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doobea · 1 month

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SPITTIN' OUT LIKE LISTERINE ─ RIN I.

synopsis: sae is great at a lot of things, his brother... not so much. when sae calls you up to tutor rin for his upcoming exams the first thought should've been 'yeah, sounds like easy money' rather than 'why does it look like he wants to kill me right now'.

MILESTONE EVENT || MILESTONE MASTERLIST

contents: gn!reader, reader is two grades above rin, college AU setting, forced proximity, best friend's brother, rin is a lil emotionally constipated but its alright bc we love him, sae is a physics major in this idk why word count: 10.9k (haha... why do i do this) a/n: hi hi umm idk if i know how to write tbh its been quite some time,,, but im slowly finding myself getting back into the groove and umm yeah it'll still take some time!! anyways, thank you for beta'ing @popponn and of course this fic is dedicated to you too my sweet <3

You meet Itoshi Rin at a coffee shop, of all places.

The kind of shop that you often see campus influencers hanging around. Hole in the wall. Dangling fairy lights paired with a few overgrown rose bushes in the front. A bit old-schooled, wooden counter tops, with well loved espresso machines. It’s not a big cafe, just enough to hold a few couches, a singular bookshelf packed with all sorts of board games, and low rise tables with way too many heat stains.

At the start of the year, it started out as a quiet job. Never too overwhelming and had just enough downtime for you to finish up assignments in between breaks. Recently, due to a couple of self-proclaimed foodies on campus, business has blown up ten-fold. So, instead of catching up on your latest lectures, you’re stuck brewing teenage girls their overpriced lattes that are just mostly multiple pumps of flavored syrup and copious amounts of whipped cream. It’s rough but manageable to say the least, judging from the tips.

You’re currently on scholarship, top of your classes and major, but you’re also living on your own so rent’s gotta get paid one way or another. Whether it be working part-time as a teaching assistant, a barista, or both.

On this particular day, you’re just about done closing up shop. The last hour had you rushing back and forth, fulfilling a last minute order from a Karen that swore up and down that she placed a mobile app order for ten frappuccinos twenty minutes prior. It’s been a long day, but the evening has finally calmed down. You’re scrubbing down the counter, putting all the remaining elbow grease you have into this one particular syrup spill earlier that you didn’t realize that someone had walked in until they started clearing their throat.

You barely look up, having the stain just almost disappear from the counter, but the information you register is enough to know that it’s a guy, and he’s by himself.

And, okay, in a normal setting you would probably be smart enough to realize that a guy wearing a black cap, oversized hoodie, and a large gym bag at nearly nine o’clock at night is anything but suspicious. You, however, worked a long day. Your eyes are strained from operating the bright tablet menu. Your hair is a frenzied mess. There’s tea stains all over your apron. You get the gist.

So you don’t really notice at all, except that this guy is idling in front of the counter, looking over at the menu with equally strained eyes as you. That’s not unusual. You’ve learned when to be helpful and when to give someone their time and space. It’s slow now, not like it’s common for more customers to show up this late anyway.

After a moment, the customer clears his throat again. You turn around, fixing your apron, and work up a friendly smile and a quick “ready to order?” when it dawns upon you that this guy is breathtakingly gorgeous. So much so that if you could take over the rights of the Oxford Dictionary, you would attach this guy’s face underneath the word gorgeous and emo.

Dark wispy bangs, striking teal eyes, long mesmerizing lashes, and lips that naturally fall into a small frown giving him the ultimate resting bitch face. They’re also very kissable lips, and you hate yourself for jumping to that thought so fast. It’s not usual for you to hit on customers, let alone just anyone, and it’s probably safe to say that anyone as handsome as The Duke of the North (because you’ve also been reading too many romance comics on the side and this stranger definitely fits this role) probably has a partner of his own.

“Hey,” The Duke of the North looks awkwardly pained, as if he hates starting a conversation. His eyes drift down to your name tag that’s proudly displayed on your apron, littered with all sorts of stickers and pins. “I—um, what do you recommend?”

Working in food service made you absolutely hate this question with a burning passion. Everyone’s taste is subjective. You get this question all the damn time, and you have to put on your best customer service act, all preppy and bubbly. It’s not like you hate helping customers, you do. But, when they don’t give you anything to work with, it becomes your fault if the drink is bad.

Though, for obvious reasons, you don’t mind extending the conversation with The Duke of the North. Just by glance alone, you can tell he’s a bit of a health nut from the lean physique and the hefty gym bag that’s tossed around his shoulders. Looks scary and a little daunting, but you have an inkling feeling he’s more of a traditional type of guy.

“If you want popular suggestions then I’d rec our brown sugar boba for beginners or, if you want something less sweet, I always prefer our in house rose oolong milk tea.” You answer, good-naturedly.

The Duke of the North seems to be in deep pondering. The look on his face makes you feel a little uneasy, like maybe he’s missing something, but eventually he settles with the latter. “Rose oolong,” He says thoughtfully, almost unfamiliar with the term. “I’ll have that then.”

“It’s one of our signature drinks,” you ring in his order with a smile, “tends to be popular with a lot of the older women.” There’s tease laced in the tone, but you mean no harm. Maybe just a tiny amount for him coming in before closing.

And, after collecting the cash payment, you can tell that he’s struggling with the awkwardness hanging in the air. You assume he’s not used to jokes, or even hanging around others willingly for that fact. There was another comment you wanted to ask, more so his background and if he goes to the same university, but it quickly vanishes when the guy scurries to the furthest corner of the shop.

Okay, that’s fine too. Not everyone is suited for small talk.

You get the feeling that this guy wants to avoid people and maybe he’s also had one hell of a day. You’ve learned pretty early on as a barista to never ask anyone about their problems, only because you’ll accidentally sign up to become their therapist without meaning to.

You decide to brew up a warm batch of rose oolong tea, despite the fact he never specified if he wanted it hot or iced - he looks like the type of guy to always order a warm drink, even on a summer day. And, being the lovely barista you are, you decide to give him a large for the hell of it. This will go down as your one positive action for today, hoping that the good luck will carry over for tomorrow’s rough schedule.

“Hope you like it,” you present him with the tea and watch him as he swirls the drink around. He doesn’t look upset that it’s warm, so you take that as a good sign. “Feel free to hang back a little, I still have to clean up a couple of things in the back.”

“Sure, thanks,” he nods, and the words sound genuine. Without missing a beat, he retreats back in the corner and pulls out a laptop, notebook, and somehow manages to balance the drink on the cushion next to him. Yeah, definitely a fellow student working overtime like you.

True to your word, you go back to your boring list of chores to do; tons of equipment to be sanitized, chalkboard to be erased and be replaced by tomorrow’s daily specials, counting the register, taking out all the trash… maybe it’s not too late to find a less taxing job.

If you weren’t so tunnel visioned in your deep cleaning, maybe you would’ve noticed The Duke of the North spilling some of the tea on himself, asking if you had some extra tissues he could borrow, but only growing self-cautious when he realized that your earbuds are shoved in. And maybe you’d notice him cleaning up the spill with his own clothes from the gym bag, dabbing the spot furiously and making sure it looked like the same state prior.

You’re almost done with your long list of closing chores when The Duke of the North returns with an empty cup. “Thanks, again. ‘S was good,” he awkwardly offers up.

“Glad to hear,” you flush a little, because your uniform is a mess, and you clearly look the part still. Nothing is more embarrassing than a cute guy staring down at you while you’re sweaty, tired, and have soap suds all over your apron.

There’s a bit of a silence, and then he says, even more awkwardly, “I’ll, uh, see you around. Good night.”

“Sure,” you reply in a quiet voice, in a tone that’s taken on a dreamy sort of quality. “Night.”

You let out a ragged sigh by the time he was out of sight, praying to see him again in better circumstances. By the time you’re locking the front door, you’re half debating to FaceTime your best friend about the random encounter. Somehow, Sae tends to know just about everyone on campus, even if his friend group only extends out to you. Though, noting that it’s nearly midnight and you should really catch the last bus of the day, you quickly toss that thought out the window and save the energy for tomorrow’s session.

“Mind tutoring my brother for me?” Sae asks out of the blue the next day.

You flail a little, shooting him an exasperated look over your shoulder as your fingers stop in mid hover over the keys of your laptop. An hour and a half into the TA grading session and somehow things feel slightly more off than yesterday night.

There’s only one single thought running through your mind as you stare at Sae, best friend of nearly two years, “You have a brother?!”

A swarm of “shh” and “quiet down” soon blows in your direction in the library. You’re quickly met with glares from other senior students from nearby tables and study rooms as you mumble back flurries of “sorry” while Sae only rolls his eyes.

It’s nearing midterms, everyone and their mothers are camped on every floor and crevice of the building, thus making gossiping quite impossible and frowned upon. So you stare in disbelief at your friend on the wild fact that he potentially has a brother and didn’t bother telling you until now.

Sae blinks, “…Yeah? That’s shocking news to you?”

You laugh a little sheepishly, “You’ve never mentioned having one, let alone anything familial.” Then again, this is Sae. Talk about emotionally guarded.

“You’ve never asked,” Sae huffs before setting down a stack of graded papers. At the top, you see an unfortunate student’s work marred in everything red from Sae’s corrections. He’s always been a tough grader and, for any poor soul who has to take physics, chances of them retaking are high when he’s TAing.

“No offense, but you’ve always given me only child vibes,” you say, lamely, not hiding the fact you’re mildly annoyed. Seriously, this guy knows just about everything about your personal life and now you’re just finding out about his?

“All offense taken,” he replies dryly.

You scoot closer and whisper, “So, who’s the unlucky guy?”

Sae heaves, ignoring your comment, and continues, “Rin. He’s been focusing too much on sports lately to care about his midterms. He knows about the arrangement. I would offer to tutor him but… we don’t have the best sibling relationship.”

And, Sae being Sae, this doesn’t really surprise you. “See? The only child vibe checks out.”

“Anyways,” Sae rolls his eyes for the nth time and tosses you a half folded sticky note with the name and contact info of his presumed brother. “He gets his shitty attitude from me, so try not to get too upset if he doesn’t seem talkative.”

“I haven’t even given my answer to—”

“Just how often do I ask for your help?”

“Like never,” your reply is instant and Sae only raises his brows in confirmation. You take that as a sign of he’ll somehow return the favor. It’s a rare opportunity, perhaps even once in a blue moon, but there is just one thing that you’re wondering about—

“Don’t worry about the money, you’re going to be covered,” Sae reassures as he throws another thick stack of exams on top of the finished pile. “He’s a fast learner when he wants to be, just not as of recently since he’s started the semester.”

“I take it he’s a grade below?”

“About two years younger, in honors.”

You laugh, pulling away and readjusting your attention back to your laptop screen. “Seems smarter than you, I like him already.”

It’s a terrible day, because you’re awake before your alarm. Hell, you’re awake before sunrise.

It’s absolutely nonsense and your boss knows to stop giving you these opening and closing shifts back to back, but apparently nobody else had been available to open.

“You’re competent,” your boss had said over the phone last night. “I trust you more than our own managers, so you should at least feel proud about that.”

Should you?

Of course, you don’t fall for his stupid flattery, not when your alarm is finally blasting in your ear at five in the morning. Normally, you at least try to make yourself look half-presentable but, working on approximately four hours of sleep, the best you could do for yourself is throw on a sweater and jeans before heading out the door.

As a whole, you really do like your job and usually get the later shift but the recent manager got fired for stealing cash from the register, and your other co-worker called off for the next few weeks due to a family emergency, so now your life is a living hell — at least until they return. And, let’s not forget to mention that somehow you’re also stuck with tutoring your classmate’s younger brother because somehow he couldn’t have done it himself. Also a so-called “family emergency”.

The only thing you appreciate is at least it’s warm inside the cafe once you’ve turned on the lights and tossed your bookbag in the back room. The store might be short-staffed today, but mornings are always slow, which only means you can at least get paid by watching some YouTube videos while finishing setting the place up.

You barely get through setting up the pastries when there’s a knock on the door. Dear god. It’s barely seven, you’ve been here for exactly fifty minutes, and already you’re debating smashing your face against the coffee machine to put yourself out of this misery. If it’s a customer, you swear you’re going to kill someone.

As you glare intently at the window, in the early morning, pre-dawn glow, you can make out a tall guy, dressed in athleisure, peering through the glass. You’re about to grumble out loud about entitled customers showing up before opening hours but the door knob suddenly turns, all because you were too tired earlier to lock it, so now you have to put on your dumb customer service voice.

The bell chimes loudly as the guy walks in. The lighting in the coffee shop is low, with that quiet, comfortable ambience of soft piano background music playing through the speakers. Your eyes are still half-awake too, blurry around the edges with sleep. But that face, no one could possibly forget that.

“You’re back,” you say this in awe, offering up your best smile, even though it’s lopsided and droopy. The annoyance ebbs away slowly as the man approaches the counter.

The Duke of the North scratches his cheek, and looks around the cafe a bit more, realizing that he’s quite literally the only one here. “...Am I early?”

“Kinda, we open in thirty minutes,” you shrug. It’s not an accusatory thing, because at least this time he has the manners to come in before it’s open rather than before closing. That’s something you can work with. You were irritated earlier but now you’re suppressing a giggle. “Did you like the drink that much?”

Before he could answer, he tips his baseball cap and grips his bookbag before settling down on the nearest couch by the counter. Wondering if the comment had came out as off putting, you’re about to throw on a free pastry when—

“My brother recommended this cafe. Needed a quiet place to get some work done,” he explains with a slight pause, and continues, “The drink you made was good,” he says quietly and starts unpacking. For whatever reason, that puts a dumb cheesy grin on your face. You’re thankful he’s too occupied to catch that.

“Well, you’re welcome to stop by anytime. Just, you know, within actual store hours.” You laugh when you see the tips of his ear flushing a light shade of red.

“I suppose you’re right,” and you don’t have to look at him to hear the tiny smile in his voice.

“Did you want me to make you anything?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing at the moment. Thank you.”

You two are quiet again for a long time. He’s minding your space while you’re trying to finish your opening duties. When you’re finally done fiddling with the coffee bean grinder, you twirl around, mind racing and checking off your internal checklist with the next task being to actually open the shop. Though, as you turn, The Duke of the North is already by the front door, flipping the sign over to OPEN.

Can this guy get any more charming?

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that,” except that you totally loved the fact that he did just that. Maybe a concerning amount.

“I was getting up anyways,” he reasons simply with a shrug. Somehow he slightly reminds you of a certain someone, but you ignore the nagging voice inside your head.

“Well, keep that up and we might just hire you,” you tease.

The Duke of the North strolls up to the counter, presenting a credit card in his hand, and looks over the menu behind you. You give him space, but you absolutely try to make out the name on the card. You probably shouldn’t refer to him as The Duke of the North any longer than you should. Then again, if the shoe fits, why change?

Suddenly, the front door bell rings and the sight of maroon catches your attention.

“Sae?”

“You’re here awfully early,” Sae comments, nonchalantly.

You sigh, rubbing a hand to your temple. “Got moved to first shift, unfortunately.”

“Wasn’t talking to you, I was talking to him,” he nods towards The Duke of the North.

Blinking hastily, you choke out, “Wait, you two know each other?”

“Are you that blind?” Sae deadpans and stands next to the taller male, who looks mildly taken back, like somehow he doesn’t want to be here anymore. “This is Rin. The guy I was talking about yesterday. My brother.”

To say that you’re shocked might be an understatement. The correct emotion might’ve been appalled, or even dread? You’re not sure. But you weren’t expecting the meeting to be as unnerved as it was. Rin doesn’t even allow Sae to finish explaining, just ends up walking out with the promise of showing up to the shop at the end of your shift. You remember catching Sae’s irritated expression which, in itself, is extremely rare. It placed a strained smile on your face.

Back at your apartment, you’re currently trying to balance this tutoring session by turning it into a personal study time too. Though, you keep the sight of Rin in your peripheral as you complete your assignments in bed. It didn’t take you too long to look through his current curriculum and throw together a few practice and multiple choice questions for a quick knowledge assessment. He seemed pretty adamant about knowing everything, but Sae has his doubts.

Rin keeps looking over at his quiz, your digital clock, and the floor — all in that order. You don’t want to distract him anymore than he already is, though you can’t help but to spare a glance of what he has done so far.

The multiple choice questions have been filled out, with a couple of eraser bits on the side, but the short answers have hardly been touched. A lofty attempt has been made to the first short answer, where Rin drew a small circuit diagram to determine the internal resistance of a battery, but it kinda just stops at that. Any answers he has written for the problem set are mostly brief notions of what’s already stated in the prompt.

Rin currently has his fingers knotted in his hair, pencil tapping against the table and, underneath the desk, he’s bouncing his leg like mad.He tries to look indifferent on a surface level, but you can easily see the vein popping out on his neck.

By the time you’ve finished grading, Rin barely scrapes by with a C-. And, while some students would be ecstatic with that, it’s surely not enough to raise his current grade to a passing one.

Sae mentioned that Rin’s a fast learner when he wants to be and he never said tutoring would be an easy job. No worries, it’s not the first time you had to mentor a student before. What you’re more worried about is how Rin had been so sure that he knew what he was doing… when he obviously doesn’t.

You hand back the paper with the corrected answers in red ink. You even drew a tiny smiley face by his name to give him some sort of comfort, but Rin just makes a disgruntled noise and looks mildly disgusted.

“I don’t need your sympathy.”

You certainly didn’t expect him to snap at you. Rin visibly tenses and blood rushes to your ears.

Your lips part, finding the right words, as he redirects his attention to your bedroom window and stretches his jaw. Then, after an agonizing long pause, he tips his head back, slouches down in the chair, and sighs in defeat.

“Sorry,” his voice cracks a little and he leans down, resting his forehead on the edge of the table.

You pinch your lips together, eyebrows raised. He looks frustrated, but you can tell it’s not aimed at you. “Let’s… take a fifteen minute break, how does that sound?”

“I think I should go.” He’s a little breathless, possibly uncomfortable under the weight of your stare.

“I’m not delicate, Itoshi,” you say, slowly. You’ve dealt with a fair share of angst-ridden undergrads flustering over their assignments. Rin is no different, and you’re not the type to easily give up after a mini meltdown. It’s all about having the right approach, if you send him home now then the next session would just start off even more strained. “Stay for a while longer, we’ll go over everything one by one.”

“It’s fine.”

You sigh, lips curling ever so slightly. “Itoshi, has anyone told you that you’re a terrible liar?”

From the look on his face, it seemed like the world had slipped out from under his feet. You soon realize that Rin almost reminds you of a raging teen, when he’s like this. He’s fiercely independent, that’s for sure. The type that doesn’t like to make others worry but it ends up backfiring in the end. How he’s managed to get through with life is way beyond your comprehension, but you have a feeling that it has something to do with Sae.

“I… I don’t talk about stuff like this,” he admits and chews down on his lip - it seems like a nervous tick, a bad habit.

“I can tell,” a chuckle bubbles from you but you pause when you catch his glare. You start clearing your throat awkwardly, “I—um, I don’t talk about my feelings often either. I don’t think many people do. We’re all trying to figure things out as we go.”

“Have you figured it out yet?” Rin seems to surprise himself with that question.

Maybe for him, you look like you’ve got all your shit together. As if you’ve figured out all the great secrets in life. And maybe, you think, he just wants reassurance that he’s not alone, struggling, to find purpose. Or perhaps Rin wants you to offer up some adult advice, something only seniors would know.

Your eyes widen for a moment. Rin furrows his brows tightly together and stares at you for answers. You both know well enough that you don’t have a solution, but he looks at you anyway. All you offer him back is a warm, big smile.

“Itoshi, I’m two years older than you. I’ve had a little more years to figure it out,” you begin slowly, “I’ve had my ups and downs, almost flunked out a few courses when I was starting out, too. I didn’t just magically have it all come together.”

He appears doubtful, almost hard to believe. Rin looks like he’s about to protest but one look and he soon realizes that you’re pushing some truth there. You can tell that he’s struggling, mind working in overtime to try and process all of his internal conflicts — only because you’ve gone through the same.

“Honestly,” you continue, after a long moment of silence, and lean to the side, giving Rin’s shoulder a little nudge, “It’s not my business to dig around your psyche, but just know that you’re welcome to tell me anything. Physics related or not.”

Rin doesn’t say a word, but you take his silence as a contentment.

“So, uh,” you start to get up from the bed and pace towards the kitchen area, “I have some sliced fruit in the fridge, if you want some. Can’t solve these problems on an empty stomach.”

You two spend the rest of the night assessing the problems he got stuck on and going over shorthand tricks to easily remember what formulas to use. To your surprise, Rin stays mostly quiet and attentive this time around. He doesn’t stare at the worksheet in irritation anymore, and asks questions when he finds himself stuck on a problem. At the end, he manages a passing B on the new practice assessment. And, of course, while downing a bowl of freshly sliced honeydew.

It’s almost midnight by the time he starts heading out. You’re certain that this is going to kick you in the ass tomorrow morning, because you somehow forgot that you have an 8:00 AM class. It’s fine, you think, at least the atmosphere feels a lot lighter than when you guys first started, so you consider that as a plus.

As Rin begins to put on his shoes, you try to lean against the bedroom door casually and nearly fall over. Looking unimpressed, Rin looks up at you.

“Hm?”

“Do you dislike me?”

“You’d already be dead if I hated you,” Rin says this with a certain level of confidence that makes you both shiver and relax at the same time. You’re positive that he isn’t a serial killer but, then again, you don’t know if Sae is the only source of all that pent up angst.

When his hand rests on the front door knob, Rin suddenly looks back, eyebrows knitted together, and you can’t tell what his expression translates into. Nevertheless, it makes your breath catch in your throat, and you swallow hard.

“Yes, Itoshi?”

”You… your room is messy,” Rin eventually comments, very unnecessarily, which causes you to release a heavy sigh, sticking a disapproving tongue out.

“Wow, you really do get that shitty attitude from him!”

Rin just snorts, hands in his pockets, and you think this is the first time he’s ever really laughed. It throws you off and, before you get a proper chance to recover, he’s out the door.

“You’re surprisingly getting the hang of this, Itoshi” you’re glossing over the practice quiz he had today, feeling a surge of pride knowing that Rin was able to handle it just fine. He ended up receiving a B minus, which is nearly a grade higher from his past averages. Guess a heated vent session is the answer to most problems.

“I’ve cleared my head,” he shrugs nonchalantly, as if it’s the easiest thing to do in the world.

Outside, a storm rages and rattles the windows every time thunder roars. Typhoon season is nearing as the weather starts to get warmer, which ultimately means your evening shifts are cut early to avoid flood risks and violent winds. It’s been about two weeks since the first tutoring session and there’s been a slow progression in your relationship.

Having Rin over almost feels weirdly second nature, despite the short amount of time. You try to meet at least three times a week, two of those times happen right after your shift. The thing you miss the most about being a sophomore is the amount of free time you had. Rin’s classes practically finish before three every day and arrive at the coffee shop right after football practice everyday. Majority of the time, it would just be exchanging shorthand greetings but, whenever the evening rush dies down, you try to strike a quick check-in. Afterwards, the two of you would make the trip back to your apartment to continue the session.

Which leads to this current situation.

About an hour into the session you suggested a well needed break, for you at least. You’re laying down in your bed, playing a mobile game on full volume, while Rin is disciplined enough to still scroll over his previous lecture slides at your desk. You’re not sure if this is what he does to “relax”, or if he’s just simply not grown comfortable around you just yet. Either way, it’s hard to believe that you’re being out mentored.

“You know you can chill, right?”

“I know.” You hear muffled sounds of a lecture recording from his laptop.

“Well, I don’t hear you chilling.”

“I don’t need to be.”

Okay, yeah, you’re starting to see the family resemblance here. But it’s going to take a lot more than that to stop you. How else have you survived as Sae’s best friend for two years?

“Don’t you have any fun weekend plans?”

Rin shakes his head, eyes never leaving his screen. “Maybe not fun by your definitions.”

Your ears perk at this and you subtly lower the volume of the game. Maybe this is a sign to get to know his likes and dislikes, and whether or not he has a significant other — because that’s all important information. At least, that’s what you convince yourself. If Rin just so happens to be in a relationship, then you’ll easily set aside that growing curiosity. If he’s not, then a little harmless flirting won’t harm anyone, right?

“Itoshi,” you sit up from the bed with more purpose than before, Rin seems to catch on and visibly grimaces. “Tell me, I wanna know.”

“We should probably go back to studying,” he sighs.

You hop to your feet, sauntering to the desk and shutting his laptop with ease. Ohm’s Law can wait just a little while longer. “You’ve been at it nonstop since we’ve arrived here. It’s not good to cram everything in that big head of yours, that’s how people burn out faster. C’mon, a ten minute break won’t kill you.”

Rin doesn’t bother to argue against you, he’s been over well enough to pick up that you won’t let him become a complete workaholic.

“Fine,” he gets up and makes his way over to sit on the edge of your bed, because if he doesn't then you’ll eventually force him to sit elsewhere. Something about separating work and personal spaces to improve learning.

You plop down a few inches away with a winning smile, “So, what are your plans?”

“Football practice—”

“Something other than what I already know.”

He exhales loudly. “Catching up on coursework at the cafe, probably.”

This takes you by surprise, only because you work this upcoming weekend. “Really? Well, guess we’ll see each other then.” Maybe tenacity is just rooted deeply in the family’s genes.

“It’s a nice place,” he reasons, sneaking a glance at you.

You begin squirming, trying to turn from Rin without looking like a complete idiot. Then, slowly, “...What do you like about it?”

And, of course, the words barely escape your lips when the whole building seems to creak and groan under the effort of the storm. The power flicks suddenly around the room, and then it’s complete, utter darkness.

You don’t feel Rin’s presence next to you until a sudden gust of air hits your ear. You flinch and clap a hand over your ear while Rin mumbles out a quick apology and stumbles to establish his own personal space on the bed.

It starts to rain heavier now, water slapping hard against the window panels in big, ugly raindrops. You should probably get up and find a flashlight or any lighting of some sort, something to make the situation less awkward, but your body feels like a rock. You don’t want to move but, at the same time, your mind is telling you to run far, far away from Rin.

Heart throbbing against your chest, you gather up the courage to look at Rin’s face with the help of the dim lighting from the window sill. His eyes are half-lidded, seemingly glazed over in deep thought. He doesn’t say a single word, and every moment of his silence stirs the growing anxiousness inside. You swallow, suddenly aware that he’s beginning to unravel your sanity just by being there besides you.

“Are you, um, are you okay with thunderstorms?” you adjust your position with shaky limbs, trying your best to not cross his physical boundaries.

Rin fidgets in response, but you can tell he’s also trying to keep his cool. “I’m fine with them. I just wasn’t expecting the power to suddenly…”

“Yeah, my apartment sucks,” you groan, inwardly. “This doesn’t happen all the time, I swear.” A flash of lightning illuminates the room, you squint against the light. “Maintenance won’t be on site ‘till tomorrow morning. I doubt you want to stay so we’ll have to cut the session short for today.”

You feel the mattress dip a little. The two of you fall silent, and there’s a weird awkward tension hanging in the room, one where it leaves you both red and flushing. Your mind is racing, and there’s a million questions. He hasn’t made any moves of getting up, nor has he said anything about leaving. It’s a bit uncharacteristic for Rin to be unsure in a given situation like this, or is he just being polite? This feels different from your first meeting, it’s still unpredictable, still a confusing mess.

“Or we could talk!” you quickly add on. “I…uh, if you want to talk, that is.”

After a few more moments of that awkward, creeping silence permeating the room, Rin sighs. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to talk about,” he whispers and looks up, his face looking worn out.

“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. Silence is also okay.”

“I like silence,” he confesses.

“We can just sit here then,” you agree, “silence in itself can be therapeutic, too.”

You don’t necessarily agree with yourself. If it’s not for work at the cafe, you spend a good deal of your time in silence. Studying, grading students’ papers, thinking about your family back home, and preparing for life after graduation. It all gets overwhelming when you sit and process everything in your mind. Even so, the silence that falls between you and your best friend’s brother feels comfortable, in spite of the initial close proximity. You find yourself leaning back into the bed frame’s headboard, curling up sideways.

About ten minutes in, Rin cracks.

“When I was a kid, I used to be afraid of storms. Sae used to make dumb blanket forts with me. It’s silly, but…”

And, despite it being dark, you shoot him a knowing look. For a moment, Rin looks like he regrets even opening his mouth, like he’s about to blurt out a quick ‘nevermind’, but you don’t give him a chance.

“I’m listening, you don’t have to stop.” Unknowingly, you give his shoulders a little nudge of encouragement. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Rin thinks it over, and he only has to for a moment. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

He talks for a while, until he runs out of things to say. Or, rather, he runs out of energy to say anything. His thought process is a jumbled mess of how his relationship with Sae developed. Being the younger sibling, it’s natural for Rin to look up to his brother, to want to gain acknowledgement and become some sort of a mirror image. The thought of Sae looking after Rin while both of their parents were working overtime to provide for their education is also something you could heavily relate to. Around some point down the line, Sae began to distance himself from Rin without any apparent reasoning, at least in his eyes. Towards the end, it becomes a rambling about nothing, too, and you’re positive that Rin hasn’t even gotten into the meat of the issue.

Rin appears mildly exhausted, flustered, and a little embarrassed by the time he’s done. He turns to you, eyes narrowed, “Don’t say that you feel sorry for me, I’ve heard it about a dozen times already. It gets old.”

You shake your head, processing everything. You can tell he has so much more he wants to get off of his chest, so many things he wants to unload, things that he hasn’t even realized that’s been weighing him down.

“I wasn’t gonna say that,” and he stays still, studying your next words with high concentration. “Sae and I have been close for quite a while, and I totally get how he’s an ass—to you and just about everyone else. He’s abrasive and straight to the point with a lot of things. Also pretty sure he’s allergic to communication. Hell, I’m not entirely sure how I was able to get close to him in the first place,” you flare a deep breath out of your nose and rhythmically tap your fingers along your thighs. “But I know he has a weird way of caring for others, too.”

“How so?” Rin doesn’t sound annoyed, just confused. Almost hopeful, even.

“Well, he’s signed you up for tutoring, which might actually not be a good example of care but, um… He normally hates asking people for favors. This is just an unconventional way of saying that he’s making sure you’re doing okay.”

“Could’ve said it himself.”

“Yeah, well, you came to the cafe because he told you, right?”

With that, he quickly shuts his mouth, forming it into a subtle pout. Is he embarrassed that you’re right?

Another flash of lightning comes by, followed by low rumbling thunder. Then, an idea brews.

“This is gonna sound a bit crazy but… do you wanna build a fort?”

Rin snorts. “What’s with that?”

“Well, it doesn't seem like you’re in a rush to leave. Then again, maybe a taxi service would be expensive right now…”

He offers up little resistance to your suggestion and ends up dragging a couple of chairs into your living room from the kitchen. You dig around in your closet and pull out a heavy winter blanket, the ones with a giant tiger imprinted on the front. It’s been stored away for quite some time, leaving bits of dust and other mysterious remnants in the air as you straighten the fabric out. Hopefully Rin’s not sensitive to dust mites.

One side of the blanket is stretched around the edge of the couch and tucked beneath the cushions. Another corner is wrapped and fastened clumsily around a chair. It hangs over the edge of the coffee table and is held in place by the second chair in the corresponding corner. The overall impression is ridiculous, but there's a decent space on the floor in front of the sofa.

“That’s a bit better,” you decide, with a faint laugh.

You’re pressed close to one another, and you have to admit that it’s intimate in a way that you didn’t expect. The air is a little warm, heavy with their breath and the faint heat from the candles. It’s… nice. Outside, the wind is howling, but it is fainter, partially obscured by the blanket barrier that keeps the outside world away.

You decide to stream a horror movie to pass the time, until the weather subsides a bit. You’ll probably go over your data plan for the month, but right now, you don’t really care. You prop the phone up against one of Rin’s textbooks that he didn’t get the chance to go over today, and end up watching a really shitty slasher movie from the 80’s.

At some point, you doze off, leaning in and head tipping to tentatively rest on his shoulder. It’s not the most comfortable position. You’re both slouched back against the couch, pillow wedged under your backs. Your phone eventually runs dead, and the candles burn into nothing—smoldering and smoking as they sputter out.

“Hey,” Rin faintly calls out your name. “It’s getting late.”

You stir in your sleep, finding the strength to open your eyes and tilt your head up. You’re sure that your heart is going to stop beating when he takes notice. The look on your face must’ve been a good one, because now Rin’s six shades of red deeper and he’s got his hand over his mouth.

“Oh god, I’m sorry, Itoshi!”

“It’s… okay,” his voice is low, sounding almost uncertain. “Rin is also fine.”

You fail to notice his fingers making their way past your forearm, past your neck, until you feel them settle on your warm cheek. Shivers course through your body, and the resulting sounds you release is halfway between a sigh and a whimper. His eyes are half-lidded, glazed, and you’re positive yours are no different.

“Sorry, Rin…” you’re apologizing again, his name sounds foreign on your tongue but feels like home all at the same time. Your voice begins to trail off. You can’t finish, your eyes are already closed, head tilted. As you breathe, with your heart rattling in your throat, you feel Rin lean in close.

As soon as you collide into him, his lips meld against yours.

It’s funny how life works. Some days seem to drag, impossibly slow, especially when you’re trapped in your own mind — replaying everything, obsessing over every single action you’ve done wrong in your life. There are days where you barely get out of bed until it’s time for classes or to get ready for work, where you just go through the motions.

Other days, they fly by in the blink of an eye. Sometimes it’s because you hole yourself up at the library, nose glued to your textbooks, and body running on adrenaline. Other times, it’s because you keep replaying that kiss you gave Rin, wondering what it means, or if it just means nothing at all. You remember being roped in by the shy, tentative edge in his voice that reminded you when you first met him at the shop, where you first had been infatuated.

Rin hasn’t spoken to you since that night at your apartment. On one hand, while you’re worried that you might’ve said something out of line, and maybe that kiss came off too strong. Which, of course it fucking came off too strong. You kissed your best friend’s brother, and that just spells disaster on its own. Although, on the other hand, you’re glad that you guys are on a first name basis.

That’s fine. Rin seems to be going through a lot and the best professional way to handle this situation is to be… professional. Everything is all too much, and you've decided that you need to take a break.

That night, you’ve made a quick trip home after work to stay at your family’s. You don’t have time to mull over a certain junior of yours, not when you have your own things to take care of.

Your parents’ are currently on their anniversary date, leaving behind your two younger siblings all by themselves. You think two eight year olds could handle themselves just fine for a few hours but, then again, kids these days are just built differently.

You ended up ordering takeout and made them sit through a painstakingly long foreign film. Subtitles always put kids to sleep faster, you’ve learned. After carrying them to bed, you decide to spend the rest of your night sitting outside on the patio and wait for the return of your parents.

The skies are always clearer in the suburbs compared to the bustling city lights that pollute everywhere else. You sit down on a small plastic chair, one belonging to your siblings, and spend a good few minutes appreciating the twinkling stars and the raw smell of the countryside. You fix your gaze out in the distance, at the same hills and mountains the sprawling city overlooks.

Feeling inspired, you fish out your phone and decide to send Sae a quick picture of the surroundings with the caption ‘miss you loser :P’. It’s a small mini-game that you two started a year back, sending each other photos whenever away from campus, even though it’s mainly you sending the photos and he sends back middle finger emojis.

Though, as soon as you hit the send button, dread immediately fills your gut.

“Wait, shit, shit—wrong brother!”

Your heart hammers against your chest as you stare at the now seemingly flirty caption and, dear lord, your reputation might as well be down the gutters. This will go down as probably the most embarrassing moments of your life, and what makes things even worse is that you know Rin has seen it because three gray dots are now jumping up and down in the chat log.

God, what are you even supposed to say to that?

[Sae’s Brother!!!]: I’m sorry?

When you receive the responding text, you feel yourself losing ten years off your lifespan. You bury your face into your hands and whine, loudly.

This incident on top of whatever the hell happened during the night of the storm… Rin probably thinks you’re a creep for doing this. You can already imagine how it’ll play out: Rin tells Sae that you’re harassing him, Sae stops being your friend, and you’ll probably have to drop out and move out of the country. Rin might never even show himself to you again, and that thought alone makes your throat tighten up.

However, before you can descend into further madness, if that’s even possible, your phone vibrates again. You swallow the needles in your throat and peek through the cracks between your fingers.

[Sae’s Brother!!!]: Looks nice.

And, to your surprise, there’s an image attached to the text. It’s a dim photo of his opened textbook, a filled in study guide sheet beside his laptop, and on the right side of his desk is a drink from the cafe. You want to make a dumb oolong tea joke, but now you feel bad for disrupting his study session.

Then, another notification comes through.

[Sae’s Brother!!!]: Miss you too. :P

Your heart promptly multiplies into a thousand pieces. You lean into the chair, almost tipping yourself over. Your heart’s beating so hard that you can practically feel it pulse against your temples. Taking deep breaths, you don’t look at your phone until the urge to run away fades.

It feels like you're dreaming, and you know it’s absolutely stupid and silly, that you feel like you’re floating right into a dumb romance drama right now, but you can’t help it. Not when Rin is pulling stunts like this. He probably meant it as a joke, maybe only responded back to mirror you, who knows. But someone like him should not have the power to be so, so adorable under all that hard exterior. That’s just illegal…

“God,” your breath shudders out and you thumb over the keyboard to respond back.

[You]: didn’t mean to send that to you haha… ;; [You]: but i take it that studying is going well??

Rin replies back within seconds.

[Sae’s Brother!!!]: I know. [Sae’s Brother!!!]: Studying’s been fine. Might need to look over something when we meet up again, if that’s okay. [You]: of course!! just lemme know what day works :)

Rin sends you a thumbs up emoji and you don’t get a response for a while after that, figuring that he probably went back to work. It doesn’t matter anyway, because it feels like a hundred pounds just got lifted from your shoulders and you feel so light that you’re convinced that you can see the stars even clearer now.

Thank the heavens he didn’t make it weirder than it already was.

Fuzzy-brained, you decide that it might be best to call it a night and retreat back into the house and towards your old bedroom. Even while laying down on your plush mattress, curled up, with the aircon on blast, you couldn’t fall asleep — at least, not for a long while.

By the time you pass out, it’s from sheer exhaustion and adrenaline rush. Your phone remains gripped against your chest as you sleep, and you end up missing another message from Rin late in the night.

[Sae’s Brother!!!]: Your manager doesn’t make good oolong. Come back soon.

There are several moments when you tell yourself you need to take a couple steps back. That you really, really need to calm down about Itoshi Rin.

The rest of the week comes and goes. You haven’t seen Rin in a few days. You guys sorta text, with him giving you curt updates on his assignments, but Rin goes long periods of time without replying. And, when he does reply, even though it’s just a text on screen, you get a distinct idea that he’s probably tired. So most of the time you end up lounging around at Sae’s apartment, busying yourself with your own assignments and bothering Sae about the end of the year assessment. And maybe you mope to him about his younger brother. Just a little bit.

“Does Rin hate me?”

“Why do you ask?” You could practically hear the eye roll in his response.

You feel a bit juvenile when you explain the reasoning, it’s obvious in your tone. “He’s, um, been kinda dry.”

“Is water dry?”

“...No?”

“Then there’s your answer,” Sae yawns and flips to the next page in whatever new psychological thriller novel he picked up. “Should feel lucky that he’s even responding back, I barely get an emoji out of him.”

Part of the fun thing about being friends with Sae is having full 24 hour access to his apartment. Whenever you’re running low on food, it doesn’t matter if it’s milk or potatoes, somehow there’s always extras at his place. The least fun thing about being friends with him is that he’s god awful at keeping up with conversations. Or, at least in this case, giving you advice on how to approach Rin appropriately.

You decide to change up the topic, slightly. Your mind’s currently running on three shots of espresso and one shitty breakfast sandwich from the dining hall, not really the best combo, and the words start flooding out. “On a different note, if someone you kinda just met shows a side of them that they’ve probably never shown to anyone, how would you react?”

Sae straightens from the couch, eyes flickering to you then back to the book. “Depends on who it is,” he shrugs. He doesn’t sound too interested in the conversation.

“Wise words, I see…” you hum in deep thought. You begin strutting around the tiny living room, circling around in front of the TV and keeping a somewhat watchful eye on Sae as you choose your next words carefully. “What if… it’s like a big thing? Super pent up for so long that they just start pouring all their emotions onto you? How would you react to that?”

“Sounds like a weird person. I would probably leave,” Sae’s voice is dismissive.

You groan, fully understanding Rin’s personal dilemma. “At least pretend to be serious right now!”

And, with that, he shuts his book and rests his cheek against his palm, sighing. “Maybe they told you because they’re afraid of talking to their close friends. Or maybe they just feel comfortable around you, I don’t know. Since you’re so caught up about this… who are you talking about?”

Shit, he caught on.

Sae hardens his gaze on you, suspicion sprawled across his sharp features.

“I—um, uh, it’s a classmate of mine! We were going over grad school applications and they seemed really lost about if they wanted to apply or not… I was just a little surprised when they started talking about their insecurities with me, that’s all. We’re a little bit closer now, though…” your voice trails off and Sae cocks his head a little, pursing his lips, but decides to leave the topic be.

“Right, well… how are Rin’s studies coming along?” Sae asks after a long pause and backs out of your space.

It’s not like Rin’s doing terribly at his studies. He’s picking up some of the methods and variables faster than most people in your department, perhaps even learning at a faster pace than yourself. Though, and this is just an observation, you’ve noticed that Rin rarely takes notes in his classes. When he does, well, it’s sloppy and unfocused. You’re starting to worry, since his midterm is rounding the corner, and you’ve been itching to ask if he remembers the material or if he doesn’t care. You want to, really, but it’s technically not your job to look after him full-time.

Unless it totally has something to do with the weird family dynamic that you can never really nail down? Yeah, you’re definitely not sticking your nose into that mud anytime soon. The last time you did that, well…

“He’s doing fine!” You offer up that much. It’s a little taste of honesty. Not the full truth. Somehow, you know that Sae is damn well aware of that, too.

“As long as he’s motivated, that’s all that really matters.” Sae mumbles. He drops the conversation and it’s probably a good thing, because you can’t concentrate at all.

By the end of this particular meeting, you feel like you’re going to vomit. Your stomach has jumped into your throat, and you’re struggling to keep your breakfast down. It’s way too late to call out of work, so you power through and manage to make it in time for your shift. It’s not until you arrive that you notice a familiar tuff of black hair behind the register, eyes glimmering with all flirt and talk with a female student across the counter.

Then, it hits you, if there’s one person other than Sae who can give mildly okay advice, it’s him.

When the evening rush dies down, you relay the situation back to Oliver, throwing on the crucial details—well, minus the kiss—unfortunately you can’t risk that information going out of his mouth. Unlike Sae, he shows interest from the get go, providing you live reactions and commentary as the story continues. When asked for his thoughts, Oliver covered his face and howled in laughter for a long while, getting stares from customers, before leaning in and eyes you very seriously.

“Kid’s got a massive crush on you, that’s for sure.”

Oliver is obviously a better listener compared to Sae, but also has a tendency to stretch things out for dramatic purposes. You should’ve mentally prepared yourself for this.

“Wait a sec,” Oliver sits on the countertop, despite the rules encouraging against it written on the chalkboard behind him, ponders hard for a moment, and then, “You like him!”

You almost spill a shot of espresso all over your fingers, letting out a small screech, and look up, doing a bit of a double take at your friend. “Don’t you have better jokes to make?!”

Oliver tosses you a clean towel from underneath the counter space and offers an apologetic smile, but he looks amused. “You wanted my honest opinion. Hot, young stud falls for his tutor who also works as a barista? The prompt just writes for itself.”

You swallow a gagging noise. “Please don’t ever refer to Rin as a hot, young stud… even if it is true.”

“If we want to peel back several more layers, maybe this is all part of Sae’s elaborate plan to hook you up with someone.”

“Can’t you have another family emergency again?” You like Oliver. He’s possibly your only favorite coworker out of all the other part-timers, but you’re very unimpressed with him right now. “I’m still in college. You’re acting like I’m going to be forever alone, or something.”

“While that might be true,” Oliver agrees, mildly. “I still think the kid might just be bad with… y’know, showing emotions.” He motions his hands in a heart shape near his chest. “I was like that when I was his age, too.”

“Gross, now you’re just making yourself sound like an old man.” With that beard, it sure adds a few years to his face. No wonder he’s so popular with the ladies.

“You should be more honest with yourself,” he softly chastises, offering you a blueberry muffin that he definitely stole from the back. “Life would feel a lot easier.”

“You talk as if I’m a fictional character in some stupid story,” you sigh, gracefully accepting the baked good in defeat.

There’s a part of you that feels bitter after the conversation, afraid that he’s right. You’ve been solely focusing on your academics for the most part, and that’s not to say that you haven’t had others showing interest in you.

You remembered Oliver hounding you down on your very first day at the coffee shop, trying to get your attention by making you clean up his spills, not sure why he thought that was a good idea… Another guy from your department also tried hitting asking you out by creating a fake math problem that would eventually lead to him asking for your number, but the variables were messed up and all over the place that it didn’t make any sense.

You don’t put relationships on a high pedestal, and you don’t necessarily need to be in one right now. Maintaining a steady income and keeping your scholarship should be your top priority. That, and not falling for your best friend’s brother.

Things go uneventfully for a little while longer at the shop. You and Oliver were going to put on the latest episode of the Bachelor to pass the remaining shift but, by the time you were just about to finish setting up the monitor, the front door bell chimes.

You blink. You and Oliver are in the corner tucked at the back of the store. It’s ten minutes until closing and your stomach churns wildly at the thought of another inconsiderate customer. Because if it happens to be another frat guy ordering a “secret menu” item that some person made up on TikTok again… well, you’re gonna start crying.

“I’ll go take care of it,” you sigh, fishing out the store’s keys out of your pocket. “Just tell me who the guy ends up with.”

Oliver grins as he presses the play button. “Roger that, boss.”

You hadn’t really expected to see Itoshi Rin of all people to swing by.

He barely gets any words out when you emerge to the front counter, needless to say you were the same. After a few mindless scrabbling around and awkward shifting, Rin spits out that he needs an emergency tutoring session, back at his apartment of all places. And, at some point in the night, between your mind turning into mush and Rin refusing to look you in the eyes, Oliver sends you off a little early before you have the chance to help him close.

Which ultimately leads you off here.

“So, what’s the burning question you have for me?” you ask, setting down your book bag on the floor.

Rin’s apartment is a lot minimalistic compared to yours, and more on the traditional side. His place is a bit further out of the downtown area, into the quieter parts of Tokyo, but not terribly far from the school’s public transit. Here, the buildings aren’t skyscrapers and the traffic is manageable, which means a lot more parks and greenery.

Instead of a dining table with chairs, he opted for a low coffee table and cushions instead. There’s tatami flooring, a small bookshelf in the corner with organized sports magazines, textbooks, and a few horror films. Hanging on the walls are a variety of posters; most of them are famous foreign football players and some are a few popular movie covers.

The coffee table is placed right near his bedside, so it makes a perfect back rest for you. Rin keeps a small desk lamp on, he’s mentioned to you in passing that small amounts of warm lighting helps him focus. This setup is certainly a lot more comfortable compared to yours.

Rin decides to sit next to you this time, pulling out an array of notebooks from his bag and fidgets with his pens on the table before flipping to his last pages of notes. “It’s about… torque and resistance.” He buries half of his face into his palm as his fingers trace, almost obsessively, through the notes. From one glance, his writing looks coherent enough, better from when he first started out.

“Um, yeah, sure,” you keep a close eye on him. Rin is behaving rather strangely. Restless, agitated, annoyed, or a combination of all three. Though, a minute into the small lecture, Rin softly calls out your name. “Y-Yes?” you can begin to feel your neck growing dangerously hot.

“About that night, last week…” he finally pushes the words out, but lets them hang in the air, inconclusive.

Your cheeks flare up, and you turn away, clearly embarrassed. Suddenly, you feel like a complete idiot all over again. “I—I’m sorry about that,” you stammer out, staring down at your fingers. “I don’t know what came over me, everything was so dark and—”

“You don’t need to apologize,” he consoles, quickly. “I’m glad that it happened. It was… I… it was good.”

It’s a bit of a rambling response, but it leaves you stunned and flustered, without even realizing it. You finally turn to look at him, eyes a little misty, your cheeks still warm. You’re relieved by Rin’s reply. You open your mouth to respond back, but nothing tangible comes out.

“I want it to happen again,” Rin finds himself saying, tone suddenly low and dark. He shoots you a look, one that you can’t quite interpret. It’s like he’s hovering somewhere between concern and fear that he’s pushing too far. And maybe he is, but you are too.

You let your legs slip out from underneath and you lean up against Rin’s bed. If it wasn’t there, you’d collapse for sure.

Rin follows suit but pulls away from you abruptly, and you manage to look up just in time to catch the flush in his cheeks and neck. It’s hard to see it in the dark but, if Rin’s body language is anything to go by, he’s incredibly embarrassed.

“Are you okay?” His voice is quiet, and you manage a shaky nod, but that nod is immediately followed by another involuntary sound from the back of your throat.

“I, um, should we tell…?”

You’re not entirely sure where Rin stands with his relationship with Sae, nor if both of you can predict the outcome of what would happen. Sae is still a close friend, but you can’t hide the fact that you like Rin away from him forever. Plus, would this even realistically work out? Graduate school, job interviews, things of that sort aren’t in Rin’s horizons, but…

“We don’t have to do anything right now,” he seems to catch on and clears his throat, looking away. “I just wanted to make my feelings clear.”

You briefly think back to Oliver’s advice earlier in the night, about being more honest with your feelings. How things will magically become easier. It’ll be unfair if you didn’t pour out your heart like Rin had done just now. But words can’t be the only way of showing your honesty.

“We can take it slowly,” you stumble out.

Screw it, maybe you can ask Sae for a favor after you’re done tutoring.

Those words seem to melt Rin’s hard exterior almost instantly. Wrapping both your arms around his neck, you press a chaste kiss to his inviting lips.

Rin doesn’t say anything else, but there’s another little teasing nudge of his shoulder bumping against yours, and it somehow communicates more than it should.

taglist: @hellothere9597 @itzmeme @scaraslover @kidd3ath @torureadz

a/n: hi again everyone... if you've made it this far - thank you ;; this piece might just be the longest fic i've ever written (to date...) and tbh im not sure if i like it ? maybe i do idk!! there were so many times i wanted to throw my laptop against the wall gaah did you know that i originally wanted sae to come in and interrupt towards the end? thank god i didnt otherwise our two main love birds wouldn't have been able to kiss... anyways, ty for reading and hopefully you'll see me around more <3 <3 ty i love you

#blue lock #doobea writing #bllk #blue lock imagines #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #itoshi rin #itoshi rin x reader #rin itoshi x reader #rin itoshi #blue lock x gn reader

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fuckyeahdindjarin · 10 months

Text

IV ║ Notch

Joel Miller x F!Reader

{ Part III: Edgestitch | Behind the Seams: Part IV | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: E, but not that explicit

Summary: While Ellie works her first shift at the Outfitters, Joel drops by yours to return the blouse you left behind at the baby shower. Turns out, there's plenty around the house to keep him occupied until the teenager clocks off.

Warnings: Sexual tension, body insecurity, some language, inaccurate descriptions of gardening, gratuitous descriptions of the male body, undervest supremacy, flirting, dry humping, shy!reader, reader has a nickname related to her job, soft!domestic!Joel, no use of Y/N

Word count: 8.9k

Notes: Once I started writing this chapter in earnest, it came together a bit more quickly than I expected! It's extremely self-indulgent, with plenty of white undervest and belly action because you guys deserve all of that goodness for being the most patient, loving readers a writer could hope for 🥹 Thank you, I love you all! ❤️

Notch – diamond shaped marks that stick out beyond the edge of the pattern to line up all the pieces when sewing the garment. They come in pairs to be matched up.

Joel is sleeping - which is not something that could be said until a couple of months ago.

After the outbreak, sleep as a concept ceased to exist. What took its place is literal ‘shuteye’, either engineered by pills knocked back with moonshine, or a preventative shutdown by his body to avoid total failure, having pushed his physical form to the living limit.

It’s the kind of sleep that is destitute and provides no relief. It keeps the cogs turning just enough that he doesn’t expire, standing in his boots - which, on most days, are not the only things held together by duct tape.

But after the hospital, even that turned out to be too much to ask for. Some nights, the itch for chemical-induced relief got so bad that Joel entertained the thought of asking Tommy for illicit pills, ready to crawl on all fours to his brother’s house two streets down because he was shaking so hard he couldn’t lock his knees. But he didn’t trust him not to tell Maria, and with Ellie in the picture, he wasn’t about to tempt fate.

So instead, he asked Maria to assign him to night patrols. She hmmm’d at his request like she knew something he didn’t, but she humoured him, letting him take the graveyard shift for a couple of weeks straight. She didn’t have to tell him that she could see the way he tripped over his own feet and hear the slur in his voice. She’s too sharp not to notice.

But she didn’t say anything.

What she did do though, was not so subtly wean him off the late-night patrols. It started with a couple of random, last-minute changes, and then the next thing he knew, he was working morning shifts exclusively. When he tried covertly swapping stints with another guy, he showed up at the guard tower at midnight to find his sister-in-law standing in the doorway, arms crossed over her pregnant belly.

As he trudged home begrudgingly with his head down and her stern reprimand in his ears, he couldn’t help a chuckle. Gotta hand it to her.

Banished back to his bed, Joel went back to staring owlishly at the ceiling, watching the moonlight slide across the plaster until he knew all the cracks in it with his eyes closed (metaphorically). He’d listen to Ellie snoring away two doors down and marvel at the fact that she somehow still slept like the dead, even after… all that.

And then, one night, it happened for him too.

Admittedly, he ate a bit too much at Tommy and Maria’s - on top of running the town like a well-oiled machine, she makes a mean chicken fried steak - and Ellie had not so subtly plonked a second helping on his plate without asking. He was lying in bed, steeling himself for another long night, when his eyes drooped. The motion was so alien that it jolted him wide awake, but he couldn’t shake the weight that clung to the seams of his lashes. The next time he opened his eyes, it was morning.

Turns out you can teach an old dog new tricks.

It’s nowhere near consistent, and more often than not he wakes up in a cold sweat in the small hours, but in between, he’s sleeping. For once, he’s feeling rested. And it’s a nice fucking break from the relentless exhaustion that he’s convinced is fused into his bones.

He always wakes up earlier than Ellie though. She never stomps down the stairs until he’s already had breakfast, and hers has gone cold.

So on the Saturday morning following the baby shower, with his face plastered into the mattress, body curled around a pillow - old habits die hard - Joel nearly falls out of bed at the banging on his door.

‘Joel! Get the fuck up!’

For one disconcerting moment between sleep and wake, he’s in his bedroom back in Texas. He half expects to look up to see the posters on the wall and the perpetually overflowing laundry basket at the foot of his bed.

Blinking through the urge to close his eyes, the colours fade and he stares blearily at the digital clock on his bedside table.

7:30.

What the fuck? More often than not he has to drag the teenager out of bed by the ankles, kicking and swearing, at 7:50 to get to school at 8:00.

His knees groan as he staggers onto his feet, grabbing yesterday’s jeans from the floor and pulling them on. He finds a passably clean shirt about five deep on a chair, which he shrugs on over his white undervest. With a grunt, he yanks open the door and heads downstairs on bare feet, frowning at unfamiliar sounds coming from the kitchen.

Joel pauses in the doorway, hands on hips. ‘What do you think you’re doin’?’

Deeming his question unworthy of a response, Ellie tosses him a roll of her eyes over her shoulder and resolutely ignores him.

Shuffling closer, he asks, ‘Are you - cookin’?’

Brandishing the spatula at him, she snarls, ‘What does it look like I’m doing?’

He goads her with a smirk. ‘To be honest, it looks like you threw up in the pan.’

Ellie elbows him hard in the stomach. ‘Fuck you, man!’

He grins. There’s nothing like winding her up first thing in the morning. Grabbing the pan, he bins the ruined eggs, scraping off the burnt bits stuck to the bottom. ‘Crack some more eggs, I’ll make ‘em.’

Ten minutes later, in their usual seats at the kitchen table, they tuck into scrambled eggs and buttered toast.

‘Slow down,’ warns Joel as Ellie wolfs down hers. ‘You’re gonna choke.’

‘You hurry up! Can’t be late for my first day,’ she garbles through a mouthful of food.

‘Why can’t you be like this about school?’ he grumbles, then he winces as his teeth catch something crunchy. Picking it out, he gives her a pointed look. ‘Eggshell.’

‘Calcium,’ she shoots back without even looking up, too busy shoving the rest of her breakfast into her mouth, stuffing her cheeks like a chipmunk.

That one word stops Joel in his tracks and hurls him twenty years back in time.

But then Ellie is jumping up and practically throwing her empty plate into the sink, sneakers squeaking on the tiled floor as she dashes out of the kitchen. ‘C’mon, old man!’

Joel smiles, the memory warm like sun on his face.

He shakes his head, slowly finishing his breakfast - like he wishes he did that day.

They turn out to be fifteen minutes early.

To his chagrin, Ellie admits freely that she lied about the time so they wouldn’t be late. He’s a punctual guy, thank you very much. He certainly doesn’t need to be schooled by the little brat.

Joel sits on the stairs, while Ellie has her face squished up against the door, unabashedly leaving smudges on the glass panels as she keeps up an uninterrupted running commentary on every last piece of clothing she can see.

He tunes her out easily, shifting in his seat so that his right ear is to the door. In his hands is the blouse that you left behind at Tommy and Maria’s at the baby shower. He’s been meaning to return it to you, but the week got away from him, and there’s no time like the present.

Considering the state of his knees, he impresses himself with the speed at which he stands at the sound of footsteps on the otherwise quiet main street. Squaring his shoulders, he discreetly pulls on his shirt, suddenly seeing wrinkles everywhere in the fabric, and runs his fingers through his hair, wishing he’d taken another look in the mirror before he left the house -

But it’s Lucy who appears at the bottom of the stairs with her unfailingly sunny smile.

‘Hi, you must be Ellie,’ she chirps.

She eyes Lucy cautiously, lips pinched to one side. ‘Where’s Pin?’

Joel growls. ‘Manners.’

Ellie puts her hands up in surrender. ‘Sorry. I meant - nice to meet you, where’s Pin?’

Lucy beams good-naturedly and fiddles with the lock. ‘She’s off today, and it’s all my fault because I made her work three weekends in a row. You’ll be helping me in the front anyway, so I’ll show you the ropes.’ Stepping aside and swinging the door open, she prompts, ‘In you go now, hon.’

Ellie doesn’t even look back at him, rushing into the shop like a thoroughbred fresh out of the starting gates.

Pocketing the keys, Lucy smiles. ‘Hi Joel.’

‘Hey,’ he nods back. ‘Sorry about Ellie.’

‘Don’t be, I was exactly like her when I was younger. Still am sometimes,’ she jokes. Then with a sly side eye, she remarks, ‘And honestly, you look more disappointed that I showed up than she does.’

He splutters, ‘Dunno what you’re talkin’ about.’

She smirks knowingly, gesturing at the blouse clutched tightly in his left fist. ‘I can pass that to Pin for ya.’

Joel hesitates for just a second, and Lucy bursts into laughter, elbowing him teasingly. ‘The way your face fell! I’m joking, Miller. Relax.’

He shakes his head. ‘It’s fine, guess I’ll give it to her next time she’s ‘round.’

Just then, from the depths of the shop, Ellie gasps dramatically and yells at the top of her lungs, ‘I want thissssssss one!’

Meeting Lucy’s eyes, Joel asks, ‘Sure you gonna be ok left alone with her?’

She shrugs. ‘There’s only one way to find out.’

He flashes her a thumbs up. ‘I’ll pick her up at three then.’

He’s about to walk away from the Outfitters when Lucy’s voice stops him. ‘Hey, Joel!’

Looking up at the wraparound porch, he raises an eyebrow in a silent question.

‘She lives in the yellow cottage on the same street as the shoe shop. Keep going north, you can’t miss it,’ she says with a two-finger salute and a parting line that he’s heard before. ‘Say hi to Pin for me!’

You’ve always had a soft spot for the turn of the season, when late spring blooms graciously give way to summer buds. The grass smells greener, and the air is pregnant with pollen and nectar. It’s not overly warm yet, but you can feel the intensity in the sunlight, muted only by the early hour. Good thing you’re starting early.

It’s unseasonably warm for June, and the vegetable patch on the far end of your garden has suddenly burst into life. The cauliflower has finally come through after two failed crops in a row, and both the tomato vines and pepper plants are thriving. Closer to the ground, the onion and garlic shoots are patiently waiting to be pulled, and asparagus shoots spear through the earth in tidy lines one after another.

Pulling on a hat and gloves, you get to work.

You’re halfway through the second row of onions when there’s a faint knock on the front door. Even though you’ve only been in the sun for a little while, the coolness inside the house feels like a balm to your skin as you pad inside, peeling off your gloves before reaching for the door.

Swinging it open, you’re stumped by the sight of Joel Miller on your doorstep.

You haven’t seen him since the party, where you’d agreed on a start date and time for Ellie’s first shift, and -

Since the kiss.

You’ve felt his absence keenly. You’ve caught yourself loitering on street corners, hoping to catch a glimpse of him, knowing you’ll be able to spot him just by the way his shoulders swing with his long strides. You’ve kept an ear out for the southern lilt that has chased goosebumps across your skin, or any mention of his name, but all in vain.

Jackson has a habit of growing in size, usually in direct proportion to one’s desperation.

Now that he’s somehow here, you’re aware you’re gaping at him, so broad that his shoulders are blocking out the daylight. Too many years out of practice to count, you have no idea what the protocol is when you next see the man who literally made your knees buckle with just his lips and nothing else.

‘Mornin’, he finally says with a small smile.

You stammer. ‘H-hello. What, um, I mean, how -’

‘I dropped off Ellie at the shop and Lucy told me where you live,’ he explains, shaking out the blouse in his hands. ‘Thought I’d come ‘round and return this.’

Your palm twitches with the urge to smack yourself on the forehead. Of course that’s why he’s here.

Taking the top from him, you smile back gratefully. ‘Thank you. And of course, it’s Ellie’s first day. I’m sorry I can’t be there, but I’ve been subbing for Lucy on the weekends for a month straight and I needed a break.’

He waves away your apology. ‘Count yourself lucky. She was just ‘bout bouncin’ off the walls.’

‘Bless her heart,’ you chuckle, breaking off when his eyes flicker over you, as if he’s just registered your very minimalist ensemble of a white cotton tank top and denim cut-offs. Your skin prickles under his scrutiny, flattery winning out against self-consciousness at the deliberate drag of his gaze over you, a thoughtful weight behind it.

That is until something catches his attention, and you flinch when he peers under the brim of your hat. ‘What -’

Before you can even articulate your question, he’s taken one step towards you, his work boots heavy on your creaky wooden porch. His voice is low but rough around the edges, just the way you like it.

‘You got some dirt -’ he swipes his index finger firmly on the end of your nose. ‘Right here.’

Your jaw hangs open, then clamps shut, in quick succession, the shell of your ears burning hot at his fleeting touch. Throat suddenly dry, you barely manage to squeak, ‘Thanks.’

One day, you will at least try and keep your cool around this man. But alas, it is not this day.

Rearranging himself, Joel leans on the doorframe with his arms crossed and remarks conversationally, ‘You look outdoorsy this mornin’.’

Flashing the soil-stained gloves at him, you try to keep your voice steady. ‘I’m just doing some gardening out back. The vegetable patch needs harvesting.’

He purses his lips at that. ‘Didn’t peg you as the gardenin’ type.’

You don’t know where the bravado comes from, but you swat him on the arm with the gloves and quip, ‘There’s a lot you don’t know about me.’

‘You got me there,’ he huffs a laugh and gestures towards the back of the house. ‘Anythin’ I can do to help?’

The refusal is on the tip of your tongue. You don’t say yes to a whole lot nowadays, other than when Lucy makes you. But then you hear yourself ask, a challenge in your voice that you didn’t know you had. ‘I don’t know. Are you any good with your hands, Joel Miller?’

At the boldness in your words, which you don’t take back, Joel’s eyebrows reach for his hairline. Biting your lip but standing your ground, you watch him grind his jaw as he considers his response.

‘Why don’t you try me, sweetheart?’

‘Like this?’

‘Wait - slow down.’

A shuffle of hands. ‘How about now?’

‘That’s it. Yes, that’s good. Keep going.’

A raspy grunt. ‘I think I’m almost there.’

‘Yeah, that’s right, don’t stop -’

‘Alright, you ready?’

‘Come on, Joel -’

With one last flick, the knife slices clean through the base of the stalk, and Joel plucks the cauliflower head out of its leafy cradle with a triumphant grin.

‘How’s that for good hands, huh?’ he crows.

‘I’ll get back to you in the fall when we see if the cauliflower grows back,’ you tease.

He huffs, squinting up at you through the sun. ‘You’re hard to please, sweetheart.’

You preen at the playful turn of the conversation. If you were a little braver, you’d give him a mischievous wink - but for now, you gesture at the patch. ‘Can you handle the rest? I’ll get started on the peppers.’

He nods. ‘Leave ‘em with me.’

The pepper plants are having a great season, standing at four feet tall and heaving with fruits. You’ve left them alone on the vine for the last three weeks to sweeten, and they have dutifully ripened into a beautiful red. Settling onto your knees, you methodologically comb through the peppers from top to bottom, cutting off each one by the stalks.

It’s a big harvest, half of which you plan on giving away to your neighbours in exchange for their berries and lemons. Some you will cook. Lucy is due to come over for dinner, and she loves your stuffed pepper recipe. The rest you’ll have to find time to roast, skin, deseed and preserve in oil, which will last the rest of the year -

A shadow falls over you, stilling your hands and drawing your eyes upwards.

The sight is familiar - feet planted shoulder-wide by your knees, chin tucked in as he stares down at you, your nose level with the front of the jeans that you picked out for him - you’ve seen it all before, except for one small detail.

Joel is sweating. A lot.

His thin plaid shirt - you’re not sure if you’ve seen him in anything else yet - is sticking to him like a second skin, clinging to the solid outline of his biceps as he holds onto the basket full of cauliflower heads. The sunlight glances off the perspiration dotting his hairline, and the wispy grays that normally curl away from his face have wilted in the humidity.

There’s a flush under his skin as he swipes at his forehead with his shirt sleeve, and your gaze follows a bead of sweat dripping down the prominent vein on the side of his neck, and into the deep V of his shirt - wait, is that the outline of an undervest that you can just make out underneath -

‘Should I take the cauliflower in?’

‘Um -’ you stammer to a halt, eyes still plastered to the front of his chest, just like his shirt.

He clearly mistakes your gawking for something else, flashing you an apologetic smile at his state. ‘Sorry, I work up a sweat real easy.’

Oh, come on. Now all you’re thinking about is how else he works up a sweat -

Seized by the sudden need to get out of the heat in more than one sense of the word, you rip the basket from his grasp and turn on your heels to sprint into the house with a choked, ‘I’ll be right back!’

You nearly trip over your own feet running into the kitchen, your heart thumping so loudly in its ribcage it feels like the whole house is shaking to the beat.

And all that man has done is sweat in front of you.

‘Pull yourself together, Pin,’ you mutter to yourself as you tip the cauliflower heads onto the kitchen table. Grabbing a jug from the cupboard, you put it in the sink and turn on the faucet. Watching the trickle of water, you make yourself take three deep breaths.

Joel’s kind enough to do you a favour, you could at least have the courtesy to not perv on him while he helps you out.

Nodding determinedly to yourself, you pluck two glasses from the drying rack, putting them inside the empty basket that you hook on your elbow, and march back outside -

Only to almost swallow your tongue and drop the full jug of water right at your feet.

Joel’s sweat-soaked shirt is now hanging on your washing line like a white flag, having surrendered to the heat. And just like that, the very image that has been inconveniently seared into the back of your eyes since the party is suddenly before you in all its glory, in the morning sun, out in the open air.

The white undervest stretches over the breadth of him, and if he didn’t look so good in it, you would’ve laughed at the comical way the flimsy straps are clinging onto his shoulders for dear life. Then he bends over to inspect the tomato vines, the bottom of his vest riding up with the movement, teasing a flash of skin above the waistline of the jeans pulled tight over his behind. One big hand reaches out, the outline of his arm flexing as he does, and he palms the bottom of one tomato, testing if it’s ripe for the picking.

Except in your head, it’s something else he’s cupping with such rapturous attention.

He doesn’t notice you until he stands up with a low grunt of effort. Pointing an apologetic finger at his shirt, he says, ‘I hope you don’t mind, I’m sweatin’ right through it like nobody’s business.’

You make a noise in your throat that you pass off as an answer, and with shaky hands, pour him a full glass of water which you shove in his direction.

‘Appreciate it, sweetheart.’ He salutes you and takes a long drag, tipping his head back. You watch, transfixed, as the sunlight bounces off the lines of sweat criss-crossing down the strong column of his neck, and the hard bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows.

Suddenly, you’re parched. But you don’t trust yourself to stay upright, let alone pour yourself a drink.

‘It’s hot today,’ Joel breaks the loaded silence, though it’s possible that it’s unilaterally so on your side.

‘Uh-huh,’ you croak, still holding onto the water jug like a shield.

He peers at you with a touch of mischief. ‘You ain’t gonna swoon or anythin’ are you?’

Probably. And definitely not for the reason he has in mind.

You attempt a weak smile that may have come off as a grimace. ‘I’ll try not to.’

Reassured, he nods towards the garlic patch. ‘C’mon. Let’s get our hands dirty, sweetheart.’

By the time the vegetable patch has been thoroughly picked and the baskets crammed full, the sun is high in the sky, the morning clouds burned off with the heat.

Joel isn’t the only one who’s sweating through his clothes - your light cotton top is now clinging uncomfortably to your skin, sweat dripping down your sternum and dampening the cups of your bra. You heave a sigh of relief when he helps you move the haul to a shaded corner near the porch where you have an outdoor sink and wheel hose installed.

Emptying the root vegetables into the sink, Joel steps back and casts a critical eye over the rain gutters that line the eaves of your house. Fingers spread over one jutting hip, he leans his weight on his right leg, the stance creating all kinds of angles that are completely unnecessary in this kind of heat.

He points at the leaves and branches that are clearly sticking out from the channels, but you’re only really interested in studying his large hands. The bumps and veins on the back of them, the watch with the broken face on his left wrist, the dirt coating his thick fingers, pushed under tidily trimmed nails. The logical thought that follows is how he would leave dark streaks on your white top when he pulls you in by the waist -

‘Looks like the gutters need cleanin’,’ Joel declares.

Well, the gutter your head is currently dunked in can certainly do with a good scrub.

‘Rainy season doesn’t start for another few months, they can wait.’

He uh-uh's sternly. ‘I’ve heard that before. Do you have a ladder?’

‘You really don’t have to -’ you protest, but he won’t hear it.

‘It’s no big deal, I’m sweaty anyway,’ he replies. ‘Besides, you’ll be doing me a favour keepin’ me occupied. I don’t pick Ellie up till three.’

You bite your lip. ‘But I feel bad working you so hard.’

Without skipping a beat, he winks. ‘Don’t worry your pretty head, sweetheart - I like workin’ for it.’

Jesus Christ. This man needs to be locked up and the key thrown to a colony of clickers.

The inner contractor in Joel comes out to play as he climbs deftly up the extension ladder propped up against the eaves, gloves on and a tarp bag tied to the top rung for collecting the debris. Discreetly, you shuffle around the freestanding sink so that you have a clear view of him as you turn on the water and start washing the dirt off the onions.

He’s starting close by, just a couple of feet away from you, patiently scooping out the dead leaves and twigs by the handful. Up on the ladder with his side to you, you’re eye level with the swell of his belly, which stretches the seams of the vest, and the underside of it peeks out every time he reaches up for the gutters. Your cheeks warm with the memory of how the soft folds felt against you, so warm and solid that you ache to reach out, push the flimsy vest up and nuzzle the tender skin with your nose -

It takes you a couple of minutes to realise that you’re not even pretending to be washing the onions anymore, the hose running in your idle grasp as you stare, head cocked to one side.

You don’t hear him when he turns to you. ‘Can pass me the hose?’

You stare dumbly back at him. ‘Huh?’

‘The hose, Pin,’ he repeats, a playful condescension in his smirk, like he knows exactly what you’ve been looking at. ‘That onion looks sparkly clean.’

You’re not sure what happened. One second you’re holding onto the hose with the intention of turning off the water before passing it to Joel, but your brain skips that crucial first step, and the next thing you know, you’re pointing it straight at him, spraying him in water from face to chest.

As he splutters, you shove the hose into the sink and screech, mortified. ‘Oh my god! I’m so sorry!’

You watch in horror as the water trickles from his hair, down his stubbled chin and onto his chest - okay, that’s a lie. It’s definitely not horror that’s twisting in your tummy and then much, much lower between your thighs.

And if you thought this man looked good sweaty, well - you’ve seen nothing yet.

He might as well put you out of your misery and take off his undervest right about now. It’s completely see-through, pebbled nipples and the firm ridges of his pecs showing through the wet fabric, rounded out by the endearing soft pouch of his belly.

He wears the early summer tan so well, and for the first time since the outbreak, you think about the swim club in your old neighbourhood. Watching the water drip off his skin, it’s not a stretch to imagine this man pulling himself out of the pool after a quick dip to cool down, before stretching out on a sunlounger to dry in the sun - all in slow motion, set to the track of a corny sax riff.

‘I’m sorry,’ you say on reflex, but the apology rings hollow with the way your gaze lingers over his chest, and he notices.

He chuckles, carding one hand through his wet hair to slick it back, standing taller under your eyes. ‘As I said - never a dull moment with you, sweetheart.’

Joel takes his time, clearing out all the blockages and hosing the gutters clean so that you don’t have to worry about them for another six months. He dumps the leaves and sticks in the compost post, rinses the soiled gloves and his hands clean, before taking his shirt off the washing line and heading into the blessed shade.

He finds you in the kitchen, back to the door, putting away clean plates and cutlery from the drying rack, porcelain knocking together and metal clanging.

This is the most he’s seen of you, in a tank top and shorts, bathed in light spilling in from the large windows that open out into the backyard. He sees touches of your workshop right here in the kitchen - dried herbs and seasoning in mismatched but tidy boxes on the shelves, knives organised by size on a magnetic knife block, plates and bowls arranged in neat stacks behind glass cabinets.

Not wanting to alarm you, he deliberately scrapes his shoe on the tiled floor to make his presence known.

Whipping around - and just a touch startled - you smile with a quiet hey, and Joel’s not sure if he’ll ever get over how the sweet shyness still clings to the curve of your lips despite the fact that he’s kissed you right there.

He stays by the door for now and says, ‘I put the ladder back, and the gutters are all done, but I spotted some shingles missing on the roof while I was up there. I’ll come back to fix ‘em some other time.’

‘Thank you so much Joel, but really, don’t worry about the roof. You’ve done enough.’

‘You basically got Ellie outta my hair every Saturday for the next few months, so I’ll have plenty of time to kill,’ he half-jokes.

A comfortable lull sets in, and he looks up at the ticking clock, surprised that it’s almost noon. Shifting his feet, he opens his mouth and is about to excuse himself when you blurt out, ‘I’m sorry I soaked you.’

The jury's out on who's more taken aback by your phrasing. Exasperated, you groan, ‘I did not mean to say that.’

Joel’s kept a respectful distance since he arrived at the house, the pliant weight of you in his arms and your taste on his tongue kept firmly at bay in the back of his mind, not wanting to bring up anything that would make you uncomfortable in the light of day. But now, he pushes himself off the threshold of the door and crosses the cosy kitchen, pleased that you stay put when he plants himself in front of you, toe to toe.

Brushing a finger under your chin so that you’re staring up at him, he deliberately pitches his voice low and gruff, the double entendre almost crude in its delivery. ‘Just so we’re clear, you can soak me any time, sweetheart, in any way you want.’

Your lips part and your gaze darkens, and he feels his body instinctively react, invisible threads reeling him bodily into you. When you speak, your voice quivers, his name at once a single-worded reprimand and a needy whine that takes him right back to his brother’s spare bedroom. ‘Joel -’

‘Yes, Pin?’ he baits you playfully, just like he did that night, taking one last step so that you’re crowded against the countertop, bookending you with his palms planted on the wooden surface.

Finally shedding that last bit of shyness holding you back, you retort with no real bite, ‘You’re such a tease, Miller.’

‘Don’t pretend you don’t enjoy it,’ he quips easily, his attention on your mouth. He hears your shaky intake of air, the whole moment suspended on tenterhooks as you skirt each other on the brink -

Just then, a breeze drifts in from the open window above the sink, providing instant relief from the humidity that hangs heavy in the air. All of a sudden, he’s acutely aware of the fact that he’s sweaty all over, so much so that he might actually smell.

Self-conscious, he clears his throat and murmurs ‘I should probably go, I need a shower and a change of clothes -’

‘You can shower here,’ you interrupt, stumbling over your words in your haste. ‘I have a spare shirt somewhere.’

You don’t need to ask him twice.

He smiles. ‘Sounds good, sweetheart.’

Your ensuite bathroom, like what he has seen of your house, is clean and organised. There’s a neat stockpile of soap bars in the cupboard, and he spots the familiar bottles of regulation shampoo and toothpaste that the town mass produces.

The water is plenty hot as he efficiently lathers himself top to bottom and front to back, but the pressure is a bit weak for his liking and can be easily fixed. Something else to add to the list.

The towel you left on the rack is soft and smells like the sun. Patting himself dry and rubbing it through his hair, he wipes away the condensation off the mirror above the sink. He peers at his reflection, ruminating that it’s time for a shave, and pushes back his wet hair so the strands don’t get in his eyes.

Out of his clothes, only his jeans are passably dry, so he forgoes his boxers and pulls them on, carefully doing up the zipper. Using his shirt as a sling, he bundles up all the dirty clothes and opens the bathroom door.

He catches you coming into the bedroom as he steps out, and your jaw drops at the sight of him in just his jeans before you slap your palms dramatically over your eyes, the tshirt you’re holding onto covering your whole face and muffling your voice. ‘I’m so sorry! I should’ve knocked!’

Joel chuckles at your reaction. ‘Sweetheart, it's your house. And I’m not exactly naked.’

Lowering your hands sheepishly, you still clutch the tshirt to your chest like a security blanket, admitting, ‘Sorry, I just - I just realised I’ve never had a man in here before.’

Something wraps itself around his stomach and pulls, and it takes him a beat to put a name to it because it’s been so long. It’s possessiveness that rushes through his veins and goes straight to his head, and he has to bite the inside of his mouth to keep his voice from wavering. He demands, ‘Never?’

‘Never.’

He lets the word wash over him, appeasing the beast in him for now. With a slow nod, he takes three measured steps towards you, stopping just an arm’s length away. Gently coaxing you to let go of the purple tshirt, he snorts at the huge Lakers logo blazoned across the front.

He quips, ‘I’m more of a Longhorns fan myself, actually.’

The tension cracks, and you grin back, ‘Well, not anymore.’

After your confession, it’s probably redundant, but he wants to hear you say it. Flashing the tshirt at you, he asks, ‘Old boyfriend’s?’

It’s the most personal question that’s been exchanged between you so far by a mile, and it’s probably none of his business, but you can’t explain why your pulse spikes at the way his normally warm gaze hardens with something unfamiliar.

‘No,’ you answer. ‘I keep some of the stock here when there’s not enough room at the shop, that’s all.’

Joel rasps, ‘Good.’

With that one syllable, his shoulders visibly relax, suddenly drawing your attention to his topless form, which you’ve been too mortified to actually look at. It’s a lot to take in, and even though you’ve seen most of him already, there is one conspicuous part that you haven’t yet -

But before your eyes can trail that low, Joel turns. ‘Thanks, I appreciate it. I’ll just -’

You’re slow to catch onto why he trails off in the middle of the sentence, still far too distracted by his general state of undress to notice until he’s already made his way to the top of your neatly made bed. And then you see it…

The flannel peeking out from underneath the duvet.

Oh. Fuck.

With an almost flippant flick of his wrist, Joel peels back the corner of the bedspread. Wordlessly, he stares down at the red plaid shirt he lent you at the baby shower, tucked snugly in your bed, buried half under your pillow.

He stares at it for so long that you interrupt the silence for once.

‘I’ve been meaning to return it,’ you squeak, hands flailing awkwardly, desperately wanting something to hold onto. ‘I just - forgot.’

Joel half-turns to you, arching an eyebrow. ‘You’ve been keepin’ it in your bed?’

Backed into a corner - and you’re not proud of it - you lie. Outrageously. ‘I don’t know how it got in there.'

He picks up the shirt by the collar. It’s wrinkled all over and obviously worn in. He smirks, ‘I’m not so sure about that.’

You’re this close to swivelling around and making a break for it, but as soon as your axis of balance tilts backwards, Joel grabs you by the wrist and pulls you in, hauling you firmly into his bare chest.

‘You’ve been wearin’ it to sleep, haven’t you?’ he asks in a tone that brooks no argument.

Your fingers curl into his chest, his skin blazing warm under your palms. There’s no point fibbing anymore, and you admit, ‘Yes.’

His voice is hoarse when he asks, ‘You wear anythin’ underneath it, sweetheart?’

You hold your breath for one long moment, the tension in the room swelling so quickly that your ears pop. Eventually, under his patient yet heated stare, you shake your head, lips sealed.

His pupils dilate and his nostrils flare, and you feel his grip on your hips tighten.

‘No bra?’ he prompts.

‘No bra,’ you parrot back.

His jaw clenches so tightly that you’re surprised he manages to articulate his next question. ‘No panties?’

‘No panties -’

You barely get the word out before Joel is kissing you, pushing the syllables right back into your mouth until you swallow them with a whimper.

And then he’s pulling back, growling against yours, ‘And what do you do naked in my shirt, hmm?’

You stutter, ‘I - I think about you -’

An undignified squeal escapes you when he suddenly spins you around, your back hitting the bed, denying you the chance to catch your breath. The ceiling fan turns directly above you, but it does nothing to quell the heat between your bodies as Joel clambers over you on his hands and knees, sliding his mouth over yours again in a hard kiss.

You always thought your bed was a decent size, but now, with the bulk of this man hovering over you, you’re not so sure anymore. His ridiculously wide shoulders fill your entire field of vision, and even though he’s holding himself up with his forearms by your ears, you can almost feel the full weight of him through sheer anticipation of his touch.

His heated words brush by your ear, making you shudder. ‘Tell me what you think about, sweetheart.’

‘Your arms, your shoulders -’ you hesitate, dropping your voice shyly. ‘Your belly.’

Joel looks taken aback. ‘My belly?’

You duck your head almost guiltily. ‘Yes.’

His brows draw together in an endearingly confused frown. ‘Why?’

‘That time in the workshop, when we met, you were sucking it in so hard you could hardly breathe - but you don’t anymore.’

The dots connect, and his lips part in an oh. ‘I didn’t even realise.’

‘I know. That’s why it’s sexy,’ you point out.

He looks at you incredulously, as if you’ve lost your mind. ‘My belly is sexy?’

You grin. ‘Yes, and your confidence. You walk differently now, you know.’

He makes a noise at the back of his throat, a self-satisfied smirk tilting his lips upwards. ‘You been watchin’ me?’

‘Maybe,’ you tease.

You exhale long and heavy through your nose when he sucks delicately on your bottom lip, opening you up so that he can dip inside, stealing a taste of your tongue with his.

‘Been thinkin’ about you all week, sweetheart,’ he whispers, trailing fire across your cheek and the hollow behind your ear.

‘I haven’t seen you around at all,’ you whine, tipping your head back as he nudges the tip of his proud nose down your throat.

‘I know, it took three fuckin’ days to clean up after the party,’ he complains, his disgruntled tone prompting a giggle from you. ‘Never again.’

‘I’m not so sure about that. There will be plenty of birthday parties to look forward to, Uncle Joel -’

An open-mouthed kiss on the side of your neck catches you off guard, the unfamiliar texture of the wet suction and scrape of his teeth jolts you clean off the mattress, sending you body slamming into his ribcage.

Joel hums, pleased at your reaction. ‘So sensitive. I’ve barely touched you yet, sweetheart.’

It’s immediate, the shame that burns under your skin at his remark despite knowing he doesn’t mean anything by it, and Joel frowns at the way you stiffen under him. Regret colours his words as he cups your cheek. ‘Pin, I’m sorry, that came out wrong -’

‘No, that’s the thing. You’re not wrong,’ you interrupt with a shake of your head. There’s no point denying it - you’re a grown woman, and there’s something fundamentally embarrassing about losing touch with that part of yourself over the years. ‘I - it’s been so long, I don’t even know my own body anymore.’

His eyes dip downwards and slowly, over the curve of your breasts and the arch of your back. With an encouraging smile, he argues, ‘I’m not sure about that. Looks like your body’s reactin’ perfectly to me.’

Your lips twitch despite yourself. ‘You’re just saying that to get into my pants.’

He takes the unexpected turn in the conversation in stride and runs with it. ‘Trust me, sweetheart, if I were tryin’, I’d already be in them.’

‘You’re such an ass, Joel Miller.’

His roguish grin has you squirming and fisting the sheets underneath you. ‘I dunno. Somethin’ tells me you like it.’

Wrapping one palm on the back of his neck, you drag him into you again, relishing in the weight of him as he pins you to the bed with the broad frame of his shoulders. He moans into your mouth, claiming it with deep strokes of his tongue, while his calloused palms sneak under the hem of your shirt and pull you into him by the small of your back.

Even as your hips buck, begging for friction, Joel holds back, propping himself up on his knees to keep a tenuous grip on his self-control. Pulling back from your lips with a wet pop, he assures you through heavy breaths, ‘We can stop any time, sweetheart. Just say the word.’

Your response comes fast and sure, but he can read the hesitance between the lines, ‘I - I don’t want to stop.’

He presses a patient kiss to your lips, but backs away before you can deepen it. ‘How about this - we’ll flip you over so that you’re on top, and you decide what you want to do. Is that ok?’

You pause to consider his proposal, sliding your tongue over your bottom lip - he’s this close to kissing you right there and then. You ask shyly, ‘And it’s ok if we - you know, just make out?’

He smiles. ‘I can do with some good old-fashioned neckin’.’

‘Ok then -’

You yelp when Joel turns you over without warning, the sudden movement making your head spin. Sitting up against the headboard, he drags you in his lap and asks, ‘Alright?’

You nod with a nervous smile. It’s intimidating, being so close to him that there’s nowhere else to look but into his thoughtful eyes that are watching you for any signs of discomfort. Catching your breath, you settle into the moment and realise that you’re straddling him, hands clinging onto his shoulders, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips. His belly is warm and soft where he’s pressed up against you, but lower, nudging insistently between your legs -

Joel is hard.

The revelation robs you of air, want and need rushing like blood to your head, and you stiffen, not knowing what to do.

Joel catches on - you’re beginning to think that nothing ever escapes him - and he reminds you, ‘Just kissin’, ok, sweetheart?’

Snapping out of your freeze frame, you nod, ‘Yes. Ok.’

Giving you somewhere to start, he prompts, ‘Where do you want my hands?’

Tugging on his wrists, you watch his jaw go slack when you place his palms squarely on your ass, where your denim shorts hardly cover the top of your thighs. He lets out a lewd moan at the way your soft curves fill his hands, fingers squeezing and kneading greedily, and you push your hips back into his contact.

‘Not so shy after all, hmm?’ he rasps.

You preen at his praise, and riding the wave of boldness, you tip forward and press your lips to Joel’s before you could overthink it. Over the roar of blood in your ears, you hear him suck in a shaky breath, and you feel the deep groan in his throat taper into a whimper when you swipe your tongue into his mouth.

You’re completely unprepared for the power the sound unleashes in you.

Somewhere in your consciousness, a door is cracked open, and memory crackles at the edges of your mind. Each shuddered breath shared, every slide of skin on skin, brings to the surface what you thought you’d forgotten.

Your fingers burrow into the still wet locks at his nape, earning a loud moan from Joel when you pull on the grays that have distracted you on more than one occasion. He nips his way sloppily down your neck, trailing spit and beard burn as he goes, while your palms skate over his chest and down, down, down until your fingernails drag over the pliant folds of his tummy, hanging over the waistband of his jeans.

‘Sweetheart,’ he groans brokenly at the contact, forehead knocking into yours.

Spreading your fingers over soft flesh, you choke on an inhale when he bodily rocks into your palms. Your thumb catches the hollow of his belly button, fingers tenderly squeezing the creases and dimples of his belly. His eyes crack open under tightly knitted eyebrows, vulnerability etched in every line on his face.

Something shifts - something that neither of you can take back. And suddenly, it’s not just kissing anymore.

Caught somewhere between writhing instinctively under his touch and a deliberate pursuit of friction, your hips find a rhythm that has the seat of your panties quickly twisting and dampening as you grind on the erection straining against the zipper of his jeans.

Blunt nails bite into your thighs as Joel growls, ‘Shit, sweetheart. That’s it.’

You want to bury your face in his neck, feeling too wanton in the way you’re panting in needy whimpers, but he preempts that on no uncertain terms. ‘I want to see everythin’. Look at me.’

You do just that - you can’t deny this man even if you tried - watching him watch you with his pupils blown wide and wild, wetting his bottom lip the same time his eyes drop to your tits, as if he can see right through the thin fabric. He doesn’t touch you anywhere else though, his hands staying where you put them. You can feel his grip dig harder and harder into the swell of your ass, but he doesn’t try to change your rhythm, giving you free rein to ride him any way you need.

When your peripheral vision starts to go, you know it’s not a coincidence that your thoroughly soaked panties shift and strain against your clit, pinching it just so that you cry out, hips faltering.

Joel bares his teeth, and you feel his hips rut upwards into you, his restraint slipping. ‘There you go. You’re close, aren’t you?’

You can only nod, frantically grinding into him now, your whole mind narrowing until the only thought that remains is chasing that high that you can almost taste. Everything swells, electricity fills the air, his name a sacred chant on your tongue as you claw at his back, teetering precariously on the brink of something that promises to devastate you.

‘Joel, Joel, Joel -’

He catches you when you break - you fling yourself at him, knocking into him so hard that the back of his head hits the wall, but he doesn’t even flinch. Tucked safely into the crook of his neck, you whine and wail as you thrash in his hold, and his nostrils flare at your scent. He can smell you, he can smell the slick leaking from your pussy, humid and heady in the air between you, making his mouth water as he aches to taste you - all of you.

One day.

Right now, the hinge of his jaw almost cracks as you milk the last remnants of your orgasm with a needy swivel of your hips, rubbing against his cock at an angle that makes his vision swim, and he knows he’s too far gone. His control slips like shifting sands, and a primal instinct takes over as he bucks roughly into you, fingertips leaving imprints in your skin that you will feel for days after.

‘Oh fuck, sweetheart, wait, I’m - shit, I’m gonna -’

When it hits him, it’s fucking relentless - he cums and cums until his voice goes hoarse with your name, until it feels like his abdomen would cave in and collapse, spurting and spilling until it feels like he’s turned inside out. It goes everywhere, thick, milky strands filling the gaps in his jeans and sliding down his legs in a sticky mess, and he slumps bonelessly into the headboard, panting against your lips as he catches his breath.

Sweetly, gently, he tilts his chin up just enough to kiss you, his nose nudging your cheek intimately when he pulls away, his lungs too deprived of air to keep going. He winces when you shift above him, knowing that you can feel the wet spot pooling under your bare thighs.

Joel breaks the sluggish silence first, cracking a grin. ‘So much for just makin’ out.’

You clumsily climb off his lap and crash land sideways onto the mattress. ‘Is that a complaint, Joel Miller?’

He drapes a heavy arm over you and pulls back you flush into him. ‘Well, these jeans are fuckin’ ruined. I want a refund.’

‘I’m afraid we don’t accept cum-stained returns. Store policy.’

He pffts. ‘Damnit. Should’ve read the fine print.’

You grin. ‘Well, at least there's something deeply poetic about cumming in the jeans that I picked out for you.’

‘Touché, sweetheart,’ he grunts and presses a kiss to your forehead. Glancing down at the unmistakable wet patch on the denim, he asks hopefully, ‘Any chance you got some pants I can borrow?’

Ellie bounces her leg irritably, hunched over on the stairs exactly where Joel was sitting this morning. Where the fuck is he? He’s twenty minutes late, and he had the nerve to get all huffy when she lied about the start time today. Unbelievable.

Moodily looking left and right, there’s still no sign of him. She’s about to give up and wait for him at home when something conspicuously purple comes to a stop in front of her.

Her jaw hits the floor.

‘Oh. My. God.’

She’s never been high before, but she’s pretty sure this is the stuff hallucinations are made of.

This being Joel Miller in a purple tshirt with a tacky logo she doesn’t recognise printed on the front and khaki cargo shorts that cut off at the knees, holding a basket of vegetables that she’s pretty sure he doesn’t eat.

With a roll of his eyes, he snaps, ‘Shut your mouth, you’re trappin’ flies.’

Pasting on the most obnoxious grin she can muster, Ellie croons, ‘Man, don’t you look pretty.’

Turning on his heel, Joel starts walking without looking back. ‘Shut up.’

Jogging to keep up, she cackles, ‘Hey, did you fall into a wormhole and went shopping at a farmer’s market in 1999?’

‘Shut up.’

‘You really should wear shorts more often, y’know, show off those knees. And purple really is your colour, Barney!’

Joel frowns, shooting her a sidelong glare. ‘How the hell do you know who Barney is?’

Ellie shrugs. ‘What do you think they teach us at school?’

He’s the one who starts it. The quake in his shoulders would have been imperceptible to anyone else, but nowadays, there’s not much that he can hide from her. As usual, she giggles first, which trails into a squeal when Joel gives her a shove on the back, sending her stumbling over her shoes.

‘Fuck you, man!’ she snickers and basically rugby tackles him, but he barely budges, lips pulling back into a toothy grin.

Across the street, unbeknownst to the pair, Tommy smiles to himself as he watches his big brother laugh, really laugh - the kind that has him doubling over and gasping for air through watery eyes. For the first time since the world ended, he looks up at the sky with a reassuring nod, and he knows deep down - Joel will be just fine.

Notes: You guys continue to blow me away with your support - I cannot be more grateful for all the reblogs, asks and interaction with my silly Behind the Seams posts and random updates. Thank you so so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I can't wait to hear what you think ❤️

I will be having a think over the next few weeks about where Seams will go from here. This chapter wraps up the first mini story arc, and I'll be dedicating August to wrapping up my Palomino series, so it will give me some time and distance to mull over what's next for Joel and Pin. I'm also a few followers away from a big milestone, so I might have something fun planned! 🥰

#fuckyeahseams #seams iv #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller imagine

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agirlwithglam · 27 days

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hard work? at least put in the work!

as my mom once said to me:

"forget hard work! at least do work"

please, for some of us, talking about "hard work" is far away for us. so forget about working hard. what about just working? not working hard, just doing at least something for your future, yourself, your family. or are you okay with being a huge disappointment to others and yourself?

just doing the bare minimum at least for yourself! you don't have to go over the top or make it so hard for you. at least put in the bare minimum so you don't have to live the worst life. okay?

doing at least 5 pushups + 5 squats a day

studying a bit for exams

saying one affirmation of self-love a day

if someone talks to you, don't try to run away from the convo.

all this isn't hard. its just what every human being should be able to you (not talking about anyone with disabilities, thats a different case). okay?

the first step to this would be to reduce the amount of screentime everyday. i don't care if its "educational" or "self improvement", thats all bs. whats actually gonna make a difference is that instead of tricking your brain into thinking you're doing something or telling yourself "i'll work my hardest tomorrow", you don't work your hardest today but you work.

putting in little effort is still putting in effort.

i know that a lot of you are gonna be like "no but i believe in myself that i can put hard work into something i care about!" so okay. good job for believing in yourself, love that. but... are you actually gonna do it? or are you going to continue to sit and watch "educational" "self improvement" videos because it distracts and tricks you into thinking that this is hard work?*

*don't get me wrong, of course if you used to be a person who scrolled a bunch of nonsense, the first step would of course be to change what you consume into something better. but there comes a limit where you have to actually get up and put in the work. simply changing what you consume isn't all you need to do. theres more steps to improving your life. just like when you start with a new skill; in the beginning you may start with something very simple and easy for you to do. but once that becomes your "comfort zone" (as in very/ much easy to do), you need to move to something that challenges you more. otherwise, you never grow.

sure, believing that you are capable of doing it is certainly the first step of almost anything, but believing isn't just enough. you gotta actually do it. you don't earn my respect by "believing you can do it" (what are you, a toddler?) but by actually executing your plan. and for most of us, it turns out that our definition of "hard work" is actually just watching "self improvement" all day.

so what am i implying here? :

if you believe you can actually do the hard work, then do it. do not waste another second on self improvement videos (remember; those are just meant as a guide, a starter. a place for advice). if however, you find that you finally realise that hard work isnt just watching self improvement videos and having to actually do something, then shut up with the hard work. at least do work.

xoxo, vanilla.

#agirlwithglam🎀✨#vanilla self improvement⭐️#it girl tips💗💋#self improvement #becoming that girl #it girl energy #self development #working hard #hard work #it girl #academia #studying #study motivation #studyblr #girlblog #rant #vent

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to-the-stars8 · 2 months

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The Waynes' Nanny

Notes: So, this is my oopsy of adding another story to my roster, but oh well. Here's my other note: Just a little side note. To make this story work, I had to de-age the majority of the characters. So, Dick is 15, Cass 10, Jason 9, Tim 7, Duke 6, and Damian 4. Just FYI. Obvi The Nanny Inspired

Bruce Wayne x Reader, Batfamily, platonically, x reader

Summary: One day, after getting fired from your job by your ex, you somehow ended up in Wayne Manor as the family's new nanny. Working with six kids is tough enough, but the handsome, rich, and emotionally confused father, billionaire Bruce Wayne, who is just too charming makes it a bit more difficult as your feelings for him confuse you. Nonetheless, you love the job and the kids, but soon enough you realize that maybe you're falling in love with the boss, too.

Pilot Pt. 1

“You have to be kidding me, fired?” You said shocked, leaning over the counter.

Your boyfriend then quickly added, “And, I’m breaking up with you.”

The words could not come off your lips. Instead, you babbled for a good thirty seconds before just turning on your heel to leave. You stopped a couple of times to say something, but the shock was still settling in. It wasn’t until you were outside, watching people on the street that your senses came back. Turning around, you sucked in a breath and threw open the store door.

You pointed at your ex and loudly announced, “You have a small dick, and I’m collecting unemployment! So, hah!”

Not feeling the victory, but glad that there were more than a dozen people to continue the rumor of your boyfriend’s supposedly small penis, you left.

Luckily, you were quick to find another gig thanks to a family friend. Granted, you hated going door to door trying to sell insurance in Gotham, but it paid you just enough not to be out on the street. This week, however, you were assigned to the other end of the city—The rich part. And, it certainly did live up to your expectations. These people had yards and gardens, and the air even smelled better. If you could only find a rich man, you think you’d be very happy in such a place.

You looked down at the list of addresses your boss had given you before looking back up at the impressive sight of the house. With a sigh, you pressed the buzzer on the gate and went over your script.

“Hello, my name is…”

Before you could finish a British accent came through the buzzer. “Are you here for the nanny position?”

Looking around, you didn’t see a reason as to why you shouldn’t say yes. Absent-mindedly, you said, “I could be.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Oh, um, yes! Yes, I am.” It couldn’t hurt

Suddenly, another buzz and the sound was clicking of the gate unlocking. Cautiously, you pushed your way through and you headed up the path to the front door. It was a near quarter mile to get to the house and up a hill. By the time you got up to the front of the house, you were winded and slightly sweaty. At the top of the stairs stood an old man in a suit, looking down at you with indifference. Slowly, you climbed the stairs to him.

“You really gotta warn a girl if she’s gonna take a hike,” You huffed.

“Most people drive,” The old man said, and you recognized the accent from the buzzer.

You snickered at the old man, following him in, and you were amazed by just how wonderful the place was. As you entered, you did a turn, and you were amazed by just how big the house—No, mansion—was.

“Would you like me to present your resume to Mr. Wayne?” Asked the man.

Luckily, you were quick on your feet, “No, I’ll do it myself. Thank you.”

The man relented, giving you a disbelieving look, and went away. You sat down in one of the chairs in the foyer, quickly pulling out some papers to write some type of passable resume. As you were going for a pen, you realized quickly that you didn’t have one. Panicked, you looked around for one.

“Ugh,” A voice said, and a boy no older than seven or eight stumbled from a doorway. On him, fake blood and a knife. He cried, “I’m dying!” before collapsing onto the floor.

“You wouldn’t happen to have a pen, would you?” You asked, but the boy didn’t respond. Defeated, you decided quickly what you said as you saw the old man and a younger, much more handsome return.

“Tim,” The younger man said. “We’ve talked about this. You can’t scare the guests.”

The boy opened his eyes, “I'm studying people's reactions to gore and pain.”

The man rolled his eyes before turning his attention back to you. He held out his hand toward you to shake, you took it and instantly liked the way his grip was strong. “I’m Bruce Wayne—”

“Oh, yeah! I’ve seen you on TV,” You said excitedly. “I loved the black suit you wore for that ceremony in the park last month.”

Mr. Wayne seemed taken aback by the compliment, but thank you anyway. “Just follow me into the kitchen. We can talk more there.” As he started to lead you away, he turned to the boy still lying on the floor. “Tim, go clean up, please.”

“I will, but only because you said please!” The boy cried out.

Mr. Wayne shook his head and asked you not to mind him for now. Smiling, you replied that it was no big deal, kids were going to be kids either way. He seemed to agree with you on that and asked you more about yourself. You told him as much as you could think of, not willing or wanting to hold anything back.

When you finally sat at the kitchen table did you stop talking to let Mr. Wayne talk, but he seemed more pleased to listen. Though, you knew better than to rattle on more than necessary. Maybe, you thought, this was why so many women thought him to be such a charming guy.

“Can I see your resume, then?” He asked.

Laughing nervously, you said, “Oh, uh, well, you see, I lost it on my way over here.”

“Is that right?” Mr. Wayne said, sounding like he didn’t entirely believe you.

“Yes! Yes, it’s the damnedest thing,” You said. “I always seem to have these bouts of terrible luck.”

“Uh-huh,” He said.

You were going to answer when a voice called out, “Dad!”

Just then, two boys, one about fifteen and the other around ten, walked in. They seemed surprised to see you when they entered, glancing at their father before telling you hello. You got up, walking over to the boys and cupping their cheeks.

“My, look how handsome!” You looked over your shoulder at Mr. Wayne. “And those pretty blue eyes! They must get them from you.”

“We’re adopted,” The younger one said. “And I’m Jason.”

You grinned and bent over to look at the boy. “It’s nice to meet you, I’m…”

“You’re the new nanny?” The older boy said.

You started to answer, but Mr. Wayne cut you off. He told the boy, named Richard, that he could be nicer to you. Richard, or Dick as he called himself unfortunately, protested that Bruce was shuffling his responsibilities on some random lady from the inner city. Bruce was quick to dismiss him to his room, stating that they would speak later, and immediately apologized to you.

“A kid makes a smart-ass comment, what’re you gonna do?” You smiled.

“Right,” Bruce cleared his throat, not paying attention to what you were saying. “Well, those two were the oldest boys, I have one girl between them. Then, it’s Tim, Duke, and Damian. My youngest is four.”

“Trying to build a basketball team, Mr. Wayne?” You couldn’t help, but laugh at your joke. He didn’t seem as amused by it, so you quickly went quiet.

“Yes, well, thank you for coming, but I don’t think I’m in the mood to hire sales girls from off the street.”

You rolled your eyes, mumbling that you could do it and that you had plenty of experience in taking care of children as you babysat a lot when you were a teenager. Mr. Wayne didn’t seem to hear anything you said, though, nor the phone ringing off the hook.

“Alfred! Will you get that,” He called, seeming a bit stressed.

“Oh, you cannot be that rich not to answer your phone,” You said, getting up and picking up the phone from the receiver. Putting it to your ear, you answered, “Wayne residence.”

“Give me that,” Mr. Wayne said and snatched the phone from your hand. “Hello?”

He went back and forth with the person on the other line, talking about how he needed a nanny. Yet, he seemed to be getting nowhere. The entire time, you laid yourself in front of him as he tried to talk to the person on the other end to get him a nanny. After a minute or two, he put the receiver down and looked at you.

You grinned, knowing that you got the job. “You’re hired—On a trial basis!”

“Oh, thank you, Mr. Wayne!” You threw yourself at him, squeezing him tight. “You won’t regret it.”

“Right,” Bruce cleared his throat. “Well, I’ll have Alfred show you to your room—”

“I get to live here?” You asked excitedly.

Bruce almost smiled, but held it back. “Yes. If you like.”

“If I like,” You laughed like he was joking. “Of course. Oh, it’s going to be great.”

Mr. Wayne nodded, acting like he believed you, but didn’t know for sure. He wondered if he made the right choice not only for his children but for himself as well. Since he only knew you for half an hour, he found himself being intrigued by you.

Despite this, how he felt didn’t matter. All that did matter was if the children liked you and if you were competent enough to look after them. After all, it wasn’t like he was going to fall in love with you.

#jason todd #red hood #bruce wayne #batfamily #clark kent #dick grayson #alfred pennyworth #damian wayne #damain al ghul #tim drake #nightwing #robin dc #robin #cassandra cain #duke thomas #bruce wayne is a good father #dc batfam #batfamily shenanigans

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scribbledghost · 7 months

Text

Respite

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader (no y/n)

Rating: G

Word Count: 1,010

Warnings/Tags: third person POV, Really corny jokes, possibly OOC Ghost??? idek, Ghost's love language is acts of service and telling shitty jokes. This is a hill I will die on

Notes: yeah, yeah, I hear you, I've got requests sitting in my inbox (that I promise I'll get to) and here I am writing for a completely different blorbo that also shares my own damn name. Let me have this. Depending on this fic's reception I may write another. Lemme know what y'all think.

He could tell she was angry the moment she walked through the front door. Could feel it before he even saw her face.

A barely-contained, match-lit fuse, dangerously close to an exploding payload filled with shrapnel and black powder. If he’d been anywhere except their shared home, Simon would have wondered why he wasn’t smelling smoke as she walked.

He followed her silently into the kitchen where she deposited her bag and jacket, offering only one quiet word as she mumbled something about a shower and retreated into their shared bedroom.

“Alone?”

She paused. It was a question she had asked him on many occasions. And just like all those times for him, it wasn’t meant as an invitation for something explicit - wasn’t meant as a double entendre or flirtatious means to an end. It was a simple question: did the other party want the asker’s presence, a wall at their back as they stood beneath a rain of hot water. It was an offer of calm, silent company.

“Alone.”

Yeah, she was pissed.

Simon busied himself making dinner while she showered. Something quick, easy, and simple for her to at least get something in her stomach after the day she’d had. If he knew her like he thought he did, he doubted she’d eaten much (if at all) that day anyway. Part of him hoped that between a meal and a shower, her fuse would extinguish at least enough to clue him in on what was going on.

She took her time. Much like him, she showered to separate herself from work. “Washing the day off”, she called it. He knew the longer she was under the water, the more she felt the need to wash away. And today, she was there for a good, long while. Long enough for her to grumble about the water getting cold when she emerged again.

“Dinner, love.”

“Not hungry,” she said as she walked past him towards the living room.

He followed her, gently placing his hands on her arms as he brought her back to his chest.

“When’s the last time you ate?”

She sighed, and he knew he had her pinned.

“Yesterday.”

“Gotta eat, love,” he said softly. “You’ll feel better. Already made it, all y’gotta do is eat.”

Another sigh.

“Go. Sit. I’ll bring you a plate,” he said as he released her with a light pat to her hip.

She did as he asked without complaint, and as he brought her food to her and sat next to her on the couch, he carefully logged her body language. Leg bouncing, hand pinching the bridge of her nose, head leaned back, a deep breath in through her nose and out through her mouth.

Dinner was a quiet affair, only the low sound of the television in the background breaking up the silence. Once they were finished, Simon took her plate and his back into the kitchen, then returned to his spot on the couch with an arm stretched across the back behind her head.

“Long day, pet?”

At first, he only received an affirmative grunt in response. He gave her time, gave her space to fill if she wanted to elaborate.

“Boss is driving me up a fucking wall,” she finally started. “Got too much on her plate and can’t keep up. I want to help, but I’m stuck doing two jobs as it is. Don’t have the time to take on any extra. So I sit and struggle to get through my own shit while she’s in her office bitching and moaning about ‘I can’t find this’ or ‘I don’t understand that’ and I have to listen to it. And all that’s on top of everything else going on that’s not work related. Feel like I’m getting pulled in a thousand different directions. Got a fucking headache, Simon.”

At some point during her rant, Simon’s hand had drifted down and he had begun to rub a thumb along the back of her neck.

“I’m not even getting decent sleep,” she mumbled.

“I know.”

By now, the tension had left her. Seeped from her lungs and drifted down through the carpet. All that was left was exhaustion.

“I feel bad for complaining,” she finally admitted. “It’s not like I’m getting shot at on the daily like… other jobs.”

“No,” Simon agreed, “but that doesn’t mean you can’t complain.”

She didn’t believe him. He knew she didn’t. In her mind, she was whining about office politics and a busy schedule to a man who was on leave from a job where being on the business end of a pack of explosives was a near daily risk. He knew from vast experience that there was little he could do to dissuade her on that front. So trying to cheer her up by affirming her need to vent was out of the question.

Simon was a man of many means, however.

“What do you call a pile of cats?”

She gave him a weary stare.

“...What.”

“A meowntain.”

Then, he caught it. Before she could hide it, a quirk of her lips, a grin that spread before her sour mood could dampen it.

“That was awful, Simon.”

“Another?”

She paused. Then she let a soft smile grace her features.

“...Yeah.”

“How do you count cows?”

“Uh… one, two, three, four?”

“No, with a cow-culator.”

This time, he received an approximation of a laugh from her. A puff of air through her nose, accompanied by a good-natured shake of her head.

“That one was even worse.”

“Made you smile though.”

She shifted closer to him, brought a hand up to his face, and pulled his face to her as she pressed her lips to his cheek in a gentle kiss.

“Yeah,” she murmured against his skin, “you did.”

Simon turned his head to nudge his forehead against hers as he closed his eyes. A quiet moment after a hurricane, a giving of permission to let go after holding on against the waves all day.

Tomorrow would be better. He’d make sure of it.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #idfk what tags to use so hopefully that's good enough #ghost scribbles

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ereardon · 1 year

Text

Friends Don't || Chapter 1

Summary: Bob Floyd has been your best friend for almost a decade, ever since he quietly agreed to tutor you in college. The two of you have spent years chasing each other around the globe – Bob as a WSO, you as a travel blogger. You’ve always been the anywhere-but-here girl, and he’s been your rock. But when a surprise diagnosis threatens to crumble your picture-perfect life, you’re on the first flight back to San Diego, desperate to put down roots for the first time. Will Bob finally have it in him to admit that you could be the love of his life? What will he say when he finds out the secret you’ve been skillfully hiding from him? Or worse, what if he doesn’t find out until it’s too late?

Pairing: Robert “Bob” Floyd x OC [Reid]

Tropes: Friends to lovers

Warnings: Cursing

WC: 2.5K

Series masterlist here; next chapter here

“Reid?”

“Shh, go back to sleep,” you muttered as you slid into the bed, pressing the cold tops of your feet against his warm calves.

“How was the date?” he asked.

You opened up one eye. He had his head smashed against the pillow, blue eyes zeroed in on you. “Awful,” you whispered. “Couldn’t get out of there fast enough.”

"That bad, huh?"

"He picked up his steak with his hands and bit into it."

Bob chuckled softly, gently jostling the queen-sized mattress. “I’m sorry, that's pretty bad.”

You groaned, nuzzling into his side. “Bobby. Am I ever going to find someone?”

He placed his hand on your cheek, so light it was barely a whisper. “Of course you will. You're everyone's dream girl.”

“You promise?” you murmured, sleep already starting to weigh you down.

Bob’s fingers threaded softly through your hair. “Yeah, darlin’, I promise.”

Present

“Bobby?”

“Reid?” There was wind whipping on the other end of the phone line, so loud you could barely hear him. “Sorry, I’m on deck.”

You smiled, leaning back against the ratty couch. “It’s good to hear your voice,” you said.

On the other end, Bob smiled. “You too, darlin’. Now what’s going on?”

“A girl can’t just call her best friend to say hi? Especially when said best friend is on his way home from a deadly mission.”

“They’re all deadly,” Bob said carefully and you heard the pain in his voice. It was the pain that was always there now, ever since he lost her. “And you can. Of course you can.” He paused. “But I also know you. And you sound like you have something specific you want to talk about.”

He knew you too well. It struck a sense of fear, deep in your gut. You couldn’t tell him. Not yet. Not everything. “I, um, I got a new job.”

“Really?”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you, and placed one foot on the taped cardboard box at your feet.

“Reid?” You could hear the confusion in his low, rumbling voice. “Darlin', you gotta speak up, can barely hear you over the waves. Weather is really bad out here today.”

“I’m moving to San Diego,” you said loudly. “I’ll see you in two days.”

Bob paused. Then, “For real?”

You smiled. “Yeah, Bobby, for real this time.”

Bob let out an excited laugh. “That’s great, Sunny.” Your skin flushed at the nickname. “Key is under the mat, like always.” You loved that he just assumed — correctly — that your plan was to live with him in his second bedroom. It went without saying. That’s how it had always been with Bob. Easy.

Well, most of the time.

This wouldn’t be like all the other times. This wouldn’t be easy.

“I’ll see you on Saturday.”

“See you on Saturday, Sunny.”

***

Bob could still pinpoint the exact moment he first laid eyes on you. Sophomore year. Intro to psychology.

You were perched on the edge of a desk, long tanned legs swinging, the back of your heeled sandals occasionally hitting the leg of the desk, as you chatted with another girl in the class.

Bob watched as you tipped your head back in an open-mouthed laugh, golden waves spilling down your back.

He couldn’t take his eyes off of you during class. The way you tapped your pen against your red lips and the way you furiously scribbled in a notebook when everyone else was typing on laptops and the look of concentration on your face as the professor flicked through slides.

So it was the shock of a lifetime when three weeks into the semester, Bob was packing up his Jansport backpack and he saw your red nails enter his peripheral as you waved at him.

“Hi!” you said with a smile.

Bob looked up, fingers almost trembling as he tried to zip his backpack shut. He looked around, confused. “Me?” he asked.

You giggled. “Yeah. Hi, I’m Reid.”

“Um, I’m Bob,” he said, sticking out his hand.

You looked at it dubiously and then shook it. “So, your presentation was great,” you said softly.

“Thank you.” He was nervous. You could tell by the way his eyes kept darting down instead of meeting your own. You were nervous, too. You didn’t like asking for help. It didn’t come naturally. But your faculty advisor had said you needed to pass this course to stay on track for your degree. And Bob had seemed like the nicest person to ask. “I know this sounds weird,” you replied. “But what are the chances you would be willing to tutor me? Or be study partners.”

“What?”

You cleared your throat. “I need to pass this class,” you confessed. “And you did so well on the presentation I was thinking that maybe you could help me.” The confused, blank look on Bob’s face made you shake your head. “Fuck, OK, this was a dumb idea. You know what? Nevermind. Pretend I didn’t say anything.” As you turned to walk away, Bob’s hand shot out, gripping your wrist. You looked down. His hands were large, strong, with protruding veins. When you looked up, you noticed perhaps for the first time how attractive he was, in a nerdy, kind sort of way. The small mouth and gentle smile, the warm eyes behind a pair of wire glasses. “I’ll tutor you,” he said after a moment.

“Really?”

Bob nodded and you were so elated that you tossed your arms around his neck, hugging him close. Bob stood with his hands outstretched, afraid to touch you. When you pulled back, his face was in a state of shock.

You chuckled. “Here.” You ripped off a corner piece of your spiral notebook page and scribbled your number on it. “Text me?”

Bob gripped the scrap of paper between his thumb and index finger and watched as you left the room, tossing a wave over your shoulder with a brilliant smile.

Bob’s hand trembled as he slid the piece of paper into his pocket. Somehow, he knew. You had walked into his life that day and changed everything.

***

You sat at the bar Bob had told you to meet him at, wearing a short pink dress with a small ruffled hem. It was tight across the top and you knew your chest was on display, but in a flirty way, not a scandalous way. You looked good and you knew it.

For some reason, you always tried to look good for Bob. Even though he had seen you in vomit-covered t-shirts during college and he had been the one to drive you to the emergency room with a 104 degree temperature that time you visited him in Pensacola and even if you spent ninety percent of your trip to the Almalfi coast together with no makeup on and your hair pulled back into a slicked bun, you still always made an effort for the reunion. There was something important about feeling your best the moment Bob’s eyes locked on yours after a deployment. You would wait months just to see the way his blue eyes sparkled as he took you in for the first time after a separation, the giddy smile on his handsome face as he swept you into his arms.

It made the reunion special.

You looked good. So that’s why you weren’t surprised when a blond slid onto the barstool next to you, leaning one tanned arm on the wooden bar. “Hey beautiful,” he said softly. “Let me get you a second drink.”

You rolled your eyes and swiveled toward him, tanned legs crossing over each other, one heeled ankle brushing over his calf. “I’m good.”

He looked you up and down. He was beautiful, in an obvious way. Taunt golden skin, bright green eyes, a Colgate-sponsored smile. “You sure about that, baby?” he asked. “Anything you like, on me.”

You shook your head. “Like I said, I’m good. I’m waiting for someone.”

He leaned closer. “Someone better than me?”

You smirked.

Then, “Sunny.”

You whipped around, practically launching yourself off of the stool and into Bob’s arms. He held you tightly, his warm, strong arms gripping your waist, one hand threaded into the base of your hair. He smelled the same, like jet fuel and oranges and a hint of spicy cologne, and you sunk into his familiar embrace. For a second, everything else faded away and it was just you in Bob's arms.

And then reality set back in. After a moment, you pulled away, only a few inches, running one hand over his soft cheek.

“What took you so long?” you murmured. “This jackass tried to get me into bed, and I actually thought about it for a second.” You hooked a finger toward the blond at the bar behind you.

Bob chortled and let you go. The two of you looked over at the blond, who looked like his eyes were going to fall out. He was practically stuttering in silence.

“Floyd?” he asked carefully after a moment. “What the fuck?”

Bob shook his head. “I see you met Sunny.”

“Sunny?”

“Reid Coleman,” you said, holding out a hand. The blond took it, pumping your hand slowly, hesitantly. His face was twisted in confusion.

“Jake Seresin,” he said, squinting. He turned his gaze back to Bob. “You can call me Hangman. Floyd, is this your girlfriend?” There was a disbelief threaded through his words.

The two of you laughed. You reached out, interlacing your fingers with Bob’s. The tips of his ears blushed pink. “No,” you answered for him. Then you gave Jake a look of disdain. “I’m still out of your league, though.”

“But you’re in Floyd’s?” he asked, aghast.

You chuckled. “Honey, I couldn’t get Bobby if I tried.”

“Sunny,” Bob whispered, low and gravely, a warning, and you flashed him a brilliant smile.

“I’m Bobby’s new roommate,” you replied.

Hangman raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?” He turned to Bob. “You gonna introduce her to the team, Floyd?”

You both turned to Bob expectantly. He fiddled with his large hands. “Bobby?” you asked.

He leaned in close to your ear. “They’re going to ask questions,” he whispered. “About us. Just hope you know that.”

You tipped your head to the side. “Nothing to hide,” you smiled. “Right?”

Bob gazed at you. “Right,” he repeated softly.

Hangman looked between the two of you and frowned. He didn’t care what words were coming out of your mouths, he knew there was something more beneath the surface that neither of you was ready to admit. He also knew you were ten times hotter than any girl he had ever seen Bob speak to, and he was still partially in shock that you were here with Floyd.

You followed Bob and Jake to the back of the bar near the pool table. Hangman immediately went and whispered in the ear of a tall guy with incredible cheekbones who turned his gaze on you with a smirk.

Bob tapped a massive guy in a hideous Hawaiian shirt, startling him. “Rooster?”

“Little busy here, Bob,” Rooster said, tapping his pool cue and sinking a striped ball into the back left pocket. He looked up, registering you standing there, and immediately dropped the cue. “Fuck, OK, you have my attention.”

You shook your head with a small smile. Bob cleared his throat. “Um, guys, someone I want you to meet. Rooster, this is Reid, my best friend from college.”

Rooster stepped forward, slotting his huge hand into yours with a grin. “Bradley,” he said. “Or you can call me Rooster, whatever you prefer.”

You smiled. “Chicken man,” you said. “Rooster it is.”

He laughed. Bob pointed to the man next to him, who stepped forward with a smile. “And this is Fanboy.” You shook his head. “And Payback.” Another handshake. “That’s Coyote.” The tall cheekbones guy that Hangman had rushed over to stepped forward and shook your hand with a smirk. “And this is Phoenix.”

Your eyes locked on the female aviator, her dark hair pulled back into a slick bun, and you rushed forward, pulling her into an embrace. Natasha was shocked, winding her thin arms around you with hesitation.

You pulled back and laughed. “Sorry,” you whispered. “I’ve just heard a lot about you from Bobby.” You looked back at him, and then turned to face Phoenix. “You keep him safe every day. Makes you a hero in my book.”

You watched Phoenix’s eyes glisten as you dropped your hands from her forearms, stepping back. Bob pressed one large hand to your low back and you grinned, threading your arm around his waist, squeezing him gently.

Phoenix smiled.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” she said softly. “Floyd here can’t stop talking about you.”

You looked up at Bob who blushed. “Is that so?”

He shook his head. “Phoenix, stop giving her a big head,” he muttered. “Don’t give her an excuse to be even more cocky.”

You nudged his hip with yours and Bob smirked.

Phoenix locked eyes with you. “It’s really nice to meet you, Reid.”

The corner was quiet for a moment until you looked up at Rooster. “Alright, next round on me.”

There were cheers and you hooked your finger at Bradley, silently asking him to come with you to help carry the drinks. He followed you to the bar, placing his forearms on the smooth wood, looking over at you. “So, Reid, how long are you in town for?”

“Moved here today,” you said. “I’m staying with Bobby for now.”

“What do you do?”

“I was a travel writer,” you said, flagging down the waitress and ordering a long island iced tea, while Bradley ordered for the rest of the team. “But I’m starting a new job as a content specialist with a firm here.”

He nodded. “Why the switch?”

You fiddled with the cocktail napkin on the bar. “Just needed a change, I guess.”

Bradley grinned, leaning a little closer, his enormous bicep flexing at his side. “So you and Bob?”

“Just friends.”

“Are you, uh, involved?” he asked after a moment.

You smiled. “No, not right now.” The truth was, you hadn’t been in a long-term relationship in almost three years. It just didn’t suit your lifestyle.

At least, that’s what you always told yourself.

You leaned one elbow onto the bar. “Why do you ask, Chicken? You hitting on me or something?”

Bradley smiled. “If you were Bob’s girl, I wouldn’t dream of it. But it sounds like you’re not.”

You glanced over to the left where Bob was standing with Natasha, laughing softly at something she said. There was a sense of relief, just being in the same room as him. Knowing he was safe and alive and on dry land. Knowing he wasn’t in the skies. Then you turned back to Bradley. “I’m his,” you said quietly. “Not in the way you’d think, not in any kind of tangible way. But I’m his if that makes any sense.”

Bradley nodded, scooping up the collection of beer bottles the bartender had set down in front of the two of you. “Makes all the sense in the world.”

A/N: A bit of a slower start, but I am excited about these two! This is my first Bob series ☺️

Tag list: (or turn on notifications for my library @ereardonlibrary)

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#bob floyd fluff #bob floyd #bob floyd fanfiction #bob floyd x oc #bob floyd x you #robert bob floyd #robert floyd #top gun imagine #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick imagine #top gun x oc

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shadyruinskryptonite · 6 months

Text

Insecurities

Warning: Disordered eating, insecurities, depression, anxiety, self-loathing, references to s*x but no descriptions and not smut, unemployment, language, super negative self-talk (reader calls herself a bitch and fat), pet names (babe, baby, love), not proofread

Genre: hurt/comfort, established relationship, Modern AU!Eren x fem reader

A/n: Italics mean it’s the reader’s thoughts. Sorry that this is very dark and sad. As with any of my writing, it’s very self-serving. I promise that I’m alright, just feeling a bit insecure (I’m on the bigger side) and this will be comforting for me and therapeutic. Take care of yourselves <3

WC: 2390

y/n, texting: Hey Ren! You think we could hang out after work?

Ren: Sorry, I’ve gotta go to the gym and have some errands to run so I don’t think I can tonight 😢I should be able to tomorrow though if you’d like!

I sigh, feeling the familiar pressure settling on my chest as my stomach growls.

y/n: Oh, yeah. That’s fine. Tomorrow works! Love ya!

Ren: Love you too, babe.

I toss my phone to the side, heaving another sigh as I flop my head back.

I can’t expect him to realize something is wrong if I don’t tell him. How can you be both so good at hiding how you feel AND expect Eren to see through it? Dumb bitch, this is why you are disappointed so often, people can never live up to your unrealistic expectations.

Tears prick my eyes and I decide that the growling of my stomach is too obnoxious to ignore, so I walk to the fridge knowing I won’t find anything satisfactory. Settling on some cheese sticks, I fill the gaps with a bit of sparkling water.

If you want to like how you look in pictures, this better be the only thing you eat today.

Nodding to myself, I go back to my bed to finish my snack before sliding under the covers. Having not had more than one meal each day for longer than I can remember, I’m definitely exhausted. I’ve been searching and applying to jobs so often that I’m mentally just shot.

You should’ve never left your job. Sure they treated you like shit, but at least you had a paycheck. You’re so stupid for thinking you’d get a job quickly. And any place you work is going to be the exact same since you’re so fucking lazy.

I squeeze my eyes together before I turn on my white noise in the background hoping to drown out my own thoughts. Slowly, I drift off to a nap.

---

When I’m snapped out of my sleep, the room is dark. I rub my eyes, extremely disoriented because something that wasn’t my alarm is what pulled me awake. I glance at the time and realize I had been asleep for at least three hours. There’s a knock at the door, and it dawns on me that this is what must have pulled me out of my sleep.

Wearing just Eren’s hoodie, I stretch before calling out, “One minute!”

You’re not really going to answer the door like that are you? Even though the hoodie covers your ass your fat thighs with their stretch marks are out. You can’t have someone seeing that!

I groan before stepping into my closet briefly. I pull on a pair of leggings but quickly realize they’re tighter than the last time I wore them.

Ugh! You’re better off having your fat out. Just look at how these show the shadow under your gut! It’s disgusting.

For what feels like the hundredth time today I fight off tears not wanting to open the door looking like a crying mess on top of how shitty I already feel. I pull off the leggings in a huff and go to the door, too tired to care anymore.

When I glance through the peephole, I’m surprised to see Eren standing outside my door. I fling it open, confusion evident on my face. It’s only as he’s looking me over that I realize how messed up my hair must be so I quickly pull out the hair tie that was realistically only hanging on by a thread anyway.

His warm smile that crinkles his eyes and his musky scent envelope me, momentarily lifting the cloud off of me. But just as quickly as I felt better, the doom and gloom returned along with guilt.

Look at how handsome he is, it’s so unfair of him to be stuck with you. You were too obvious about how you felt and now you’ve forced him to come over here instead of doing the things he was planning on doing. Always a burden.

Fighting off the thoughts, I smile up at my boyfriend, trying to convey that I really am happy he’s here. A little worried about his response, I ask “what happened, I thought you were going to the gym and had errands to run?”

There’s an almost imperceptible furrow to his brow and I can tell he knows something is wrong.

Fuck! Don’t make him worry about you!

“I got off a little early so I’ve already gone to the gym and I decided that my errands could wait. You seemed off over text so I wanted to come check on you, and…I think I’m glad I did. What’s wrong baby?”

I pull him into my apartment and say, “nothing Ren, what makes you think something is wrong?”

I don’t want to worry him but, god, there’s nothing I need more than him right now.

As the door closes, the room is once again enveloped in darkness. “Well,” he says as he flips the light on, “for starters I can tell you just woke up from a nap.”

“I nap all of the time Ren, that’s nothing special” I say with a giggle, and to an untrained ear it sounds so very genuine. Not to Eren though. Wanting desperately to change the subject I ask, “Have you had anything to eat? If you went to the gym you must be hungry.”

As I go to walk towards the kitchen, he gently grabs my arm. “I had a smoothie, so I’m fine.” He’s still holding my arm when he looks behind me and sees clothes discarded on the floor of my closet, only he’s almost certain that they aren’t dirty. When he looks back to me, I can tell the expression on his face has bloomed into full-on worry.

“Talk to me, y/n,” he almost whispers.

I can’t hold his eyes so I look away, his thumb now rubbing loving circles on my arm. I steel myself so I can try to keep up the already fragile wall and look back at him with a softer smile this time. “I’m okay love, I promise. I appreciate you making sure I’m okay, though,” I say before getting on my toes to peck him on the lips. His eyes narrow slightly but he doesn’t press the matter.

Moving to the couch, Eren lays down with his head resting on the arm of the chair and invites me into him. I happily oblige. He has some random show on in the background, but as soon as I settle onto his chest and into his arms, my lip starts to quiver. My face is hidden in his chest, and I can tell he’s looking at the TV and not me, which is good because this time I couldn’t hold back the tears that had been brewing the entire day and, honestly, for the last nearly month.

I lay there, crying quietly as some stupid sitcom plays. Only there came a point where my crying wasn’t so easily hidden anymore. I move my hand to my mouth in hopes to cover any noise but there was no hiding the sob that racked my body. This got his attention.

Shit! Shit! Shit!

“Hey, hey, look at me baby, just look at me,” Eren says with increased urgency as he shifts so I can comfortably look up and make eye contact. When I fight looking at him, he changes strategy. Holding me impossibly close with one hand on the back of my head and the other on my back, he rubs comforting circles anywhere he can. “Shhh, shhh, it’s okay baby. I’m right here. It’s okay, I’m not going anywhere.

My sobbing gets harder before it starts to calm down, and if I could’ve seen his face I would’ve known how each new cry broke his heart all over again. When my crying had mostly subsided, I tried to choke out an apology which only made me begin to cry harder.

Now, Eren insisted on me looking at him. As he held my chin he asked, “Why the hell are you sorry? I don’t even know what you’re upset about yet.”

Through shuddering breaths, I manage to say, “I-I’m sorry for c-c-crying and I’m s-sorry for making you w-worry and f-f-for being a burden and, and, and… just for everything!” I try to bury my face in his chest again but he stops me.

“Baby! You never have to be sorry for crying. Where the fuck did you get the idea that you’re a BURDEN?” As he speaks, he looks almost hurt that I would say such a thing.

“I-I took you away f-f-from your plans,” I whine out.

“That doesn’t make you a burden love,” he says as he strokes my cheek. Shifting again to get us more on eye level, he continues, “this is not what’s making you cry this hard though. Please talk to me, y/n. I just, I feel so helpless if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.” By now he’s holding my face, so I can only glance down to escape his eyes.

I know what I’m about to say will make him mad, so I keep looking down as I whisper, “why do you even care?” I feel his hands get tighter on my face. Not so tight that it hurts, but tighter nonetheless so I know he IS mad just like I was worried about.

What I wasn’t expecting was to be met with silence. When I look up, his eyes are wide and his mouth is hanging open. Wanting to escape the situation, I say, “close your mouth, you’re going to catch flies like that,” but as I reach up to his face to gently shut his jaw, he grabs my hand hard.

“Why do I even care? I really can’t believe you just asked me that.” Mistaking his incredulity for annoyance, I frantically begin to apologize again as fresh tears spill over.

“Please stop apologizing, y/n. You don’t have anything to apologize for.” This shuts me up and for a moment we just sit in silence before it’s his turn to look away and he asks, “Have I not been doing enough to make you feel like I care? I’ll do anything you need, I-”

“What?! No! That’s not what I mean at all, you’re an incredible boyfriend and you make me feel so loved every day, it’s…it’s just that…” I pause to sigh. The last thing I wanted was for HIM to feel guilty. But how do I even begin to articulate what the problem is?

Eren waits patiently as I battle internally. Finally, I look down and continue, “It’s just that I don’t understand why you care about ME. I’m…I’m…I’m repulsive! I mean, just look at me!” I gesture to myself, still not making eye contact. Now I’m getting really worked up as I say, “We have no good pictures together because I ruin them all! I haven’t been able to contribute to a date in months because I have no money and on top of that you’ve had to bail me out financially more than once! I’m just…I’m useless! Fat, and lazy, and useless, and-”

I’m suddenly pulled into a crushing hug. Tangling one hand into Eren’s hair, I cry into the crook of his neck. For the first time in a while, I’m able to feel some of the weight lifting off of me. We stay like this for a moment and as my crying begins to subside, I can hear Eren speak through gritted teeth. Anger radiates off of him as he forces out, “did someone say something like this to you? Because if this is someone’s fault I’ll ki-”

“No one said this to me, Ren.” I lean back and realize he’s got tears glistening on his cheeks. I feel so bad for making him cry, but his silence implies he wants further explanation. I cup his face in my hands to wipe away his tears before I kind of chuckle and say, “No, no one said something to me. It’s just, I mean, I have eyes.”

“Well maybe you should get them checked then!” he bursts. I’m taken aback but it doesn’t stop him from continuing, “Because we must be seeing different things! Because when I look at you I just see happiness and love and sunshine.”

I chuckle again before I say, “Thank you Ren, but, to be fair, you’re my boyfriend. You’re supposed to say that kind of shit.”

Without an ounce of humor, he interjects “Well if I’m supposed to say it, then I must not be saying it enough. There are so many things about you that I love, like how smart you are and your humor and your kindness, but I never would have even wanted to get to know those things if I didn’t find you jaw-droppingly attractive. Your hair that looks soft and shiny no matter if you leave it natural or style it, your eyes that I find myself getting lost in every time we make eye contact, your smile that can genuinely turn my day around. And you’re every man’s dream because I don’t have to choose between tits and ass,” he squeezes both as his says that, making me genuinely laugh which reflects in his own smile before he continues, “and while I know you don’t like your stretch marks, I love them both because I think they’re like pretty tattoos but also because the skin is more sensitive so it gives me another way to drive you crazy any time we have sex.”

Before I can respond, he finishes off by saying, “You asked why I even care, but the answer is simple, and it’s because I love you. You are the greatest person I’ve ever met, and I will spend the rest of my life proving this to you if that’s what it takes.” He then kisses me softly yet passionately, conveying exactly how deeply he means everything he just said.

“It’s not something I’m just immediately going to believe about myself, but thank you. That really helped, Ren.” I kiss him one more time before saying, “I love you so much baby.”

“I love you too y/n.”

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anxresi · 10 months

Text

…Thomas Astruc really is a nasty piece of work, isn’t he?

This post is about how he reacts to criticism online, and what motivates him to reply.

Not to mention, a shout-out to his ‘defenders’ who somehow think they owe the man a lifelong debt of gratitude.

Don’t worry, I’m sure he’s more than ably been compensated for producing the idea that led to this behemoth of a show (before he ran it down to the ground, that is).

So he finally admits it… he’s writing at the level of a 5 year old. The truth outs at last!

Here’s another one…

How would we get the idea you ‘hate’ Chloe?

You mean like: engaging in the most heinous character assassination I’ve EVER seen regarding her development over S4-5, giving us the waste-of-bland-space Zoe who everyone in the in-show universe constantly praises to further spite her fans and responding to almost EVERY individual who criticizes your treatment of her online, while ignoring most other messages?

Hmm, I wonder where we could’ve got the impression from you don’t like her very much… 🤔

It’s got to the stage now where he reacts so aggressively and urgently to anyone who produces the slight WHIFF of criticism, that it makes me think he has something to hide. Like for example, directly interfering in her character arc?

Anyway, he does that classic thing every bad liar does… Deny everything, then get so abusive with their angry response to try and frighten the poor OP into never raising the issue ever again.

He doesn’t have to even reply to anyone, but when he does it always seems to be the ‘haterz’ he engages with than the devotees who grovel at his feet. Almost like he enjoys the confrontations. Very strange.

Oh, but don’t worry. All those young fans he ignores still turn up to ‘defend’ this grown-ass 46 year old man from the vicious assault of a couple of teens rightfully asking questions of his terrible writing. decisions. NEWSFLASH: he’s not gonna give you mindless sycophants a job, you know. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news.

In fact, all these ‘brave’ internet white knights defending him on Twitter… you do realize you massively outnumber the Chloe fans, don’t you?

It was a personal choice Thomas made to highlight the only two negative questions he got about her that day to his hundreds of thousands of followers, as if to make out this kind of ‘trolling’ is commonplace.

It’s not, and picking on the couple of Chloe fans willing to speak up ain’t an ‘honorable’ thing. He couldn’t give a hoot about you in reality, you’re just interchangeable tools in his ginormous ego trap.

Hope you enjoy the taste of his boots. Wise up, and see him for what he is, would be my genuine advice.

P.S The other topic that seems to heavily occupy him judging by his posts is the ‘Climate Emergency’ which of course very important and explains the ‘New World’ we see after Gabriel’s wish we see at the end of S5.

Personally, I think they laid it on a bit thick with the whole ‘let’s get rid of all cars, no litter anywhere, waterways and trees everywhere you look, no more teachers at school so set your own lessons’ message, but whatever.

My point is, I bet he lives a jet-setting lifestyle where he travels around the world a lot, in terms of income he’s gotta be in the top 10% bracket and I can’t seem to find anything online about him being a vegetarian or inviting homeless people to stay at the mansion he doubt calls his place of residence.

So could it be… this ‘progressive’ outlook is another attempt by a middle-aged man to ‘get down wiv da kids’ from someone who’s willing to talk the talk but not make any concrete sacrifices in his own privileged life that might help halt environmental decline? Id wager he uses a lot more resources than the average person he lectures to, so what is he doing himself to prevent ‘global Armageddon’?

From the available evidence, not a lot. Could it be… he’s an attention-seeking self-congratulatory sanctimonious hypocrite who’s life ethos is ‘Do as I say, but not as I do’?

Probably.

#sorry to pour salt on the man but he really deserves it #the idea for the show could literally have to a worse person #sometimes fate can be so cruel #miraculous ladybug #miraculous #ladybug #chloe bourgeois #ml salt #ml #disney #zag

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saintsir4n · 2 months

Note

Okay girlie I’m never the best at request, but I’m still drunk on Stereo Love, so I was wondering if you have seen the short prequel to 2 Fast 2 Furious, where Brian making his way to Miami, so what about if he is just following her trial. Like using his cop ability to find her.- 🐜

SEEKING HER OUT

brian being a desperate bitch!

___

"Did you get that O'Conner?"

"Got it," Brian replied, holding his phone with his shoulder as he pressed on the gas, "thanks."

"Don't mention it." his ex-co-worker spoke to him, "I mean it don't, the chief is already on my ass, and this could cost me my job. you could get caught. Are you sure she's really worth it?"

Brian caught a brief look at the sign he drove past. Miami 342 miles. Carson had been living here for over a year, he came to discover.

"I wouldn't be risking my freedom if she wasn't would I?"

"Goodbye, O'Conner. Don't get caught."

Brian pulled his phone away and took another look at the address. Florida wasn't Carson's seen and he knew that because he knew her, and he knew that he fucked up, he lied to her for months, and broke her trust and her heart.

And on top of that, he was stalking her... Trailing her - what the police force would refer to it as, but he wasn't a cop anymore. He was on the run, escaping police custody once was one thing, but helping Dom, a known criminal to escape was another. He yearned for normalcy, for the love he could only give and receive from one person.

Carson Baker.

He missed everything about her, but he knew he would be the last person she wanted to see, so he couldn't go to her instantly, he needed a place to stay. Suki was the name of the girl Carson was living with but also the on-and-off-again girlfriend of an ex-street racer he was friendly with.

Brian quickly dialled the number as he went from 50mph to 60mph.

"Yo?" a familiar voice echoed through his cell.

Brian smiled, "Tej man, wassup?"

"Bullit? That you? Haven't heard from you in a minute, you still racin'?"

"Never stopped," Brian adjusted his hand on the wheel of his Skyline.

"Well if you're ever in my city, holla."

Brian hummed, "Do you still have that houseboat?"

Tej quirked up a brow, "Yeah, why?"

"Check it, I need a place to stay. You cool with that?"

"That's cool, but you're gonna have to race, can't keep that talent on the low." Tej chuckled.

Brian couldn't help but smile, "You tryin' pimp me out?"

"Call it whatever you want, but let me know when you've touched down. I'll introduce you to my people."

"I think I know a few people man. Someone in particular."

"Oh yeah, Who's that?" Tej's eyes travelled over to the stylish girl sighing as she worked over the hood of her car. "Suki, careful baby, don't over-exert yourself" Brian perked up at the mention of the girl, "You gotta a woman Brian?"

Brian stiffened, "Had. But that won't be the case for too long."

"I know that's right. Later man."

"Later," Brian ended the call and grinned.

Miami here he comes.

i swear in the first two films they had brian sounding so dumb, i can't. I know it was because of y2k but omg.

also yes, i love watching those bts clips of the fast and the furious, it made me stumble on the 2 fast 2 furious prelude and how serious it looked, if even started mika kelly.

#wattpad #fanfic #brian o’conner x reader #brian and sonny #brian o'conner x black!reader #brian o’conner x carson baker #carson baker #sonnybaker #2 fast 2 furious #2003 #fluff #angst

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grey-sides · 1 year

Text

my heart, a locket for you

Here is the Harringrove for Turkey fill for @chrisbitchtree! I hope you love it and thank you so, so much for donating!!

~2.6K words, explicit

Billy tells him when he’s in the bath. Steve has some candles lit, the lights turned off with a glass of wine in one hand and the radio playing in the background.

It’s funny that he doesn’t even care that Billy is walking in on him naked. They’ve kept each other alive through hazings, near alcohol poisoning, and heartbreak. Billy’s seen him naked before and at his very worst. Sitting in a bubble bath is nothing.

“I’m thinking of moving back to California,” Billy admits, shrugging. He’s wearing a clean t-shirt, one that fits him well enough to highlight his biceps and triceps and all the ’ceps that Steve wants to touch.

Steve takes a swallow of wine, does his best not to choke on it. Billy wants to move back to California. He’s probably always wanted to move back to California. And now that they’re graduated, there’s no reason for him not to.

“Back to where you’re from?” Steve asks and hopes his voice isn’t too strangled. He’s supposed to be relaxing, but Billy is dropping bombs on him.

Billy shrugs, grabs the bottle of wine and takes a drink. “Probably. Maybe. Still gotta find a place, but I figured I would let you know, you know? Give you time to get used to the idea of not having to see my ugly mug every morning.”

Steve has gotten painfully, irrevocably used to seeing Billy’s face every morning. But now he’s going to have to not see it. It makes his chest ache. He fills the hole with another swallow of wine.

“Well, good then. Means I’ll be able to have over more girls.”

Billy snorts, drinks more wine and leaves Steve to his bath. He flickers the lights a couple of times before he actually leaves and Steve laughs. They have time, Billy hasn’t enough found a place to move yet.

They moved in together for college, during their freshmen year. They had both moved across the country to go to Temple University, which Steve hadn’t expected but once he realized living with Billy wasn’t too bad- he hadn’t minded.

Billy was typically clean, or at least good at keeping his mess on his side of the room. He liked to wear just his boxers and a tank top around the dorm room, but Steve never minded. They worked well together, living in the same dorm room.

So they just stuck with it. Through their first cramped dorm room to a weird suite with two weird roomates, to their first off-campus place that they hosted parties in every weekend.

And when the holidays came around, Billy would drive home with him. One night to visit Max, middle ground at her mother’s, away from his father. And then he would charm Steve’s parents. Mostly his mother, but it was good.

It’s still good. It’s a nicer apartment than their first off-campus one, it’s for real adults with full-time jobs which they both have. Two shiny degrees tacked to the wall in the living room, opposite the television.

Steve doesn’t want to leave this apartment. Or, well, it’s not the apartment, really. It’s Billy. Billy will leave, go back to California and become one with the surf and sand again.

If Steve was a good roommate and not in love with Billy, he would offer to go with him. Spend a week looking at apartments, asking Billy to show him around. Giving him freedom and space and help.

But he’s selfish, he always has been. He wants Billy to stay as long as possible, have to ask the post office to order him some special newspapers from California so he can look at listings.

He wants to savor their nightly dinners, shared at the shitty dining room table Billy cobbled together in an elective. He wants to grab Billy a beer from the bridge and press it to the back of his neck until he smacks him every night. He wants to see if they both can fit into the easy chair Steve’s dad bought Billy to prove that he could.

“Dinner!” Steve shouts, scooping pasta into bowls. He has the salad bowl set on the table already with ranch dressing for him and Italian for Billy. There’s water there too, it looks domestic, friendly, like maybe they’re a family.

Billy waltzes out in his cut off shorts with his hair in a bandanna. It’s out of control these days, long and untamed. He used to bitch about finding a hairdresser, so Steve trims the ends for him.

“Hmmm you made pesto?” Billy asks, stretching so he can scratch his stomach. He crosses behind Steve while Steve carries bowls to the table and heads for the kitchen sink. Domestic.

Steve nods and wipes his hands off with his dishtowel, looking at the spread on the table. “Yeah, I used pine nuts this time because you said you like them,” he replies. He nods once and goes to wash his hands too.

Billy takes his usual seat, chair against the wall so he can see the door. It’s just something Steve’s gotten used to, living with him. He likes to see doors, any place someone can enter from. Steve knows it’s from his dad, but he doesn’t begrudge him for it. Billy’s allowed to have fears from that man.

“Thanks, are there any nuts left over?”

“Half a bag,” Steve hums. He picks up his fork and twirls pasta around it. “Stuck them in your cabinet by the fridge.”

Billy grins. “You’re the best.”

Steve flips him off as his heart warms in his chest. They dig in to eat and for awhile, it’s just the sound of their forks scraping the bowls, chewing and slurping.

“Harrington,” Billy says, eventually, looking intently at him.

“Hm?” Steve pokes his head up, looks at Billy with wide eyes. Billy doesn’t say a word, he just leans over and drags his napkin down Steve’s cheek. Steve blushes to the roots of his hair and looks down hurriedly when Billy pulls his hand away.

“Thanks,” he mumbles.

“Anytime, but you gotta get better at not getting shit all over your face, since I won’t be here forever,” Billy teases him.

It’s enough reminder to make Steve’s heart sink. Billy hasn’t really made any moves yet, he hems and haws about how hard it is to find a place without being there. But he hasn’t tried to find flights or listings, as far as Steve can tell.

“Yeah, would you get on that?” Steve chuckles, light, teasing. He doesn’t want Billy to leave. He can’t imagine asking him to stay.

Billy rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t say anything. The silence leaves Steve enough space to wonder if maybe Billy doesn’t want to go either. Or…or if he wants Steve to go with.

Later, weeks or months or seasons, it’s hard to tell sometimes, Billy bothers Steve in his room. He hovers in the doorway and watches Steve, waits until Steve grabs a pillow to throw at him because he’s being silent and creepy.

“Asshole,” Billy mutters, catching the pillow. He throws it right back and Steve catches it with his face.

Steve sets the pillow down and fixes his glasses. He runs his fingers through his hair and raises his brows. He has a magazine open in his lap, reading an article about a movie he wants to go see.

“What?” Steve asks, pushing the magazine to the side.

Billy shrugs, licks his lips. “About California…”

Steve waits for him to continue, but it’s clear Billy doesn’t have any other thoughts. Or he doesn’t know what else to say. “What about it?”

“I’m really gonna go, you know?”

Steve nods slowly, shifts over on his bed because Billy insists on taking the right side. “I know, you said you would.”

Billy takes a deep breath, blows it out slowly. “You ever think about moving?”

Steve shrugs, wraps his arms around his pillow and hugs it to his chest. It’s late, the hour of honesty and loneliness.

“I moved from Hawkins, didn’t I?”

Billy lays back on his bed, looks up at the ceiling. His hair is damp, curled wildly around his face on the pillow. “Yeah. Guess we did.”

Steve could kiss him, wants to kiss him. He wants to lean over him and kiss him senseless until Billy is breathless and begging. Until Steve can leave his mark all over him so that no matter where Billy goes, he will never forget Steve Harrington.

“Why do you want to go back to California?” he asks instead.

Billy shrugs. “Always said I was going to.”

“Do you not like it here?”

“Summers suck, man, they’re so fucking humid.”

Steve hums, rolls onto his side to watch Billy. “But we get snow. And cheesesteaks.”

“Ohhh cheesesteaks,” Billy grumbles, humming. “With provolone, no whiz.”

“No whiz, never,” Steve whispers.

Steve licks his lips, there’s something here, in the space between them. Sitting on the sheets and waiting to be picked up and examined.

“And I’m here,” Steve adds. His voice is low, maybe he could say he coughed if Billy calls him on it.

“You’re here,” Billy agrees softly. He closes his eyes, his eyelashes touch his cheeks, the freckles dusted there. Steve wants to commit them to memory on the tips of his fingers.

“Don’t leave,” Steve mumbles. He swallows hard and reaches out, curling his fingers into Billy’s soft band t-shirt. “Don’t go back to California, not without me.”

Billy’s lower lip trembles and his eyes screw shut tighter. He looks like he wants to burst into tears. Steve knows the feeling.

“Don’t-”

“Don’t what? Don’t tell you the truth? I want you here with me. Don’t go somewhere and not let me follow.”

Billy grabs his wrist, squeezes it and turns to look at him with shiny eyes. “I have to leave or I won’t stop loving you.”

“Fucking-!” Steve throws his pillow to the ground and surges up to kiss Billy. Idiots, both of them.

He untangles his hand from his shirt and cradles his cheek in one hand. It’s so warm to the touch because Billy contains the sun and he probably needs to go back to California to get it recharged, but they can go together. Later.

Billy makes a soft sound and one of his hands fits against Steve’s lower back. He forces Steve to straddle his waist, kissing back like they need to share air.

Steve leans himself into Billy’s embrace, spending just a moment marveling at how well they fit together. Of course they do, they’ve always fit together, it’s part of why living together has worked out so well.

He groans quietly when Billy tugs on his lower lip and slides his hand up to tangle in his hair. Steve tugs on the ends of it, huffing a bit as he rocks his hips down.

“Stay,” he whispers. “If we do this, you have to stay. You have to wait until we can find a place together.”

Billy nods, pulls back to look at Steve with bright eyes. “I’m gonna stay. Haven’t found a place anyway.”

Steve knows it’s the truth because Billy’s been dragging this out as much as Steve has been carefully not touching it to keep him here. He dives back in and slides his left hand down Billy’s body.

Billy groans next and starts to wiggle so he can get his shirt off. Steve has to put his mouth in the center of Billy’s chest and looks up at him through his lashes. He tugs his own shirt over his head too, dropping both of them onto the floor.

He’s suddenly glad that Billy likes the right side because then he won’t have to sleep in the wet spot. Or they can go sleep in Billy’s bed which has no wet spots. Choices, choices, Steve stops thinking about their choices.

They get undressed, still familiar, but breathing hard. It’s not from playing basketball in the summer or doing laps at the Y in the winter. It’s because they’re kissing and touching, hands sliding over skin, grabbing fistfuls.

Steve leans over Billy enough to smack around his bedside table. Condom, lube, he always has them, easy, accessible, sitting right out in the open because he’s twenty-fucking-three.

“Shit, you ever done this before?” Billy laughs.

“Fuck no,” Steve giggles in return. “Hands?”

“Hands, but I’m gonna learn how to do it for you,” Billy decides. He tosses the condom away but keeps the lube close.

Steve kisses his stomach and picks up the lube to wrap his hand around it. Maybe he can warm it, he wants to warm it for Billy like he’s never wanted to warm lube for anyone before.

Billy pulls him up for another kiss, one hand on his cheek, the other fitting around both their dicks. It’s dry, his hand is calloused from weights, but Steve moans anyway.

There’s nothing like being touched by someone he loves, he can’t help it. He huffs a couple of times and bites down on Billy’s lip.

Steve pulls back to get lube between them, too much, at least for now, but it’s fine. They’re gross, they’re boys, he loves Billy so much it’s not funny. He rolls his hips up and Billy moans next, friction.

“Shit do that again,” Billy begs. He has his hand curled around them both, so Steve can do the hip work.

He starts a slow roll, finding a rhythm that works for both of them. And he kisses Billy, his lips are going to be sore tomorrow from Billy’s facial hair, but he doesn’t care. He’s so focused on how their skin drags together, the rasp of his chest hair against Billy’s chest.

Steve’s toes curl and he really pushes himself into Billy’s hand, listens to make sure it’s good for Billy too. He wants this moment to last forever. He’s imprinting himself into Billy’s heartbeats if he wasn’t there already.

“Fuck,” Billy breathes. His hips rock up too, uncontrollable while he chases that release. Steve watches him, mouth hanging open. They can do this again later or tomorrow or any day from now until forever.

“Come on, show me how good you look when you come,” Steve coaxes. He wraps his hand around them too, has to take a deep breath to keep from shooting off, he wants to see Billy come first.

Billy grunts and focuses, looking down between them. Steve keeps rocking his hips, so focused on that pretty face, the furrow of his brows, the way his lips are sucked between his teeth.

When Billy comes, his face opens up, he drops his head back and almost laughs into his moan. Steve is totally transfixed, paused halfway in a thrust. He has to kiss Billy’s jaw and feels the wet splash of spunk between them.

Steve moans and slides through Billy’s come breathlessly. He comes a moment later, squeezing down hard on himself as he thinks of Billy’s blue eyes, searching for the heavens he’s found within himself.

Steve flops beside him. His chest is heaving, his hand and stomach are sticky, but his heart is soaring. He’s smiling, he looks at Billy and smiles even wider.

“I love you,” he whispers.

Billy turns to smile at him too, leans in for a soft, sweet kiss. He’s tender to the touch, when Steve splays his sticky hand on his chest.

“I love you too,” Billy mumbles when they pull apart. “Come with me to California.”

And Steve doesn’t know what else the future holds or if he’s even going to like California. But he wants to keep this life with Billy. So he just smiles and says, “Okay.”

#harringroveforturkey #harringrove for turkey #harringrove #greye writes #chrisbitchtree #lemon #stranger things

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layce2015 · 1 year

Text

Supernatural (Dean Winchester x Female!Reader)

Crossroad Blues

Masterlist

"So much for our low profile. You've got a warrant in St. Louis, and now you're officially in the Fed's database." Sam said as we sit at a table in a diner and Sam was looking through his computer. "Dude, I'm like Dillinger or something." Dean said, grinning. "Dean, it's not funny. Makes the job harder, we've gotta be more careful now." I said to him and he shrugs.

"Well, what do they got on you two?" He asked Sam looks through the computer. "I'm sure they just haven't posted it yet." He mutters. "No accessory? Nothing?" Dean asked. "Shut up." Sam growls and Dean starts to laugh. "You're jealous." He said. "No, I'm not!" Sam said, angrily. "Uh-huh. All right. What do you got on the case there, you innocent, harmless young man, you?" Dean asked and I roll my eyes and shake my head.

Sam shuts his computer, annoyed, and pulls out several pages of research. "Architect Sean Boyden plummeted to his death from the roof of his home, a condominium he designed." Sam said as Dean and I look through the pages. "Hmm. Build a high-rise and jump off the top of it. That's classy. When did he call animal control?" Dean said. "Two days earlier." Sam replied.

"Did he actually say Black Dog?" I asked him. "Yeah. A vicious, wild, black dog. The authorities couldn't find it, no one else saw it; in fact, the authorities are a little confused as to how a wild dog could get past the doorman, take the elevator up and start roaming the halls of the cushiest joint in town. After that, no more calls, he doesn't show up for work, two days later he takes a swan dive." Sam replied.

"Do you think we're dealing with an actual Black Dog?" Dean asked. "Well, maybe." Sam said, shrugging. "What's the lore on the Hound of the Baskerville?" I asked and Sam chuckles a bit at this as he passes some pages to us. "It's all pretty vague. I mean, there are spectral black dogs all over the world, but...some say they're animal spirits, others say death omens. But anyways, whatever they are, they're big, nasty..." Sam said as Dean flips to a picture of a large black dog.

"Yeah, I bet they could hump the crap outta your leg, look at that one, huh?" He said as he holds up the picture and smirks. I let out a snort while Sam glares at us, making Dean's smirk slip. "What? They could." Dean said.

In a posh, well-lit room, the boys and I were wearing suits and interviewing a man about Sean Boyden. "So, you and Sean Boyden were business partners for almost ten years, right?" Sam asked him. "That's right. Now one more time, this is for...?" The man said, suspiciously, before I talk over him. "A tribute to Mr. Boyden. Architectural Digest." I said and the man laughs.

"This funny to you?" Dean asked him. "No, it...it's just, a tribute. Yeah. See, Sean always got the tributes. He kills himself, leaves me and his family behind...well, he gets another tribute." He said. "Right. Any idea why he'd do such a thing?" Sam asked. "I, I have no clue, I mean he lived a charmed life." The man replied.

"How so?" I asked him. "He was a flat-out genius. I mean, I'm capable, but next to him, I...and it wasn't always that way, either." The man replied. "No?" We said, questionable. "You wanna know the truth? There was a time where he couldn't even design a pup tent. Hell, ten years ago he's working as a bartender at this place called Lloyds. A complete dive." The man said.

"Right. So what changed?" Sam asked and the man shrugs. "You got me. But overnight, he gets this huge commission, and he starts designing...he starts designing the most ingenious buildings anyone has ever seen. It was like, the level of Van Gogh, and Mozart..." then the man cuts off abruptly.

"What?" Dean asked him. "It's funny. True geniuses, they seem to die young, don't they? To have that kind of talent? Why...why just throw it away?" The man asked us.

Later, Dean exits the Animal Protection Agency, still wearing the suit. Sam and I were waiting in the car and DeN gets in the driver's side. "So." We said. "Secretary's name is Carly. She's twenty three, she, uh, kayaks, and they're real." Dean said and Sam let's out a sigh as I flick Dean's ear.

"Ow!" He exclaimed and I glare at him. "You didn't happen to ask her if she's seen any black dogs lately, did you?" I asked him and he holds up a page. "Every complaint called in this week about anything big, black, or dog-like. There's nineteen calls in all. And, uh..." he said as he pulls off a Post-it note. "I don't know what this thing is." He said.

Sam takes it, reads it, and laughs then glances at Dean "You mean Carly's MySpace address?" Sam said, smiling, while Dean and I look at him, confused. "What the hell is that?" I asked and Sam laughs again. "Seriously, is that like some sort of porn site?" Dean asked with a smile. "Is everything in your world linked to porn?" I asked him, annoyed. Dean looks up, thinking, then said. "Yeah." I shake my head, annoyed, while Sam chuckles.

Afterwhile, we approach another white suburban door and knock. "I swear, if this is another freakin' Pomeranian barking in the neighbor's yard..." Dean grumbles. "Aw, don't worry, I'll protect you from the big, bad Pomeranian." I said in a mocking voice and Dean glares at me as the door opens to reveal a young woman.

"Afternoon, ma'am." Dean said as we pull out our ID. "Uh, Animal Control." He said. "Oh, someone already came yesterday." She said to us. "Oh, we're just following up. We're looking for Dr. Sylvia Pearlman?" Sam asked and the woman let's us in.

"The Doctor, well, she, I don't know exactly when she'll be back, she left two days ago." The woman said to us. "Okay. And you are...?" I said, curiously. "I'm Ms. Pearlman's maid." She replied. "So where did the Doctor go?" Dean asked. "I'm not sure. She just packed and went, she didn't say where. That stray dog, did you find it finally?" The woman asked.

"Oh, not yet. You know, you didn't ever happen to see the dog yourself, did you?" Sam asked her. "Well, no. I never even heard it." She said as I look around and take a photograph off the wall: it shows a woman, presumably Pearlman, at a bar with two friends. "I was almost starting to think the Doctor was imagining things, but she's not like that, so..." the woman said and I turn to her.

"Hey, you know I read she was, uh chief surgeon at the hospital. She's gotta be what, forty two, forty three? That's pretty young for that job." I pointed out. "Youngest in the history of the place. She got the position...ten years ago?" The woman said and I give a surprised noise.

"Huh. An overnight success. Ten years ago." Sam said as he and Dean come up to me. "Yeah, we know a guy like that." Dean said and I look at the photo closer. "Oh, look at this." I said and I hold up the photo and flip it over to show writing on the back. "Lloyd's Bar." I said.

We pull up outside Lloyd's Bar and get out. As we walk towards the bar, Dean looks to the side and stops in his tracks. "Hey." He said and Sam and I stop. "Yeah?" We said. "That's weird." Dean said as he points at the yellow flowers that are growing on the sides of the road.

"What?" Sam asked Dean. "Think someone planted these?" Dean asked. "Middle of all these weeds?" I said, disbelief. "These are, uh, what do you call 'em." Dean said as he looks at the flowers. "Yarrow flowers?" Sam said and Dean nods. "Yeah. Used for certain rituals, aren't they?" He asked. "Yeah, actually. Summoning rituals." Sam replied.

"Heh. So, two people become sudden successes about ten years ago. Right around the time they were hanging out here at Lloyd's." I said as I look around to see that we were in the middle of a crossroad. "Where there just happens to be a crossroads." Sam said then he turns to us. "You think?" He asked. "Let's find out." Dean said.

Then he walks to the center of the crossroads and looks around, measuring. "This seem about the dead center to you?" Dean asked us and we nod. He digs a few inches into the hard soil and hits something solid. He stops. "Yahtzee." He said and he drops the shovel and digs with his hands, pulling out an old rusted box.

He opens it, revealing that it contains several small bones, a picture and a small stoppered jar that Sam takes out. "I'd be willing to bet that's graveyard dirt. And a black cat bone." Sam said. "That's serious spellwork. I mean, that's Deep South Hoodoo stuff." I said. "Used to summon a demon." Sam said.

"Not just summon one. Crossroads are where pacts are made. These people are actually making deals with the damn thing. You know, 'cause that always ends good." Dean said. "They're seeing dogs, all right. But not Black Dogs, they're seeing Hellhounds. Demonic pit bulls." I said and Dean nods. "Yeah, whoever this demon is, it's back and it's collecting. And that doctor lady? Wherever she's running? She ain't running fast enough." Dean said.

"So it's just like the Robert Johnson legend, right? I mean, selling your soul at the crossroads, kind of deal?" Sam said and we nod. "Yeah, except that wasn't a legend. I mean, you know his music." Dean said to us. I nod but Sam shrugs. "You don't know Robert Johnson's songs?" I asked him and he shakes his head.

"Sam, there's, there's occult references all over his lyrics, I mean, Crossroad Blues? Me and the Devil Blues? Hellhound on My Trail?" Dean said and Sam frowns, then Dean rolls his eyes and I sigh. "The story goes, he died choking on his own blood, he was hallucinating, and muttering about big evil dogs." Dean explains. "And now it's happening all over again." Sam said. "Yeah." Dean and I said.

"We've gotta figure out if anyone else struck any bargains around here." Sam said and Dean scoffs. "Great. So we've gotta clean up these peoples' mess for 'em? I mean, they're not exactly squeaky clean. Nobody put a gun to their head and forced 'em to play Let's Make A Deal." Dean said, annoyed.

"So what, we should just leave them to die?" I asked Dean. "Somebody goes over Niagara in a barrel, you gonna jump in and try to save 'em?" Dean asked me. "Dean." Sam and I said, exasperated. "All right. Fine." Dean grumbles. "Rituals like this, you've got to put your own photo into the mix, right? So this guy probably summoned this thing, let's go and see if anyone inside knows him. If he's still alive." Dean said, holding up the picture, and we head inside.

"What's this guy's name again?" Sam asked as we walk up a set of wide, wooden stairs to the fourth floor of an apartment. "George Darrow. Apparently quite the regular at Lloyd's." I said while Dean looks around. "Though this house probably ain't up next on MTV Cribs, is it?" He said. "Yeah. So whatever kind of deal he made..." Sam trails off. "Wasn't for cash. Oh, who knows. Maybe this place is full of babes in Princess Leia bikinis." Dean said and Sam and I laugh.

"No, I'm just saying, this guy's got one epic bill come due. Hope at least he asked for something fun." Dean said as we reach the landing and stop in front of apartment 4C. The floor is dusted with a fine black powder.

"Look at that." I said and we crouch down, fingering it. "What is that, pepper?" Dean asked when the door opens to reveal a middle-aged man with graying hair, wearing a grimy t-shirt and open button-down.

"Who the hell are you?" He asked us, in a threatening tone. "George Darrow?" I said. "I'm not buying anything." He said as he starts shut the door. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, looks like you went for the wrong shaker there. Heh. Usually when you want to keep something evil out you go for the salt." Dean said to him as George looks between the three of us.

"I don't know what you talkin' about." He said. "Talkin' about this." Dean said as he holds up the small picture. "Tell me. You seen that Hellhound yet?" He asked and George stares at us. "Look. We want to help. Please. Just five minutes." Sam said to him. George looks at us for a moment then opens the door to let us in.

George shows us in and pours himself a glass of whisky. The studio apartment is filled with paintings, completed and half-finished, and a table holds painting supplies. "So what is that stuff out front?" I asked him. "Goofer Dust." He replied and we look at him, blankly.

"What, you three think you know somethin' about somethin' but not Goofer dust?" George asked us and he tosses Dean a brown sack, tied close with twine. He catches it. "Well, we know a little about a lot of things. Just enough to make us dangerous." Dean said to him.

"What is it?" Sam asked, nodding at the brown sack. "Hoodoo. My grandma taught me. Keeps out demons." George said. "Demons we know." Dean said. "Well, then. Maybe it'll do you some good." George said as he walks over to a chair. "Four minutes left." He said.

Dean glances at us then Sam takes the lead. "Mr. Darrow. We know you're in trouble." Sam said. "Yeah, that you got yourself into." Dean said. "But it's not hopeless, all right?" I said, half-directing that towards Dean. "There's gotta be something we can do." I said as I turn to George. "Listen. I get that you three want to help. But sometimes a person makes their bed, they've just got to lie down in it. I'm the one called that demon in the first place." He said.

"What'd you do it for?" Dean asked. "I was weak. I mean, who don't want to be great? Who don't want their life to mean something? I just...I just never thought about the price." George said. "Was it worth it?" I asked him. "Hell no. 'Course, I asked for talent. Shoulda gone for fame. I'm still broke, and lonely. Just now I got this pile of paintings don't nobody want. But that wasn't the worst." George said, angrily.

"Go on." Sam said. "Demon didn't leave. I never counted on that. After our deal was done the damn thing stayed at Lloyd's for a week. Just chattin'. Makin' more deals. I tried to warn folks, but, I mean who's goin' to listen to an old drunk?" George said. "How many others are there?" I asked him. "Uh, the architect, that doctor lady — I kept up with them, they've been in the papers. Least they got famous." George grumbles.

"Who else, George? Come on, think." Dean said. "One more. Uh, nice guy too. Hudson. Evan, I think. I don't know what he asked for. Don't matter now. We done for." George said. "No. No, there's gotta be a way." Sam said. "You don't get it! I don't want a way!" George yells.

"Look, you don't--"

"I called that thing! I brought it on myself. I brought it on them. I'm going to hell, one way or another. All I want is to finish my last painting. Day or two, I'm done. I'm just trying to hold them off 'till then. Buy a little time." George said then he starts to get up, interrupting Sam. "Okay, kids. Time you went, go help somebody that wants help." He said.

"We can't just —"

"Get out! I got work to do." George yelled at me. "You don't really want to die." Sam said, firmly. "I don't? I'm...I'm tired." George said as he turns to his painting. The boys and I share a look before we leave George to his painting.

The boys and I approach Evan's front door and I go and knock on the door. A moment later, a man opens the door. "Yes?" He answers. "Evan Hudson?" Sam asked and he nods. "You ever been to a bar called Lloyd's? Would have been about ten years ago." Dean said. Terrified, Evan slams the door and latches it.

"Come on, we're not demons!" I said as we hear him run then Sam turns to me and Dean. "Any other bright ideas?" Sam asked us. Dean steps back, sets himself, then kicks the door down in one go. "Well, that's one way." I said and we enter the house.

Once we make it to the back room, Dean prepares to kick down that door too but I catch his leg, stopping him. "What—" Dean start to say but I look at him pointedly. Then Sam turns the handle and pushes the door open gently. The room is quiet as we enter.

"Evan?" Sam calls out and Evan jumps out from behind a bookshelf. "Please! Don't hurt me." He pleads to us but Sam and I hold our hands out, pacifying. "We're not going to hurt you, all right? We're here to help you." Sam said to him, kindly. "We know all about the genius deal you made." Dean said, angrily.

"What? How?" Evan asked. "Doesn't matter. All that matters is, we're trying to stop it." Dean said. "How do I know you're not lying?" Evan asked us. "Well, you don't, but you're kinda running low on options there, buddy-boy." Dean said and Evan swallows and starts pacing.

"Can you stop it?" Evan asked us. "Don't know. We'll try." I said and Evan looks over at us, with fear. "I don't want to die." He said, tearfully. "Of course you don't, not now." Dean sneered and Sam turns to him. "Dean. Stop." He said, quietly.

"What'd you ask for anyway, Evan? Huh? Never need Viagra? Bowl a perfect game? What?" Dean asked. "My wife." Evan replied and Dean laughs. "Right. Gettin' the girl. Well, that's worth a trip to hell for." Dean said and I grab his arm. "Dean, stop." I said to him, firmly.

"No. He's right, I made the deal. Nobody twisted my arm, that...woman, or whatever she was, at the bar? She said I could have anything I wanted. I thought she was nuts at first, but...I don't know how to—I was desperate." Evan replied. "Desperate?" Sam and I asked, confused.

"Julie was dying." Evan said and we stand there in shock. "You did it to save her?" Dean asked him. "She had cancer, they'd stopped treatment, they were moving her into hospice, they kept saying...a matter of days. So yeah, I made the deal. And I'd do it again. I'd have died for her on the spot." Evan said and I give him a sympathetic smile.

"Did you ever think about her in all this?" Dean asked him. "I did this for her." Evan replied and Dean advances on him. "You sure about that? I think you did it for yourself. So you wouldn't have to live without her. But guess what? She's going to have to live without you now. But what if she knew how much it cost? What if she knew it cost your soul? How do you think she'd feel?" Dean asked, angrily, and Sam and I put a hand on Dean's chest, pulling him back.

"Okay, that's enough." Sam said and Dean turns and walks away. I sigh then turn to Sam and Evan. "You just sit tight, all right? We're going to figure this out." I said to Evan then I look at Sam. "Stay here with him, I'll talk to Dean." I said and I follow Dean into the hallway.

"You all right?" I asked him, concerned. "Yeah, why wouldn't I be? Hey, I got an idea." Dean said and he pulls out the Goofer dust. "You and Sam throw George's hoodoo at that Hellhound, keep it away from Evan as long as you guys can. I'm gonna go to the crossroads and summon the demon." Dean said and my jaw drops.

"Summon— are you nuts?" I asked as I look at him like he was insane. "Maybe a little. But I can trap it. I can exorcise it, and I can buy us time to figure out something more permanent." Dean said to me.

"Yeah, but how much time?" I asked. "I don't know, a while. I mean, it's not easy for those suckers to claw their way back from hell and into the sunshine." He said and I shake my head. "No. No way." I said. "You're not allowed to say no, (y/n), not unless you've got a better idea." Dean exclaims.

"Dean, you can forget it, all right? I'm not letting you summon that demon." I said. "Why not?" Dean asked me, angrily. "Because I don't like where your head is at right now, that's why not." I shouted.

"What are you talking about?" He asked me. "You know, you've been on edge ever since we found that crossroads, Dean, and I think I know why." I said and he rolls his eyes. "We don't have time for this." He said and he brushes past me.

"John." I said as I turn and see that he stopped in his tracks. "You think maybe John made one of these deals, huh? Hell. I've been thinking it. I'm sure you and Sam have been thinking it too." I said and Dean lowers his head. "It fits, doesn't it? I'm alive, Dad's dead. The yellow-eyed demon was involved." He said, softly. "What if he did? What if he struck a deal? My life for his soul?" Dean asked, quietly, as he turns to me.

Before I could say anything, we hear Evan shouting. "I think I hear it! It's outside!" We look towards the door as Sam said. "Guys!" Dean and I look back at each other then Dean said. "Just keep him alive, okay?"

"Dean..." I said, worried, but he shakes his head. "Go!" He said and I frown, slightly, then I walk up to him and kiss his cheek. I pull back and I could see a shock look on his face then I placed my right hand on his cheek. "Be careful, okay?" I said. He nods and leaves then I head back into the office room.

After explaining Dean's idea, Sam and I started sprinkling the dust in a line before the windows. Then we start making a circle of it around Evan, who stands in the middle of the room. "What is that stuff?" He asked us. "Goofer dust." Sam replied.

"You serious?" Evan asked. "Yeah. 'Fraid so. Look. Believe us, don't believe us, whatever you want. Just whatever you do, stay inside the circle, all right?" I said to him and Evan nods then hugs himself.

He stands in the middle of the circle that Sam and I just finish as I shake the bag to get out the last grains. "That's the last of it." I said then we stand there and look around until Evan whirls around, like he could hear something.

"What?" Sam and I asked him. "You hear that?" Evan asked us, fear etched all over his face. "No, where?" Sam asked then Evan looks at the door. "Right outside the door." He said then the doors begin to rattle violently. Sam and I then step inside the circle.

Side by side inside the circle of dust, Evan, Sam and I stare tensely at the rattling door. "Just don't move, all right? Stay where you are." I said to Evan. The rattling became louder, and more violent, then suddenly it stops.

Sam and I exchange a look before we, cautiously, look around. "Do you still hear it?" Sam asked Evan. "No. Is it over?" Evan asked us. "Don't know...maybe." I said when rumbling sound comes from the wall. The three of us whirl to stare at the grating just as it bursts outward, kicking dust into the room.

"It's here!" Evan screams as we see a visible wind coming through and surrounding us. "No! Back inside the circle!" I shout and we gathered close together in the middle of the circle.

Deep claw marks gouge into the floor in a path towards the circle; they stop just before the edge. We back away slowly, while the wind started to eat away at our protective circle. "Circle's broken. Come on!" Sam shouts and we pull Evan out of the room and down the hall.

We dart into a storeroom and slam the door behind us. Sam and I braces ourselves against it while the Hellhounds start to pound it down. Dean, hurry up! I thought, frantically, as the pounding on the door got more and more violent. Suddenly, the pounding stops and Sam and I look at each other then over at Evan, the three of us panting.

After making sure Evan was okay and Dean returned from the crossroads, Dean drives us down a dark road as he explains what happened. "Demons lie all the time, right? Maybe she was lying." Sam said to Dean, referring to the demon telling Dean that John made a deal to save his life. "Come on. That really what you think?" Dean asked Sam and Sam looks down.

"How could he do it?" Dean asked, disappointed and angry. "He did it for you." I said to him. "Exactly. How am I supposed to live with that? You know, the thought of him...wherever he is right now. I mean, he spent his whole life chasing that...yellow-eyed son of a bitch. He should have gone out fighting. That was supposed to be his legacy. You know? Not bargaining with the damn thing. Not this." Dean said, angry.

"How many people do you think Dad saved? Total?" Sam asked. "That's not the point, Sam." Dean growls. "Evan Hudson is safe because of what Dad taught us. That's his legacy, Dean. But we're still here, man. So we gotta keep going, for him." Sam said to him and Dean stays silent.

"Dean?" I said, softly.

"Yeah." He replied and I swallow, nervously, fearing for the answer to my question. "When you were trapping that demon, you weren't...I mean, it was all a trick, right? You never considered actually making that deal, right?" I asked him. Dean told us that the demon would let Evan live if Dean would trade his life for Evan, ten years of course he would get but after that....he would be gone.

Dean stares straight ahead, then turns his head towards the window. He reaches forward and turns the radio on full blast and doesn't say a word. Sam and I flinch then Sam looks over at me with a worried and nervous glance.

I bite my lips then let out a sigh and lean back in the seat and look out the window at the passing scenery.

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