Sugar Walls

BY : Beaverhausen13
Category: 1 through F > Friday the 13th: The Series
Dragon prints: 54
Disclaimer: I don't own Friday the 13th. The characters of Micki, Ryan, and Jack do not belong to me, they are the property of Paramount, Frank Mancuso, Jr. et. al. and I absolutely do not get paid for this.

Sugar Walls

Author: Pepperstasia Beaverhausen

Rating: NC-Mutha’fuckin’-17, my bizzle

Categories: MRR, angst, RST, songfic, Micki POV

Spoilers: “Quilt of Hathor” parts 1 & 2, Lloyd mention

Author’s Notes: You all know the essence of which I speak...these characters of Micki, Ryan, and Jack are not mine. They are the property of Paramount, Frank (my main) Mancuso, Jr. and all that bizness. So anyhoo, this is me trying to break an over 5-year spell of writer’s block. I literally have not been able to write anything beyond an email after I graduated from college and it’s driving me nuts. So now, to remedy this, I’ve popped on a shitload of really good, sexy music while watching “Friday the 13th: The Series” episodes on mute, and I think I have finally dislodged an idea in my poor, overloaded-with-the-world’s-detriments brainpan. Big ups to sexy music, yo. I love it in all it’s many forms. There is something life-affirming about it. Time’s like these, in a pandemic and such, we need all the reassurance that life isn’t just one big horror show that we can get. And now…SMUT! Yaaaaasssss, Kween.


“Heaven on Earth inside my sugar walls…” -Sheena Easton


            Jealousy. It’s such a nasty emotion. It can overwhelm one with such impaired vision that it seems like your whole being is focused on the object of that jealousy. It also blindsides a person in such a way that you almost can’t recognize it at first. Maybe you mistake it for irritation, or even rage.

            But once it dawned on me that I was *jealous*, I was forced to confront feelings that I had been trying to ignore. I think I am in love with Ryan. I had written it off as just an attraction that was spurned on by our close proximity, but after what happened at that Penitite community, and the fact that I almost lost him completely to another woman; I have been forced to reconsider everything.

            It’s been three days since we have returned to the shop and back to creature comforts of the modern sort. Ryan has been particularly maudlin, and I feel another twinge of jealousy; mostly spurned on by how I had felt like my world fell apart when he decided not to come home with me and he wasn’t affected in leaving me in the slightest. All he had cared about was her. Laura.

            By some miracle he came to his senses and is back home in our cozy storefront abode. My relief was palpable. He’s still carrying an air of sadness. I can hear the soft strains of “Love Will Tear Us Apart” by Joy Division coming from his stereo in the kitchenette. It’s late afternoon and I am currently sitting in my bedroom, trying to read The Color Purple in my chair after we closed up shop for the day, but find that my mind keeps wandering and I can’t concentrate on the words.

            Why can’t Ryan and I take our relationship to a different track? I know it’s been difficult after Lloyd and my subsequent break with him, but nothing is set in stone. What is stopping us from enjoying each other’s company and embarking on a different kind of connection with each other? As I mull this over, I can see him moping on his mattress in the next room in my mind’s eye. I can’t deny that I care about him. That’s a given. I hate to see him so upset. An epiphany hits me and I decide to do something about it before I chicken out.

            I step out of my French doors with purpose and just as I suspected, he’s laying on his cot on his back staring up at the ceiling, letting the Joy Division wash over him like a depressing wave of melody.

            “Ryan, we’ve got to get you out of this funk you’re in.” I state, standing over him.

            “How are you going to do that?” He asks glumly, still staring at the spot directly above him.

            “You’re going to take me out on a date.” I tell him, “We’re going dancing.”

            Ryan sits up and eyes me suspiciously, “I don’t need your pity, Micki.”

            “Good, because this isn’t pity.” I counter, “I want to go on a date, and I want to go on it with you. Think you can put up with me for the night?”

            I see a little smile quirk up the corners of his mouth, “You’re serious about this? A *real* date?”

            “Yes, a real date. I think it could be fun, and I think you deserve to have a little fun. Don’t you agree?”

            “And where would the lady like to go out dancing?” he asks me, perking up a bit. I’m feeling encouraged by this. He hasn’t shut me down and inwardly I am grateful.

            “There’s this new dance club downtown called Ambrosia that’s supposed to be really good.” I tell him, “So now that this is settled, I am going to start getting ready. Do you want to shower first, or should I?”

            “You go first. It takes me infinitely less time to get ready than you do.” He cracks, sounding a little more like his old self.



            My stomach is nervous. I’m back in my room after my shower, dressing in a new royal blue strapless dress with a short, flouncy ruffled skirt and have the matching cropped jacket spread out on the foot of my bed. I get the dress zipped up in the back and stare at my reflection.

            I like the way this dress looks. It accentuates all my best features but is just risqué enough to send out the signal that I want tonight. This is for him. I just hope he figures that out. Even so, I’m nervous as hell and my hands are trembling a little as I apply my makeup. I keep my hair down and it curls softly against my shoulders, pinning up one side away from my face. I make short work of my face, finishing my lips off with a dark pink lipstick. There. The finished product doesn’t look bad. I look inviting, in a sense. I slip on my matching royal blue Easy Spirit pumps, grab my jacket, and am about to check on Ryan when I hear a soft knock on my bedroom door.

            I snag my purse off the end table by the bed and move to open the door, “Be right there!” I holler, feeling like a bride on her wedding night.

            I open the door and Ryan is standing on the other side, dressed in a green and gray plaid sport coat, gray t-shirt, and blue jeans, and holding a small bouquet of wildflowers. My heart catches at the sight of this. He really is so handsome. He stares at me like he’s never seen me before, “Wow, Micki, you look…beautiful.” He awes.

            “You don’t look so bad, yourself.” I compliment, “And the flowers are a nice touch.”

            “Thanks. I had some time to kill while you were getting ready and I’ve heard this is the fashion on *real* dates, so I figured, what the hell?” Ryan smiles at me earnestly, lightening the tension in the air, “Do you still need time or are you ready?”

            “I’m ready.” I breathe out, my heart leaping in my chest.

            Ryan holds out his arm for me to link mine through, “Then let’s go cut a rug, milady.”

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