount of skin. You had worn it at a Torro Rosso event a couple years back and he had scarcely been able to get a full sentence out around you all night. 

“That one’s a close second.” He follows you to your room, leaving you to hunt through the closet while he digs through his suitcase, thankful that he had the foresight to check out of his hotel on the way back from Red Bull and bring his things here.

Because there was no way in hell he was missing a second of being by your side while he was in town. Every moment had to count when he had no idea when he would be able to sleep next to you again, not when the season was nearly over and there were two double headers between now and winter break. When so many variables stood between him and you, he had no problem prioritizing you over a routine workout or a full night’s rest.

Pierre changes into the sweater and a pair of dark skinny jeans well before you emerge from the bathroom. He doesn’t bother responding to Dan’s text that includes an address and reminds him to be on time, instead opting to scroll through his instagram feed. He likes a handful of posts from his fellow drivers, including one of Max actually smiling at something off camera.

“Well?”

Pierre’s head snaps up at the sound of your voice. The phone falls from his hand when he drags his eyes over your body, head to toe and back again. 

Oh, he was so fucked. 

Maybe it was selfish, but with your hair done like that, the barest brush of makeup lining your eyes and in that stunningly blue dress, he didn’t want any other man to have the privilege of laying their eyes on you. 

No, you were all his.

The moment you’re within reach, Pierre places his hands on the back of your thighs, just beneath the curve of your barely covered ass. You chuckle and tap your fingers under his chin. “Close your mouth; you’ll catch flies.”

“Just so you know, if you wear that dress I can’t be held liable for my actions.” Up to and including scaring off anyone that wasn’t Daniel or his girlfriend. No one else deserved to be blessed with your radiance. Hell, he didn’t deserve it, and yet here you stood. 

“We’ll see about that.”

**********

Daniel and his girlfriend had already made their way through a round of drinks by the time you arrive. It wasn’t Pierre’s fault he couldn’t keep his hands off you and wound up getting distracted on the drive over.

"Late as always," she greets, kissing your cheek. "Dan got us here fifteen minutes early because he wanted the table with the best view."

"Like our names wouldn't have gotten us the table if we asked," Pierre says, wrapping Daniel in a one-armed hug before kissing his girl’s cheek in a traditional French greeting. "The view is pretty great though."

You were already leaning on the glass partition, hands curled over the edge and undoubtedly leaving behind fingerprints on the pristine surface, completely unfazed by the fact that the other patrons were staring. You had eyes only for the London skyline and Trafalgar square lit up below. The bar with its white marble tabletops and strict dress code was absolutely not a place that you should be standing on your tiptoes for a better view, but there was no way he could condemn you when your face lit up like that.

Pierre just places a hand on the small of your back and shoots a look at the bartender currently glaring in your direction, daring the smartly dressed man to say anything. He only raises a brow and resumes filling drink orders.

"You guys know how to pick a place," you say, "I could stand here all night."

"Right," Daniel's girlfriend says, rolling her eyes at Pierre who shrugs as if to say what do you want me to do? He was powerless to deny you anything that brought you a semblance of joy; your smile was everything to him. “Love, why don’t you come tell us about uni? You’re the only one of us currently enrolled, and I’m sure the boys would love to hear about all the drama.”

You and Pierre share a secret grin. You shake your head but allow him to guide you back to the cocktail table. “Drama? I’m an engineering major. The closest thing we have to drama is someone grossly miscalculating a structural load.”

Dan shoots Pierre a mischievous grin. “I heard Stroll might be moving next year-”

Both you and Daniel’s girlfriend groan at the same time. “No racing talk when we’re around tonight,” she says. “I’ve heard enough lately.”

“What’s new in the publishing world?” You ask, leaning into Pierre when he wraps an arm around you. He only half listens to her explain the so-called “top secret” project she’s currently working on, instead opting to get drunk on you. 

The light breeze filtering through the surrounding buildings ruffles your hair. You lift a hand absentmindedly to tuck it behind your ear in an attempt to keep it out of your face. Everything you do is amazing to him, snagging his attention even when he should be listening to whatever it was his friends were saying. Your gravity was simply too strong to bother resisting.

“Enough talk,” Daniel’s girlfriend says, waving a hand. “You need a drink, and I want to dance. Let’s go.” Before Pierre can protest, she’s dragging you away to the glass top bar. You throw an apologetic glance over your shoulder and Pierre just winks. He was fine watching you from afar for now.

Pierre’s gaze drops to your perky ass when you lean in to let the bartender know what you want, likely shouting to be heard over the music, your dress riding up a bit with the movement. For having such a strict dress code, this place sure did feel like an upper class club.

You hook your thumb over a shoulder, the bartender’s gaze darting to Pierre before the man nods. The only explanation you offer is a wink, followed by a note on a cocktail napkin and a beer delivered a few minutes later by a server.

This is supposed to be the best beer they have. Just try it.

Leave it to you to constantly push him outside his comfort zone. Pierre tentatively sniffs the foamy glass and shrugs before taking a sip. Not bad, but he still preferred his usual whiskey. 

Setting the glass down, Pierre turns back to Daniel. “Congrats on extending your contract with McLaren by the way. Should give you a decent shot at keeping up with the big boys and landing some serious points.”

“Seems like most of us are moving around, doesn’t it? Sainz to Ferrari, Seb to Aston Martin... The only one with any sort of long term commitment is Max and now me I guess.”

“And Charles,” Pierre adds. “He’s stuck in that red monstrosity for the foreseeable future.”

Daniel laughs, taking a swig from his glass. “And you’re moving too, huh? Austria should be interesting,” Daniel remarks, watching the girls at the bar nursing their own drinks. “What with the news of your new contract breaking and all.”

“Potential contract,” Pierre corrects. “Not for sure yet.”

Daniel scoffs. “Come on mate. You won’t have any problem getting up to seventh by the end of the season. Perez is slipping and the news that his seat is in jeopardy will only help your cause.”

Pierre takes a sip of his amber beer and nods. “I’m sure Perez doesn’t appreciate it, but he’s always been a good sport.” You catch Pierre’s eye and lift your fresh flute of champagne in a mock salute. Dan’s girlfriend drags you out on the dancefloor and immediately spins you. Your laugh is nearly audible, the memory of it fresh in Pierre’s mind as he watches you.

“Mate, have you been listening to a word I’ve said?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

Daniel shakes his head and drains his drink. “I really don’t know how it took you two this long to come together. You’ve been dancing around each other for years but neither of you would admit it.”

“I could say the same about you two.”

Daniel shrugs. “Fair point. At least we got it all worked out in a weekend though.”

Pierre rolls his eyes and shoves his friend’s shoulder. “Whatever. Not all of us can have a perfect love story.” 

The grin Daniel shoots Pierre is pure sunshine. “How long are you planning on waiting before you ask her to marry you?”

“What?” Pierre sputters, nearly choking on air. “Who said anything about marriage?”

“Oh come on,” Dan says, rolling his eyes. “We all know it’s coming eventually.”

Pierre would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about it. But he wasn’t sure if it was the time for a proposal, not when you had just gotten back together. The last thing he wanted to do was go through the pain of losing you again because he was too forward.

“One day at a time,” Pierre says finally, dragging himself back to earth. “I just got her back a few days ago. I don't want to scare her off by proposing just yet.”

“Right. Well you might want to get a ring on that hand sooner rather than later,” Daniel notes, gesturing to the two men who had approached the girls. “How long are we gonna let that go on before we step in?” Neither of you paid the men any attention, instead enjoying each other’s company, but the men’s eyes roaming over your body sets Pierre on edge.

“They can handle themselves,” Pierre remarks, shifting on his feet. The weak attempt at self assurance didn’t do much to negate the red tinting his vision. “They’re fine.”

“Her sharp tongue will hold them at bay,” Daniel says, winking at his girlfriend. “For a while at least.” Props to Daniel for possessing inhuman amounts of restraint, but Pierre’s muscles were coiled and ready to interject at the first sign of trouble. 

He has to pause to remind himself he doesn't own you. You could make your own decisions about who you spoke with and who you entertained as long as he was the one to take you home. He didn't care if you wanted to flirt; he knew it meant nothing and if you got a free drink out if it then so be it. But those were the rules: flirting, no touching. He'd step in if need be if someone took it too far.

But that didn't mean he had to enjoy it.

Pierre watches tight lipped as you politely chat with the man, your body language closed off and dismissive. Pierre hates that you even speak a word to him. He knows it shouldn’t bother him because he trusts you, but the stranger is a wild card. Pierre watches like a hawk as the man inches ever closer, slowly interesting himself into your personal space. He waits for you to take a step back, to grant him that silent permission to come over and insert himself in the conversation and get his hands on you, this proving you weren't on the market.

One of the men shouts something at you over the music and you leer back at him, clearly disgusted at whatever he had said. Whirling on him, you open your mouth, likely to snap out a profanity lined retort, when his hand latches onto your arm.

"Oh, fuck no."

Half a second later, Pierre is stalking across the dance floor, no thoughts other than teaching the asshole a lesson. His hands are already curled into fists, ready to swing if the man hadn't moved by the time he arrived. Tolerating someone hitting on you was one thing, but blatantly ignoring the clear dismissals and laying a hand on you? No way in hell was he standing by and letting that happen.

The resounding crack of your open hand hitting the man’s face has pride swelling in Pierre’s chest. That’s my girl. You’d solved the problem before he’d even arrived. You jab a finger in the man’s face, Daniel’s girlfriend right there with you to back you up.

“Fuck off,” you were saying as Pierre approached, “or do you need to go back to kindergarten and learn to keep your hands to yourself? Maybe next time you’ll think twice before laying a hand on a taken woman- or any woman, for that matter.”

Driving your point home, Pierre slips an arm around your waist and pulls you in until your back is flush to his chest. You crane your neck up, the tense muscles beneath his fingertips and the fury contorting your features confirming just how rattled you are.

The lines creasing your brow are soothed away when you realize who holds you. You open your mouth to say something but Pierre places a hand on your throat, thumb and forefinger framing your jaw as he cuts you off with a kiss, his eyes locked on the guy still standing off to the side holding his cheek. 

You taste like the champagne you’d been sipping all night. It’s the only thought in his head outside of the jealousy licking through his veins like wildfire as he claims you then and there in front of the crowd. Mine, his heart sings. He flexes his fingers, taking advantage of your surprised gasp to slide his tongue against yours. Mine, mine, mine.

Pierre lets you be the one to break away, lips curling in a smug, kiss-swollen smile as you address the men. “In case you still don’t get the picture, I’m not interested. And neither is she.” You jerk your chin, indicating your friend and Daniel, who had indeed followed Pierre and since mirrored his possessive stance, one arm wrapped tightly around his own girlfriend.

The two men reluctantly slink away after mumbling something unintelligible but undoubtedly indecent. It had been a week and a half since he had been on track and he had plenty of pent up aggression to get out. He didn’t normally opt for using someone’s face as a punching back as a stress reliever, but rulers were made to be broken. Your hand splayed on Pierre’s chest is all that stops him from following and asking them to repeat themselves.

“Just let me hit him,” Pierre says, voice far more level and put together than he had expected it to be. “Just one punch. That’s all I would need.” His knuckles smart like he had already connected them to the man’s face. 

“And let you throw away your contract? I don’t think so. The last thing you need is a blurry photo of you knocking someone’s teeth in hitting the front page of every gossip mag in the country. I’m fine, so you can cut the bravado.”

“Yeah, I hear you.” 

“I was wondering how long you were gonna leave us out here,” you say, trying to regain Pierre’s attention. When it doesn’t work, you grasp his stubbled chin and force him to look at you. “I didn’t expect to be stranded for so long.”

The eye contact is what finally calms his racing thoughts. Seeing the trust reflected in your face is enough to have his grip on your waist loosening to allow you to face him. “Someone convinced me you could fend for yourself. And while it seems that’s true, I couldn’t stand it anymore.” 

Your satisfied hum is swallowed by the pounding bass but Pierre feels it rumble in his chest. “Sometimes even a queen needs saving.”

Though his point had long since been proven, Pierre’s hand slides down your back to rest on your ass nonetheless. “I knew you going out looking like this would cause trouble.”

You tip your head to the side, feigning innocence as you press your hips to his. You grin, noticing the hard on that had been bothering him all night. “Looking like what?”

“Drop dead fucking gorgeous,” he says, accentuating his point by sliding his hand up your thigh and under the hem of your dress. “You know I’m tearing this off you the second we get home, right?”

“Why do you think I wore it?”

The sound that escapes him is primal and possessive. The presence of bystanders does nothing to prevent him from palming your ass and kneading the flesh. He presses his lips to your neck and mumbles between kisses, “To torture me.”

You push lightly at his chest, laughing although your eyes dart around the space in search of cameras. Old habits were hard to break. “That may have been part of my motivation. But you’ll have to wait. I haven’t seen Dan in forever and I would actually like to have a conversation with him before we sneak off somewhere.”

At least you knew he wouldn’t be able to wait until you got home to get between your legs. “Fine,” he grumbles, hands settling on your hips. “Only because I love you.”

You beam up at him. “Love you too.”

Arm still slung around your waist, Pierre nods at Daniel and follows the other couple back to the table.

After two more drinks, you and Daniel's girlfriend are singing along to the music in lilting, off key voices, simply enjoying the night air. A stray breeze catches your hair just as you turn to look at Pierre and his heart damn near leaps out of his chest.

To his credit, Pierre’s cheeks are rosy from more than just the charged glances you throw at him as the night wears on. He was on his fourth beer, far more than he usually drank these days, and the buzzing in his head was becoming increasingly hard to ignore. When he has to squint to tell the time on his watch, he figured that was enough.

"I should probably get going mate," Pierre says, turning to Daniel. "Early flight."

Daniel laughs and beacons for the girls. He kisses his girlfriend's cheek when she returns with you in tow. "Are we leaving already?" You pout, and Pierre had half a mind to stay simply have your smile make an encore appearance.

"Car coming," he murmurs, dipping his head to give you a proper kiss. God, you were stunning in that dress- he might not be able to string together words coherently, but he knew that much. 

"Fine." You cross your arms for a split second to convey your feelings on the matter before wrapping your friends in a hug and saying your goodbyes.

Pierre's hand is already on your ass before you're in the uber. Get a few drinks in the boy and he let his guard down. You laugh and pull out of his embrace to usher him into the sleek black suv. If he had been coherent, he probably would have chatted with the driver about the specs of the engine or maybe even racing if he was a fan. Instead the ride is filled with stolen touches and sloppy, wet kisses to your neck.

"I can't wait till we're home," he mumbles. "You're gorgeous. How did I snag you? You're so far out of my league. No way should you be with me."

"I have a thing for guys that go fast in circles on the weekends." 

"Really?" Pierre frowns. "Should I be worried?"

"No. You're the only one I have eyes for." His head is fuzzier than when you left the bar but your laugh breaks through, his stomach flipping at the melody of it. "And we are home."

Pierre blinks, realizing he does indeed stand in your kitchen, with no recollection of climbing the three flights of stairs between the street and your flat. "Oh. When did that happen?"

"After I half dragged you up the stairs." You bend over to undo the straps of your heels, giving him the perfect view. He lets out a whistle that ends in a hiccup.

"Take me to bed, lover," he says in what he thinks is a husky voice. It should be impossible for you to resist.

You roll your eyes and wrap an arm around his middle. "That's the plan. I'll take you to bed, strip you out of that sweater, and you'll be asleep before your head hits the pillow."

"Nnnnnno," he protests, hand sliding down your exposed back to settle at the base of your spine. "I wanna make the most of tonight. I leave tomorrow."

"You don't leave until noon," you point out. "Plenty of time to nurse your hangover and have fun before then, after you drink some water and get some sleep."

"But baby-"

"No buts. Do as I say or I'll send you off tomorrow without a goodbye kiss."

Even in his half drunken state he knew it was a swiss cheese lie, spotted with holes and completely stale. You'd never let him leave without a kiss goodbye because neither of you knew if it would be the last time. He was a race car driver after all, and that came with risks. 

But he sighs anyways and slips off the cream sweater, letting it fall to the floor. At least one of you kept their promises. 

After confirming he was settled into bed, you retreat to the bathroom. His heart aches at the absence, even though you're mere feet away with nothing but a thin door separating the two of you. He registers the sound of the tap turning on and your soft, off key humming of the last song he remembered hearing before getting out of the uber.

"Mon amour," he croons when you re-emerge in a set of silk pajamas. He reaches out his hands for you and you slide under the covers, immediately slotting your body against his. A leg hitches over his hip, tugging him closer until your middles touch.

"Mmm," he mumbles, nuzzling into your neck. "Je t'aime. Tu es l'amour de ma vie et nous vivons d'amour et d'eau fraîche."

"I have no idea what you're saying," you whisper, running your fingers through his hair. "But I like it. Feel free to keep going."

"Tes baisers sont du feu et je fond à ton toucher." He presses his lips to your neck before resuming his mumbled French. "Je pense toujours à toi. Je veux être avec toi pour toujours. Tu as mon cœur et je ne voudrais pas qu'il en soit autrement."

"I like the sound of that." You press a soft, sweet kiss to his forehead. God, that tenderness was why he loved you. That, and your personality, and your eyes, and your… everything. "Dormir, my love. I'll be here to listen to your pretty words in the morning."

The single word of his mother tongue on your lips has him smiling. "Oui, tu le feras. Parce que tu es à moi et je suis à toi."

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[chudleycanonficfest]

The Switch

Day 10, Story #2 is by @adenei

Title: The Switch

Author: adenei

Pairing: George Weasley/Angelina Johnson

Prompt: First Date

Rating: T

TW: Mentions of character death

***********

The shop is quiet as George locks the door to his office. It’s been a month since the grand re-opening of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, and the steady thrum of customers has put the business back on track to where it was before the untimely closure due to the war. Things are different, of course, with Fred not being there, but George’s family and friends have stepped up and offered more support than George knows what to do with—not that he wanted it in the first place.

  In retrospect, he is thankful for his family and friends, Ron and Angelina in particular. They helped him put down the bottle and get his life back on track. 

  “Fred wouldn’t want this.” Angelina had told him late one night while she and Lee were staying over in his flat that smelled of days-old Firewhisky and hadn’t been cleaned since before they’d gone into hiding at Aunt Muriel’s.

  “How would Fred feel if you let everything the two of you worked for go to shit? How would you feel if the tables were turned and if it was—” Ron had yelled as he snatched the half-full bottle away from his brother and dumped it down the drain. The emotion was raw as the words caught in his throat, the end of the phrase hanging between them like the weight of a bludger pulling them down and grounding them.

  At first, he’d been pissed, but they were right. Fred wouldn’t have wanted George to resort to any of that. And even though he’d been begrudging in accepting help to begin with, George knew he wouldn’t have gotten the shop up and running as swiftly as he did without everyone’s help. The hole in his heart still ached, and not a moment went by where he didn’t miss his brother, but finding a new stride in this post-war life is exactly the push George needed to not only move on but also honor and make Fred proud.

  As George makes his way onto the main floor of the shop, a figure standing behind the counter makes him pause. He’d recognize that silhouette anywhere, the unrequited crush from his Hogwarts days now thrust back in his life, as if to taunt him of just another thing he’ll never have.

  “You’re still here?” The exhaustion is apparent in George’s voice after a ten-hour day.

  “Yeah, I wanted to make sure you didn’t stay on and try to do all the inventory yourself again like last week.” Angelina runs her fingers over the various displays of fireworks that are locked away behind the checkout area as she lightly teases George.

  “Nah, I learned from that mistake. Besides, don’t you have your regular job that you need to get back to? Now that things are running smoothly again, we’ll be able to manage without the extra help. Especially once things die down after the first.”

  “I don’t mind spending a few hours here after work, you know that. Things’ll start to pick up again soon once the Quidditch season gets underway, I’m sure, but right now, my corresponding duties are light. Call me crazy, but I’ve enjoyed spending more time with you lately. Almost makes me feel like we’re back in Hogwarts, you know? When real life and responsibilities seemed so far away.”

  A chuckle escapes George’s lips. It was true, all this time they’d been spending together, especially with Lee and sometimes Alicia, almost made everything feel right again.

  “Well, we can hang out in other places, too. I swear I don’t live at Wheeze’s.”

  “George, you live upstairs.”

“Ah, bugger off.”

  “I’m only teasing.”

  “And all I’m saying is if you want to do something outside these walls, all you have to do is ask.”

  “Are you hungry, then?”

  A genuine laugh bubbles up into George’s throat at Angelina’s brazenness. “Bloody hell, woman! Impatient much?”

  His outburst brings a smile to Angelina’s face, brightening the dark circles under her eyes from the extra hours spent helping out. 

  “You’re the one who said to ask. So, what do you say? Fancy a drink and a meal down the street? It’s late enough that the Leaky shouldn’t be too busy.”

  “I s’pose it couldn’t hurt. Beats making something for myself, that’s for sure.”

  “Great, let’s go.” 

  Angelina walks around the counter and reaches out to take George’s hand in hers. An electric shock shoots up his arm from the point of contact, and George has to stop himself from pulling away from the surprise of it all. A memory flashes through his mind of twinkling lights amongst a silver backdrop in the Great Hall all those years ago. He sees two figures dancing and twirling to the music of the Weird Sisters, one with flaming red hair much like his own and the other whose sapphire gown swished against the travertine floor. The memory brings a reminiscent smile to his lips as Angelina tugs him out the door.

  When they reach the Leaky, the pair settles into a quiet booth in the back of the establishment, away from curious eyes. It’s late in the evening for a meal, which is made evident by the empty tables and chairs scattered throughout the pub. Only a handful of patrons litter the bar, allowing Tom to be attentive to their needs. 

  George takes a large swig when the barkeep returns with Butterbeers, and they place their orders.

  “No shot of Firewhisky tonight then?” 

  George shakes his head. “I told you, Ange, I was serious about stopping. I can’t use the bottle as a crutch for grief anymore.”

  Angelina nods as she observes him intently. George can feel the heat of her gaze trailing over him as he takes another sip from his drink. 

  “You’re staring.”

  “Sorry, I was just thinking.”

  “Oh? And here I was thinking I was mesmerizing you with my dashing good looks,” George quips. 

  Angelina smiles, and for a moment, George thinks he sees a blush on her cheeks before she recovers.  For all the time they spent together during Hogwarts, and more recently in the months following the war, George finds it odd that they’re struggling with conversation now.

  “Knut for your thoughts?” asks George.

  “Just that it’s been nice reconnecting with you. And Lee. Circumstances are shit, of course, but with my hectic schedule during Quidditch season, I don’t get much time for socializing and friends. I even had to drop my registration for the semi-pro league I was hoping to play for.”

  George nods, and his stomach twists as he processes her words. That would mean she’d be leaving soon once things got busy. He’s overcome with the urge to see if her job is something she’s passionate about.

  “Do you love it? Your job, I mean.”

  “Well, yeah, if I can’t play professionally, the next best thing is writing and commentating. Plus, I’ve gotten to see the world all on the Ministry’s dime. Can’t complain there…”

  “But is it something you see yourself doing for a long time?” George presses. He doesn’t mean to sound judgmental, but he needs to know if it’s even worth it to pursue.

  “Well, after graduation, it seemed like the right fit. The opening was there, my parents were encouraging me to see the world, and I didn’t have anything tying me down. Honestly, I think my parents thought it was safer for me to travel, especially with the war on...”

  And what about now? 

  George is nodding his head up and down while the question ricochets in his mind. He opens his mouth, gathering the courage to allow the four words to escape his mouth when Angelina interrupts him.

  “Well, there are some openings that would allow me to stay in London that have just come up. They’re looking for commentators and stats writers for the matches played in the Kensington stadium. So, if you needed an extra hand at the shop, I could stay—”

  “—I don’t want you to stay for the shop. If you want to travel the world, you should. I doubt you’ve seen all the world has to offer in two seasons.”

  No! What are you thinking! 

  George can almost hear Fred chastising him for his rash response. It doesn’t come out the way he meant it to sound, and he knows he messed up given the crestfallen look on Ange’s face.

  “I only meant—”

  “I-I’ve actually already put in for the London job, George. And I promise it’s not because of the shop. Lee promised to help me with commentating, and this way I can play again. I start training next week. You know how much I missed playing Quidditch, and now that England is safer, I can stay and have the best of both worlds.” 

  The longer she goes on, it feels like she’s rambling and going on with a laundry list of pre-prepared reasons, which doesn’t sound like the Angelina he knows. It’s almost like she’s trying to convince herself that those are the reasons she’s staying, and not for anything else.

  “Oh.”

  Ange rolls her eyes. “Don’t worry, I know you and Fred always used to think you two were the center of the universe, but I promise I didn’t choose to stay just for you.”

  Her voice is light, and she’s smiling, but George can’t help but sense something else lingering beneath the surface. Disappointment, perhaps? Or maybe he’s just reading into things too much. Hoping something might be between them that really isn’t. He forces himself to stop overthinking and simply enjoy her company instead.

  “Well, I, for one, am happy you’re staying. We’ll be able to get together more often, and it’ll almost feel like our Hogwarts days. Maybe I’ll even be able to convince you and Alicia to test new products again.”

  Angelina nearly spits out her Butterbeer at George’s joke as Tom approaches with their meal. He knows he’s not fooling either of them; the irony is that the girls were always two steps ahead of him and his brother. They were the only two in their year who managed to avoid becoming test subjects to all of their prototypes.

  The two fall into more reminiscing as they tuck into their fish and chips. George doesn’t realize how ravenous he is until he starts eating, and he’s even more grateful for Ange’s suggestion now.

  As they are polishing off the remainder of their baskets, the topic of conversation falls on the Yule Ball, as Ange remembers how Fred had tossed the wad of paper at her.

  “It was romantic, wasn’t it?” George jokes as he remembers his brother’s ridiculous attempt at asking a girl out. “Still don’t know why you said yes to that tosser.”

  To this day, he’d always resented his brother for drawing his wand first and asking Ange to the ball. Of course, George knew it was all meant to be a bluff. It was Fred’s attempt to get his brother to buck up the courage and ask Angelina for himself. 

  George remembers it vividly. “Just ask her. What’s the worst she’ll say? No? Fine, if you won’t do it, I will.”

  When Fred had gotten Ange’s attention, George had no idea what to expect. They were usually well in tune with each other, and George could anticipate Fred’s moves, but when his brother had asked Angelina himself, it took George by surprise.

  “We were getting down to the wire, weren’t we?” Angelina interrupts George’s thoughts. “No one else had asked me, so I figured it was better to go with one twin than none at all.”

  George chooses the wrong moment to polish off the last of his chips. The fried potato catches in his throat, and he coughs it up, all while reaching for the last dredges of his Butterbeer to clear things out.

  Did she just say it was better to go with one twin than none at all? But then that would mean… 

  “Ange, don’t tell me you were waiting for me to ask you.”

  She shrugs and averts her eyes from his gaze. “I mean, I wouldn’t have been disappointed if you’d asked, let’s put it that way.”

  After this revelation, George burst into laughter. To anyone else in the near vicinity, it probably sounded like he should be admitted to the Janus Thickney Ward. He hasn’t laughed this hard since he and Fred were able to pull off a prank on Muriel shortly after arriving at her Manor at the end of March.

  “You—Fred—I—me—” He can’t seem to formulate a coherent string of thoughts until Angelina goes from amused to offended.

  “Honestly, George, I didn’t realize it was that funny. Forget I said anything.” She checks her watch and gathers her bag. “Maybe this wasn’t a good idea after all. It’s getting late, and clearly the thought of the two of us together appalls—”

  She’s in the process of standing up when George sobers from the onslaught of irony and reaches out to grab her wrist.

  “Ange, wait. I’m not laughing at that. Just—just give me a chance to explain, yeah?” He pulls her into the bench beside him, where she lands on her bottom harder than she needed to as she lets out a loud huff of indignation.

  “Fred never intended to go with you when he asked.”

  “Excuse me?” Her eyebrows have raised so high on her face that George is surprised they haven’t gotten lost in her braids.

  “No, what I mean is, he’d been pestering me to ask you since the ball was announced. He knew I had a thing for you—obviously—and was being supportive.”

  It felt weird for George to admit that he fancied Angelina in school now, after so many years of keeping it close to his chest. Fred and Lee were the only two who ever knew.

  “So, what are you trying to say, then?”

  “When Fred asked you...I was shocked, too. I didn’t realize he’d already devised a plan that I didn’t cotton on to right away.”

  The look on Angelina’s face transformed from defensive to shock to comprehension, all in the span of a few seconds. “Don’t tell me…”

  “Being an identical twin has—er, had—its benefits.”

  “So.. are you trying to tell me that I didn’t go to the ball with Fred?”

  “Nope.”

  “And at the end of the night, when I kissed Fred in an attempt to make you jealous, I was actually kissing you all along?”

  “Sorry if it was disappointing.” The wisecrack escapes George’s lips before he can stop it.

  Half of him is expecting Angelina to slap him for the ‘switcheroo’ that he and Fred pulled, and in fairness, they deserved it. What if Ange actually had fancied Fred, and they’d pulled one over on her?

  But to his surprise, Angelina does the opposite. She leans in and kisses George right then and there. The same shock he felt when holding her hand earlier ignites within him once more as he lets his body take control. He allows himself to get lost in the feel of her lips, realizing that it’s the first time he’s truly felt like himself since Fred’s passing. He even dares to let himself think he’s found happiness again.

  Eventually, George pulls away as his lungs begin to burn from the lack of oxygen. They remain close, foreheads touching as he offers a weak smile. 

  “Y’know, I was going to tell you it was me at the end of the night, but how could I when I thought I was going to break your heart when you thought you’d kissed Fred?”

  “You’re insufferable, you know that?” 

  “Yeah, but you can’t argue with sixteen-year-old George’s logic, can you?”

  Ange rolls her eyes and leans back. George misses the contact as soon as it’s gone.

  “What do you say we get out of here?” Ange raises her eyebrows in question as if tempting him to follow when she scoots out from the bench a second time.

  George pulls enough money to cover their meals out of his wallet and leaves it on the table before scooching out behind her. He pays no mind to the remaining customers as he pulls Angelina back into him and whispers in her ear,

  “I’d say we’ve wasted five years of pointless pining to wait any longer.”

[displacedentities]

Night Out

My quickfic for @doodledrawsthings​ Coffee Shop AU! In truth I had this in the books for months and just never got around to finish it ;u; Unfortunately only the muse can decide when it’s time to slap me with enough serotonin to work on this, so I rode the high from recent art and wrapped it up! It’s not as clean as I wanted, but you know what, have it anyway.

-Myst -----

Finally. Another shift in the books.

With a heavy sigh, Luka stretches his back as the clock chimes up on the wall over the glass doors. Deft fingers untie the back before he slips the fabric apron over his head. A light snap of magnets punctuates the white noise of steaming coffee machines, and Luka stuffs his nametag into his pants pocket.

Luka was embarrassed to think about how much of a struggle it was to steady on for the entirety of the workday. Stress ate at him all the time, over so many things. Harriet was priority number one - did he remember to prep her meals for the day? Was she still ok, back in the apartment? Was Professor Popcorn in need of more repairs? Luka would happily handle such a task, of course, but...

He wasn't guaranteed to have thumbs when the evening finally came. There was his time limit to think about.

"Hey Luka?"

Damn, but being cursed was such a pain. Chopping vegetables was a particular bane of his existence. How could he trust himself with a knife like that? Ugh. He hated to make Harriet do it - no child should be wielding a knife before the age of 13, for any reason. He'd just have to MacGyver a solution or something.

"Luka..."

And on top of that, he had the upcoming bills to fret over. Rent was due in a few days, and he'd made a decent amount in tips, but they could not afford to have their upstairs neighbor burst a pipe again. He and Harriet had spent the entire afternoon toweling up their poor carpets to avoid getting mildew. Or worse, bugs. Luka was a fan of bugs, but not in his carpets, or sneaking into the mattress where they could bite his daughter.

"HEY!"

This time, the voice manages to pierce the haze of worry writhing in Luka's brain. Jolting to attention, the auburn-haired adult turns around, blinking owlishly at his colleague, Clover.

The braided redhead is giving him a wan smile, her brows furrowed in worry as she sets down a large bag of coffee beans under the counter.

"You spaced out again, buddy. Did you hear a word I said?" the barista asks, folding her arms over her stained apron.

"Uhh... you said my name," Luka replied, feeling a bit awkward as he chuckles once. "Sorry, I probably missed anything you might have asked me."

"I was asking if you ever go out."

"Ah- what?"

That was unexpected. Go out?

"You know-" Clover holds up her hands to gesture to the world in general, and beyond the coffee shop doors "-out! Like, with friends or anybody?"

Ah.

Luka laughs once, rubbing a hand on one side of his face.

"You mean since I moved into town? Nah, not really. Me and my daughter have only been here a few months - can't say we made many friends just yet."

Nor was that a risk they could take. Who knows how long they could stay here, before he was inevitably found out? One could argue it was a risk just- doing what he was doing now. Trying to hold a job, staying in an apartment; a semi-permanent living situation. They'd been on the road so long, old habits were quite hard to break. And if he was entirely honest with himself, Luka didn't know yet if he felt safe, even six months past the first day he arrived in the rural town of Subcon.

Clover's frown deepens, her arms dropping back to her sides. Her dropped guard betrays her worry, before she tries to play it off with another lighthearted smile and upbeat words.

"Oh come on, it can't have been that long since you've just done something fun for the sake of it. When was the last time you went out with friends and enjoyed yourself?" she asks.

"Why is this important?" Luka asks, his own guard slowly rising. He didn't quite see where she was going with this, but he wasn't sure he'd like it.

Oops- maybe not the most polite way to phrase that, as he sees an awkward flinch on Clover's face. Quick, recover! Luka chuckles once, also trying to lighten the mood.

"You and MJ never really asked me that kind of stuff before. I thought I was hired to serve coffee, not tea."

"We serve both, ya doofus," Clover smirks, rubbing one of her well-muscled arms with the other in a self-conscious gesture. "You should know that, since you've been working here almost four months now. And uh- well, MJ just kind of noticed you always seem very tired whenever you leave work."

Luka smiles back, but it's forced. Careful. Don't give any hints that it's anything serious. Don't be suspicious.

"Oh, that? I uh- I'm not used to the retail scene. I'll probably adapt to it soon."

Clover doesn't seem convinced. Still, her expression is sympathetic, rather than judgmental or suspicious. She leans her back on the counter, looking over Luka's exhausted demeanor and baggy eyes with a skeptical smile.

"I'm sure you will." She rests her hands on the counter. "In the meantime, you should go out for bowling with me and MJ! We were planning this outing for about a week, and maybe you'd wanna come with?"

Luka stops mid-folding of his apron. He turns toward Clover with surprise.

"Bowling? As in- knocking over pins in an alley, bowling?"

Clover rolls her eyes, amused. "No, as in rolling cereal bowls. Yes, that kind of bowling, Luka. It'll be fun! Eat some cheap pizza, knock over pins, watch the uncanny valley animations on the TV screen, the whole shebang. You up for joining us?"

"I uh- I didn't know there was a bowling alley here?" Luka says, his voice pitching up as he gives a sheepish laugh. "I- I don't know..."

Shit.

He could already feel the first touches of his curse starting to well up. A quick glance to his hands- okay, no purple yet. But it was coming.

Luka tucks his hands behind his back just in case.

"I'm not sure, I have Harriet to worry about..." he fumbles, rushing to think of excuses. It hurts his heart a little when he sees the disappointed expression Clover wears.

"Are you sure?" she asks, her tone gentle. "It'll only be a for a couple of hours - I could ask Cookie next door if she'd be willing to handle your daughter for the night. She's a fantastic sitter, and your daughter would have Mu to play with."

Luka opened his mouth, preparing to turn it down- then closed it again, brows furrowed as he chews over the thought.

Only a few hours... hm. His curse's current time limit was somewhere a little short of eight hours, he was sure. As long as he didn't have to pick up a shift at work, he would have most of his day free to spend out of the motel. An outing to a bowling alley couldn't possibly last eight hours, though he'd... never actually gone bowling before.

"I.... don't know... I've never been bowling, I'll just hold you back-"

"Nonsense," Clover says, waving off his excuse immediately. "MJ and I aren't professionals or anything, Luka - it's just for fun! You've never been?? That means you've gotta try it, at least once. Please?"

...mmh. Luka would be lying if he said he wasn't very tempted. But he had so much to worry about! His daughter, his curse... keeping his job, being able to support the two of them. Not to mention, getting used to his slow camaraderie with Clover and MJ. That sort of outing would throw their friendship into first gear.

"It's ok," Clover interrupts his thoughts, standing back up straight as she grabs a rag and finishes wiping down the counter. "You don't have to come, we just thought... you know, it might be fun. You look like you need some serious time to unwind, dude. All we ever see of you is showing up to work, dealing with customers, then you leave. And hey, if you change your mind, the offer's still open."

Luka curls his fingers, foot tapping the floor in small fidget.

"Well, I'm gonna start closing up the back," Clover says, tossing the rag into a laundry bin next to the employee break room. "I'll see you tomorrow!"

"Wait!"

Clover stops, turning around with the laundry basket.

"What day were you planning to do it?"

What am I thinking?? I can't go on an outing with them!

Unaware of Luka's silent stresses, Clover beams, her smile lighting up once again.

"Saturday! Would that work for you?"

"Mnhg- maybe?" Luka concedes, forcing his own sheepish smile despite his brain screaming No nO this is a bad idea! His mouth continues to run away from him. "Saturday is my errand day - me and Harriet go out for groceries in the morning, and eat out at whatever lunch restaurant she picks. I wouldn't be open until the evening, and Sunday's game day for me and my daughter."

Bad idea, what are you doing?!

"That's perfect!" Clover says, delighted and still not privy to Luka's inner struggle. "If we close the shop at five, we can drive to the bowling alley around 5:30, play a game or two and eat. Should go until about... eight-ish? How's that sound?"

Say no, say NO!

"Sure, sounds fun."

AGH!

"Great!" Clover says, a skip in her step as she lopes off to the back room with the laundry basket. "I'll text MJ to let him know - he's already gone back to his apartment."

"Yeah, I'll uh- I'll text him too," Luka chuckles, scratching behind his head with one hand- and immediately putting a stop to that action, as he feels the points of sharp claws dig at his scalp. Both arms are dropped and tucked behind his back, a big smile on his face. "Gotta give him the full details and everything, haha..."

"No problem- see you!" Clover bids Luka goodbye, waving one hand as she cheerily hauls the laundry bin off into the back.

"Bye!" Luka says, his voice cracking from nerves.

Oh thank god she's gone.

Luka pulls his hands back out into view, and sees the telltale purple staining begin to creep up his flesh. Peck. It was already starting- Clover left just in time. He could already feel the sharp ends of his canines starting to poke into his bottom lip. He didn't have much left of the day in human form- he had to get home right now.

Snatching up his belongings from his locker, stuffing his work apron inside, Luka loops his bag over his shoulder and leaps over the service counter. He missed the rack of sugar packets this time, thankfully, his sneakers squeaking on the tile floor as he bolts out the door. The bell rings as the glass entryway opens and shuts, signaling his departure. Car keys are whipped out of his bag, a slowly deforming finger just managing to push the button to unlock the vehicle as he clambers inside. Just five minutes- he could make five minutes.

The engine of the car roars to life, and Luka zips off out of the employee parking space, trying his best to ignore it as his fingers swell and fuse together, and his eyes reflect golden light in the rear view mirror.

------

MJ's car putters up to outside the bowling alley, fixing his blue-dyed hair with a sigh. Clover, in the passenger seat, drums her hand on the door handle with excitement.

"This is gonna be so much fun," she says, turning to look over her shoulder at the stiff and uncomfortable Luka in the backseat. "I'm so glad you decided to come, Luka- we'll show you the ropes of bowling!"

"Great," the young man says, putting up another shaky smile as his fingers tense around his kneecaps. "Can't wait!"

"That's the spirit," MJ speaks up, giving Luka a quick smile of his own before twisting the key in the ignition. The car's engine dies down, the doors unlocking as MJ shifts the gear into park. "Clover told me you were nervous about hanging out, and that's completely fine by me - if you feel uncomfortable and don't want to stay, just let us know, ok? We'll drive you back to the apartment building, no hesitation."

Luka inhaled deeply, letting out a heavy sigh from the back seat of the car. It felt like his nerves were trying to shake him apart. A glance at his watch-

Was he really going forward with this?

...Yes. He was. As much as Luka worried, Clover had been right. It'd been far too long since he'd taken 'me' time.

Luka puts a hand on the door and pulls the handle, stepping out of the car before he has a chance to psyche himself out.

It's just a couple hours. He still had plenty of time, after his midday outings with Harriet.

Stay calm. You can do this.

The sign above the brick building shines with neon lights, saying 'Pins & Cushions' in bright blue and red. The backdrop is a painting that Luka can swear was painted in the 80s, displaying a bowling ball as it barrels into pins and knocking them askew with a cartoony impact mark.

"Pins & Cushions?" he says aloud, smirking a little bit.

"Kind of silly, right?" MJ speaks up, locking the car behind him with a click. "Sounds more like a sewing parlor than a bowling alley."

"It's because they boasted having cushioned chairs," Clover says, snickering. "You've never been, but most bowling alleys have these awful plastic chairs that hurt to sit on for too long."

"You mean like the chairs in high school?"

Luka's joke earns a quick bark of a laugh from Clover.

"Couched seating areas in a bowling alley was, sadly, a craze that never caught on," MJ says, ascending the concrete steps up to the building. "But this one did, and the place is like forty years old and too stubborn to change, so your butt will thank you later."

When the doors open, Luka is immediately washed with a cocktail of smells he didn't think could- nor should- ever go together. First and foremost is the thick smell of plastic and rubber, followed by the chemical odor of cleaning sprays, and the sizzling smell of burning cheese. Air conditioning blasts them from above as the three young adults enter the bowling alley, the doors sliding shut behind their backs. The sounds hit next - a cacophonous mix of rubber soles squeaking on polished floors, heavy objects falling and rolling, and the clatter of pins falling into the trap at the far end of the establishment.

It was loud, smelled strange, and the carpet looked lifted straight out of an arcade.

Luka was torn between anxiety, and a strange sort of excitement he hadn't felt in a long, long time. This was something new, something unfamiliar- he had hours to enjoy himself, and spend time not worrying about stresses of life. Harriet had a sitter, paid in advance with an alarm for when he would return, and he was out with- friends? Had him accepting this invitation solidified their friendship at this point? ...the thought made a happy butterfly flutter in his stomach.

This would be a great evening, he could feel it.

"Earth to Luka." MJ's amused tone causes Luka to jump. "Something on your mind? You're smiling."

"Oh- uh- nothing," Luka says, scratching behind his head sheepishly. "Just- thanks. For inviting me. I think I really did need this a lot."

"YEAH you do!" Clover thumps him on the back with one hand. "Come on! You have to give your shoes to the clerk so they can give you your bowling shoes."

"Ah, what? I have to take off my shoes on this carpet?" Luka complains, lifting a foot with distaste. "I feel like I'm stepping on twenty-year-old candy."

"It's part of the charm!" Clover sings, already removing one of her sneakers. "It's either this, or slip all over the place on the actual alley floor. You're getting the full bowling experience whether you like it or not, coffee boy."

"Ex-CUSE me!" Luka says with a dramatic gasp, hopping on one foot as he works to remove his own shoes. "I think you will find I'm a coffee man, thank you."

"Coffee twink," Clover counters.

"No, that's MJ."

"HEY! I will call lion's share of the tips for that one," MJ shakes a sneaker at them both in a mock scolding gesture.

"YOU'RE BOTH COFFEE TWINKS," Clover declares to the entire establishment as she fights off her last sneaker, racing for the counter before the others can catch up. "HURRY UP, COFFEE TWINKS, WE NEED TO PICK OUT BOWLING BALLS."

"I have dibs on the galaxy patterned one!" MJ yells after Clover.

Clover gives MJ an evil grin as she takes her bowling shoes and pays the rental fee, tying them before sauntering over to the racks of bowling balls. Her hand hovers over the selection, giving a teasing pause over the bowling ball made with swirled star plastic.

"Don't you dare," MJ hisses from the counter, pointing an accusing finger at Clover as he hands over the money for both his and Luka's rental shoes.

"It's either the tips share, or the bowling ball! You decide!" Clover yells back, drumming her fingers on the coveted starry bowling ball.

"Fiiiiine," MJ says with a dramatic tone, though his smile gives away his mirth. "You know I wasn't going to take the tips anyway, Clo."

"I know~" she says, giggling while she moves on to a different rack of bowling balls. "And you know I wouldn't do that to your poor weak arms, either, Moonie."

Luka finishes tying his rental shoes, thanking MJ before he makes his way down the small stairway to the alleys. It's very bright in this section of the building, with cushioned couches surrounding tables and standing consoles. Metal railings and a chute of some kind were positioned at each alleyway, some with bowling balls sitting idle atop the metal racks.

"So, what now?" Luka asks, the excitement of wading into unknown waters welling in his chest again.

"Pick a bowling ball!" Clover says, gesturing to the racks of heavy plastic spheres. "You'll want a heavy one, but not too heavy for you to lift and throw."

"Go easy on us, Clover." MJ shakes his head as he picks up his favorite starry ball. "Ms. Gun Show and her fourteen-pound bowling ball."

The redhead leans over and scoops up a swirled green bowling ball, hefting it on one arm and pumping it like a weight.

"You might get some guns yourself if you helped me landscape and move sod around my garden, Coffee Twink #1," she says, flexing a bicep.

"I refuse to acknowledge that nickname."

"Sorry, it's our team name now," Clover laughs, "the Coffee Twinks!"

"Hey, I thought our team name was the Comets?!"

"That was before Luka joined the team - now it's a 2-to-1 twink majority, I don't make the rules."

Luka just has his face in his hands, laughing through the whole exchange as he leans on the metal racks.

"You're just as bad as Harriet!" Luka laughs, pushing his hair back out of his eyes with one hand. "I don't even know where she learned that word - Cookie's daughter, probably?"

"Definitely," MJ says with a thousand yard stare, earning more laughter from Luka. "Go pick a bowling ball, I'll get the console up and running for our game."

Wiping tears from his eyes, chuckling under his breath, Luka turns to the racks and peruses the selection. The bowling balls come in all colors - most are black or dark brown, but there's a rather delightful mix of brighter hues like pink, blue and yellow. Some are marbled, some have glitter in the plastic, and a few very beat-up bowling balls have graphics of cartoon characters that were popular in the 90s. Well-loved by the children who patronize this establishment, he was sure. Harriet would love the Scooby-Doo ball - oh no wait. The one themed after a Pokeball, for sure was her poison of choice. And clearly the pick of the litter for many other children, as it was covered in scratches and dents from decades of use.

Ah- there was one themed after a jack-o-lantern! How fitting. He loops his fingers into the grip holes of the bowling ball, and heaves it off of the rack- only to almost crush his toes as the weight yanks his arms to the floor.

That was- heavier than expected!

"Oooooh, nice pick," Clover says, spinning her own bowling ball in her hands. "You sure you can carry it, though? That's a 10-pounder."

"I'll be fine-" Luka says, grunting as he lifts it back up with both hands this time. "Just- caught me off guard, is all."

"Alright, game's all set," MJ announces from the console.

Above their heads, a large tube television flashes blue before displaying a score board.

A loud k-chunk k-chunk k-chunk of machinery draws Luka's eye toward the other end of the alley. Metal rigging and machinery descend from the covered roof of the pin trap. Resembling a large soda crate, the rig drops an array of ten white bowling pins, before unclamping and ascending back into the darkness of whatever creation of god resided in that ceiling.

"You're up first, Clo," MJ says, waving a hand to indicate she should move forward.

"Watch and learn," Clover throws Luka a smile, the competitive taunt dampened by her genuinely helpful tone. "You want to throw the ball so it rolls like this-"

Stepping forward onto the squeaky, smooth polished wooden platform, Clover lifts her bowling ball to her chest. With a quick inhale, she lopes forward two steps, swinging her arm back with the bowling ball, before reeling it forward on the last stride and underhand throwing it into the aisle. The heavy green bowling ball lands with a tHDD before skidding its way down the oiled track, rolling in a long, smooth line. The swirled green sphere smacks into the bowling pins with a loud tHWAKK!!, sending all but one of the pins flying into the darkness beyond. The ball disappears into the hole, and Clover puts her hands on her hips with a huff.

"Damn, almost got a strike." Clover snaps her fingers, shrugging. The green bowling ball clatters back up the chute. She grips her fingers into the trio of holes again, and goes for another throw.

The bowling ball rolls down the course, straight as an arrow for the last pin. The pin spins off the wooden platform into the darkness, earning a whoop from Clover.

"Nice, got a spare!" Clover declares, throwing her arms up in triumph. She sashays her way back to the couches. "Who's up next?"

"I'm up," MJ says, standing from the console. Looping his fingers into his own starry bowling ball, MJ rolls his shoulders and steps up onto the oiled wooden planks. "I'm going to get the first strike of the day, just wait."

"Sure you will," Clover snickers as MJ winds up.

When he releases the ball, it rolls at very high speed- before curving halfway down the track, the topspin he put on the ball causing it veer off course and land in the gutter.

Face flushed, MJ coughs into his hand, suddenly very invested in fixing his shirt as Clover grins. The galaxy ball returns to the trough, and MJ pointedly picks it up again, winding up for his second throw. The bowling ball rocks down the course, and knocks over about six pins, leaving a corner of the triangle still standing.

"Woo!" Clover cheers, clapping as MJ returns to the seating. She reaches over and nudges Luka on the shoulder. "You're up, Luke! Show us whatchu got!"

Heart in his throat, Luka stands from his seat and steps up.

The bowling ball grins up at him, daring him to chicken out. It was heavy in his hand. Still, he walked up onto the polished floor, feeling the rubber on the bottom of his shoes as it grips the oiled surface.

Fighting the weight of the heavy bowling ball, Luka takes a step forward, swinging his arm back before bringing it back around like a pendulum. The ball hits the track with a heavy thDD as it’s released, sent rolling off down the track. Around the halfway point, it spins off course and lands in the gutter with a clunk.

“Aww,” Clover says, leaning over the chair cushion. “And you had such good posture, too.”

“It’s ok,” MJ speaks up, seeing Luka’s visible embarrassment. “It’s your first time bowling! Nothing to be ashamed of. You have another shot before we rotate players.”

Disappointed, Luka rubs at his arm. Well, that was a less than encouraging performance. But he noticed the angle of the spin on the ball. Maybe he could fix that.

The ball clatters up the chute back into the return trough. Luka picks it up with a huff of breath, holding it to his chest as he does mental calculations. If he turned his wrist at just the right point...

Stepping forward, Luka swings back and releases the ball, putting a top spin on the ball at the last possible moment-

The jack-o-lantern face rockets down the alley, the path straight until the very last second. It curves to hit the front pin from the side, knocking every single pin into the abyss beyond.

"OHHHHH!" Clover and MJ exclaim, clapping with enthusiasm as Luka looks stunned.

"You got a strike!" Clover says, applauding with a big grin. "You were totally pulling our legs about being a newbie to this, huh??"

"I think I just got lucky," Luka tries to play it off, feeling an uncommon shyness as he smiles.

Clover shakes her head, not having it.

"Luck nothing! That was pure talent, and you got a strike, dude!"

"Technically that was a spare, but still a strike in my book," MJ says as he rotates the turn order on the console, giving Luka a smile and a thumbs up.

"Oh let him have it, Moon Moon," Clover laughs as MJ throws her a pout. "Our new boy's got game!"

Luka hunches his shoulders, an awkward smile curling across his cheeks as he walks back over to the couches. Clover jumps to attention and makes her way to the track, picking up her green bowling ball for another round as he sits down.

This was... much more fun than he had expected it to be. The background noise of the bowling alley was surprisingly pleasant. He found he could get used to the dull odor of plastic and cleaner- and honestly, that hot cheese smell from what must be the pizzeria was tempting his stomach. But best of all was the camaraderie he could feel sparking between him, Clover, and MJ. Were they officially friends now? Or had they been already, and he was just- in denial? If Luka was entirely honest with himself, probably the latter. MJ and Clover had been nothing but kind and understanding, to him. His sporadic hours and excuses had done nothing to faze them with regards to their treatment of him at work. They still offered him drinks and invited him on this outing, offering even to pay for his expenses, didn't they?

"Hey Luka!" A call from MJ breaks him out of the small reverie. "You're up, again."

"And after this round, we can hit the arcade! I bet I can out-dance you on DDR, Coffee Twinks," Clover smirks.

"No betting. I know you can."

Maybe- maybe he had nothing to worry about.

---

The evening is going fantastic.

The first bowling game had been a pretty close match between Luka and Clover. Clover had the arm strength to pull off some mean and fast throws, but Luka had developed a system. Figuring out how to spin the bowling ball just the right amount had made up for his noodle arms and less weighty bowling ball. It wasn't long before he figured out how to roll a pretty straight record of spares and strikes, with the occasional 7-10 split. After bowling around, they went into the arcade section, with an entire paper roll of quarters to blow on games. A vicious Ms. Pacman multiplayer match had led to MJ smoking all three of them, and as predicted, Clover out-danced both of the boys on the DDR and Stepmania machines. Luka had to collapse over a nearby chair with exhaustion after his matches. He'd finished off the arcade run with a very lucky pull from a claw machine, winning a black cat plush with big yellow eyes that he was definitely going to enjoy giving to Harriet.

The three of them sat around their table at the bowling console again, laughing over a hot cheese and pepperoni pizza.

"No way, you didn't!" Luka gasps, wheezing for air.

"I did! I punched his goddamn lights out!" Clover laughs, slapping one knee. "The guy was being a huge creep, so I introduced him to my fist."

"I hope you didn't get in trouble with the cops or something for that." Luka tilts his head, giving her an impressed and worried look.

"Can't get in trouble if nobody reports it," MJ chimes in, smirking past his soda cup. "He complained to me, but I had the security tapes AND plausible deniability because I wasn't on the floor. Corporate took our side on this."

"Nobody from the city wants to drive all the way out to podunk Subcon for a random dudebro's complaint." Clover sits back on her cushioned seat, chomping into her pizza happily. "Mmmmm- delicious melty cheese."

Luka chomps into his own pizza, exhaling and blowing on it as it nearly burns his mouth.

"Easy, tiger!" MJ smirks around his own mouthful of pizza.

"I know, it's just so good," Luka says, laughing into his hand as he sips some of his cola. "But in like- the way you know it's not that great? Does that make sense?"

"Night in the Woods taught me the Pizza Scale, and I stick by that," Clover says, crunching through her crust to grab up another slice, washing down the bread with some soda. When she reaches for another piece of the pie, she pauses, and lets out a huff. "Oh, that sucks. I guess they didn't clean the bowling balls that well this time. Gross."

"Hm?" Luka says through a mouthful of pizza.

"Your fingers are all oil-stained from the finger holes on the bowling ball, Luka. Big Al needs to wash the bowling balls properly."

Confused, the law student shifts his attention down.

The ends of his fingertips are discolored with ebony purple.

Luka can feel as his brain zeroes in on the first sign of his impending transformation, and begins to shift into emergency mode as it relays the steps he must take in order to avoid further exposure. He'd gone over this information with himself many times over the past five years. It was ingrained in his mind, what he had to do, the information practically screaming at him. But he can't hear it. His ears are filled with buzzing as reality breaks into the facade he'd slowly built up over the course of hours.

No-

No no no-

His pizza slice drops to the paper plate as he fumbles with his bag, pulling out the cell phone from the liner pocket. Shaking fingers tap the screen with frantic speed, trying to turn the damn thing on-

9:17?

They'd been here nearly four hours?!

He'd spent the morning out with Harriet, doing their grocery shopping and walking around the town's outdoor mall as much needed father-daughter time. Eight hours of being in disguise had long since passed.

His time limit was up.

This couldn't be happening. Yet the numbers stare back at him from the glare of his cell phone screen. They even have the nerve to tick over to 9:18 right before his eyes.

This wasn't happening. This wasn't happening! It wasn't fair!

"Luka, you ok? You're turning pale..."

Clover's question just barely manages to pierce the haze, causing Luka to jolt in his seat. Posture stiff and breath shallow, he lifts his head to meet Clover's questioning eyes. She's staring at him with building concern, her smile becoming a frown of worry.

The tension is palpable in the air as Luka struggles to find words. Finally, he manages to say something.

"It's- it's a quarter past nine-"

"Oh shoot-" Clover says, sitting up abruptly as she grabs her own phone.

MJ checks his watch, wincing. "Oof. Sorry, Luka. I guess we lost track of time passing. I'll apologize to Cookie for the overtime, we can finish this round and go-"

"Don't feel good- going to the bathroom-" Luka wheezes, scrambling to his feet as he scoops all of his belongings into his bag and races past MJ's seat.

"Luka!" Clover yells after him, her heightened concern audible in her voice. "Ok, we'll- we'll start cleaning up! Let us know if you need-!"

Her words are cut off by the slam of the bathroom door. Luka's bowling shoes slip over the slick tile floor, his hands gripping onto the cold porcelain of the bathroom sink to steady himself. He brings his shaking hands up to view in the mirror. The blackening purple skin was spreading up his finger joints, reaching his palms.

No- not now! Why now?

Luka clenches his fists and his jaw, focusing every ounce of his will on making the purple go away. He can almost feel a vein pop on his forehead- if he still had veins, anymore- as he strains to make his unwilling body follow his desires. The purple starts to recede at a caterpillar crawl... but it slows. And the harder he tries, the more he can feel his arms struggle to hold their shape - becoming less solid.

"No- no!" he whimpers, clenching his hands into the sink again. The action splatters small droplets of purple sludge against the porcelain, which vanish moments later as the purple staining once more consumes his fingers - and now his palms. "Stop it! Just- let me be human! Please!"

He lifts his head to the mirror. Despair fills his gut as he sees amber eyes staring back at him in the reflection, and the beginnings of an inner glow fighting to come out from the back of his throat.

Luka lets out a wordless sound of sorrow, lifting an arm to pound one fist against the mirror in vain. The reflection is unfazed in its destitution, tears beginning to gather at the edges of its eyes and mouth set into a sob of clenched teeth. The reflection's canine's lengthen several inches as the eyes stare back, accusingly. The purple was starting to spread up its neck, just poking out the collar of the shirt.

"No..."

This wasn't him. But it had been, years ago. This was SUPPOSED to be him.

He curls his fist, watching as the fingers start losing their shape. Fusing together, becoming single digits and his thumbs vanish back into the purple sludge of the limb.

"I was finally-..." Luka whimpers, "...I finally felt human again."

-bang bang bang-

The sound of a fist knocking on the bathroom door causes Luka to yelp and jump back from the mirror.

"Luka? You ok in there?"

It was MJ.

Peck!

Grabbing his bag, Luka books it into the furthest stall of the bathroom. He slams the metal door behind him, fumbling to lock it with his swelling mitten fingers. Alarm shot through his gut as his shirt felt tight around his torso. Already?? This was faster than usual! Had he really pushed it that much?

"Hey man, are you sick? Clover and I are really concerned. Do you need any help in there?"

"NO! NO I'M GOOD!" Luka yells from the bathroom stall, clapping a two-fingered hand over his mouth as he hears the slight reverb echo to his own voice. Dammit! "I'M JUST- I'LL BE FINE!"

He was not fine, he would most certainly not be fine!

"Luka, you sound croaky." It was Clover this time, probably a short distance behind MJ. "Dude, are you sure? MJ, maybe you should go in and check on him-"

"NO!"

No, the reverb was stronger!

"Luka, I'm coming in."

"MJ it's fine!"

Luka could hear the seams of his shirt starting to stretch and strain. The seconds were ticking by as strings started to pop at the neck.

Shit, shit!

Luka turned left and right, the stall cramped and uncomfortable as the ruff of fur around his neck thickens and threatens to burst his shirt open. He needed a way out!

Aha! A small window, to the outside! Wow, that was probably the worst location for a window. And it was so small-

The door creaked as MJ started to turn the handle.

NO TIME!

Luka makes a dive for the window. His fingers catch on the sill, and he hauls his body up onto the tiny ledge, his head pushing up the glass and emerging out into the open air. Squeezing through the narrow space, he struggles to pull his feet through, kicking off the bowling shoes and hearing them clatter to the tiles below.

The door comes unlatched, and MJ enters the bathroom, looking around with a frown.

Luka was gone. And for some reason, his bowling shoes were abandoned on the questionably cleaned bathroom floor.

Just outside the window, tucked next to the wall of the alleyway outside the bowling alley, Luka is panting with adrenaline. He can feel his chest expand further with each breath, the fur mane around his neck already splitting apart his shirt. His fingers had fully lost their human shape by now, coalescing back into the familiar mitts he hated so much. A reminder that, no, he wasn't human. No matter what those people in the bowling alley thought of him, and what he thought of them in return... no matter how much he wanted to be human, again.

"Luka?"

His entire torso now fully drenched in purple, Luka hangs his head, listening as he fights to strip off the shirt suffocating him.

Footsteps, in the bathroom.

"...Luka? What the-... Clover, he's not here?"

"What?? But he- went into the bathroom! He was just-!"

"His shoes are here..."

"His shoes??"

Luka forces himself to stand, wobbling a bit further away from the window as he focuses all of his efforts on keeping his legs. He can't lose his ability to walk, not in the middle of town!

God dammit... god dammit! Why couldn't he just enjoy his night? Now he was wandering alleyways, half transformed, and MJ and Clover were no doubt worried to hell and back. What could he even say? 'Sorry, had to take a break to wolf out in the bathroom'?

-brrring brrring-

The buzz of the phone in his pants pocket- which was getting tight against his waist, he noticed. Luka quickly extracts the phone before it can be damaged by the fabric.

MJ's caller ID stares back at him from the screen.

The decision to trust these two with his information was biting him in his rapidly purpling behind. He'd been so careful not to slip up, and the ONE TIME he makes a mistake... He had another decision to make. He could not respond, and just be a complete asshole, but he could protect his secret a little safer, for just a little bit longer. Or he could pick up, and... he didn't know. Bullshit something? Would they even believe whatever malarkey he could cook up in seven seconds for bailing out of a bowling alley restroom? God, he was terrible at improvised excuses! He was a lawyer, not an actor! But if he answered the phone call, maybe- maybe he could hold on to that feeling again. The warmth of companionship of peers his age, that he hadn't felt since law school. Since... Vanessa. But he couldn't think about her right now. What mattered was his safety- his daughter's safety.

Peck. He didn't even think about that part. Could he really rip Harriet out of a somewhat stable home life, again? She was just starting to get along with Cookie's daughter, and he didn't want to take that precious first friendship from her.

Luka was only pulled out of the downward spiral by the vibration of the phone, which he only now realized had registered a missed call, and was now on the second call. It was still MJ, the picture of him in his Horizon employee cap still smiling from the bright phone screen.

He had to do something. He could feel his legs protest the form they was struggling to hold.

Survival instinct set in. First, he had to get away from the scene.

Stumbling to his malforming feet, Luka jogs away from the alley, ducking away from the Pins & Cushions and avoiding the bright neon sign on the side of the building.

As he walks, a headache hits, and Luka just knows his face was losing more of his familiar features. Didn't need a mirror to know that he was definitely the shade of a bruised plum, and that his eyes were glowing like gold beacons. The sharp teeth at the edges of his mouth were digging into his bottom lip as he dodges and weaves to avoid line of sight from storefront apartment windows.

The woods were so close by, just a few more blocks.

Faster. He had to run faster. But his legs- were fighting him! Already he could feel his steps become lighter, movement more fluid. It was a struggle to keep a walking stride, rather than just- leap into the air. No way was he going to fly a block from pecking main street.

His phone continues to vibrate, threatening the call to drop.

Right when he reaches the sidewalk, Luka pants for breath, collapsing beside the pole for a street lamp while avoiding the amber spotlight. Taking one last rueful look at his phone, he sighs, and presses the answer button with a doughy purple finger.

"Luka?" MJ's voice patches through. The reception isn't great, but it's sufficient. Maybe that was a lucky break, considering what his voice was going to sound like in a second.

"Hey," Luka answers. Yep. He sounded like a toad that swallowed a brass tube. "Sorry- about that."

"Dude, are you ok?? Where did you go?" MJ spoke so quickly it almost interrupted Luka, concern clear and evident in his voice. "You ran or something and- you left your shoes at the counter, and the cat plush for your daughter. Clover got them for you-"

"It's ok," Luka says, wincing. "I can pick them up tomorrow. I- don't feel well, and I have to go get Harriet."

"Luka, we could have driven you home for that," MJ responds, a hint of hurt and confusion. "You know you can tell us if you're uncomfortable, and want to leave, right?"

"No- this- I was having fun," Luka responds, cupping a hand over his mouth to try to muffle the echo. He had to wrap this up. His voice was getting less natural by the second. He really hoped the poor reception would mask it. "Look- I'm sorry MJ. But I really had to go."

"You're not getting kidnapped or something are you?" Clover's distant voice suddenly patches through in the phone. MJ must have his phone on speaker. "Because if you are, I'll hunt them down! Just yell where the car is taking you!"

"I'm not- look, I'm sorry, but I just had to go, ok?" Luka says. "Harriet needs me."

"I thought you were feeling sick?" Clover says, her worried tone now tinted with... suspicion. "You ran to the bathroom, and we were all worried about you, dude." Her voice becomes just a bit distant, as she turns to speak to MJ, but the phone picks it up. “Actually, did we ever hear anything from Cookie...?”

"No- I am-" Luka can feel his lies crumbling, nearly becoming true as he experiences a sensation similar to his stomach heaving from the anxiety. "Thanks for the wonderful evening, I'll pick up my stuff later- bye!"

"Wait-!!"

-click-

MJ's protest is cut off, and Luka set the phone down on the grass, putting his head in the other hand. That was terrible. But he couldn't back out on it now. He would just have to deal with the consequences of that phone call tomorrow.

Not like having shoes or not bothered him, anyway.

Exhausted and resigned, Luka slides away from the lamp post into the chaparral, and begins rapidly pulling his shirt over his head. No way was he going to lose another shirt, not after the last one. This was his last nice shirt, and he intended to keep it as long as possible!

A quiet gasp jolts him out of his frantic folding.

Luka whips around, shirtless, half de-pantsed, and his body a full shade of deep shadow purple. His golden eyes glow in the reflected street light as he freezes on the spot, making eye contact with another human being across the road. It was the stocky mustachioed man from the coffee shop- the regular who came by and sketched quietly in a corner. Pinstriped suit- which seemed to be the only outfit anyone ever saw him wore- an apron, and grey khaki pants. The thick glasses would make it difficult to tell where he was looking, if the man wasn't standing with his square jaw hanging down at his chest, head angled directly toward Luka. Everyone dismissed him as a paranoiac, a hermit who stopped by for his morning caffeine fix and quiet atmosphere to indulge in his imagination. Rumors flew that he used to work for some sort of tabloid magazine, and was fired- or promoted?- for how crazy his stories were.

Whatever the reason, this man was now standing, groceries dropped to the pavement, and staring at Luka. A very half-naked, absolutely not human-looking Luka.

Face suddenly burning hot with embarrassment and fear, Luka grabs his belt loops and bolts into the trees.

The movement causes the man to only gape more, making a wordless noise of astonishment before the forest breaks their line of sight and Luka retreats into the safety of the woods. Luka just barely remembers to grab his shirt and belt from the bushes. Vanishing entirely from sight, stumbling over debris as his transformation takes full hold of his body, Luka wheezes as his heart beats in his chest. After all that, he was seen! Peck! Did he just ruin everything because he wasn’t paying attention? But- but it was just the local hermit, the resident conspiracy nut. That wouldn’t be so bad, right? This wasn’t as catastrophic as being spotted by a teen with a cell phone open. Surely, this was the safest possible person in town to accidentally spot him mid-transformation. Repercussions would be minimal.

Thank god the man didn't have a camera.

[garbagevanfleet]

Brightest Blue (series)

PART FOUR

Pairing: Josh x reader Warnings: some sexual tension and light flirting. Summary:  Things are changing. New state. New school. New roommate. You just pray things are going to click into place. Notes: Meet your roommate’s brother, Jake. Charming, right? Thank you as always to the loves of my life, @lantern-inthenight and @myownparadise96. They’re the best editor and inspiration respectively. 

MASTERPOST

taglist: @valleyd0ll @satingrass-maidensfair @guitarfingers @thebohemianpenguin @peaceisouranthem @oblvions @hansonobsessed

@bigblack-catattack @myownparadise96 @lara-gvf @anditsmywholeheart @kill-fear-the-power-of-lies​

The weekend had come with the prediction for cooler weather. You had complained about it on the couch as you brought up the weather app on your phone. He had quickly reminded you that 62 degrees was not cold. Not even chilly, by Michigan standards, but that’s just about the coldest it ever got back where you were from. 

It had been a tradition for Josh to put in a DVD of cartoons on Saturday morning, and you had to admit, you kind of liked it. It was one of the many things he did that was delightfully soft. He didn’t ever seem to take himself too seriously, which you had been guilty of for nearly your whole life. He was really beginning to remind you of the lighter side of life, and you couldn’t say that you minded. 

After breakfast, you sat on the opposite end of the couch as him, reading what parts of your presentation you had put together. 

“The content is good so far, but you’re still not looking up from your paper.”

You chanced a glance up at him, giving a defeated look. “I’m nervous,” you admitted, setting your notebook down in your lap. 

“It’s just me,” he assured, placing a hand over his chest. “You just have to make a connection with your audience.” 

You gave him a frown, reaching up to anxiously tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “How?”

“Well,” he started, leaning across the couch. He wrapped his finger and thumb around your chin and tilted your head up until you were looking straight at him. You wanted to laugh, but you had a feeling it would come out sounding nervous. “It helps to improve your posture, first off. You want to be straight but not rigid, so let’s loosen up a bit.”

He mimicked shaking out the tension, so you followed suit, trying to be more fluid. You hadn’t noticed how tight you were before.

“And think about this presentation in the context of ‘I have information that will be really valuable to these people’.”

You groaned, curling your knees up to your chest and setting your chin on them. “It seems like it comes so effortlessly to you.” 

He gave you a little smile, raking his teeth across his bottom lip absently. “Well, it doesn’t. Confidence comes from yourself, yah know? It’s all about tricking people into believing that they should like you and want to listen to you. Humans are weird that way.”

You gave a hum, nodding. It all sounded good in theory.

“The next time you read me this paper, pretend that you’re a top executive at an important company and you’re trying to convince me about the importance of your subject.”

You couldn’t help but crack a smile. “Oh, you wanna role play?” 

He snorted, giving you a playful eye roll. 

+++

On Sunday, you had planned to do chores - you had even started a little calendar for you two to follow. This week it was supposed to be your turn to do laundry, but since you weren’t anywhere near close to finishing your paper, Josh had graciously offered to switch chores so you wouldn’t have to leave the house. You had sent him out with two full baskets of laundry, indescribably grateful that you wouldn’t have to brave the cold. 

After taking a relaxing shower, you were posted up in your room, absently tapping the eraser of your pencil against the side of your notebook as you reread through a paragraph in your textbook. You went to jot down a note when a knock on the door caused you to jump a bit. 

As you made your way to the living room, you had assumed it must just have been Josh, not able to grab out his key while juggling all of the laundry too. You had told him to message you when he was leaving the laundromat so you could help him, but he wasn’t the best at following instructions. 

As you swung the door open, your body went rigid, because standing before you seemed to be a clone of your roommate, except his long, silky looking hair fell around his shoulders and over his chest. Some of the slopes of his face were a bit off too, and his outfit seemed to be one of the very last things Josh would ever wear.

You opened your mouth to say something, but not a single word came to mind. Instead, you opted to reach up and pull the towel from your head, letting your damp hair slip down around your face. 

His eyebrows raised at you expectantly, a humored smirk playing across his lips. 

“Uh, hey,” he offered. “Josh here?” 

You broke your eyes away from him, shaking your head. “No, sorry, he went to do laundry. You must be his brother.”

He nodded at you as you stepped out of the way for him to enter. “You must be his new roommate.” 

“Newish,” you agreed, raking your fingers through your locks and trying to make it look slightly more put together for company. “Can I get you some coffee?” 

“That sounds great,” he agreed, shooting you a smile. 

You were sitting in the living room with him, chatting easily about school when Josh fumbled his way through the door, his frame hidden behind a stack of laundry baskets. You rushed over to help him, setting your mug on the coffee table. Once the top basket was out of his arms, he was easily able to set the other one down on the hardwood. 

“Okay, it’s all done except I didn’t fold anything.”

“Uh, that’s fine,” you laughed breathlessly. “We have company.”

His eyes flicked up to Jake’s form, sitting- no, lounging- on the couch. He was practically melted into the worn cushions, and his ease made you a little envious. He seemed like the kind of person that never looked out of place.

 “How’s it going?” Josh asked as he stood from his bent position. 

Jake shrugged in return but paired it with a smile that told you all you needed to know about how it was going. “I just wanted to get my wallet back.”

“Oh, shit, right.” Josh disappeared into his room, and the sound of him talking himself through where he put it was clearly audible in the living room. When he returned it to Jake's waiting hand, he gave a half-hearted apology. 

“Why did you have his wallet?” you chanced through a suspicious smile.

He rubbed at the back of his neck sheepishly, his cheeks suddenly taking on a flushed tone. “I, uh. Had a lot to drink at that party the other night and mistook it for mine.”

“Even though they look nothing alike,” Jake chimed in cheekily before continuing on in a more genuine tone than you’d heard him use thus far. “It was nice to see you having a good time though.”

You had been amusedly watching Josh react to the ribbing until the last bit of Jake’s comment. His features leveled out instantly, slipping from the obvious enjoyment of attention to something more somber. 

In an effort to turn the tide, you stood and gestured toward the kitchen. “Jake, did you want to stay for lunch?” 

He shook his head at you politely. “I have plans in a bit, but could I take a rain check?” 

“Of course,” you agreed. The goodbyes were simple and didn’t drag on, and as soon as Jake was gone, Josh cocked his head at you.

“So. What’s for lunch?” 

You snorted a laugh at him, having expected something more informatory. “I’m not sure. What would you like?” 

“Should I make us some salad or something?” 

You shook your head at him, giving him a sour look. “No way I’m letting you make lunch - you just did all of the laundry.”

He gave you a bright-looking smile in return, looking pretty pleased for the recognition. “Were you able to get any homework done?”

“Not really,” you admitted with a slight cringe. “Jake showed up as I was getting out of the shower.”

“Ah yeah, he can pop up at really inconvenient times.”

You shot him a smirk over your shoulder as you pulled a head of lettuce from the fridge and started ripping it apart. “I’m going to assume you share that trait as well.”

“Who, me?” he teased, leaning forward onto his elbows on the kitchen counter.

 You paused, unsure how to continue with the question you wanted to ask. 

“Do you and him...have a good relationship?” 

His brows furrowed, his mouth setting into a puzzled line. “Yeah, I think so anyway. Why do you ask?”

You bit your bottom lip, turning to look at him face to face. “It just seemed to get a little tense there at the end.” Your fingers reached up to tuck a lock of your hair behind your ear. “Is there something I should know about?”

He gave you (what you can only assume was meant to be) a reassuring smile as he placed his hand on your shoulder. His skin felt warm against you, even through the fabric of your long-sleeved shirt. 

“There’s nothing you need to worry about.” 

You hadn’t been convinced until you actually looked into his eyes, somehow finding a pleasant warmth in the deep honey color. 

So when you gave him an “okay”, you actually meant it. 

You turned to him again after a moment with a sly look. “Hey, is your brother single?”

Just as you had expected, his eyebrows shot up in a dumbstruck look. You watched him open and close his mouth a few times before he figured out how to speak again, but this time with a smirk. “I mean, he’s always at least kinda single, I think.”

You nodded amusedly. You had gotten that kind of vibe from him as well. 

“Why, are you thinking of moving in on him?” he tried, crossing his tan arms over his chest. 

You feigned a surprised look. “Who, me?” you asked, mimicking what he had said to you just moments before. “Nah, that sounds messy. I’m actually thinking maybe for Kate. She seems like she wouldn’t want anything too serious.”

He lets out a breathy laugh as he nods. “Then she sounds like the girl for him.” 

You hummed contentedly as you let a few olives drop into the salad bowl. “And what if she wants some kind of Romeo to sweep her off her feet and treat her like a princess?” 

Your tone had been as light as a feather but when he smiled wide enough to show you his pearly teeth, it nearly knocked the breath from your lungs.

“Then she sounds like the girl for me.” 

+++

“Okay. So you’re saying he showed up while you were in the shower?” Kate was looking at you with the highest amount of interest you’d seen her give anything thus far. “And...he saw you naked?”

You laughed a little louder than you should have in the semi-quiet classroom. “No, are you even listening to me? It’s not a rom-com, it was just a normal situation.”

“Okay, so. What’s going to happen?” She was still looking at you like she expected you to tell her some grand story.

“Well, I was thinking about giving him your number. Then he could see you naked and you could tell me about it.” You flashed her a cheeky smile to pair with your teasing tone.

She sat back in her chair, wrapping her arms around her frame. Her eyes were fixed on the dark slate of the tabletop, looking like she had a lot to take in. After a brief moment of dragging her teeth over her bottom lip in thought, she replied, “Yes. That seems perfectly acceptable. But then can you also see Josh naked and tell me about it? I have a theory about twins I want to test out.”

You gave her a playful look of disgust. “If that ever did happen - and it would be an accident, if it did - I would definitely not tell you about it.”

She rolled her eyes lovingly at you. “I think you’d be surprised.” 

“With what-” 

Your question was cut off by the boisterous greeting of your professor as he entered the room. She shot you a triumphant smirk after effectively having had the last word. 

As she walked you out at the end of class you asked her, “Do you want to have lunch with us today?” 

“Hmm.” She pretended to ponder it for a moment. “Yes. But do you both want to come with me to Subway instead of eating here?”

You gave her a frown. “I’d love to, but our money is pretty tight.”

She flashed you a smile that made you feel warm and fuzzy as she materialized a black credit card from the pocket of her mom jeans. “My daddy’s buying.”

+++

You had texted Josh to meet you by the D doors on the south side of the building for lunch, and you and Kate waited there until you saw him round the corner. He gave you both a smile and a little wave as he got closer. 

“Kate, right?” he asked, holding his hand out for her to take. “She talks a lot about you.”

She grinned over at you, making you smile awkwardly. “I’ve seen you around at parties, but it's nice to meet you for real. She talks about you a lot too.”

Your eyes widened at that and despite yourself, you could feel your cheeks turning pink. 

“Yes, yes, I’m very fond of the both of you, now can we go?” you asked, trying to appropriately portray your annoyance as you ushered them toward the parking lot. 

“Shotgun?” she asked you as you approach a beat-up sedan. You nodded in agreement and hopped into the front seat. 

As Josh shuffled into the back, he leaned forward between the front seats. “So, you’re buying us lunch?”

“My dad is” she informed, meeting his eyes through the rearview mirror as she started the engine. “He gave me a credit card for emergencies, so I can’t do it very often, but every now and then I’ll treat myself to some takeout and a bottle of nice shampoo.”

You hummed, smiling over at her. “That’s why your hair always looks so nice, huh?”

She flicked it back, but it was short and silky enough that it didn’t catch on her shoulder. “Well, that and genetics. I’ll let you use it if you come sleep over some time.”

“Me too?” Josh teased, earning him an eye roll from her and a huffy laugh from you. 

+++

It was later, back at the apartment, that he finally said something about your lunch experience. The both of you were full from dinner and posted up on the couch, an open textbook on your lap and a notebook off to the side. You were supposed to be working on one of the three chapters you were meant to be taking notes from, but you had been pleasantly distracted watching Penny lazily swim around in her bowl on the coffee table. You found it rather charming that if Josh was in the house the goldfish usually wasn’t too far away from him. 

“Hey,” he started, plucking the pencil from your fingers and laying it along the spine of your notebook.  You met his eyes curiously. “Thank you for inviting me to lunch today.”

You gave him a look. “Of course. I like having you along.”

He smiled down at his hand, rested on top of the blanket between the two of you. 

“She seems like a good friend. You should invite her over here. I can even vacate - leave the apartment for you guys.”

“That is absolutely not necessary. You could be a bro and invite Jake over some time. And if that happens to be when Kate is here then maybe that’s just a happy coincidence.” 

He snorted a laugh. “Wow, you really want that to happen, huh?” 

“Okay, honestly. I half want it because I think he's handsome and they’d get along, and the other half is because I love that their couple name would be Jakate.”

He frowned over at you, eyes squinted. “There’s a lot to unpack there. Firstly, you think he’s handsome? And secondly, why wouldn’t you simplify it to Jate?”

“Hmm. Yes, obviously he’s handsome - I know he’s your brother but even you have to know that.”

He quirked an eyebrow at you but didn’t say anything else. 

“And their full first names fit together so perfectly. Why would you waste that?” 

He smiled as he absently picked up your pencil and drew a tiny circle on your notebook paper. 

After a moment of silence, you asked him, “What was it like growing up here?”

His eyes flicked up to meet yours for only a moment before they were back on his doodle. 

“Well,” he started, tilting his mouth down on one side as he tried to find the correct words. “I didn’t grow up exactly here - about an hour away.”

You smiled at him, prompting him to continue. 

“It was nice. We had a great childhood, a nice home, lots of love and attention.” 

It was quiet for a beat as you watched him draw a smiley face inside of the little circle (facing your way, so it was a little sloppy, but you thought that made it even cuter).

“I’m excited to see snow.”

He looked up at you with an inquisitive grin. “You’ve never seen snow before?”

You shrugged at him. “Only in movies.”

He gave you a breathy laugh. “You’re going to love it,” he promised. “At least for the first couple of days, then it gets old and you start to miss the sun.”

You knew what you wanted to say, but it took you longer than you’d like to admit to work up the courage to get the words out. 

“Being around you is like having your own personal sun.”

[write-out-hysteria]

For You

Goshiki x gn reader fluff

Author’s Note: This is a secret santa gift for @saetyrn9 I hope you like it, Amy!!! And big thank you to @peachiikawa for the idea!

It had been a very long week for you, he knew that. Goshiki may not be the best at cooking, or cleaning, or any other mature activity. But this did not make him oblivious to what you really needed: to be taken care of. As romantic as your boyfriend was, a candlelit dinner at a beautiful seaside venue would not help your stress. You were not up to the task of watering any flowers he could get you.

He didn’t exactly have a plan beyond sneaking into your apartment. I’ve never really cleaned a floor before. They have a vacuum, right? He carefully pulled each of your plants out of their decorative pots, looking for the key that was supposed to be in one of them. The goal was chores, but what chores did you even do? How often are you supposed to clean stuff, anyway? He figured he’d know when he got there. It’s not like you didn’t trust him, you did tell him where the spare key was.

He left his shoes and jacket at the door before walking slowly through your kitchen. What am I supposed to be looking for? He shrugged his shoulders before walking into your room and spotting an overflowing laundry basket. That’s what he assumed was under the pile of clothes, at least. Perfect. Goshiki was very familiar with doing laundry, and the overflowing hamper may have been too much for you right now, but he had all day. He threw the detergent in the hamper and made his way to the communal laundry room.

He started the first wash cycle, sitting down on the bench facing the machines. What now? He set his timer, the lights in the corner of the washer telling him he needed to occupy himself for another forty-five minutes. It smells good in here. He messed with his phone, trying to form a productive thought that would help you more than laundry. He sighed, putting his phone back in his pocket. He put his head in his hands, frustrated, then looked straight ahead. I’ll figure something out. He looked straight ahead at the laundry, spinning, in front of him...

Four hours had passed. They passed quickly, he was very relaxed. He arrived with your dried clothes, prepared to fold in your room. He set the laundry basket on the bed, suddenly realizing he had no clue where anything went. This is starting to feel like an invasion of privacy. He shook his head at the idea to go through all your drawers. I’ll just fold all of it and hope it’s good enough. He got a shirt from the top of the pile, still warm from the dryer.

Actually, he thought, food. He smiled while ordering your favorite, and something for him. They’re gonna be so happy when they get back! He smiled to himself while folding the rest of the clothes until he came across a pair of your underwear. This feels inappropriate. He shook his head again, trying to shoo the thought away. I’ve pulled these off them with my teeth, I can certainly fold them.

“Shit!” He looked at his phone, realizing he hadn’t changed the delivery address to your apartment. He sprinted out of your apartment, shoving your undies in his pocket when he realized he hadn’t dropped them.

He got to his apartment at the same time as the driver, throwing the food in the passenger seat before speeding back. “They better not be back yet.”

You were back, you were about to open the door when Tsutomu ran towards you. “Please, wait in the living room while I finish.”

“Finish what? I want to shower,” he held the door shut while handing you the food.

“Eat before you shower.” Your confused gaze wandered, landing on the striped fabric peeking out of his pocket.

“Without you?” He nodded. “So you can finish stealing my underwear?” You held the food in one hand, pulling your undies out of his pocket with the other. He turned bright red, biting his tongue.

“You’re not going to rile me up! I’m going to finish! I even brought rose petals!” His eyes went wide. “You didn’t hear that!” He opened the door, running to your room and locking the door before you even had a chance to see what was going on in there.

You sat down to eat your dinner, alone, shrugging your shoulders at your boyfriend’s strange behavior, not that it was ever entirely normal. You left your underwear on the counter for him.

About an hour and a half had passed. He finished folding your laundry, placing it back neatly in the basket. He made your bed, before carefully placing the rose petals in a heart shape on the comforter and lighting a few lavender-scented candles. You finished eating an hour ago and put your boyfriend’s food in the fridge. It was clear he was too busy to eat considering all your previous attempts, telling him he could finish working later.

“Hey, baby, I finished!” He smiled while walking over to you and placing his hands on your waist. “Do you want to see?” He was eager to show you, you nodded.

You smiled, intertwining your fingers with his. “I was going to put the clothes away, but I didn’t want to snoop and I don’t know where anything goes. You can tell me where to put it now if you want.” You nodded, sitting at the foot of your bed, about to tell him where everything went.

He laid down next to you, pulling him towards you in a sensual manner, letting his hand wander dangerously low. “Tsutomu?”

“Oh, we don’t have to!” He pulled his hands away. “I’m sorry, I just thought I could help you relax.” He felt embarrassed having misread the situation. “We can just cuddle and watch a movie!” You shook your head, laughing.

“We can do all that too. I just want to ask you something, baby.” He nodded. “So you clean my room, light candles, buy me dinner,” he nodded. “And tomorrow, I’m gonna have to vacuum up all these rose petals?” He frowned, hiding his face in your chest.

“It was supposed to be romantic, babe!” You laughed at his stress.

“That’s okay, just looks like you’ll have to spend the night and finish the job tomorrow.” He grinned devilishly before turning your bodies, leaving you pinned under him as he began trailing kisses down your neck.

“I can do that.”

[kareofbears]

plainly in truth, chapter 3/5

"Without you around, it's sorta like stuff is just kinda...bleh."

—

Or: hiding, confiding, and misguiding.

read on ao3 or below the cut :)

Ryuji grips the letter like it was silver and he was a werewolf in the full moon.

He picks it up, skims over the first line before putting it down beside him, feeling worse every time he does it, only able to read the fine-printed lettering from the flickering lamp post above him. The constant change in light would normally bug him, but he doesn’t really care about it now; it’s not like the words would change in his hand, and he’s long since needed to actually read it to know what it reads.

His feet dangle over the canal, enjoying the way a rush of adrenaline would go through him when he looks down into the deep waters. It’s late enough in the night that even with the city lights around him, he can’t gauge how deep it goes.

Soseikawa Park was only a five minute walk from Odori Park, but with the narrow river and steeped hills, Ryuji found it secluded enough to let himself sit. Breathe. Not exist, even for just a few minutes. It’s like having his own bedroom, except it smells faintly like a sewer and there’s an intersection about ten meters above where he sat underneath the overpass. If he can ignore the never-ending rumble of cars and trucks driving above him, it can almost be considered peaceful.

He lets himself fall back, the grass tickling the back of his neck and his spine screaming in relief. They’re heading out again in two days, which means more days of being in an inescapable RV surrounded by his best friends who are keeping an eye on him because they’re good people who don’t know how to mind their own fucking business.

Idly, he lets his hands pull and brings it to his face—blades of grass. He lets it get taken by the wind. After brief consideration, he shoves the letter back into his pocket before he can do the same thing to it.

He is so tired.

Blindly, he hits the vague area of where his pocket is and fishes out his phone, hitting the first speed dial before he can talk himself out of it. As two rings go by, he stupidly hopes that she doesn’t pick up, as if she hasn’t ever missed a phone call from him even when she’s at work.

The third ring gets cut off halfway through. “Ryu!”

Despite himself, he grins. “Hey, ma. Checking in for the weekly call.”

“I was just thinking about you,” she says, and he can hear the laundry machine run in the background. “I was wondering if you had eaten today.”

“Ma, you ain’t gotta worry about that kinda thing anymore. I’m a big boy now.”

“You’re breaking my heart!” He can almost see her, phone tucked in the crook of her neck, work-worn hands folding her laundry as fast as she can so as to not hold up the next person in line. “It doesn’t matter how big you are, you’re my boy. How can I not think about whether my boy is eating or not?”

“All I’ve done on this trip is eat, ma.”

“Oh, and Akira! How’s that handsome boy doing? Still taking the world by storm?”

That pulls a genuine laugh from him—he never needs to hold back when it comes to talking about Akira, at least. “You know it. He’s the only guy in the world who can stand toe-to-toe with me in chowing down. I swear, he’s slipping some of it under the table ‘cause he’s so damn fast. Forty seconds! Forty seconds to inhale an extra large beef bowl! Blows my mind, seriously.”

“Could never do anything in halves, can he?” she chuckles, before the quality of her voice shifts. “And are you enjoying yourself?”

He hesitates. “Yeah, of course. It’s a roadtrip across Japan, how can I not?”

“Good.” There’s some crackling over the receiver, and he guesses she’s probably adjusting the basket full of clothes on her hip. “That’s all I want to hear. As long as you’re happy, Ryu, I’m a happy old woman.”

Ryuji opens his mouth, ready to console her.

I’m always happy!

You worry too much, ma.

There’s nothing to worry about.

“Sorry, but,” he swallows thickly. “I think they’re calling for me? So—”

“Alright,” she says, and he might be imagining the disappointed tinge to it. “Call back when you can, okay sweetheart? I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” he clears his throat. “I love you, ma.”

“I love you too, Ryu.”

He hangs up, letting the phone slip out of his fingers. It lands hard on the flat grass

For a long moment, he just lays there, listening to the gentle lapping waves and cars honking with impatience of people who have somewhere to be. He tries to meditate for half a minute, with all the information he had learned from a couple of YouTube videos, and gives up, because of course he does. Squeezing his eyes shut, he can’t do anything about the creeping dread that’s in his stomach getting stronger, squeezing and squeezing until he feels sick. It’s like his insecurities are having this huge fight against each other, feeding off of one another until it gets too big for him to handle and all he can do is breathe and try to do something about it.

And he’s fucking sick of it—breathing. He’s sick of the stupid breathing techniques, sick of counting down from ten and waiting for his own heart to chill out because his brain won’t stop reminding him of everything he did wrong, of shit he’s still doing wrong because at least this way, nobody knows what he did was wrong. It’s just him that can point and laugh at himself, and that’s way better than having the world do it for him.

He doesn’t cry, because he’s not a crier. He’s the type of guy to throw a fist through drywood before shedding a tear, and he hates that about himself. Rather than do something that will actually help, Ryuji lays there, perfectly still. Listening. Waiting for a meteor to fall on him, or for the overpass to crash its entire weight on top of him.

Instead, he hears footsteps.

His heart rate slows by a fraction, and opens his eyes to meet gray ones. “Hey.”

“Hi,” Akira says, a smile in his voice. “How did you know it was me?”

Ryuji almost feels offended. He would know Akira by sound alone, the way his heels would click in the Metaverse. The way the balls of his feet would strike the earth, hardly muffled by grass or cheap sneakers or anything else as trivial. Ryuji would know he was there; no matter how blind he was with hatred for himself, his love for Akira would always guide him back to where he needs to be.

“Lucky guess.”

“One hell of a guess.” He plops down onto the grass and Ryuji lifts his head, allowing Akira to wiggle until he could use his lap as a pillow. “Your turn,” Akira says.

“My turn to what?”

“To ask me how I knew where you were.”

“Oh.” He lets his eyes slide shut again. “I kinda just assumed you could do that.”

“You assume too much of me sometimes.”

“I assume the right amount.” Ryuji refuses to shiver when he feels long fingers start to card through his hair. “You’re giving me goosebumps,” he sighs.

“That’s a good thing, I think.” The fingers pull away and he’s about to complain when he feels something gets thrown over his torso. “Here. You always end up forgetting to wear an extra layer when you go out like this.”

Ryuji rearranges Akira’s jacket over himself. “Sap.”

“You know it.” He resumes combing through his hair, and Ryuji lets himself relax, just a little. It’s strange—it’s hard as hell being around other people nowadays, and even though Akira can make him feel that sometimes, mostly it helps the eternal twisting of his stomach to settle.

“You’re good at that,” Ryuji mutters.

“Thank you. I’ve had plenty of practice with Morgana.” And just to make it worse, he uses a little bit of nail on his nape, sending electricity running down all the way to his fingertips.

His mouth twists unhappily. “Don’t do shit like that while talking about the cat, for the love of god.”

Akira does it again, like the little shit he is. “You still have that weird thing with your neck?”

“Quit it!” Ryuji slaps his thigh and he can’t muster much anger when he can feel Akira’s shoulders shake from silent laughter. “You’re not as funny as you think you are.”

“You’re right.” Gently, softly, like the world’s lightest feather, he feels lips brush his temple. “I’m funnier.”

His eyes open, and his entire vision is obscured by curly black hair and tender eyes. “You’re right,” he breathes. “You’re funnier.”

Akira bends down again, and Ryuji catches his lips, overflowing with something soft but unafraid, and it’s so good that Ryuji reaches for his cheek just to make it last a little bit longer.

When they break off, Akira kisses his temple again, this time on the left side. “Do you know what day it is?”

“Uh,” he scratches his head, brain a little fuzzy. “Tuesday?”

“It’s Wednesday, and I meant the date. It’s August tenth.”

“Okay?”

Akira thumbs at his collarbone. “I know this might be a little lame that I know it by heart, but I left Tokyo on March 19th. That would mean it’s been—”

“One hundred forty-four days since you moved away,” he finishes. “I know.”

Akira blinks, and then laughs, and Ryuji knows it’s an especially good one because sound actually comes out this time. “Yes,” he says, elated. “Exactly what I was thinking.”

“I told you dude, we’re really on that telepathy shit.”

“We really are.” A pause. “I miss you.”

He’s about to joke—I’m right here, you big dummy—but find that he just can’t. “I miss you too.”

They can’t say what they mean: I will miss you. Summer vacation doesn’t last forever, and two months will always be a hell of a lot shorter than the rest of the ten months that they’ll be apart. Somehow, he dreads seeing Akira gone, and he’ll dread seeing Akira back in Tokyo because it would mean that he’d actually have to see what Ryuji’s really like. Actively pushing away his best friend just so he doesn’t have to see his failures; doesn’t that just make him the worst piece of shit in the world?

There’s a gap, though. A little loophole. A crack in the timeline. A place where maybe he’s allowed to be a hollowed out version of happy; the now.

“Tomorrow’s our last day in Sapporo?”

“Yeah?” Akira replies, surprised at the change in tone.

“Which means Jail stuff is done, right? All your grocery shopping and Sophia Prime’s been ordered and packed up?”

“Yes,” he says, a lilt in his voice. “It’s all done.”

Ryuji sits up and faces him, reaching for his wrists, relishing in the heartbeat thumping against his palms. “Let’s do something. I don’t care what, but let’s do something. Eat at a diner, go to a museum, rob a bank, whatever.” He runs his thumb along the veins there, long since those bumps have been ingrained in his brain. “Let’s do something, just you and me.”

“Are you asking me out on a date, Sakamoto?” He has a cocky look in his eye, and Ryuji’s half-tempted to kiss him again just to wipe it clean off his face. “You know I’d follow you anywhere.”

He knows. That’s the scary part. Would Akira still follow someone he doesn’t know as well as he thinks he does? “I’ll get us lost,” he jokes.

Akira doesn’t laugh. “I’d rather be lost with you than learn to lose you.”

It’s been ages since he’s been flustered at anything Akira does, but he feels a rush of heat crawl up his neck. “I’ll—” Ryuji shakes his head, willing his embarrassment to go away. “Shit, uh—”

“I’ll pick where to go,” he interrupts, a little too smug for his liking. “I’d say I’ll pick you up at your place, but…”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re a comedian,” Ryuji rolls his eyes. “I’ll be ready whenever.”

“Fantastic.” Akira checks his phone, wincing. “It’s late.”

He grips his wrist tightly. “I know.”

Thankfully, he’s never needed to explain much to Akira. “Okay,” he says softly. “Ten more minutes?”

“Yeah.” He lets his eyes slide shut once more, letting out a breath. The world will keep spinning. His stomach will keep twisting. Time will keep marching on, but at least he has this. “Ten minutes sounds good.”

—

The first words that Futaba says as she enters the RV was: “Oh, hell.”

“Hello Futaba-chan, Yusuke-kun,” Haru greets cheerfully from the booth. “How was your shopping trip?”

“...Fine,” she replies, stepping aside to let him in, lugging a four-foot tall canvas in his arms that accidentally hits the ceiling. “Got a new Featherman action figure.”

“I got a canvas,” Yusuke answers from behind the wall of white. “Though I assume you can see that.”

“I can.” Her smile doesn’t falter, and it’s making the hair on Futaba’s nape rise like a nervous animal. “Quick question, since you both are here…”

Haru pulls a tote bag from underneath the table, and it’s so heavy that when she throws it on the table, her teacup nearly topples over. “Would you like to take a guess of what’s in this bag?”

A billion jokes pop into Futaba’s head, but both of them stay silent, terrified and confused. They both knew this was coming, but they didn’t expect her to be so forward about it.

“I suppose that’s a pretty strange question, I’m sorry. Let me try again.” She reaches in and pulls out thick, heavy textbooks, all brightly coloured and consist of beaming, diverse students on the front cover. “Care to tell me why you were both looking at cram books while we’re on our fun roadtrip?”

Yusuke pushes Futaba aside, eyes on the books and wide with shock. “You bought them?!” he exclaims.

“Wait—” Futaba hops repeatedly, trying to catch a glimpse from over his shoulder. “You bought all of them?”

“Of course.”

“But why?”

She thinks about it for a moment. “Hmm, think about it this way. If Akira’s in charge of the group as a whole, and Makoto’s in charge of the more analytical aspect of things, think of me as a somewhat stern yet loving parent who doesn’t quite know how to mind their own business.”

“I thought that was Ann’s job,” Futaba mutters, heart hammering in her chest.

“Now,” Haru leans forward, and as if to prove her role, speaks in a gentle tone. “I’m not mad at you. That would be ridiculous. But I saw you two looking at these books, and I know how expensive they can be, so I’ll give them to you.”

She blinks. “You would?”

“Absolutely!” Haru smiles wide. “On the condition that you tell me why you need them.”

Futaba and Yusuke exchange a glance, before Futaba makes a T with her hands. “Timeout!” she yells, dragging Yusuke by the collar out of the RV.

“What do we do?” he whispers once the door is shut. “It’s not as if we can tell her.”

“I don’t know, maybe we should?” she pushes up her glasses. “Damn, the things money can buy you. Our vow of silence is getting thrown out the window for two handfuls of yen.”

He looks her dead in the eyes. “I would tell the world my deepest secrets if it meant having lifetime access to a grocery store.”

“Don’t say that, you sellout!”

“I’m not selling out. My art already reveals the deepest portion of my soul, it’s not my fault that the common observers cannot pick up what I’m putting down.” He squints against the setting sun. “She’s waiting. What do we do?”

“Okay, okay, okay, just let me—” her mind whirrs rapidly, and for a second she really feels like Sophia. “Give me a second.”

“I have a suggestion,” he points at her. “If we’re not averse to lying, let’s tell them that you need them for school. You’re struggling with academics, you need a bit of outside help, so we took a look at the textbooks.”

“Good idea! Wait.” She frowns. “They’ll never buy it. Let’s say that you need them.”

“I’m at the top of my class!”

“But they don’t know that!” She balls her fists together, determined. “Okay, let’s do this.”

“I didn’t say yes to this.”

Futaba kicks the door open, making Haru pause wiping her spilt drink mid-stroke. “Inari’s struggling with his classes!”

“I—“ Yusuke stammers. “Yes,” he confirms. “I’m struggling with my classes. They’re mighty indeed, and even I find them difficult. I am...struggling.”

Haru looks at them doubtfully. “Yusuke is?”

“I am,” he answers as Futaba says, “He is.”

“Yusuke,” she repeats, gesturing to the neatly-stacked pile of textbooks on the table. “Is struggling with precalculus?”

They stare at her. “Yes,” Yusuke says, slowly. “I am struggling with previous calculus.”

“Out of curiosity, Yusuke,” Haru scratches her cheek. “Do you know what a parabola is?”

“Of course I do,” he replies with the wisdom of a thousand monks. “It’s a self-contradictory statement.”

“That’s a paradox,” Makoto corrects from the steering wheel.

“What the heck?” Futaba jumps a foot in the air. “Why are you here? Why were you hiding?”

“I like to sit here a few hours before we start another road trip,” she says, before glaring at them. “You two. Does this have to do with Ryuji?”

“T-timeout!”

Futaba makes a beeline to the door again, but Haru’s faster. She slips past them, standing in their way, perfect smile still in place. Sometimes Futaba forgets how strong she is in negotiations; her and Yusuke were probably tutorial levels compared to the upper management of Okumura Foods. “Answer her question, please.”

Yusuke sighs, tired. “You know what you’re asking for, don’t you? If we tell you what’s happening here, it would be breaking the trust of one of our teammates.”

“Yusuke!” Futaba hisses. “Are you really thinking about telling them? It’s not even our secret to tell.”

“No, it isn’t.” He makes eye contact with Makoto. “But she made a point. What would make us better friends: if we kept a secret to the grave while letting him suffer, or tell someone who can help even if it means being some sort of tattletale?”

“But…” she trails off, resolve crumbling. “Dude. It’s going to suck so much.”

“I know.” He pats her head, before moving to Ryuji’s backpack once more. “Don’t worry, I’m willing to take his anger if need be.” Yusuke gestures to the booth. “Everyone, take a seat. It’s about time this finally gets cleared up.”

Smoothing out the envelope in his hand, even more crumpled than when they had it last, he clears his throat, takes one last glance at Futaba to make sure. At her tentative nod, he begins to read its contents in a loud, clear voice.

When he finishes, they sit there, staring at the thick paper in silence.

“Oh my god,” Makoto breathes. “I knew it was bad, but—”

Haru shakes her head. “Not this bad. And he talked about it so much, but we didn’t even…” she glances down at the textbooks, idly rubbing its spine. “I didn’t think much of it.”

“None of us did,” Yusuke says. “But does that make it any better?”

They fall in silence again, but Futaba can hear the answer loud and clear. Hell no.

The door opens forcefully, pulling them out of their stupor.

“What’s up, my beloved friends!” Ann calls, shopping bags in tow. “God, I’m gonna miss Sapporo. Things here are so cheap compared to Tokyo, sheesh!” She sets them down, laughing when nobody says anything. “Jeez, what’s going on? Did I miss something?”

“Ann-chan,” Haru says carefully, all sense of cheer, for intimidation or otherwise, gone. “Take a seat. There’s something you should know.”

—

The Ferris wheel looms over them, blocking out most of the sunset behind it. “Nice,” Ryuji grins appreciatively. “I should’ve seen this one coming.”

“You should’ve,” Akira agrees, tugging him into the open carriage. He goes in willingly. “It was staring at you the whole time we’re in Sapporo. And besides, every romantic movie has a Ferris wheel scene, doesn’t it?”

“Oh yeah? Name one.”

“Death note.”

Ryuji makes a face, and Akira laughs. “Yeah, I know. Bad example.”

It’s a tight squeeze but they sit next to each other, ignoring the bench in front of them. The seats are hot, and even though it’s nearly evening, the heat barely eases up on them. Still, he finds himself pressing himself against Akira. He runs cold, much colder than Ryuji; narrow wrists are ice, prominent collarbones frost.

The two of them lean over the window, pointing out random scenery as if it were the first time they were seeing them. Restaurants, statues. Weird looking cars and flower beds. Decorated high rises and insects that fly by. It’s like they were tourists, or a retired couple who just want to travel the world. He’s never wanted to be old before, but Akira always has a way of making him change his mind.

Like clockwork—Ryuji makes a joke. Akira laughs. His heart feels lighter.

When he finds himself leaning against him, feet up on the bench, Akira wraps his arms around his shoulders unhesitatingly. Ryuji wonders if he can hear the way his heart thuds inside his bones. He wonders if he knows it's for him. The Ferris wheel stops, right at the very top, gently swaying like it were a giant cradle. They’re not very high up, but it’s far enough that he feels like he’s left the entire world behind.

Ryuji presses his lips against those wrists, relishing in the way he can feel the heartbeat increase. “You nervous?”

He can feel his head shake behind him. “I’m happy, I think,” Akira says in a hushed voice, like it was a secret, like it was a sin.

A breeze flows through, and Ryuji closes his eyes when lips press against just below his ear.

Would it be worth it to have a Palace? A Jail? Would it be worth it to lose himself, just to be in this moment for the rest of time?

Carefully, he flips himself sideways, just so he can press more of himself against Akira. The carriage rocks gently, and the metal bench underneath them is sharp and uncomfortable. Arms tighten around him. Chest to back, knee to knee, they couldn’t be closer, but Ryuji leans back, wanting nothing more than to bottle the rhythm of his breathing and the smell of his soap.

I’m happy, too, I think, he wants to say. If we stayed like this for the rest of our lives, until our skin is permanently tattooed into the hot steel and our bones are the only thing they take out of this bench because the rest of us had already rotted, then I’d be pretty damn happy.

Craning his neck backwards, Akira is already staring.

Then he’s kissing him—once, twice, again and again, and Ryuji realizes that something’s different. This wasn’t the kind of kiss he was used to. There was a desperate air to it, an urgent edge from both of them that neither was ready for. Stealing each other’s breath and giving it back; the cycle continues, the clock keeps ticking.

Ryuji pulls himself up, not breaking the kiss, cupping his cheek and soaking him in like a flower to the sun; an endless yearning, like he’d shrivel up and suffocate if it vanished. The sun framed Akira, and for a split second, he feels like he understands what Yusuke sees on a canvas.

When they part, foreheads leaning against each other, Ryuji lifts a trembling hand to wipe the tear that rolled down Akira’s cheek.

“What’s up?” he asks softly. “Is something wrong?”

“I feel like you’re a miracle, Ryuji.”

How do you respond to that? When the person who said it feels like they’re the one who’s magic, who’s too good to be true?

“Fuck miracles,” he says, pulling Akira in again.

—

The circuit felt like it ended too soon, but it’s night when they finally stepped off, holding hands and faces flushed. He hopes the ride operator doesn’t hate them, but he’s in too good of a mood to really complain.

Ryuji stops in his tracks when he sees who’s in front of them.

“Ann?” Akira questions, taken aback. Eyes dark and brows pulled close together, clutching her purse like a weapon of war—she looks like she’d just seen someone set an orphanage on fire.

Her voice is shockingly deep, gaze fixed on Ryuji. “I’m borrowing him for a second.”

Before either of them can say anything, Ann takes him by the bicep, and he can only glance at Akira before he’s dragged back into the Ferris wheel.

“Did you even pay—?”

“Don’t start,” she hisses, pushing him on the bench, hard. “Don’t you dare start, you damn liar.”

His blood runs cold. “What?”

No. That’s impossible.

“Don’t play dumb with me.” She shoves her hand in her bag and throws something rubber at him. “Do you know how long it took me to find a good one here? I spent my entire day in the shopping district—not looking for clothes, or shoes, or whatever the hell I thought would be fun. No, I spent our last day in Sapporo looking for that.”

Ryuji looks down at the hot compress in his hands, a lump in his throat.

“Because you weren’t doing anything to your knee,” she continues, jaw tight. “Despite me trying my best to help you get better. I thought that you must’ve been really fan-freaking-tastic at hiding the pain that you told me about. That I trusted was the truth because you’re one of my best friends and I trust you. I trust you with my life, my secrets—” Ann grits her teeth. “What the hell?”

“How did you find out?” he asks hoarsely.

She knows. If she knows, they could know. If they could know—

“Damn you, it doesn’t matter how I found out!” she throws her hands in the air, voice so hurt that it twists his insides impossibly tighter. “You think I would care? You think that this is important enough to lie to me about? Dammit, I don’t care that you—”

“Don’t say it,” he begs. “Please.”

“I don’t give a single shit that you failed second-year, Sakamoto!”

Her words ring against the steel walls, deafening.

Bile crawls up his esophagus, and he readies himself for another attack. But for some strange reason, his vision doesn’t blur. Instead, anger kicks in like it always does.

“You don’t care?” he asks, incredulous. “This doesn’t even have anything to do with you!”

“It does when you lie to me about it!” she yells back. “Do you not care about me? About your friends who would go to hell and back for you?”

“How dare you—!”

“You lied to me, you hid it from everyone else, you ignored our advice because it doesn’t mean shit to you.” She points a finger at him. “And look where that got you.”

“Shut up.”

“We all noticed, you know! Each and every one of us noticed that something was up, even the literal robot—”

“Shut the hell up, Ann.”

“And for what? All you accomplished was hurt our feelings, hold in yours, and keep it from the love of your life—”

Ryuji stands up, rocking the carriage and nearly toppling Ann off her feet.

“It’s because I fucking hate myself!”

She grips the barred window, eyes wide. They stare each other down for a few long moments, before the ride comes to an abrupt end. The door swings open, allowing a cheery greeting from the oblivious employee.

And then Ann sighs, shoulders deflating. “Come on,” she jerks her head to the door, before stepping out herself. “Let’s go.”

“What?” he asks, puzzled. “Where?”

“If we’re going to delve into the psyche of Sakamoto Ryuji, we might as well do it with some food in front of us.”

—

The cafe Ann takes him to is bright, filled with pastries and crowded with people—stools are pastel blue, baristas are wearing cute bowties, and each cup of coffee comes with an alarming amount of whipped cream on top. Sojiro would have a heart attack if he walked three kilometers of this place, but Ryuji’s glad that the resemblance is far and away than that of Leblanc.

The booth is pressed into the corner of it all; up against the window and far enough from the main bustle that they’d have to really put their all into it if they wanted to take their order. On one side sat Futaba, nervously tracing shapes on the window while Haru sits beside her. The opposite end has Yusuke and Makoto.

They all look up when they hear the bell chime, and Ryuji almost laughs. “It’s been a long ass time since I’ve seen you guys look so serious,” he remarks, sliding next to Makoto while Ann sits next to Haru. “Where’s the food at? Come on guys, food’s good for you.”

He raises a hand. “Excuse me! We’re ready!”

“Ryuji,” Futaba’s voice is brittle. “I—”

“Hold on shorty,” he reaches to pat her head, voice coming out soft. “We’ll get to that. I promise.”

A waiter comes, takes their drink order, and leaves. When he does, Yusuke places a heavy hand on the table. “I was the one who told everyone.”

“That’s not true!” Futaba cries out, and everyone jerks back in shock. “That’s bull! I’m the one who told him to go through your stuff ‘cause he was worried about you, but I’m the one who actually—”

“No, I’m the one at fault here,” Haru casts her gaze downwards. “It was really none of my business, but I forced these two to tell everyone here. I’m so sorry—”

Ryuji sighs. “Guys, it’s fine.” He’s met with an incredulous look. “Okay, it isn’t, but none of this is your fault, you know? I’m not mad.” His gaze shifts to Ann. “But you’re allowed to be mad at me. I know I shouldn’t have hidden it.”

She gives him a weighted look. “Then why did you do it?”

“Ann,” Makoto warns.

“No, I’m not budging on this.” She leans forward. “He lied to me. Lying doesn’t get you anywhere good. That was really stupid of you.”

“Ann!” Futaba cuts in, horrified.

“You’ve seen what happened with Shiho.” Ryuji flinches back like he’s been hit. He knows. Ann knows he knows. But she keeps going anyway. “She lied to me about what was happening, and I lied to her back. It kept going and going, and—” she snaps her fingers. “She’s gone from my life. For how long? I don’t know, maybe until we graduate. Maybe until her rehab ends. Maybe longer. Who knows? All I know is if we had just—talked, or—” Ann shakes her head, frustrated. “From the start. Tell us what happened. And afterwards, let us help you, or I swear to god I’m going to cry, and I know you can’t stand it when people cry.”

The silence is deafening, even with the clamor of people and voices around them.

Ryuji lets out a breath. “Yeah, alright.”

She raises an eyebrow. “You will?”

“I will,” he repeats, idly checking his pulse. Heart rate is a little quick, but in no danger of having another breakdown. “I’ll tell you everything.”

The waiter chooses that time to drop off their drinks; all cold except Haru, nursing a hot cup of tea. They definitely didn’t buy enough to justify the god-knows-how-long they’re going to spend here, but they’re just gonna have to suck it up.

“Alright,” he starts when they’re alone again. “We going from the start?”

“The very beginning,” Ann confirms.

With one last glance at his friends, he sighs, sits up straight, and flashes them the biggest grin he can muster:

“Hi,” he greets. “I’m Sakamoto Ryuji, and I failed my second-year of high school.”

No one’s expression shifts, not even an inch. He can’t help but be a little impressed. “You guys know that I’ve never been the greatest with books. Shit, screw greatest—I’ve ranked bottom five ever since I started middle school. Didn’t help that my leg got fucked to high heaven and everyone started hating me. Nearly dropped out a couple times. Had no one, really. Worst time in my life, hands down.

“So imagine this dumb little kid, middle of April, running into this guy.” Without meaning to, the grin shifts into something more genuine. “Good-looking dude, super smart, real charmer but you wouldn’t be able to tell just by lookin’ at him. And that guy saved my life. Ten, twenty, thirty times over. He was so great that the dumb kid obviously fell in love with him. But what’s even crazier is that the guy fell in love with the dumb little kid, too.

“Crazy, right? Sounds made up, but I promise it’s true.” He catches Futaba’s expression shift to exasperation. “I know, I can’t believe it either.”

“That’s not what I meant, you sap,” she says.

“Yeah, but that dumb little kid,” he explains. “Couldn’t believe it. Literally couldn’t believe it. Thinks that he struck the lottery, struck by damn lightning. I mean—” Ryuji laughs a little. “How can someone so amazing and cool be in love with such a moron? What made it worse…”

He gestures at all of them. “Was that the guy had so many people in his life who was also amazing. His social circle was made up of, and correct me if I’m wrong: a successful journalist, a politician, some dude from the mob, a random child who breaks gaming records on the daily, and I’m not even counting people from this goddamn table. So dumb little kid knows, he fucking knows that somehow, someway, he tricked the cool guy into falling in love with him. The kid sucked, no, sucks,” he corrects. “At everything. Can’t do anything worthwhile.”

“Ryuji…” Haru whispers.

“Almost done, I know it’s running on kinda long,” he promises. “So the dumb little kid became kinda obsessed with the group’s ‘activities’, and it’s obvious why he would, right? If he knows he’s not good enough for the guy he’s in love with, then he can at least try to be. But since he already sucked at school to begin with, dummy over here completely bailed on school and ended up flunking so bad that he failed an entire year.”

An entire year. An entire year.

It’s becoming harder and harder to breathe, but he’d rather get hit by a truck than lose it in front of so many people. Gritting his teeth, he does what he knows is bad, what every google search and YouTube video says you should not do—he pushes his feelings, far and hard away from himself, so far that it’s like it doesn’t even exist.

It works surprisingly well.

“And, uh—” Ryuji clears his throat. “He hid it. Because you know the one, single thing that’s worse than realizing you’re not good enough for the other person?”

No one answers. “Waiting for the day that they realize that you’re not good enough for them.”

“And that’s pretty much the bulk of it.” Reaching for his mug, he takes a sip of his lukewarm lemonade. Damn, he really did talk for a while. “I didn’t want to tell the rest of you because one, it’s really fucking embarrassing that I failed, and two—”

“Akira can’t know,” they all say in unison.

“Exactly, you guys get the point by now.” He drums his fingers against the table, trying to ignore the blatant gloom cast on all of their faces. “Question time starts now, if anyone wants to ask anything.”

Makoto opens her mouth, but he beats her to it. “If anyone even thinks about feeling pity, or be all ‘no, you’re smart actually!’, I am walking out of this cafe and I am not looking back.”

“What about summer school?” Makoto asks immediately. “If you didn’t want us to know, then you could’ve taken that without even telling us.”

“Summer school was never an option.”

“And why not?” she slaps her hand against the table. “It would’ve solved this entire situation!”

“Because Akira was coming home for the summer,” he says simply. “And I wanted to enjoy my time with him without this hanging over my head.”

Her jaw drops open. “But...that’s…”

“Stupid?” he offers. “Idiotic? Really dumb? Potentially throwing away my entire future? Yeah, I gotcha. Another part of it was that the thought of staying at Shujin for another minute makes me want to jump into traffic, if that helps make me look a little better in your mind, miss prez.”

Makoto’s expression of confusion freezes, taken aback by the harshness of his words. Ryuji cringes at himself. “Sorry.”

“No,” she says finally. “The fault is mine. I have no right to judge your actions, or to pretend I know what kind of stress is burdening you.” Hesitating, she asks, “May I request another question?”

“Shoot.”

“What were you going to do when we eventually go back to Tokyo?”

As expected of someone who went head-to-head against the ace detective in front of the entire school; her questions are brutal. “I don’t know, honestly. I was planning on ignoring the problem for now and just sort of,” he gestures vaguely. “Enjoy the summertime sun?”

“A moment,” Haru goes through her bag. “It’s a long story, but I have these—”

The second the books peek out of her tote, he recognizes the cover immediately. “Cram books? You bought some?”

“Yes!” she answers, mistaking his reaction for eagerness. “It’s a very small gesture, but I’d love for you to have them.”

“I—” he leans away from them, breath catching in his throat. “No.”

“No?” she blinks.

“Not now, senpai.” Trying out his new trick again, he forces his heart to slow down, forces his breathing to regulate again without any of the techniques, and forces himself not to feel any of the fear that he’d normally have to go through. It works, but barely. “I’m not—I don’t think I’m ready to deal with that yet.”

“That’s fine.” Haru puts them away, and as hard as he tries, he can still see how dejected she was. “I’ll hold on to them for you.”

“Thank you.” He glances around. “Any last takers? Q&A is almost up.”

“I have one,” Yusuke pipes up.

“Go for it.”

“How are you?” he asks genuinely.

Ryuji can’t help it—a laugh gets pulled out of him. “How am I?” he repeats.

“Yes. How are you?”

“Uh,” he laughs again. “Not good, man. Not good.”

Everyone startles when Ryuji stands abruptly. He slams down the rest of his lemonade, relieved at how it helps his parched throat. “Alrighty, that took a lot out of me! Let’s get out of here, I’m sick of being surrounded by fake coffee and poser cafe fanatics.”

“I’ll take care of the bill,” Haru says, following his lead and scooting out from the booth.

“What? No, come on. I don’t care how rich you are, at least let me pay half.”

“Ryuji.” She looks him dead in the eye. “I’ll take care of the bill.”

“...Yes ma’am.”

Slowly, they all start filing out, some exiting the cafe while Makoto goes to the till with Haru. Ryuji reaches for Ann’s elbow before she can leave. “Hey.”

Turning her head, it’s as if her lips were permanently stitched downwards. “Yeah?”

“I’m really sorry I lied to you,” he says, somber. “That was shitty, and it doesn’t matter what I’m going through—you can’t deal with lies. I get that. I won’t put you through that again.”

Ann kisses her palm before slapping it against his forehead. “You better not,” her voice drips in affection. “You said not to console you—”

“I did, and I meant it.”

“But I’m here for you,” she rubs his skin harder, and he winces at the chafing. “You know that, right? No matter how crazy the shit inside your head gets, I want you to talk to me.”

“I know it,” he says, not just because he wants the friction to ease up. “I know it now, for sure.”

“Good.” Ann releases him, and goes to join Haru and Makoto up front. “You might want to head out. Someone’s starting to make a fuss.”

“What?” he turns around, making direct eye contact with Futaba, nursing a blank expression on her face. “I see.”

The bell chimes once more when he steps out, relieved at the cool summer air that hits him. “Shorty,” he says in lieu of a greeting. “What’s good?”

“Here.” Ryuji glances down at her, who’s holding a familiar, now very-crumpled envelope between her fingers. It’s weird seeing her hold the letter announcing his failure like a bomb, but he understands the sentiment. “I had to show Ann because she wouldn’t believe me until I got some proof.”

“Thank you,” he says, shoving it in his pocket. “I’m not mad at you, you know.”

“I know you’re not.” She swallows and stares down at her shoes. Her laces were covered in little beads and stars, something he had bought for her during a weekend hangout once. “This isn’t me pitying you, or showering you with some kind of boohoo potion.”

She swallows again. “I failed my first year of high school. It was for a completely different reason—guilt for who I thought I killed rather than wanting to be something else. But I know. I know so much about what you’re going through.”

Futaba looks up, and his heart wrenches when he sees the tears in her eyes. “I’m so, so sorry if I made you sad, or that I kept calling you stupid back then,” she sobs. “I don’t mean it, and I’m so mean to you all of the time but I don’t mean any of it. I told everyone your secret because I wanted to—” she hiccups, and she pushes her glasses to the top of her head. “I wanted to give you your own version of what the Phantom Thieves did for me, but I reached out to you guys back then. No one forced me to do anything, but I took that choice away from you.”

He pulls her in his arms, and her tears are hot even through his shirt. “I know, Futaba,” he says, patting her head. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

She hits his chest weakly. “Me taking care of you?” she sniffs. “I’m literally the one crying right now.”

“Just for now though,” he shrugs. “Next time I cry, you’ll be the one handing me tissues, I swear.”

They stand there, the two of them standing in the middle of Sapporo while people give them weird looks—Futaba, unable to stop the tears from flowing down her cheeks, and Ryuji, refusing to ever let his emotions make things worse for everyone else again.

—

When they get back to the RV, each of them emotionally exhausted, Ryuji goes to kiss the top of Akira’s head. “Hi.”

“Hey,” Akira looks up from his card game with Morgana and Sophia. “You look like you had a wild night. Ann take you all somewhere fun?”

“Totally,” he says, sliding the letter back in his backpack. “Best night ever.”

“Take me next time. Sophia’s kicking our ass.”

“She is not!” Morgana denies, tail swishing. “Just a little,” he relents.

“I’m gonna get ready for bed,” Ryuji announces, hiking his backpack on his shoulders and heading out, before running into Ann outside.

“Oh my god,” she says, disturbed. “He really, really doesn’t know.”

“Yup,” he moves past her. “And we’re keeping it that way.”