#and here you are pointing your grubby little fingers at people who are literally just trying to make rent. assholes

[rosefinnigen]

also this is such a weird beef for me to soap box/vague about but like this is my blog & it’s past my bedtime who gives a fuck. Anyway very specific type of dude comes on here and complains about “scammers” but clearly means “online sex workers not interested in fucking me personally for free”. be fucking for real dude most of us are not here to find dates we are here to work and be hot & if you don’t want to pay that’s whatever but providing specific services and accepting or asking for compensation for them is not a scam it’s a JOB

oh wow she asked you for money? the online sex worker asked you for money and only wanted to interact online? she didn’t feel like meeting you, a complete stranger, in person, for free? wow how surprising. like grow the fuck up dude. what a fucking tragedy, someone asked you for money rather than graciously appreciating the GIFT that is your gaze on our whore titties.oh it poisoned the experience for you? that the person you jack off to is also a human with bills to pay? get fucking real

[jiminrings]

umm maybe this is me projecting bc i am messaging you during my break but for a drabble request, yoongi in a retail setting???? 😐😐😐😐 oc could either be a co-worker or a regular customer who asks too many questions 😔😌

retail-type beat

drabble week: day three

drabble week masterlist

pairing: customer!yoongi x retail worker!reader

wordcount: 3k

glimpse: "hi! almost thought you were hiding from me for a second. anyways, is this sweater wool or cotton?"

feedback + support mean the world to me!!

the last time you checked, work doesn’t start until nine

you kNEW it doesn’t start until 9 in the morning, so clearly that’s why you’re just wearing slides instead of your sneakers

the company uniform is either black or purple (it has to be from what the store is selling though so you can get to choose) with of course!!!! a lanyard!!!!

and you know this, because you’re still wearing your slides from home because it isn’t opening time yet

“goddamn it, i forgot to bring my slippers,” jin moans the moment he walks to see you, looking down on your feet that only reminds him he’d be stuck in his cool yet painfully uncomfy sneakers

he’s probably the only co-worker that you’re truly close with, not feeling the urge to sell him just to get a free day

“i told you to get the sneakers that nurses use!!”

hands-down one of the best purchases you’ve ever made

retail’s hard and it’s not exactly the best-paying job!!! thankfully the franchise owner is a bit more generous so that’s why you get slightly-higher hourly pay

“i would if they looked a little more seasoned,” jin snorts and stubbornly crosses his arms, “i might sacrifice my pride and buy some compression socks.”

OOOOOH THOSE ARE GOOD TOO

makes you feel like ur walking on air

but lol no seokjin isn’t ready to buy those just yet

he’ll settle on some blisters and putting salonpas patches because they look cooler that way, thank u very much <3

jin yawns, talking about finding a steam iron somewhere to replace a blowdryer so he could break in his shoes

“you wipe the glass this time.”

oh right he absolutely hates wiping down the glass — even before opening!!! even when there aren’t any grubby kids that would soil it instantly with their equally as grubby hands

you don’t mind it honestly

you might honestly like it

you prefer wiping the glass a hundred times over than steaming clothes

there is nOT a single thought in your head when you spray on the solution to the glass, rag and squeegee tucked between your fingers when-

maybe you should’ve hOLY FUCKING SHIT

it’s not opening!!!! it is nOT nine o’clock in the morning!!!!

you know that the shop you’re working in is pretty fucking famous and it’s located on one of the most populated streets ever BUT THERE’S ALREADY SOMEONE

although the bucket hat seems familiar from a distance and-

oh it’s just yoongi

yoongi?

yoongi’s already here????

:O

yoongi, the guy in question, is an always customer!!

no, not a regular customer — an always customer

he comes every week and maybe even twice within that period

he’s a nice talkative customer who likes asking questions and even occasionally guides the other customers on what to buy and where to find it

he’s yoongi!!! of course that’s expected of him

he’s been going here long since you ever started working here, and jin keeps iNSISTING that he’s been here more frequently since you started like a year ago

but doesn’t he come at eleven in the morning?

“woah, yoongi’s already here? — doesn’t he come at eleven in the morning?”

?!!?!!

“i was just thinking the exact same thing.”

jin bangs the glass with his fist and you automatically wince and frown

you dO like cleaning the glass panes!! you didn’t say you liked cleaning them a second time :(

“YOONGI!”

“YES??”

you push jin’s fist away to wipe at the smudge his hand left

“IT’S NOT OPENING YET!”

“I KNOW!!”

wow they’re uh

they’re really loud

sometimes you forget how seokjin could be since it’s been awhile since you heard him yell

lol no one’s been shoplifting recently so you haven’t been hearing him

a mind-blowing idea is for jin to come outside and talk to him in a normal talking voice, so your ears would stop ringing

“HEY! WHAT IF YOU JUST ENTER EARLY IN?”

“REALLY? IS THAT EVEN ALLOWED??”

"YOONGI, EVERYONE ON THE FLOOR KNOWS YOUR NAME. NAMJOON EVEN GAVE YOU A CUSTOMARY BIRTHDAY GIFT, AND WE DON'T GIVE CUSTOMARY BIRTHDAY GIFTS TO ANY OTHER CUSTOMER!!"

namjoon, who technically should be called mr. kim because no one really thinks to call the franchise owner with their government first name, is actually pretty cool

but he's too busy these days and haven't been visiting because he's too busy tending to his newly-opened coffee shop

as if the money he earns from opening his franchise in a day alone isn’t enough :0

"IF YOU SAY SO?"

you’re the one who hikes up the roll-up door in the slightest, enough for only yoongi to enter and not encourage anyone else to nOT enter when it’s still not opening time!!!!

he only has to crouch a little but he still has to dust his thousand-dollar pants as if he crawled through mud

his cream-colored slacks with a large black hoodie that has a giant bear embroidered on the middle of it and mules

... you don't hate his outfits

pretty cute, actually

it's yoongi!!

you'd never catch him lacking!!!

you don't even have to envision him rocking the shit out a paper bag

one time, he came in the store wearing the WRINKLIEST brown linen jumpsuit that no iron could possibly fix and he still pulled it off

toon-teen-ten!

oh god that’s the sound of the intercom

and the sound of the intercom equates to jungkook

... as in jeon jungkook who’s the floor manager and his constant top one goal for every month is to endearingly annoy seokjin

he’s young and mischievous!! but if you were to ask him, only you and jungkook are the people in this floor he’d actually get drinks with outside the shop

“seokjin come to the lingerie department right now, please.”

you see the thing is :D

“now this is just funny

there’s walkie-talkies for everyone here!! jungkook likes intercoms, and seokjin like yelling!!

“WHY ME AGAIN?? I’VE ALREADY FOLDED-“

“there’s a literal rat and i need yOU to catch it!! you know that i hate rodents!!”

him and jungkook are forever gonna be on this eldest-youngest brother dynamic and while jungkook pouts and shared the extras that he gets, jin is the one who kills the bugs :D

10/10 totally fair

fine then!! he’ll catch that goddamn rat

that leaves you and yoongi. alone.

“why did you come so early this time?”

you ask out of courtesy, genuinely baffled too because you know that yoongi’s a creature of habit

yoongi’s eyes pop out, head fervently shaking no

“i’m typically not the type to do that, no.”

???

is he-

are you-

are you both talking about the same thing

yoongi’s face flushes in embarrassment, his mind just then registering what you were actually saying

“o-oh! it’s because last night, i dreamt of the sweater i saw here last week!!"

oh right

typical :D

"need me to find it for you or do you already know the aisle?"

you align the folded shirts by the corners as you pass, looking at yoongi briefly while he trails behind yoh

“not unless you pulled it out already."

he's hoping that dear god you haven't

the black sweater with the moon aND buildings on it and when you turn on the flash, the windows of said building reflect it right back???

he SHUDDERS just by thinking about it

it’s gonna go with everything!!! an instant boost of serotonin every time he sees it

"for you, yoongi?" you shake your head, a small smile on your face that he only sees every once in a while, "i'd comb through the entire stock room."

wait

that’s sweet :((

“i’ll hold you to that.”

you know what??? you're less cranky when it's only him, and a couple of hundred people less

your smiles aren't for customer-service and you don't have misplaced clothes hanging from your shoulders and your walkie-talkie isn't talking in latin

or when no one’s asking you to reach something from the top shelf

or when you’re on the way to the intercom because a kid got separated from their mother

or when someone’s approaching for a refund for a shirt who has a stain that’s 100% no doubt customer error

his feet immediately move on its own because he’s memorized the outline of this too many times

there it is!!!

the sweater he’s dreamt about is already on his hands, only a handful few left

the piece is considerably more expensive than majority of the items here, so that’s why they’re all spaced-out instead of being clustered altogether

yoongi rarely goes to the dressing room, regardless if it's a full-house or not!!

he could just look at an item and immediately tell that it’s made for him ta know

he's beyond sure that this sweater fits him perfectly, but he may want to be here a little longer

yoongi may have say inside one of the fitting rooms and spent a little time in it just to sit on the chair inside, not fitting the sweater at all

he's gotten his item SO quick and he wished he could've just walked slower or pretended to not know where it was!!!

he wants to spend a little more time here

you don't hate yoongi!!! but sometimes he could just be... yoongi

he's quite talkative and strikes it whenever, making you unguarded

he could be overbearing but like an overbearing kind of nice

yoongi’s nice!! he’s the type to ask a lot of questions sure, but he’s also the type that would point the other customers what to buy and where to find it

he’s the type to find an obvious faulty stitch on a shirt, but he’d just quietly exchange it instead of asking for the manager

he’s the type you wouldn’t want to stand behind in line because it would take a long time for him to finish, but he’s also the same one who buys giftcards with generous amounts for family and friends

yoongi’s kind of cool and that’s cemented on your mind

"what do you got for me?"

he materializes out of nowhere, spooked because you thought he already ringed up and was out of the store already

it just happens to be ten minutes before opening and you’re doing last-minute arrangements on a new spread

well, yoongi most certainly is still here and his attention’s piqued

“we have... a new collection."

you clear your theory, awkwardly gesturing because you’re more than aware that yoongi hasn’t seen this either

“yeah, i know that. but like, what's going on??" he gestures to the displays and racks, squinting his eyes, "what's the theme? what's the material?"

:O

uhm you haven't read the brief about this

you aren't even sURE if there is one!!

doesn't everyone make up something on the spot in retail

or atleast that’s what seokjin tells you

“the theme," you clear your throat, scratching your temple before gesturing towards the full rack, "is everything."

“everything?

yoongi’s eyebrow is raised, not expecting that answer at all

you look back to the new feature, and nOW that you think about it,, there's no cohesion at all

“y-yes. the shop was going for the theme of uhm, everything... all at once — yeah, that's it. everything all at once."

it’s a nice way to put it when not one bit of the new collection goes together

“hmmmm. i like it,” yoongi nods solemnly and tilts his head, “and the material?"

"the material?"

you repeat, eyesight not the best so you can’t really tell anything off the bat or uh aNYTHING really

"t-the material is shirt."

they're all shirts!!! that’s it

yoongi grimaces in disgust, the first time you’ve seen of it

“what?? you can't say that.”

he outsretches his hand to the nearest article, holding it up by the hanger

"this, right here, is satin. see how it shines like silk, but doesn't feel like silk?"

uhm yes

you have a gist of what he’s saying but yes

yoongi picks up a pink button shirt this time, flipping it inside out

"this, is silk charmeuse. look at the inside, is it smooth?"

okay where is he going with this

he urges you to put your hand on the fabric and uhhh you didn't sign up for this???

it looks smooth, sure!! end of discussion

"yea-..."

“it's not. it's rough. it is smooth, but it's dull. silk charmeuse is still silk, but the backing it has is different from the lustrous part."

okay yoongi

you’re starting to feel uncomfortable and it has to do something with the tone he’s using on you

“can't believe you didn't know that!! how about this," he plucks out a shirt with a tiny print at the middle of it, "cotton or polyester and rayon?"

"i don't-"

there’s an itch in your neck that you want to scratch, a tell-tale sign that you just wANT to remove yourself from this situation

“come on!! it's a dead giveaway!!"

:((

why is he being like this?

toon-teen-ten!

“y/n, panty section please. jin almost got bit by a mouse and he needs comforting. two minutes until opening, people!!"

jungkook speaks at the right moment, and jin’s little incident is enough of a reason for you to bolt

yoongi's still looking at you but you can't afford to embarrass yourself further

“bye. happy shopping."

huh?

yoongi’s face falls when you leave as cold as that!! typically when you were going to show him out (when it’s regular shop hours), there’d be a smile :((

there's not even a customer service smile :(((

yoongi goes to the only cashier that's open so far and it happens to be far away from you and a teary seokjin

seokjin's fine he didn't even get bit!! that much he could say

but are you okay? uhhh you kinda went cold on him by the end and he thought he started on a good note

yoongi doesn't visit for another week and you don't find yourself counting the days until you meet him again

you did not have a devil wears prada moment where anne hathaway has an epiphany for fashion knowledge

you just felt belittled at a job that isn’t exactly what you wanted anyways

needed, yes. but wanted? not exactly

you know that basic knowledge about clothes is required in a retail job like this and you have it!! you do!!!!

you’d know more if only there were actual available resources for employees to know!!! nobody besides yoongi asks anyways

you’d know if you have time to yourself and aren’t working two jobs trying to make ends meet and tHEN you could pull up a book or something!!!

you’d know if your life is as lax as yoongi’s and could have the budget to buy new things for yourself every single week

“jin, i need to ask you something.”

he hums as called, looking at you briefly until you get on with it

“do you know the difference between silk and silk charmeuse?"

he shrugs casually while you're sitting inside one of the closed-off fitting rooms to catch a break, sharing a burger because the store’s packed-packed

why did you ask him? it’s too easy

“one's made by worms, and the other's a pokémon."

that,.,., could not possibly be righti* it brings you a laugh and you honestly don’t even try to correct him

it’s 11:15 and you kNOW it’s time to resume your shift, straightening your shirt because atleast one (1) person would hound you when they see a familiar red lanyard

oh you’re hounded alright

“hi! almost thought you were hiding from me for a second.”

yoongi????

oh

you haven’t seen him for a week and you don’t know what to feel in all honesty

"anyways, is this sweater wool or cotton?"

wow

you're quite speechless as he holds up the item

really?

this thing all over again???

why are you even surprised

the only thing that yoongi gets your customer service smile, fishing your hand from inside the sweater to show him

“70% wool."

that's it???

NO GOOD MORNING????

you're mad at him, aren't you?

he knew it :((

he knew something was wrong but he just didn’t know what

he’s gonna fix this!! he will

which is why the very next day, he takes the day off from his work and comes to the store at a time he knows you’d surely be there

you're on cashier duty and you like it actually :D

you have an option to sit and the way you’re just gonna scan pricetags (and occasionally enter the code if it doesn’t work) is really appealing

“good morning!"

you’re about to grab the items from the basket laid on the counter and your eyes could only see the very familiar hand

the same one you’ve seen go through racks and racks

yoongi??

he sets his items one by one, buying himself more time

the first one is the same exact sweater he came to wait for before opening

“you already bought this."

you tell him even before you could hold it back, looking back at him briefly before you scan the tag

“i know. i just wanted to see you."

oh

oh

yoongi threw a bunch of other items (individually) so it would be a longer talk, but you scan each item quickly that he’s grabbing things from the counter

hand sanitizer!!! hair ties!!! keychains!!!! yeah he needs them

“i'm sorry that i tend to spring shit on you most of the time. you don't need to know the difference between silk and silk charmeuse."

you only chuckle then, a meek smile on your face

"it's okay, yoongi.”

“it's not."

... it’s not?

yoongi fidgets, opening and closing his mouth like he’s nervous!!! he’s never had his credit card cancelled but he could only feel that this type of jitterness is more than the former

“can i make it up to you? no lanyards, no baskets, no customer service?? i don't wanna fuck things up with you."

“don't feel obligated-"

“i know i could be a condescending ass who expects people to automatically know fabric and whatnot, but i wanna make it up to you."

alright yoongi’s a really good apology-maker

you mIGHT be even flustered a little

“you're holding the line, yoongi.”

“i cleared my schedule."

“i haven’t!!!!!” - guy in the back

“dinner at my place at 8. i-i promise to make your hard-earned break after your shift worthwhile!!!"

hmmm

maybe that wouldn’t hurt

“okay. just because you're holding the line."

“fine by me."

:))

yoongi transfers all the items he bought, all but one, to his tote bag

he hands back the paper bag to you, scribbling his address on the back of the receipt before he does

he lingers a little while at the counter, the people behind him ALREADY switching lanes to the one seokjin’s just opened beside you

it's the sweater that he has too

yoongi scratches the back of his head, this time being the meek one

“what? m-matching sweaters for our first date. s'cute."

[guqin-and-flute]

Are You Here to Stop Me?--Chapter 4

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [First post in Peony to Lotus Verse]

[Ao3 Series]

[I had the hardest time shaking this man and making plot fall out, he was wholly uncooperative.]

This was all such fucking disaster.

A-jie was sick, the Jiang were once again yanked into a political fiasco that they had to pay for with their own reputation, there was a fierce corpse puppet in his home--a home that, apparently, had already been invaded by the Jin Clan demanding answers to said political fiasco while its master wasn’t even there. In a few days time, it would be invaded again by strange Wens he didn’t know or want.

If his mother were alive, she would kill him. He would probably deserve it. He didn’t know what his father would think. He would probably be disappointed--either that he didn’t think of it in the first place or for his resentment.

He stood frozen by the door, anxiously watching Wen Qing treat a barely conscious A-jie. It wasn't like he had never seen his sister feverish and weak before, but it scared him the same every single time. To know that she was in pain and he couldn’t do anything about it. To know that this could be the illness that would take her from him. That this could be the last time that….He gnawed on the inside of his cheek and folded his arms tight across his chest to keep them from fidgeting at his sides.

Jin Guangyao seemed to think everything was under control--at least, that’s what he had said. It would have been far more comforting if it hadn’t been in such a distant voice while being unable to look away from A-jie. Clutching her hand in a white knuckled grip. Expression all strained and pale with badly concealed terror.

This is your plan! Jiang Cheng wanted to scream as he clenched his aching fists. I did this because you said it would work! You’re the one that’s supposed to know what you’re doing!

What he wouldn’t give to actually know what the hell he was doing. Being an adult couldn’t just be this, right? Just guessing and grasping around in the dark, tripping like you’re wearing your father’s too big robes? Every other person he met seemed to be controlled and mature, while he was barely treading water--hell, even Wei Wuxian did the things he did with confidence. It had to get better at some point, because, right now, this mess was embarrassing--enraging. But most of all, it was terrifying.

What the hell should he do? What was right?

A-jie kept breathlessly trying to tell them all that she was alright, that they should rest and continue preparing. But she could barely keep her eyes open. Her head lolled around like a floppy doll. Every once in a while, she was wracked with violent, hacking coughs that shook her and left her gasping.

When she whispered Jiang Cheng’s name and raised a trembling hand as Wen Qing stepped away to prepare something, he practically dove to her side, his knees slamming painfully into the floor in his haste. Clasping her hand in both of his, he found it freezing, so he chafed it gently between his palms. “A-jie?”

“You...must be...so tired.” She smiled weakly, eyes slurring to the Wen child who had fallen asleep on the other pillow, leaving grubby little smudges all over the bedding. “All of you. I’m fine. Go. Sleep.” Even this short speech left her breathless, then coughing, wet and harsh. She trembled as Jin Guangyao helped her sit up and held her close, stroking her back.

Jiang Cheng hated everything about this. He was going to kill Wei Wuxian.

She wasn’t wrong, though. His limbs felt like practice weights, his overworked core throbbed like a pulled muscle within him. (His core? Wei Wuxian’s core? The core? This reminder burrowed in him like a barbed arrow every time he remembered again, further and further since the night he had learned it. Regret and anger and nausea, swimming and hot, every day, every fucking day. A stranger inside himself, but not. Another thing he was helpless to.)

When A-Jie finally dropped into unconsciousness not long after, Wen Qing announced that under no circumstances should she be allowed to exert herself for the next few days, until she could sit up on her own and breathe without wheezing. “The fluid in her lungs has worsened,” she told the two of them, voice still hoarse. “But since I have access to the supplies here, her fever should hopefully break sometime tonight. She shouldn’t be in any immediate danger but she will have to take her medicine on a strict schedule.”

“She will,” Jin Guangyao agreed immediately, thumb smoothing repeatedly over the back of A-jie’s limp hand. “Just tell me when and I’ll do it.”

When Jiang Cheng finally stood to leave, just about every muscle from the base of his skull to the tendons at his heels screamed and gods, he wanted a bath and sleep and for this to not be happening. Wen Qing collected the still sleeping boy, and Jin Guangyao rose, seeing them all out into the hall before bowing, sharp and deep. “Thank you, Wen-guniang.”

Damn. Jiang Cheng hastily followed suit and bowed. You tactless asshole. She watched them both with weary eyes, expression as closed as it had been for days, but she inclined her head to accept. “Come get me immediately if anything changes.”

Straightening, Jin Guangyao nodded, his habitual smile nowhere to be seen, drained and serious. “I will. I’m going to stay up to watch her.”

Her eyes narrowed warily. But she only nodded.

The entire trip leading her through Lotus Pier to her prepared room was silent.

Jiang Cheng knew he should say something. He wanted to say something--to thank her more personally for A-jie’s care or tell her that she would be safe here, that when he made a promise, he kept it (unlike some people.) Maybe reassure her that this wasn’t a ploy by him to corner her, that this was honestly a waking nightmare he kept wishing he would wake up from.

That this wasn’t how he had imagined marrying her. As a last resort. As a trap.

Instead, he was silent. Nothing he had to say would come out right and he would either sound like an ass or an idiot. Or both.

She was just as quiet, anyway, drifting behind him like some sort of mourning wraith, carrying the limp child. The only sounds were their footsteps, distant murmurs, and the frogs droning from their intermittent little ponds and from the lake beyond. Chill from the young evening settled into their still damp, days old clothes. The clean, living scent of the water was comforting, so at least there was that.

He wondered if it just smelled like mud to her.

When they came to the room, he saw that the lanterns and the incense burner were already lit, and a while ago, judging by how thickly the scent of jasmine and musk lay over everything. It was one of the nicest guest suites, with a wide bed, wispy purple wall hangings, and intricate lotus blossoms crawling up in carvings on the screens. It occurred to him suddenly that it might seem horribly insensitive to remind her exactly where she was and why. Tacky. He ground his teeth.

Wen Qing staggered right by him into the room without a glance, practically collapsing across the bed to lay the boy down. Angry? Disgusted? Done with him, whichever it was. But Jiang Cheng stayed by the door, fingers worrying at the thick fabric of his robe, running the edge of his nail along the weave as she tucked the blanket up to the boy’s chin. The need to say something--anything--was becoming too much to bear. “I’m sorry it isn’t very big.”

Her voice was dull and she didn’t even turn around. “It’s fine, Jiang-zongzhu.”

Fuck.

“You don’t have to...you can call me Jiang Wanyin,” he said, because he was apparently very stupid. The slow, disbelieving look she gave him over her shoulder was well deserved. “You don’t have to,” he added, because he apparently was not done being stupid. I mean, you’ve literally cut me open before, so I figured….

“...Alright.”

Jiang Cheng wanted to melt into the floor. Or possibly die. His mouth worked around his grimace of self disgust and he managed, “I’ll have the servants send in a bath.”

She sagged back on her heels beside the bed, still looking over at him. “Where is A-Ning?”

Oh. Right. “Probably….” Actually, he had no idea where Wei Wuxian had taken him. His room? The idea of that puppet leaking black resentful energy and lying on his childhood bed seemed ridiculous. “With Wei Wuxian,” he finished, lamely. “I’ll find out.”

Her gaze transferred to the floor, eyes unseeing and darkened by smudges of dirt and exhaustion. She was still quite pretty, but it was a gaunt, unkempt sort of beauty. The silence stretched, uncomfortable. He should have let a servant show her to the room. She was waiting for him to leave, she didn’t want to be anywhere near him.

“Thank you,” she said, suddenly, just as he turned around to simply leave, saving them both the agony. “For doing this.”

His jaw tightened and he kept his eyes locked on the light wood of the column right outside her door. Instead of anything helpful or comforting, what came out was a low, unplanned, “Why didn’t you come to me.” She had the comb. She had to. It had been gone when he came back to check and he had thought...hoped….

Skin on fabric. She was probably looking at him, and so kept his shoulders rigid, back straight.

“I didn’t know if you would help.” Her voice was quiet, not angry or accusatory. But his fists clenched as heat flooded his face, his head throbbing. ‘You're untrustworthy and selfish and immature. Why the hell would I trust you?’

He was fucking this up. Again. Useless.

Jiang Cheng refused to dig himself a deeper hole. About 10 minutes too late. Without a word, he stopped darkening her door. Instead of going to his room and ordering a bath like he should have, he looked for Wei Wuxian, blood pulsing in his ears. Stalking through the halls, he scattered several anxious servants in his wake like ripples behind him.

When he found him, he actually was in his room, though the puppet was on an extra mattress on the floor instead of on the bed like Jiang Cheng had imagined. The room reeked of resentful energy--sour, burning, metallic. Old bile and blood and worse. Wei Wuxian himself was hunched over it with a brush and seemed to be adding to the fluttering layer of talismans that already festooned the prone form. It even took a minute for him to realize Jiang Cheng was in the doorway, but when he did, he leapt to his feet, haggard face anxious. “Shijie?”

“...Sleeping.”

“What did Wen Qing say? Will she be alright?”

“No thanks to you.”

Wei Wuxian’s shoulders sagged and he blew out a breath. Then, he perked up, coming over to gently shake Jiang Cheng by the shoulders with a reproachful smile. “Ah, Jiang Cheng, lead with that next time, will you? You appear at my door looking like you’re about to avenge someone, what am I supposed to think?”

Smacking Wei Wuxian’s hands off his shoulders didn’t do anything to change his attitude. He just grimaced playfully and said, “Ow, careful! Now be nice, we’ll all be in trouble if you damage these hands,” while wiggling his fingers. It made the sharp rage in Jiang Cheng’s chest flare. It made him want to punch his stupid face.

“This is your fault.”

At this point, it was like they pulled out a script book for some overdone play, a rulebook outlining the steps to their fight. The brush off. Wei Wuxian looked past him, craning his head to peer out the door. “Where’s Wen Qing and A-Yuan? I wanted to tell her how Wen Ning is doing.”

The jab. “Are you even listening to me?”

Wei Wuxian rolled his eyes at him, shrugging his shoulders as if letting the words just slide off of him with a stretch of his arms. The dismissal. “Ah, you’re always scolding me, so what’s the point in listening to you when you’re just saying the same things you have been for days? I’ll pay attention when you say something new. You’re so predictable.”

The snap; Jiang Cheng snarled, “How’s this, then? It’s your fault that A-jie is so sick.” He jabbed Wei Wuxian in the chest with his finger, knocking him back a step, pursuing. “It’s your fault if the Jin decide to wipe us all out again.” Another jab, another step. The insouciant air slid from Wei Wuxian’s face--instead, it was tight, the beginning of regret.

“Listen--”

“This is your fault and you’re not even sorry.”

A deep breath. “Jiang Cheng--”

He needed him mad. He needed him to stop moving away. “You weren’t thinking of anyone but yourself, like you always do. You’re making me take in and marry the people who killed my parents to protect you.” He could see Wei Wuxian bristle--because he knew it wasn’t quite true, it wasn’t really fair but Jiang Cheng didn’t care.

“What are you even saying? They’ve both saved us a hundred times over! These people are innocent, they were being brutalized, I had no choice--!”

“You always have a choice!” Jiang Cheng was shouting, now. “You just choose the one that causes the biggest scene! First you embarrass me in front of all the other Clan Leaders, then you kill Jin disciples and steal their prisoners--!”

“What right did they have to treat them that way? What crime did they commit?! I’m supposed to just leave them?!”

His outrage just fed the fury burning through Jiang Cheng, roaring in his ears, and he wanted to take his brother by the throat and shake him. He wanted him to be just as hurt and terrified as he was. He wanted him to stop acting so fucking noble, like it meant anything anymore after everything they had been through. His lungs burned from the resentful energy hanging in the air. Zidian sparked once, sizzling. “You always need to be the center of attention. Well congratulations, everyone’s looking at us, now! Aren’t you such a fucking hero? Isn’t it nice to have a shield that will rise up against every stupid thing you decide to do? When will it be enough?”

Wei Wuxian’s swallowed hard, jaw tight, eyes shining. “Do you think I wanted this?” He asked quietly, and Jiang Cheng had to bark a laugh that tasted bitter.

“No. I don’t think you thought at all. You just did whatever you wanted and expected the Jiang Clan to clean up after you.”

At this, Wei Wuxian looked away at the wall, shoulders bunched up, hands in fists at his side. “I wasn't...” he said tightly. “I was going to go. To take them--”

“Where?”

“I don’t know!” He snapped. “Somewhere I could keep them safe! I thought...maybe the Burial Mounds.”

A chill flooded through Jiang Cheng and he stared. “Are you insane? That hellhole?”

Wei Wuxian was still looking at the wall, though he swallowed again. “I could...control the resentful energy. Make it safe.” He clenched his jaw. “It doesn’t matter.”

The thought alone had him reeling. Wei Wuxian really had been going to do it. He really would have left, after everything. After promising to rebuild Lotus Pier with him, to support him. After Jiang Cheng had fought so hard to find him the 3 months when he had been missing. After Jiang Cheng had stood by him when the war ended and everyone had started whispering about sinister ulterior motives--did Wei Wuxian have no concept of how this looked? “And do what? Establish your own Sect? Build your own empire? Should I call you Wei-zongzhu from now on?”

Wei Wuxian recoiled, face screwed up in disbelief as he finally faced him again. “No! What? No! Jiang Cheng, don’t be an idiot. I was going...I was going to take care of it myself. I wasn’t going to ask or involve you. I didn’t--I was going to handle it.”

That rage condensed and dropped sourly into his gut like sick. That was worse. That was so much worse. ‘I didn’t know if you would help.’ He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He wanted that cleansing fury back. “Nice fucking job.”

Wei Wuxian vented a short, mirthless chuckle, shaking his head. “Shut up.”

“You don’t get to tell me to shut up.”

“I just d--” Wei Wuxian stopped himself, jaw working. When he spoke again, it was with careful containment. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“What a stupid thing to say, of course I did,” Jiang Cheng snapped back. “What other choice did I have?”

“You could have just let me go. I would have been fine. You didn’t need to…you don’t need to put yourself out on my account.”

He would have preferred he had just fucking stabbed him. Honestly. Then who the fuck was he? Some acquaintance? Some stranger? To not ‘put himself out’--

He was really that easy to leave behind? Just that unremarkable, unneeded, unwanted? That every option, even the Burial Mounds where he had been trapped was preferable to staying with him in the home he had rebuilt with blood and sweat, plank by plank for them--for them, the only family he had left in this world.

What was so broken about Jiang Cheng that no one could possibly just love him as he was? What did he have to do to stop people from leaving him?

He wanted to stab Sandu through the corpse that used to be Wen Ning’s chest, tear off the talismans and throw him in the lake for the fish to take out of sight. To seize Wei Wuxian and scream; Stop letting go of me!

“Well, aren’t you so brave. Aren’t you so noble,” gritted out, all dark and vile, and Wei Wuxian flinched and Jiang Cheng would have felt triumphant if he didn’t feel so fucking awful instead.

“I had to.”

“You had to.”

Wei Wuxian said nothing. But he didn’t look ashamed. He just looked tired.

“Right. Because you’re so strong and powerful and right, always, and I’m the asshole who doesn’t care enough.”

“You know I never said that.”

“But that’s what you think. You still think that I didn’t do enough. That I didn’t do the right thing.”

Instead of fighting back--instead of denying it--Wei Wuxian let out a loud breath, shook his head and turned away to drop himself heavily beside the mattress on the floor. This retreat left Jiang Cheng completely empty. His nails cut into his palm and he was shaking all over, staring down at Wei Wuxian as he picked up another talisman, not looking at him. They had had this conversation already, in fits and starts on the race back to Lotus Pier, but hadn’t been able to fully say any of this around A-jie or the Wen’s and so had just jabbed at each other for days. But here, it was all unraveling at once like too tight bandages coming off. He craved a conclusion--the give and take of a shouting match or the clarity of a split lip and Wei Wuxian wasn’t giving it to him.

Couldn't. If it came to blows, Jiang Cheng would just hurt him.

And why was that, again?

His brother's face was gaunt as he ignored him, eyes shadowed, fingers raw and red with blood and cinnabar. Still working. Giving. He was always giving of himself to everyone. His protection, his trust, his love, his time.

His core.

Just more proof that he was better; kinder, more generous, better in every way. Well. Not every way, now. The overworked core gave an untimely twinge. But that even bore his fingerprints, didn’t it? His sacrifice. (He had tried so hard, so fucking hard to give Wei Wuxian something that only he could give, the only protection, the only apology Jiang Cheng had left for what he had blamed him for. And he had shoved it right back like an unwanted gift.)

Jiang Cheng wasn't special, though. That knowledge bristled in his throat like knives, now. What he had done for Jiang Cheng wasn't because he loved him--apparently, it was because it was the right thing to do.

And Wei Wuxian always did the right thing. He would have done it for anyone.

Jiang Cheng's eyes went to the talismans fluttering in the dark breeze. It was the Cloud Recesses, the Yin Iron, the oh-so-perfect-and-peerless-and-interesting-Lan-Wangji all over again. Leaving Jiang Cheng behind to go be a hero because he just didn’t fucking matter enough to keep around. Because Wei Wuxian thought he was pathetic and selfish.

Jiang Cheng’s eyes were burning, his voice shaking when he spat, “Great. Then just keep trying to make yourself a better shidi out of that thing. I’m sure it will never stop kissing your ass.”

On his way back to his room, he snapped at a young servant girl to order a bath for Wen Qing. She practically ran.

Nice fucking job, idiot.

Crashing face first onto his bed, he fell into unconsciousness immediately.

[regrettablewritings]

DJ X READER HEADCANON you pick 😉😉

I blink at the request that stares back at me from my inbox, brow furrowing with every flutter of my lashes. "Sis . . ." I murmur, "you good?" As though my ass had not also been search for content relating to this forgotten POS just the other day. But if you insist . . .

4. What they do on date night:

To be brutally honest, DJ will look you dead in the eye and tell you that going for a night out on the town pick-pocketing is a date. Or, at least, he will try to. It's surprisingly hard to maintain eye contact with someone whose glare could probably cut beskar.

In his defense (if he even deserves any), DJ does try to make it a little more fun than he already finds it -- granted, it's done in a very DJ way. You get your little evening promenade through the streets, he tricks you to a quick bite to eat, you hold hands and run through the lantern-speckled streets before turning down a narrow alleyway that's just perfect for sharing an intense liplock . . .

Of course, this all translates into your evening together including: Walking through a marketplace, your asshole boyfriend slipping peoples' credits out of their pockets and purses under the guise of bumping into them; him using those sticky fingers of his to nick some street food off of a cart before its proprietor called the authorities on his theft; said sticky fingers lacing with yours as he guides you down the crowded streets (grinning like the little shit he was for enjoying the chase); all before making a sudden jerk down an alleyway.

You're breathless, irritated, and . . . maybe -- only just maybe -- a little excited by the thrill of it all. But you can't let him know that, otherwise, he'd never let you live it down and he'd be the cock of the goddamn walk for who knows how long. Worse: He'd consider this a win for his insistence that this sort of thing counted as a date! And there was no way in hell you were about to let that happen!

You only got as far as opening your mouth to hiss own some choice words at him when you instead got cut off by your thieving significant other pressing you against the grubby alley wall. Even if you hadn't been distracted by the action to remember to cuss him out, the words were instantly killed. They were inhaled by his own lips, his kiss encompassing your words, your thoughts, your . . . everything. They were speared by his tongue, as though it were his weapon against the beast that brewed within you.

And they were quelled by the feel of his callused fingers brushing against your cheeks before moving onward to the beck of your head, pressing you only further into his hold. DJ's fingers were deft, but that didn't necessarily mean that their carefulness was always directed at you. It's . . . something to savor . . .

Of course, it was meant to fool the chumps following the both of you but you don't mind. Not in that moment anyway. When you get back to wherever you're staying for the night, it's another story, but one DJ is more than happy to bring to a happy ending.

It's a bit nicer when he gets his hands one someone's credits, though: It means he can take you out to an actual establishment. However, be warned: It's only a bit nicer because you also need to be on the lookout for the authorities (or the poor bastard you stole from), or be prepared to make a run for it.

11. What their first impression was of each other:

Dirty. Old. Bastard. A dirty old bastard. And to your credit, you weren't wrong, but of course, the first impression is always the shallowest. And considering the shithead had just tried to put the moves on you when you were already having a rough day . . . Yeah, he honestly deserved presumptions with the depth of one's own navel -- an outie, preferably.

He stood out against the Canto Bight elite with his grubbiness, looking like a leathery garbage pouch at best and like a guy who'd try to sell you a faulty droid at moderate. A dirty, bastardly part of you couldn't help but muse that perhaps the worst he could do was be a nasty lay -- and not nasty in the way one might want, either.

Granted, it wasn't hard to imagine that: The fact he was hitting on you while you were trying your best to just survive your shift at the casino that evening did little to convince you he was any good.

And as for DJ, it was a one-two-punch type of introduction. Literally: First he eyed you, then he got a little too suggestive, and then you punched him. What a sleazeball, right? It was his own damn fault for assuming the least of you, though. You were cute like all the other servers, no doubt, with that shy smile of yours that made it abundantly clear to him that this sort of place wasn't your scene if you didn't have to work there. Unlike the other servers, however, he was feeling pretty brazen about you.

DJ has no interest in the concept of “fate” or “destined meetings”, but even months out from that point he wouldn’t be able to place precisely what compelled him to break his usual protocol of being discreet. Nor why he was so insistent. All he knows was that he called you over to him and, rather than requesting a drink, he “chatted you up”. And might’ve suggested that you two blow off this place and maybe “blow off somewhere else”.

He also knows that the moment you struck his cheek, cheeks burning and eyes widened with the realization of what you’d done, he was wrong and right about you.

You were frankly lucky he turned out to be a blight on the Canto Bight scene, otherwise your boss would’ve fired you the moment he had learned of what you had done. What you were unlucky for, however, was that from then on, the thief started showing up more often. Not enough to get caught (at least, not for long), but enough for him to determine that maybe the both of you really should blow this joint -- in the nonsexual way.

And in the end, you became unlucky once more: For someone so grubby and bastardly, he was also quite the charmer. Y’know, once you’ve smacked him around a bit.

14. What nicknames they call each other:

You honestly struggle to nickname DJ, predominately because, well, DJ is already a nickname. You think. After all, you sincerely doubt anyone would actually name their kid Don’t Join even as a political statement. Really, the fact you don’t know his actual name sort of calls for consideration of how healthy your obviously unhealthy relationship is. But any pleas to learn this asshole’s real name just winds up being like having a namana cream pie shoved in your face, because DJ just turns it all into a joke.

There have been many occasions where DJ would tell you different names he would swear were his own -- often times in the same week! Other times, his claim would be that he’s told you it while you were asleep, or that he once told you but you got conked on the head and forgot it.

Interestingly enough, it’s through these juvenile exploits that he’s earned a bit of a nickname from you: “Bastard”. Just rolls off the tongue, don’t it? To be fair, though, you’re with him for a reason: Even if he may not seem like it, he does have a soft sport for you. Even if it comes out about as smoothly as his features.

In a way, he reminds you of a mutt. A stray mutt. Especially when he shoves his head into your lap after a long day of fucking about and being a menace to whatever society you two decided to hop a ship to.

“You’re like a puppy sometimes, you know that?” you murmur. You scritch into his mess of hair, earning a low growl of contentment from your datemate. He never had to admit it out loud, but your touch clearly did wonders to him. This was evidence by how his already large body began to further sprawl along the couch the ship he’d stolen came with. Yup; just like a puppy. A big, raggedy puppy. Who needs a trip to the refresher as soon as this scritching session was over.

For DJ, on the other hand, nicknames come easily. Honestly, it’s mainly due to how he barely takes anyone or anything seriously: When you don’t concern yourself with all the muddled nonsense of society or wide circles of people, it becomes a whole lot easier to see everyone’s buttons. And considering he was a master slicer, button-pressing was definitely his thing.

Despite the fact that you were a one-in-a-million instance of being someone whom the thief actually trusted and treated with even a modicum of respect, even you weren’t immune to his acts of mockery.

“Mornin’, P-p-pipsqueak,” he’d smirk over a cup of caff, knowing damn well that his advantage of height bothered you sometimes.

“Ea-asy there, k-kitten,” he’d purr whenever your frustration would come boiling to the brim. Things like that.

“Lookie here, dollface,” when he wants to butter you up without losing his stance.

But that doesn’t mean he’s unable to be more affectionate. It’s in there, it’s just . . . in there. The best examples, however, tend to be when the both of you are having downtime and are actually safe somewhere. Or whatever safe could mean when you’re with DJ.

Generally, a jail cell wouldn’t be considered safe. Maybe not unsafe if the only occupants were your boyfriend of ill repute and yourself, but it certainly wasn’t enjoyable. And yet, the way DJ just seemed to laze about in them made you feel unnaturally calm. Well, calmer. It would’ve been nicer if your more-than-capable boyfriend would put those slicing skills of his to use and just busted the both of you out of there, but to DJ, a night in the clink meant at least a few hours of shut eye on a bed.

“B-bes-s-sides: We can alw-w-ways just grab on-e of those f-f-f-floating citadels they g-g-g-got docked out there,” he would reason, making himself comfy on the thin mattress. He had a point, you supposed. And it wasn’t as though you hadn’t been expecting this as a part of your life once you got together with him. Still, you weren’t entirely comfortable joining him on said mattress . . . Maker knows when it had last been washed!

You would be far from the first to consider DJ to be the most observant person, dating or not, but your concern must’ve been rich enough for him to practically sense it: Without hesitating, he sat up just enough to offer you his hand.

“C-come on,” he said. “I need to c-c-c-catch some shut e-e-eye, and it ain’t hap-p-p-penin’ if you’re standing d-d-down there the entire t-time.”

A feeling of mild dread seeped into you, followed by a wet blanket of acceptance. You were going to just spend an hour in the refresher of whatever ship you swept off with. Sighing, you accepted the hand, only for the hold to pull you up not onto the mattress, but directly on top of him!

There was plenty to react to -- the sudden movement, the feeling of being on top of DJ -- but the man himself didn’t seem at all fazed. Instead, he focused primarily on tucking in whatever lagging limbs you had and making sure he was cozy enough to continue serving as your mattress for however many hours he needed to recuperate. Which he apparently was: Not once did he protest to your weight pressing down on him, nor did he grunt with displeasure whenever you turned the direction of your head against his chest.

At the most, he only ever offered your back a brief circle of rubbing with his free hand, the other serving as his pillow, before uttering a drowsy, “You good there, kid?”

And, to your surprise . . . yeah. In spite of everything, yeah, you were pretty good . . .

And yet, interestingly enough, no matter what he calls you, none of that ever measures up to when he calls you by your name. Not pipsqueak, not kitten, not dollface or kid or whatever, but your actual name. Because DJ hardly ever refers to anyone by their actual title, let alone cares to remember it. By not only remembering it, but applying it, it shows you that he does care. It’s deep down -- like, real in there -- but it’s there. And you’re the only non-slicing being in the entire galaxy to have ever cracked that sort of safe.

Wear that badge with pride, Hotshot.

Thanks for your patience on this one! Clearly I had a lot of fun writing it! 💖 💖 . . . May gotta actually start writing for DJ. Maybe.

[thosewickedlovelies]

Into the Woods: chapter 2  |  Frankie Morales x GN!Reader

Summary: Instagram stalking ensues. Will you run into Frankie again?

Tags: no warnings AGAIN this is weird for me too but as mentioned I do have some smut planned for these two if anyone needs more incentive to read lmfao

Word Count: 2,783

A/N: As always, endless love to @yoditorian for this idea and her supervision of my writing about a social media platform I do not use 💗💚💗

Backstory / chap 1 /

---

Later that night, Frankie sits at his desk, poring over maps both digital and physical. Where could you live to have traveled to the same point in the forest as him within a day? He’s hiked along the edge of his side of the woods, and knows that unless he’s missed some major construction, you can’t be there. So now he studies the other side of the treeline, looking at the closeness of the towns, any tiny side roads that could lead to individual houses like his own. But his frustration is growing.

There aren’t any. Not any within feasible walking distance, at least. And you hadn’t been grubby enough to have been camping. Frankie frowns, tracing the small highway which cuts through the forest. There, not far from the turnoff to his home, was a parking lot at the start of a web of trails through the woodland. If you started there and completely ignored the predetermined paths, heading a course straight for the pond...

“Huh,” Frankie murmurs. It wasn’t much further of a hike than his own. So that means you don’t live within walking distance- he shakes off an odd twinge of disappointment at that- but he does have an idea of your hiking range, if he felt like trying to seek you out.

He shakes his head. Don’t be weird. That was something Santiago might do- deliberately roam where he knew you regularly went in order to find you again. Frankie isn’t nearly so forward. His style is slower, less aggressive. What he’s already planning is his next cooking trip to the pond. Plants need water, and you forage for plants- he figures it’s a likely spot to run into you a second time.

Frankie hadn’t spoken to you again after you’d parted today. Only caught glimpses of you through the trees, from where he had dutifully remained by his fire. But at some point between the twisting of the campfire smoke from one way to another you had vanished, and not long after, Oso had returned to him, flopping down on her side with a satisfied huff.

He snorted. “Well, I’m glad you got to make a new friend.” Frankie rubbed her belly with only a little jealousy.

Now, feeling restless, he decides to upload the pictures he took today. He’s almost immediately distracted, however, by a string of likes from a new follower- concluding with a familiar photo of Oso and Gloriana. A prickle of excitement runs through him at a reference to foraging in the username. No way.

Frankie leans forward in his seat, straining for a closer look at the profile picture. A grin spreads across his face when the page finally loads.

It’s you. You, mid-laugh, perched comfortably up on a sturdy tree branch. He quickly scrolls down to confirm; but this is definitely you. Lots of photos of plants, and woodland that looks remarkably familiar. Your bare feet in a stream. A busy street at afarmer’s market, you smiling with a stall owner.

Frankie laughs out loud at the sheer absurdity of it. Here he was, worried about coming off as a mega-creep, and you’ve already shamelessly checked him out on instagram. He’s never hit ‘Follow Back’ so fast in his life.

--

You try to quash the squirmy anticipation in your belly as you pull on your pack, organizing yourself for the walk ahead. There’s no reason to get excited, you scold yourself. Even if you do see Frankie again, you still don’t really know anything about him.

You’d tried to stalk him online, but there wasn’t much information to go off of from his instagram photos. The pictures themselves spoke volumes, though. You’d always thought you could tell a little something of people’s personalities from what they posted, especially from pictures with their friends. Frankie’s main group of friends had a certain look about them- military maybe, a sort of cocky surety in their posturing. Despite this, they’re often grinning in candid moments, a relaxed, unself-conscious affection between the men which endeared them to you. Them, and Frankie. It’s a shame he doesn’t post more photos of himself. You recall again the sight of him in the woods, shafts of sunlight striking his expressive features, illuminating his kind smile and earthen eyes.

Then you shake your head. Too much time alone with your ever-churning thoughts have you romanticizing your meeting, when in reality you have no reason to expect to run into him again. He’d said he was out there all the time, but you’d never spotted evidence of any fires, or of a giant dog gallivanting around the place. Maybe he didn’t mean the pond specifically, but the forest in general.

“Argh!” Looking around, you stomp your foot in frustration. In your distraction, your walking pace had slowed, and you weren’t as far along in your hike as you should have been. Resolving to focus on your surroundings (because you won’t see Frankie again if you don’t get to the pond in good time), you splash some water on your face to refresh yourself and stride onward.

As you get closer to your pond, you slow down again, this time deliberately. All your senses strain for any sign of Frankie, but you don’t hear or see anything out of the ordinary. Then you smell it.

Smoke.

For a moment you panic. Is it wildfire season? Can you run away from a forest fire? Who do you call for this??

Then you smell something else- something familiar and edible- and you nearly pop yourself in the forehead. Of course you smell smoke, you idiot. What did Frankie say he did out here?? Cooked. You were literally just thinking about his instagram.

What is that smell? You have got to see this.

You step carefully to avoid making too much noise in the brush. Now that you’re looking for it, the gray haze of campfire smoke is obvious as it drifts through the trees. You give its source a wide berth, hoping for a chance to observe Frankie without him knowing.

Your wish is granted. You’ve come at him from the side, and now have an excellent view of his profile, his eyes narrowed in concentration as he stirs something in the heavy-looking pan in front of him. After a minute he looks satisfied, and retrieves the pan’s lid from behind him, arcing his arm carefully over the flames as he places it. Frankie sits back, a gusty sigh blowing from his lips.  As you watch, he tosses his cap to the side, running his hands through loose curls and scratching his fingers across his scalp. You bite your lip in a smile at the sight of his moment of self-indulgence.

You scan Frankie’s setup and the area around him, searching for-

“Ruff!” The dog you were looking for crashes through the bushes beside you, and you yelp in surprise, automatically stooping to soothe her.

Dammit, how does such a large animal keep sneaking up on you?

“Oso?” Frankie calls. He’s standing now, still hatless, a few steps closer to you than where he’d been sitting. He glances uncertainly between the fire and your approximate location. You hear him try your name next.

You swear quietly. “No, not you,” you add to Oso.

“It’s me,” you reply, straightening. “Sorry, Oso got me again.”

The pleased, upward tilt of his lips reverses as he shakes a stern finger at his dog, whose ears perk happily at all the attention. “What did I tell you? No more accosting strangers!” he scolds, though he doesn’t sound the least bit upset.

With a expectant glance at you, Oso trots back over to him. Frankie ruffles her ears, definitively undermining any negative impact his words might have had. You regard each other tentatively.

“Hi,” you say lamely.

His face crinkles back up into a smile. “Hi,” he returns. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Every possible conversation you’d mentally practiced since your first meeting flew right out of your head. “Well, you know.” You shrug lightly. “A person’s gotta eat.” Inwardly you cringe.

But Frankie is unphased. “I’d be really interested to hear about the kinds of stuff you find out here. This is almost ready, if you don’t feel like foraging for your lunch today.” He gestures behind him to the pan on the fire.

You hesitate, and Frankie seems to sense your uncertainty. “Only if you want.” He holds his hands up in a universal ‘no pressure’ sign, even going so far as to take a step back in emphasis.

You tell yourself to stop being so paranoid. This is what you wanted, after all. All your curiosity comes surging back as the wind shifts and the smell of his cooking sets your stomach growling. “Okay,” you agree. “Yeah, that would be nice.”

“Great!” Frankie beams. He turns- and promptly trips over Oso, still sitting beside him.

“Fuck!” He curses, hands hitting the ground on the other side of his dog.

You clap a hand over your mouth to muffle your laughter. Is he always this prone to falling over? “Are you okay?” You make your way over to them.

“Yeah.” Now upright, Frankie seems flustered to find you so much nearer than before, his gaze flitting over you before he remembers himself. He turns to crouch by the fire again, snatching up his hat and re-securing it on his head.

You seat yourself a short distance away and observe. Oso has reclined on her belly on Frankie’s other side, her eager gaze fixed on the pan as he prods the food. Apparently deeming it finished, he retrieves three paper bowls from his bag and fills one each for you, himself, and Oso. With a small flourish and a nervous smile, he presents yours to you.

“Thank you.” You feel like maybe you should say something else, but he’s already moved to face Oso, murmuring something to her while he gives her her bowl. You decide to let the food do the talking.

And are glad you did when fresh, vibrant flavors flood your tongue. Your eyes flutter wide with surprise. “Wow, this is...incredible. How did you..?” You look between the steaming pan and his rucksack, unable to reconcile the feast of flavors in your bowl with how much you’d have to carry out here to achieve it.

The man blushes at your praise, gaze lowering briefly to hide his pleasure, but he looks back up at your question. “Trade secrets,” Frankie says solemnly. Then he drops the expression with a little laugh, his confidence clearly bolstered by your amazement.

“Just kidding, I’ll tell you. If-” he points his plastic spoon at you “-you tell me how we haven’t crossed paths before.”

That’s a fair deal, especially if it means you get to learn more about him. “I’ll do my best,” you promise. In between bites, you outline your gradual exploration of your surroundings upon moving into a nearby village a little over two years ago. This year, you decided to strike out into new territory- this forest.

“I found this pond pretty quickly and saw the blackberry bushes right at the end of the season last year. I’ve been coming here ever since, keeping an eye on it I guess. But this whole wood is really a gold mine.”

Frankie looks fascinated. “I had no idea. I know some plants, but I couldn’t even begin to guess what all is out here.” His mouth opens to ask more questions, but it’s your turn now.

“What about you?” you quiz. “How have I not seen you before if you’re out here ‘all the time’?”

“Well, I’ve been working my way over from the other side of the hill.” Frankie explains, gesturing to the gentle ascending slope behind him. “I only found this place earlier this year. Didn’t know it was someone else’s territory.” He offers an apologetic grin, and you duck your head, feeling a silly, pleased warmth in your cheeks.

“Anyway, I moved into my place over there about five years ago? But I had a lot to do at first. I made a ton of improvements to the house, I was starting a garden. The hiking was kind of a refuge from that at first, a way to quiet my thoughts when I was stressing myself out.” He admits this last part without looking at you, as if his stress is somehow something to be ashamed of.

“But then I realized that I actually enjoyed it, and it made me feel safer to know the woods in so much detail. So I made it a hobby. Started taking longer walks, mapping where I’d been. Brought whole meals instead of little snacks,” he adds wryly.

You laugh as his humor registers, completely engrossed in Frankie’s tale. He seems to notice this suddenly, and shuffles a little under your attention. “So that’s me,” he concludes, clearing his throat self-consciously.

Any foraging you intended to do today has long been forgotten. You’ve been sitting with your backpack on long enough that your shoulders have begun to ache, and you sling it off impatiently. Frankie seems to further relax himself at the sight of you settling in, leaning back on his hands, his empty bowl given to Oso to lick clean.

There’s one question that hasn’t been answered. “...so how did you end up on instagram?” you probe.

He laughs outright. “I wondered how long it would take you to ask,” Frankie teases. His lopsided grin suggests he knows the impression he gives off. His mirth is infectious, and you find yourself grinning back at him, although you refuse to be embarrassed. He was the one who had thrown his phone at you, after all. And he had stalked your profile right back.

“Well, I’m no photographer,” he begins. “But I like the act of taking pictures. Really stopping and looking at what’s around you, what captures your attention. I was in the army before this, and it was just in-and-out of so many places, not actually experiencing anywhere for real…” Frankie watches you from the corner of his eye, speaking slowly, as if reluctant to say something which might change your opinion of him.

“My friend’s wife- the one whose kid I’m godfather to- suggested I use instagram as a way to organize my photos, but also ‘so they know I’m still alive out here.’” He chuckles. “I kinda like it now- it’s like a public diary. Mostly it was a relief to find that I’m not the only weirdo out there who likes cooking in the woods.”

You breathe a laugh reflexively, but your mind is turning over his words. I keep an instagram, he’d said before. Like a diary. Well, that’s...really cute, actually.

“Well, that makes me feel really shallow,” you joke, unable to think of any deeper response to his unexpectedly meaningful answer.

“Nah.” Frankie dismisses your quip with an easy smile. He asks you about yourself, then. How you got into foraging, other questions inspired by the pictures he’d seen on your page.

For awhile you converse with the uncomplicated lightness of two strangers who know absolutely nothing about each other, but want to. As a dessert offering, you take out the tub of blackberries you’d gathered earlier. Frankie’s eyes widen at their size, fatter than any berry he’d see in the supermarkets.

His freely shared emotions- fascination, curiosity, delight- continue to confirm your impression of him. Safe. His mouth works as he savors the sweet fruit, lips puckering, head nodding in close-eyed approval.

You will yourself not to stare. Looking elsewhere, you glance up at the sky- and the angle of the sun sends you leaping to your feet. “Shit-”

Frankie startles. “What’s wrong?” He tenses, but remains seated. Oso jerks to wakefulness where she’d been dozing by his side.

“I’ve got to start back if I don’t want to be out here at night.” Hurriedly you check your phone to be sure of the time, your heart rate slowing upon seeing it’s not as late as you thought.

Frankie stands now to hand you back your container, still mostly full of berries. You pause. “Keep it,” you tell him. “Make yourself a campfire dessert.”

His lips part in surprise, but you step back before he can protest. “Or at least take them as a thank you. For the food...and the company.”

He purses his lips. “All right. I’ll save making dessert for next time, though.” He subtly searches for your reaction to his implied invitation.

Anticipation lightens your limbs, but you keep your feet firmly planted on the earth. “Next time.” You’re not sure you manage to smother the excitement in your smile.

---

Taglist: @thirstworldproblemss, @leonieb, @computeringturtle, @tobealostwanderer

[angelguk]

→ on my mind — jeongguk scenario pt.1

Jeon Jeongguk - BTS

word count: 8.3k

genre: domestic!au + established relationship + fluff + smut

warnings: slow build / oral sex (fem receiving) / fingering / toys / multiple orgasms / over-stimulation / breeding kink / mild choking / creampie

soundtracks: eyedi, luv highway + olivia nelson, smother me

special thanks to @gukkheaven for beta reading this. you’re an absolute gem! 

Jeongguk has no idea how Namjoon is going to clean up this mess. Confetti scatters the dark wooden floorboards like leaves burying the sidewalks during autumn. Silver streamers accompany the coloured flakes of paper and he swears that there’s a glob of ice-cream somewhere on the ground because the bottom of his slipper is suspiciously wet. He instinctively wants to put everything in order, make sense of the chaos surrounding him, but it’s a futile effort that’ll only be thwarted by the hordes of children occupying his friend’s house. So he settles for the garden instead, lounging by the towering lemon tree Namjoon planted a few years ago, where he has a scenic view of Taehyung almost burning the burger patties on the grill.

“Taehyung!” Seokjin comes storming out of the glass doors, slippers slapping the ground ferociously. “What are you doing? Those look like bits of coal. Do you want the kids to lose their teeth?” 

“They barely have any and I was trying to help!” Taehyung retorts defensively. Jeongguk can hear the sincerity in his voice, the conversation nearly being drowned out by Baby Shark blaring in the background. He’d quickly gotten tired of the song after the tenth time he’d heard it, but, at the children’s behest, the song had stayed on the speakers for a majority of the party. Even if it drove everyone person over the age of ten closer to the brink of insanity.

“Jeongguk!” Seokjin’s glaring at him now, seemly forgiving Taehyung’s efforts at cooking. “Are you on holiday over there?” Jeongguk can’t even get a word out of his mouth before he continues. “No? Well then get your butt here, we’ve got hungry children to feed and I won’t hesitate to offer you as the first course.”

Jeongguk moves like lightning across the lawn, reluctantly taking the spatula Seokjin shoves in his hand. The burgers are burnt but still salvageable so he gets to work before they become truly inedible and Seokjin makes true of his words.

Meanwhile, Seokjin grabs Taehyung by his collar and drags him inside, muttering under his breath. Taehyung’s bewildered face draws a chuckle out of his chest. But then they’re gone and Jeongguk is alone, manning the grill under the pleasant gaze of the late afternoon sun. He loses himself for a moment, blocking out all sounds as he flips patty after patty and then dumps them on the whole wheat buns Namjoon insisted on.

The sound of the doors sliding open once more briefly catches his attention, his eyes flickering towards the figure emerging. He suspects its Seokjin coming to berate him once more and then his eyes fall on you and Jeongguk nearly falls face first into the grill.

There’s a sea of children desperately clutching to the hem of your yellow sundress. As you step out you drag them into the garden, carefully trying not to step on their little feet. Your features look worn, yet there’s still a soft smile gracing your face and the sunlight that lingers in your eyes lights up your whole face. But his eyes aren’t drawn to that, the thing that makes his heart flip in his chest is the baby in your arms.

“Alright guys, you can play here for a bit, right?” He can hear the strain in your lilted voice but your tone is still cheery. It hurts to look away from you but if he doesn’t he’ll char the burgers. Yet, from his peripheral vision, he can tell the kids are reluctant to let you go – especially Soomi, Jimin’s oldest.

“Unni, you’ll play too?” She grasped the concept of speech faster than the rest of the kids. She’d also learned how to manipulate people’s emotions pretty fast too thanks to her good old dad and it’s evident she’s whining more than she needs to. He can hear the pout in her voice. She’s exactly like Jimin in the best and worst way.

“Hmm,” You shuffle away, gently shaking their grubby hands off your dress. “I need to get Yeseul-ie to sleep first, is that okay?”

Soomi isn’t happy, but she can’t protest against that so she nods her head then flits off with the other kids. He’s already envisioning the grass and dirt stains but then you slide up beside him, Yeseul drifting away in your arms, and shove your elbow into his rib cage.

“Aw! What the f-”

“Language,” You berate, lightly bouncing Yeseul in your arms.

He wants to snap back but he can’t. Instead, his gaze involuntarily softens and his heart slightly melts. You’ve got baby drool stains down the front of your dress and Yeseul incredibly small head is resting against your chest. He’d never realised just how much Yeseul resembled Namjoon but he can see it now, the sunshine basking upon her small features. Her eyes are exactly like his and even with her falling half asleep, it’s evident that her mouth and nose are exact copies of Namjoon’s too. But there’s something about how serene she looks in your arms, the dark tufts of hair on her head shifting with the cool breeze and the small little sighs she makes as she shifts deeper into sleep, make his heart ache with emotions he didn’t know existed until this moment.

He glances up, having abandoned cooking because his brain can’t focus on anything else but this right now, to find you gazing at Yeseul too. There’s clear adoration in your eyes and when you sway your dress flits around your figure. The sight makes him pause, eyes flickering between the two of you; paired with the distinct smell of baby floating in his nose, the ecstatic screams of children in the background and the child in your hands, his brain goes blank. And then, suddenly, it clicks.

Family.

“She’s adorable, isn’t she,” You say, cutting off the rush of images playing in his head. Because as soon as the word clicks in his head he sees everything – the little hands, the first steps, the gurgles, and small smiles, the way your tummy would swell from the bump. It’s maddening. He’d never truly thought that far – well of course he had, children would come one day, but this was an overwhelming crushing rush of emotion that was blossoming in his chest and threatening to suffocate his heart. 

“Jeongguk?”

“Huh – what? Yeah, she’s cute. Looks a lot like Namjoon too.” He briefly wonders who his kids would take after. He hopes it’s you – your face is probably his favourite thing in the world to look at. 

“Literally a carbon copy.” Yeseul’s sighing in your arms and Jeongguk is blatantly not looking at you anymore. “Guess I better take her back inside. Don’t burn the food, Seokjin will have your head on a stake.”

“Yeah, yeah I know, fully aware of the threats, baby.” He doesn’t want you to leave, or to take Yeseul away, but he doesn’t know how to say that without exposing the new feelings that are currently wreaking havoc in his mind. 

“Hmm, okay. If the kids are still out when you’re done, bring them in.”

He hums and when you turn away his eyes trail after your retreating figure. He can’t take his eyes off you for the rest of the evening either, even when Soomi digs her fingers into Yeseul’s cake and playfully wipes vanilla cream on your face (retribution for not playing with her earlier). You grin despite the mess and he can see it already, what type of mother you’d be. It doesn’t help that literally everyone keeps shoving a child into your arms. Seokjin’s wife, Seoyeon practically dumps ten-month-old Chansook in your arms while she runs after the twins. The kids cause chaos but he’s suddenly not bothered by it anymore, not when you have that faint smile on your face (there’s a smidge of cream on your cheek) and a content sleepy baby in your arms.

For a split second, he wishes that that baby belonged to the both of you.

→

Jeongguk never realised there were so many small families roaming Seoul. He was fully aware that his best friends didn’t know what the term ‘pulling out’ meant which is why they had so many damn kids, but he’s surprised to find that more and more couples were having kids. Case in point, the quaint little cafe he was currently sitting in. He’d chosen a table relatively close to the entrance so he wouldn’t miss you but by doing that, he's also surrounded himself by parents and their kids looking for a little relief from the warm sun outside. Across from him sat a young mother who had a little baby bouncing in her arms. Jeongguk couldn’t discern the child’s face but it looked soft and squishy. Yeseul immediately came to his mind, dragging back the memory of you holding her that he had successfully repressed for one whole month. It was making his heart do funny swoops, so he grabbed his iced Americano, stuffing the straw in his mouth and tried his best to ignore her cooing.

“Is that for me?” Your voice clouds over the thoughts consuming his head. When he glances up, you’re sliding into the seat before him, conveniently blocking the other woman from his view.

“Of course it’s not, go buy your own coffee.”

You scoff, drawing the cup to your lips. “Cute. Thanks for buying this though, really needed it today.”

“Seungmin’s being a dick again isn’t he?” Jeongguk replies, eyes taking in the cotton pink dress that loosely caresses your frame. “When did you change?” He remembers you leaving this morning, black slacks and white blouse - a stark contrast to the burst of pink sitting before him.

“When is Seungmin not being a dick?” Your fingers drum against the cup. “I think it’s because I took a half day off. The thought of me relaxing physically hurts him,” You pause once more, eyes narrowed at the table below you before your brain registers what Jeongguk asked. “The dress? Carried it to work. Yoona insisted on half of us wearing pink and the other half blue. Do I look bad?”

There’s a small smile on his face when he shakes his head. “You look amazing. Leave Seungmin, his heart is bitter for no reason.”

“I don’t know. I feel kind of bad. There’s a lot going on in the office right now and a few extra hands would help everyone.”

“You feel bad for taking time off so you can go for a baby shower? Which is for your childhood friend?” Incredulity clouds his eyes. “What did Seungmin say to you?”

“Nothing,” You murmur, eyes downcast. Your fingertips are now drumming against the table. as you slowly lose yourself in your head. His warm hand that is now wrapped around your own, stops the drumming and pulls you right back to reality.

“Hey,” Jeongguk is closer than before, the side of the table pressing against his ribs. His thumb grazes against the back of your palm, eliciting a river of calm through your body. You keep your gaze trained on his, feeling awfully seen by his wide doe eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with taking this day off. It’s important to you isn’t it?” You nod because it is. Yoona was your longest friend and this was her first pregnancy, you wanted to be a part of this milestone. “So, you have every right to go,” He continues. “Seungmin is just a bitter old fuck who wants to work you to death. Forget about him. Alright?”

“Alright.” 

The urge to kiss him rushes through your chest, but Jeongguk leans forward before you can even think about doing so. It’s a chaste peck but he still leaves a warm imprint of coffee and sugar on your lips. Part of you wants to pull him closer, deepening the kiss, leave his lips tinged red. But you’re in public so you shove the thought away for later. Maybe for tonight.

But you’re still smiling when he leans away, cheeks hot. How he managed to make you feel like a loopy lovesick teenage was lost on you.

“Have you bought a present?” He asks, still holding onto your hand.

“Nope. Was gonna buy it now actually. There’s a store for babies around here.”

“Cool. Wanna go? We might get stuck in traffic on the way there.”

“Yeah. I think it’s a ten-minute walk.” 

Jeongguk helps you up, slipping his fingers between yours. His eyes catch a glimpse of the woman who was sitting behind you. Her child is deep asleep within her arms but she’s smiling softly at the two of you, gaze focused on your intertwined hands.

He can’t stop thinking about it during the short walk to the store. Inside, his mind slightly deteriorates because there are baby things everywhere. Its piles and piles of miniature items of clothing in every pastel colour available. There are little shirts that say silly phrases like ‘momma’s boy’ and ‘daddy’s girl’ in the front section that catches his eyes but before he can suggest you anything, you make a beeline for the onesie section, leaving him stranded and overwhelmed in the centre of the store. 

“Excuse me, sir. Do you need any assistance?” The clerk who’s staring at him has a trained welcoming face but her surprise is apparent in her eyes. “Shopping for your wife?”

“Uh, no. My girlfriend-”

“Oh, your girlfriend! What exactly are you looking for? Is she here?”

“Yeah, we walked in but I just lost her. We’re looking for something for a new born? Do you can carry clothes in that size?”

“We do, follow me. We’ll find her along the way, I'm sure. Pregnant women can be fast on their feet sometimes!”

It takes him a moment for him to piece together her last sentence. “No - uh - we’re not, I am mean, she’s not p-”

“Jeongguk!” You come spinning around the corner, conveniently right before him and the clerk, a white onesie in your hands. “Come here, I found the cutest thing ever.”

The clerk’s eyes are trained on your very not pregnant belly. She looks beyond confused and the only thing Jeongguk can do is blush very hard. His head feels like it’s going to explode.

“Um,” The clerk says, carefully mulling over her words. “Some people tend to show quite late.”

“Show what?” You’re ambling towards them, the bright smile on your face fading as you take in the red tinge on your boyfriend’s ears. “What are we being shown?”

“Sorry, ma’am, I meant-”

“We’re looking for a present!” Jeongguk blurts out, ignoring the look of disdain the clerk gives him and the still confused expression sitting on your face. “For a baby shower. It should be gender neutral. Could you show us something like that?”

The clerk smooths her features, pointedly not looking at Jeongguk. She gestures to the onesie in your hands. “That’s a good choice. It’s soft and fluffy. Perfect for all genders and any new born. May I suggest getting a stuffed toy as well?”

You nod, falling in step with the clerk while Jeongguk tries to calm the heart slamming against his chest. He doesn’t know why he was so nervous, why the thought of someone assuming you were pregnant was making his palm sweat and his mind cloudy. But as he trails after your retreating figures, he’s reminded of Yeseul once more. And how beautiful you looked holding her. It’s getting harder and harder to push the thought of you, holding a child that was both his and yours, in your arms out of his mind.

“How’s this?” You shove a miniature giraffe in his arms. “You think a baby would like a giraffe?”

“Babies don’t know what animals are. I doubt they care too.” He knows he sounds like Yoongi but he really wants to leave this store. Like now.

The displeased frown you give him makes him sigh. “Fine, it’s cute. Any baby would like it.”

“Giraffe it is.”

You’re at the counter, idly chatting with another store clerk when his eyes land on them. They’re small, so very tiny, that his mind can’t comprehend how any human being could have feet that small. Fascination drives his legs towards them. In his hands, they look like a speck of dust. But they’re so soft, impossibly so, and he can already see the tiny feet that would go inside them. Those small ten little toes and those short stubby chubby legs that all babies have. And those squishy cheeks and gummy smiles.

 His heart is doing weird things in his chest and he’s not sure how he feels about it. 

“That’s cute.”

Jeongguk twists around to find you clutching a white gift bag, you’re eyes locked on him and curiosity sitting on your face. His heart leaps in his chest and he holds onto the booties like they’re his only lifeline.

“Yeah,” His ears are burning red and he knows it. “They are cute. Should we get them?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Sure, why not. Peach is pretty.”

He’s tight-lipped when you return to the counter. When you move to pay for the booties, Jeongguk gently pushes you aside and offers his card, a blank expression on his face but his eyes are oddly wistful. You choose not to comment, silently lacing your fingers together as you amble back to the street. You make a point to thank the clerk that assisted you on your way out, she’s staring at Jeongguk in a manner that makes you almost suspicious. But you brush it aside - it’s not like he’ll be visiting a shop like this anytime soon.

“Do you want to pass by a store and get her a card?” He says softly. The walk back to the car had been serene. Jeongguk had stayed silent, gently swinging your intertwined hands between the two of you as you ambled through the bustling city streets.  The contemplative look in his eyes was a clear indicator that something was bothering him. You want to probe, figure out the problem on his mind so that you can smooth away the furrow in his eyebrows. But you know how Jeongguk is. He’ll say eventually, and it’s better to let him say it rather than forcing it out of him. 

You shake your head, pulling the seat belt over your chest. “Nope. Got her one yesterday. You know the location, right?”

The car hums beneath you as he pulls out from the parking space. “Yeah, I’m good.” His wrist is draped over the steering wheel, the silver chain bracelet you gave him for your three year anniversary tapping against it. The date engraved on the silver plate at the centre of the chains stares back at you. It’s the date you first met and just the thought of it brings a smile to your face. His face is set, he’s still lost in his thoughts, but you lean over the gear stick and press a soft kiss against his cheek.

“What was that for?” There’s a discernible lift in his tone and the smile that greets you makes your heart feel too big for your chest.

“Nothing.”

He huffs. “I would kiss you back but I would like to get to our destination alive.”

“You could pull over.”

“Tempting,” He muses but his foot doesn’t ease on the gas. “Unfortunately if we do that I might not let you go to the baby shower after all.”

“Well then, I’ll cash in on that kissing offer later. Maybe tonight.”

“Whatever you want m’lady.”

The tense atmosphere that was hanging over him lifts after that, and you both fall into a steady conversation. It’s been a while since you just talked, and with the driver being nearly two hours, there’s ample opportunity for Jeongguk to tell you about all the drama wreaking havoc over his department. But, for some reason, the drive feels shorter than it actually is. When you pull up to the botanical gardens Yoona booked for her baby shower, you’re almost reluctant to get out the car.

“You have arrived at your destination,” He says in a clipped, GPS navigator voice. The engine cuts and Jeongguk twists around to the backseat to retrieve your presents. He hands them to you gently, giving you a small peck on your lips as he does so. “Looks like you can’t cash in on that offer anymore.”

“You’re stupid, never kiss me again.” But you don’t get out of the car. The stupid grin on his face keeps you planted to your seat.

“Call me when you’re done,” He states, oblivious to your hesitation. “But an hour before, so I pick you on time.”

“Don’t stress, I’ll just call an Uber. Sorry for bothering you on your day off.”

“It’s no biggie. I don’t mind being your personal chauffeur, what else is a boyfriend good for.” Jeongguk’s eyes are staring at the spectacle behind you. Yoona went all out for her first baby shower but she’s always been overly extravagant so you’re not surprised. He clearly is though. “That’s quite a baby shower.” You’re about to reply but then his eyes narrow in a manner that makes you alarmed. “Everyone…. Is everyone there pregnant?”

You turn, eyes landing on Miyeon and Gyeong who were starting to show, their bellies pushing against the loose fabric of their dress. Although they don’t compare to Yoona’s stomach. She has a bright smile on her face and the evident pregnancy glow about her. The music playing mingles with the laughter and endless chatter coming from your friends. The sound flows like a stream to your ears, propelling your hand to unlock the door.

“Yeah. Miyeon and Gyeong are in the first trimester. Or they just finished, I’m not sure. Kind of cool how they got pregnant at the same time though.”

“Yeah,” He mumbles.

You reach over, the hand not clutching onto your gifts squishing his cheeks. “See you later, baby. Drive safe okay.”

“Yeah, see you. Love you.”

Jeongguk watches you walk towards your friends, acutely aware of the fact that you looking like the only one without a child on your hip or in your womb. On the drive back, he kept mulling it over. You’d never said you wanted kids, like outright. Of course, you’d talked about starting a family, potential names, and all the stuff infatuated couples muse over. But you’d never suggested that you wanted a family. You both had boxes of condoms stored in the house and they were put to use more often than not. But you were growing old and kids had to come at some point. Right? Right.

At least that’s what he tells himself.

→

The click at the door tells him you’re home.

Jeongguk has a blanket draped over his legs, a bowl of grapes tucked against his thigh and his laptop perched on his lap. He wants to get up and hug you but the spot he’d been cemented to for hours was far more comfortable than the prospect of standing up. But he pauses his current episode of Brooklyn Nine-Nine and watches you shuffle into the living room. Your lipstick smudged and your eyes are kind of red. You keys are tossed onto the coffee table as you approach, sinking into the couch beside him.

“Are you drunk?” He asks. He doesn’t expect the reproachful look you give him.

“Who serves alcohol at a baby shower? And hello to you too.”

“No - I didn’t mean it like that. Your eyes are really red and your face looks blotchy, babe.”

“Blotchy?” You laugh. “Thanks for the compliment babe. I look like this because I was crying.”

He’s upright and holding you in an instant. “What? Why? What happened? Are you okay? Babe look at me.”

His thumb caresses your cheek and the wide fearful look of concern in his eyes makes you feel warm. 

“No, not like that,” You smile but you can tell Jeongguk isn’t buying it.”Just – just Yoona. We talked a lot today and she reminded me of all the silly promises we made to each other when we were kids. They were good tears, I swear.”

“Oh.” He leans back but his fingers don’t leave your skin. “But you’re okay.”

“Very fine. Great actually. The baby shower was really nice. Still can’t believe my best friend is having a kid.” You get up from the couch, you’re face suddenly feeling very sticky from the copious amounts of makeup on your skin. “I’m gonna go shower and I can’t believe you’re watching season five without me.”

“Sorry, we can rewatch the episodes you missed now if you want.”

You shake your head. “Tomorrow maybe. I’m feeling drained.”

Jeongguk finds you burrowed in the sheets thirty minutes later. Your eyes are closed but the subtle shifting beneath the blankets is a dead give-away that you haven’t fallen asleep yet. While he’s undressing, Jeongguk can’t shake off the events of today. They run through his mind so fast that he feels dizzy. First the lady at the cafe, then the clerk at the store and of course him finding out that practically everyone but you was pregnant at the baby shower. It’s an exaggeration - only like three people were visibly pregnant - but still, it was starting to feel like everyone in the world but you were knocked up.

He slides into bed with a weight on his chest, the concept of you carrying his child sitting in his mind. You’re body slots against his and Jeongguk absentmindedly snakes his hand to your waist, resting his palm against your stomach. He’s staring hard at the dark wall, the words he wants to stay heavy on his tongue.

You beat him to it.

“Are you okay?” You can feel him ruminating behind you.

He’s silent, but you can hear the rush intake of breath and his heartbeat is wild against your back. You stay quiet too, hoping he’ll fill the empty air with his word eventually.

“I,” There’s a pause and you can tell he’s apprehensive to share what he’s feeling. “I have a question.”

“Ask away.”

“Would you have kids with me?”

The question throws you so off guard that it takes you a moment to think of a reply. 

“Yeah, of course – uh – where is this coming from?”

The pad of his thumb trails against your tepid skin, tracing patterns that leave a pit in your stomach. His bare back is pressed against yours and there’s already a small warmth ebbing from your core. You’re suddenly awake and you twist around to face him. His eyes glimmer in the dark. You try to decipher the wistful look in his gaze but the wisps of his hair obscure your eyes from his.

“It’s nothing. I’m just thinking.”

“About what?”

“Us? I don’t know – I’m not really sure where I’m going with this. I just-”

“You just what?”

The blush spilling on his cheeks tinges his ears. “I don’t know - maybe - I just want to start a family.” 

You blank at the thought, mind reeling from the confession that has just slipped from his lips. He senses the uncertainty that descends upon you and wishes he could take his words back.

“Now?” Your voice sounds small even too you.

“I would like too. But we can wait, or whatever you want. I’m okay with waiting. Completely fine with waiting.” The words rush out of his mouth so fast he trips over them.

“No, it’s not that. I wouldn’t mind starting a family, you’ve just never really said you wanted kids. So I’m surprised – that’s all.” You’d been together nearly five years now and he’d never explicitly stated he wanted kids. You’d just assumed they’d come later, naturally. Jeon Jeongguk asking if he can start a family with you right this instant was not something you’d ever expected.

“Guess I’ve changed my mind on that.” The nervousness from before melts away from his voice and you can hear the smile on his lips. You cuddle further into him, a weird warmth ebbing from your heart. Jeongguk holds you tighter, pressing his mouth against your forehead, a kiss that tugs a grin on your lips.

“When would you like to start trying?” You ask, revelling in his touch.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

“And if I’m ready now?” You press a kiss against his collar bone, aware of how his gaze instantly changed. He’s staring at you in a way that makes you want to squirm. The blanket suddenly feels like a furnace.

“Are you sure?”

“Very.” You lean forward, brushes his nose against yours. “But you’re going to have to do all the work. I’m kind of tired.”

Jeongguk smiles so hard that your heart feels like it’s going to combust. “I’m fine with that.” And then he leans in.

It’s a soft kiss, a gentle one where you’re both pliant and willing, moulding and sighing into each other because the day has been tiresome and neither of you have the energy to push back or nip at each other’s lips. You unravel in his arms, exhausted from having to deal with infuriating people and their opinions.  But Jeongguk holds you together, keeping you safe in his arms, his chest plastered against yours. His hands' journey down your waist, landing on your hips were he gently tugs your forward, rocking his hips against yours. When you come up, you’re dizzy, slightly intoxicated from how Jeongguk always managed to make you feel things that you couldn’t put into words with his lips only.

“I love you,” He murmurs against your lips.

“I love you too.”

He rolls onto his back, dragging you onto his lap. Your hips meet instantly because you’re wearing nothing but an oversized shirt and your underwear. You don’t miss the way he twitches beneath you or the way he squeezes your hips when you lean back down for another kiss. When you pull apart, Jeongguk looks at you like you’re the only star in the universe.

You can’t help but slip your fingers through his dishevelled russet locks. He reacts instantly, pushing his head into your palm, little sighs falling from his pink lips with every scrap of your nails against his scalp. His eyes flutter shut, lashes brushing against his rose-tinged cheeks. He’s got bags under his eyes from overexerting himself at work and you wish you could kiss them away but the only thing you really can do is hold him like this. Jeongguk is putty in your hands, his own gripping at your hips like they’re his only lifeline. The way his arching, hips bucking into your own, makes him expose the expanse of his neck. You trail a finger across the veins there and his physically jolts, shifting so he can press his body further against yours. He’s half hard but you don’t roll into it, despite the faint ache building up in your core. Instead, you keep dragging your hands through across his burning skin, watching him slowly fall apart in your hands.

When you press a chaste kiss against the span of his neck, Jeongguk surges forward and moulds your crotch against his own, bucking gently against you. You can feel him hardening beneath the taut fabric of his boxers, cock brushing against your own clothed cunt, searching for some form of release. 

Jeongguk’s body is hot and hard beneath your fingertips and you marvel at every dip and curve of the muscles in his chest and arms. He trails after your touch, mouth red and bruised from all the kisses you’ve given him. His lips kept pulling you in, catching the bottom of your lip between yours and slipping his tongue into your own mouth. It’s hard not to fall in love with him all over again when he’s watching you drag your fingers across his body with complete adoration in his lidded dark eyes. The gaze alone sends a jolt of desire through your core, slick slipping from your wet pussy. You keep kissing him and touching him until there’s blood rushing in your ears and you’re blatantly fucking each over your clothes. His hands roam over your own body too, searing you with each dig of his fingertips into your skin. 

“As much as I love the way you look right now,” He says between pants and stolen kisses. “I kind of want to eat you out.”

You’re flipped onto your back without further ado. Jeongguk’s crowding over you, his hair swaying before his eyes as his knees force your own legs apart, making room for himself. You reach out, brushing back his hair a small smile on your face. He grins back, leaning down to press his lips against your own as his hips roll against your cunt. His boner nudges against your clit, sending fireworks shooting through every nerve in your body. Your legs fall further apart, hips canting upwards to meet his own movements. You’re panting in the dark, small sighs slipping from your lips that Jeongguk devours in harsh kisses. 

He groans against your ear when you wrap your legs around his hip and grind upwards, the way his dick rubs up against your panties has a heat rising in your core. You can feel him twitching and there’s a damp stain on his boxers that matches the wetness on your own underwear.

“Fuck, babe. Stop - let me - let me go down on you.” His thrusts forward, shifting the pillows beneath your head. “Don’t make me come in my pants - please.”

You drop your legs, watching in awe as he moves down your body. Your top is tugged off so fast, the night air caressing your bare skin. Your thighs are wet with slick, sheening in the glow of the moonlight slipping through your curtains. For some reason, the idea of Jeongguk, the love of your life, fucking a baby into you was making you incredibly wet. And judging from the way his dick was straining against his boxers, it was affecting him too.

His eyes were dark as he took you in, your thighs held apart from his large hands. You can feel his fingers embedding themselves there and the thought of the marks you’ll find tomorrow was making you drip. You expected him to dive right in, the anticipation of his tongue on your cunt making you warm all over. But when you glanced down, Jeongguk was staring up at you, a different look in his eyes that you can’t decipher.

Then he moves up again, his lips landing on your neck. 

“Fuck,” You moan, eyes fluttering.

His mouth was doing wonders on your skin, biting and dragging his tongue against the sensitive nerves there with finesse. He hadn’t returned his hips to yours so you were left bucking into the air, your walls clenching around nothing, a desperate need to be filled burning in your core.

He moves slow, savouring the way your whine and whimper with every drag of his tongue against your skin. He’s so hard it hurts but he can’t stop looking at the way your chest shudders as he dips further down the expanse of your skin, journeying towards the place you need him most. 

Then he’s pressing a kiss to your clothed cunt and you swear you see stars. You arch into it, the curve of your stomach dipping when he tugs your underwear off. The first lick has his name falling from your mouth. It’s a kitten lick, carefully flicking against your clit. You try and squirm, attempting to direct his mouth further down but he pins you to the bed. You don’t try to use your hands to shove his head down - he’s not in the mood to follow your orders and you can tell. So you slip your hands into his hair and hope Jeongguk doesn’t make you black out from pleasure.

He opens you up slowly, tongue teasingly toying with your folds until it dips into your cunt. He gathers you onto his tongue, lips coated with your slick as he places another kiss on your cunt. You’re moaning shamelessly now, back curving when Jeongguk swirls his wet tongue around your clit. He eats you out like your life depends on it, fucking you open with his mouth until you’re fisting his hair, your toes curled and your heels digging into the mattress.

It’s maddening, how his swift quick movements have a wave of please steadily rising in your guts. You can’t think, can’t formulate any words, apart from his name that floats from your lips like a saccharine melody. 

His hums against you, a smile on his wet lips. “Such a pretty pussy. And it’s all mine. Want you to come on my tongue, can you do that for me, baby?” You’re about to answer when his tongue slips back inside you and the only thing you can do is whine helplessly. He has your legs hitched over his shoulders now, lifting you up slightly so he can devour you from a better angle. And it’s working because his tongue is deep inside you, but you want him deeper - need him deeper. 

It’s almost as if he can hear your thoughts because two fingers slide into your cunt just as he pulls his mouth away. You clench around them, hard, not missing the soft “fuck” that drifts from Jeongguk’s lips. The sound itself hits your core, sending another wave of pleasure through your system, more slick slipping from your wet cunt and coating his fingers.

He doesn’t neglect your clit when his fingers pound into you. It feels good. The edge is there, and you can see into behind your half-closed eyes, a hot white heat that promises to leave you boneless. But you need more.

“Another, add another finger - fuck! Jeongguk!”

“Anything you want princess.”

The stretch burns but you relish in it, hips racketing off the bed. Jeongguk’s sucking hard on your clit, his fingers pounding into your cunt. It’s good and the heat building in your core feels like it’s going to tip over any moment now. Then his fingers slam into that spot and oh – oh.

You’re coming so hard that you swear your vision vanishes for a second. Jeongguk is still licking your clit, fingers twisting inside you as your seize up, walls tight around his fingers. It's too much, too fucking much but you still can’t say anything, your mouth feeling foreign and heavy in your mouth. Your throat is hoarse, and it only dawns on you, when his pulls his fingers out from your pussy, licks them clean and rises up to give you a kiss, that you realize it was because you were screaming his name.

“God, you’re so perfect.” Another kiss. “So beautiful. Love you, love you so much.” His palm is grazing against your thigh and you shiver, suddenly aware that Jeongguk is still wearing his boxers. They’re damp and his boner is pressed against your thigh, throbbing with need. You want him in your mouth now, want to make him come as hard as he just made you.

“Love you too babe. Let me suck you off.” 

He shakes his head, his hand coming down on your throat. “Not tonight. Want to see you come again.”

You groan, twitching when Jeongguk rubs his clothed cock against your still very sensitive clit. “You’re going to fuck me brainless.”

He grins. “That’s the goal babe.”

Then he’s rising from the bed, moving to your drawers. He returns with a small pink vibrator in his hands, a tame item from the collection of sex toys you’d both curated over the years. But your thighs are still shuddering from the orgasm he just coaxed out of you and you’re not sure if you can take another one just yet.

“Kiss me,” You say and Jeongguk does. It’s hot and heavy, sparking a flame in your core that you were sure had been doused out. You tug on his lip, the groan that emits from his mouth vibrating through your chest which currently feels too small for the love it’s supposed to hold. If Jeongguk wants to see you come again, you’ll give it to him. Because you’re stupidly in love with him and you can tell he’s stupidly in love with you too.

When he grazes the vibrator against your clit, you jolt, already moving to get it off because it’s too much for your fucked out brain to comprehend. But he holds you down gently, easing you into it with tender kisses to your inner thighs that leave you breathless. 

Your orgasm builds up faster than the first one, the heat in your core sparking through your veins. It doesn’t help that Jeongguk tongue is lapping up your slick, coating your folds with your essence while your clit is brutally assaulted by the vibrator. He’s playing with it, pressing it directly on your sensitive bud then moving it around so that the vibrations hit you in different intensities. It’s driving you over the edge again, a wave of desire threatening to rip through you. When he holds it at an angle, the vibrations hitting your core hard, it does.

“Shit - Jeongguk, oh, oh fuck. I’m going to come. Babe, fuck!”

“Do it, princess, come for me.”

And you do, clenching around nothing because he hadn’t dipped his fingers in. You feel so empty despite the euphoria radiating through your body and you hate it. Your legs tremble around Jeongguk and you swear hard when his tongue darts forward, playing with your wet empty hole. It takes a moment for you to gather your breath but when you do you're pulling him up to you and slamming his mouth into yours. He tastes like you and you love that he does. But you would love it even more if he was deep inside you instead. Your last orgasm was great but you wanted to feel full.

“Thought you were meant to be fucking a baby into me,” You murmur, eyes infatuated with the way his lips were bruised and wet. His breath hitches at that and you know you’ve got him because his eyes darken and his boxers come off in a flash.

He’s hard, painfully so and the tip is red, dripping cum down his cock. You wish he’d let you blow him but the only thing on your agenda right now is getting fucked.

“From the back,” You ask.

“Nope, like this. Could you just bend your leg a little?” You do so, slinging your leg over his shoulder so that he has you spread open beneath. His hand grips on the leg still on the bed, holding you in place as his naked body descends upon you. It doesn’t hurt now but you can tell the position will hurt sooner than later. But judging from the harsh swear that leaves his lips when his cock grazes against your cunt, you doubt either of you will last long tonight.

You’ve gone raw before, your bare walls weren’t foreign to him, although most nights he’d slipped a condom on before fucking you. But this was different. Different because Jeongguk intended to put a baby inside you tonight - his baby. He wanted you to bear his children, wanted to make them with you. Your skin was buzzing at the thought, body a livewire that only responded to his touch. And suddenly it made sense to you, why all your friends were having kids. It hadn’t occurred to you before, but seeing a little human that both you and Jeongguk made together, living breathing evidence of your infinite love for one another, was something that you really really wanted. And the look in his eyes tells you he wants it just as much as you do.

When he slides in, your brain stops working. The stretch is familiar and welcomed, making your toes curl with ecstasy. The way he’s holding you give him room to go deeper, slipping in until you can feel him in your gut and his thighs are pressed against your own sticky ones. He’s panting in your ear, muscles tense because your pussy is warm and wet and you swallow him right up with no resistance. He can’t believe it, that you’re all for him and you’re allowing him to do this. His dick is beyond hard and when you flutter around him, a sigh escaping your mouth, he nearly comes right then. But he grits his teeth, swells down the desire that has his stomach caving in and slowly pulls out.

When he slams back into you, you scream.

It’s fast and hard. Jeongguk is fucking you like he wants to stay between your legs forever, make room for himself there, as he did in your heart. The next thrust has you swearing and whining into the heavy sex scented air. Your hands claw against his back, pulling a deep groan from Jeongguk, one that makes you squeeze around his dick. The snap against your pelvis stutters.

“Fuck!” He muffles against your sweaty skin “Baby,” His voice is hoarse and rough against your ear. “You’re going to make me come if you keep doing that.”

“Thought that was the point,” You say, giving another sharp pulse of your walls around him. You can feel him twitching against you and the whine that slips from his throat goes directly to the blazing heat in your gut.

“Not,” He sighs, “Not yet. Want to see you come again for me.”

“Again? Jeongguk-” But then you keening, slamming your hips down hard on his because he’s slipped a hand between your bodies, the pads of his thumb is cruelly circling your clit.

His mouth is against your ear and he doesn’t slow down, hips pistoning against your own as you desperately search for the release that you can taste on your tongue and see behind your eyelids.

“My beautiful baby, look at you. So fucking,” He hits at a spot that has you shuddering down on him and Jeongguk loses his breath for a moment. “So fucking perfect. Perfect for me. Want me to come inside you, fill you up?”

You nod, shaking slightly because it’s all too much and your eyes feel damp. “Please - fuck, please. Want you. Want all of you.”

He moans, his stomach quivering and his hips picking up momentum until he’s pounding you into the mattress. Your leg shouldn’t be able to take this angle yet it does because every nerve in your body is focused on the rapid bursts of pleasure hitting your system. Jeongguk can sense you’re tipping over the edge because he leans back, releasing the hold on your leg so that it falls back to the mattress. Your wrap your legs around his waist, hips canting upwards wildly because you’re almost there. 

Jeongguk wraps his hand around your throat, fingers digging into the side of your neck just as they were digging into the back of your thigh as he held you up. Your brain feels fuzzy, the air from your lungs diminishing but it’s good - so good. You’re whining and gasping into the air, a surprised ah falling from your lips when his cock repeatedly slams into that spot and holy shit -

“Jeongguk!” His name leaves your mouth like a desperate prayer. You come around his dick so hard you see stars, your bones feel like they’re melting and you know you’re crying because your cheeks feel wet. It’s like he unravelled you into pieces and then moulded you right back together. Your heart swells, euphoria and love swimming through your system. 

“There we go baby,” He leans in, hips still brutally pounding into you but they’re erratic now.  “My baby, my princess. God, I love you.” You can tell he’s close, so you hold him, planting a kiss on his lips. His hips stutter widely, a deep groan filling your mouth and he spills himself inside. You can faintly feel it, a hot warmth that coats your walls. He holds himself there, faltering against you as his warmth breath pans your mouth. 

It takes a while for you to pull yourselves apart. Jeongguk seems reluctant to leave your pussy but you gently shove him off. Your vagina feels broken and your knees are mush.

He’s beaming, pressing a steady stream of kisses to your forehead while you ruminate on whether you have the strength to take another shower. Your legs felt incredibly sticky, Jeongguk’s come and your slick staining your thighs.

“Carry me to the bathroom and clean me up?”

“Who said we were done?” His eyebrow is raised and you kind of want to smack him.

“You just screwed my brains out, let me recover.”

He’s pouting but he’s up from the bed, returning quickly with a warm cloth that he swipes across your skin until you feel like you’re somewhat clean.

“How long do you think it will take?” He asks, crawling back into bed. He tugs your body close, slinging his leg over your own and tucking your head into his chest. The palm of his hand settles against your stomach.

You sigh, feeling blissfully content. “I’m not sure. I’ll have to check my ovulating days.”

“When should try again really soon though, shouldn't we?”

“What’s your goal? To get me pregnant by the end of the week?”

“I wouldn’t mind that,” He says, dragging the pad of his thumb against your skin. “Kind of want you pregnant now if I’m being honest. I was thinking about it – when I was fucking you. You’d look really pretty pregnant. So pretty.”

You shove him in the gut, trying to hide the way your cheeks warm and your thighs twitch at the thought despite Jeongguk having screwed you senseless a mere moments ago.

“There’s tomorrow. And the next day. There’s no rush.”

“If you give me twenty minutes I can try again right now,” He offers, the smile in his voice clear in the night. 

“Sleep, you caveman.”

[whimsimmortal]

Plot Bunny

Wow, I’m alive! And posting fanfiction on tumblr, as if I have any idea what I’m doing!! Please check it out on AO3, where I am actually capable of navigating the website: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27441853

Plink. Another small, innocuous sound scarcely registered past Danny’s homework-induced stupor. It could have been a stray raindrop or a kamikaze bug. He had more important things demanding his attention; namely, the book report due tomorrow. This was at least the fifth time he’d rewritten the same paragraph. Words had lost all meaning to him by this point, but he was so close to finishing.

Tip-tap. Clonk, the noise emitting from the bedroom window insisted. He glared suspiciously towards the disturbance, envisioning ethereal arrows or blob ghosts intent on breaking in. He hadn’t sensed anything ghostly nearby, but given his luck, the paranoia was usually warranted. Emitting a groan from the depths of his soul, he rose from his desk to inspect the noise. He spared a second to stretch and shake the pins and needles out of his fingers, trying to wake up. Just in case it was something serious, y'know. Tink. “Alright, jeez, I’m coming,” he muttered, pulling back his curtain.

There weren’t any ghosts, of course. That was somewhat of a relief, even if going down swinging  was preferable to succumbing to a failing high school education. The early sunset gleamed amber off the windows across the street, and the sky was clear, except for— chink— the pebbles bouncing off his window. A lone kid was standing on the sidewalk below, no older than eight or nine. He looked vaguely familiar. He was pulling his arm back to throw more stones and bawling his eyes out.

Danny yanked open the window, sliding up the screen to fully stick his head out. His core vibrated, unsettled. There wasn’t any obvious danger, and the kid didn’t look hurt. Where were his parents? Why was he here? “Hey! What’s wrong, buddy? Are you okay?”

“You, you, you,” the kid tried to start, but great hiccupping sobs interrupted him. He scrubbed his face with his fists, obviously trying to regain his composure. “You’ve gotta send the ghost hero out!”

Danny jerked back, unintentionally smacking the back of his skull on the underside of the window. Well, now he was awake. What? “Uh, a ghost? Here? No, there isn’t—I can’t—what are you talking about?”

The boy was right up against the side of the house now, sniffling loudly and staring straight up at Danny with wide, sad eyes. “Please?” He whined, winding his hands up in the fabric of his sweater nervously.

Well, now he was stuck. Some random kid was going to out his whole identity, but the urge to help was almost overwhelming. “I can’t—there can’t be any ghosts here, but give me a second and I can just come down?” He offered. “Do you want me to find your parents?”

“Noooo!” The kid wailed and stomped his foot, banging on the wall with his tiny fists. “Don’t lie to me! I’ve seen the superman ghost go in there! Let him out! I need him!!”

Oh, crap, someone was going to hear. This kid’s parents were going to freak out, or his own parents were going to notice, and what if they took that kind of claim seriously? Shoot. Literally. He chuckled nervously. “Hey, hey, shhh, okay! You win! I’ll, uh, summon him, or something! But you have to be quiet, or you’ll, y’know, scare him off.” The child nodded solemnly, wiping his nose on the back of his sleeve and stifling his sobs.

Danny ducked back behind the curtain, gracelessly crumpling to sit with his back against the wall. He ran his hands through his hair. He’d been seen? When? He’d tried so hard to be careful, and use invisibility whenever he was close to the house. Maybe he’d gotten lazy. Maybe, sometimes, he let the promise of sleep take priority over precautions. Stupid.  He smacked the palm of his hand into his forehead, frustrated. How long had this kid known? Who else had he told? He couldn’t just scare him into silence, he was too little. That was just messed up, he’d give him nightmares or something.

He wasn’t going to figure anything out by sitting here moping. He triggered the transformation, the familiar prickling electric feeling swiftly replaced by the soothing cold. He turned to peek over the edge of the window, checking for anyone else around. It was still just the same kid, kicking at a pebble on the concrete while he waited.

He floated down slowly, not wanting to startle his impromptu visitor, who turned and saw him as he touched down. The little guy gasped, forgotten tears slipping away from unblinking eyes.

“Hi there,” Danny prompted gently. “Were you looking for me?”

The kid kept ogling, mesmerized, and a few seconds passed by before he could shake himself out of it. “Wow, you’re the real superhero guy,” he whispered reverently.

Oh. That was pretty cute, actually. He couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah, that’s me. You can call me Phantom,” he offered.

“I’m Wyatt,” the kid mumbled, covering his damp cheeks with his hands shyly. He tipped his head down, still staring through his eyelashes.

A neighbor’s front door opened down the street, and Danny swiftly disappeared. Wyatt startled, blindly swinging his hands back and forth through the seemingly-empty space. “Wait! Come back!” He recoiled with a yelp when his blundering reach made contact with the specter.

“It's okay, I’m right here,” he reassured the kid. “But we can’t let people know I’m here, okay? They’ll—um. I’ll get in trouble.”

Wyatt squinted, reaching forward again. Danny offered his hand, and the little fingers gripped his glove tightly. He looked like he was offering the empty air a fist bump. “Right,” the kid agreed earnestly.

“Seriously,” Danny pressed. “You can’t tell anyone that I li-” he bit his tongue. Don’t say ‘live’. That’s so dumb. “Uh. Hang out here sometimes. Not even your friends, okay? Promise?”

Wyatt’s little dark eyebrows drew together, and despite his trembling chin and small stature, he looked profoundly serious. He shook the hand. “I promise.”

Well, that would have to do for now. “Thanks. Uh, what did you need me for?”

The kid’s eyes immediately started to well up again, but he squeezed Danny’s fingers and pressed his lips to put on a brave face. “C’mon, Phantom, you’ve gotta-” he sniffed. “You gotta save Fuzzy,” he warbled, turning and pulling. The ghost floated behind like a balloon on a string as the pair stepped down from the curb, heading across the street.

Oh, man, if this was about a dead pet, he wasn’t sure what he was going to do. That was closer to Jazz’s expertise. He swallowed his mounting dread. “Who’s Fuzzy?”

Wyatt’s face scrunched up. “He’s my bunny,” he explained, looking away. “I was just tryin’ to show ‘im to Audrey, and—and then,” he sobbed. “He went under the house! And he’s gonna get lost and stuck, and I’m-, never-, gonna see him ever again!” He let go, burying his face in his hands and howling.

Danny rested a hand lightly on Wyatt’s little shoulder, throat tight. He’d never had a pet like that, but he could understand the fear of losing loved ones a little too well, and empathy always felt more forceful when he was in ghost form. Probably something related to ectoplasm being shaped by residual emotional energy, blah blah ecto-science theory. “Don’t worry, we’ll find him.”

The unusual duo walked two more houses down the block and cut through a side yard to a modest backyard, strewn with outdoor toys and an overturned wire fence—likey an outdoor pen for Fuzzy. An even younger girl sat on the paved patio, chewing on the end of her braid. She leaped up as they drew close. “Wyatt! I told my dad about Fuzzbutt, and he’ll call the—um, animal people. But they’re not here yet. Did you find him?”

Wyatt glanced a little to Danny’s left with a guilty expression. Well, crap, so much for his secret. He bit his lip, trying to keep his cool. First things first. A cursory scan of the area didn’t show anyone else in the immediate vicinity, so he faded back into visibility. The little girl—‘Audrey’, he guessed—gave a muffled shriek. “Ghost man!”

“Hush,” Wyatt scolded, voice quavering. “He’s a secret.”

“Oh,” Audrey whispered back. “Hello, mister normal guy man. I think you’re cool.” She beamed up at him.

“Hello, small ordinary human,” Danny quipped, and Audrey giggled delightedly. Wyatt dropped to his hands and knees, crawling up to the house, where a gap between the foundation and dirt was evident. The other two peeked over his shoulder, but there wasn’t any bunny visible past the darkness.

“Fuzzy,” Wyatt choked out. “Hang in there, we’re gonna rescue you!”

Danny turned intangible, letting his molecules seep down through the dirt past the level of his nose. He drifted close to the base of the house, juicing up the glow from his eyes. “Just wait here, okay?” Two grim, round little faces nodded back, and with that minor assurance, he delved beneath the house.

The weight of the floor above loomed. It was claustrophobic, like being buried… well, half-alive. The musty, dank mildew smell was gross, even though he wasn’t breathing. He could taste it. “Here, bunny, bunny,” he muttered. Please don’t be hurt.

A tiny pair of eyes reflected green through the gloom. The little ball of fluff was backed into a corner, and it snorted like a tiny angry bull, stomping its feet. Danny hadn’t even known rabbits could make that sound. It probably didn’t like his creeping, unnatural aura, like most rational animals. “Shhh,” he cooed, reaching for the tiny, grubby ball of fluff and dimming his glow. “I’m not gonna hurt ya.”

Fuzzbutt wasn’t convinced. In a courageous move, it darted through Danny’s forehead, wedging itself under a crooked board and squealing. Danny reached easily through the plank and wrapped his hands around the unhappy creature, sharing his intangibility. It writhed and fussed, trying to bite through his gloves. “Stop that!” He clutched it close to his chest; if he dropped it here, the stubborn thing really would be stuck. He swooped back out into the backyard, startling the anxiously waiting kids.

Audrey shrieked and tipped over. Wyatt recovered first, leaping to his Velcro-sneakered feet expectantly. “Is he okay?”

Danny recovered a more solid form, holding up the wiggling rabbit. Wyatt gasped, fresh tears glittering on his eyelashes. He reached out for the beloved pet, unable to contain his joy at the reunion. “Fuzzy! You’re okay! I love you, Fuzzy!”

“Let’s go inside first, so he doesn’t get away again?” Danny suggested. The last thing anyone needed was an instant replay. Audrey darted to open the back door, and Wyatt led the way inside. He sat on the wooden floor with open arms, and as soon as the door was firmly shut again, Danny deposited the squirming animal into his lap. Fuzzy looked marginally more content to receive numerous sloppy kisses from his adoring owner. He was actually a pretty cute little guy, black and white like a panda.

Even footsteps padded around the corner. “Wyatt, baby? Did you find-” the woman’s question cut off abruptly as she noticed the glowing stranger in her living room.

Crud. At this rate, the whole block was going to find him out before the week was up. He edged back a little, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, I was just, um,” darn it, wrong persona. He cleared his throat and squared his shoulders. “Doing my heroic duty, ma’am,” he finished in a falsely deep voice.

Audrey giggled (he didn’t sound that bad!), and the woman smiled nervously. Wyatt hopped to his feet, still cradling his bunny. “Mama! Look, he saved Fuzzy! I’m gonna rename him Fuzzy Phantom,” he declared.

Mama Wyatt dutifully stroked the bunny’s dusty ears. “Fuzzy Phantom needs a bath,” she commented, before looking back up to meet Danny’s eyes. She held out her clean hand, and it took him a second to recognize the offered handshake. He started to reach back, thought twice about his messy glove, and hastily peeled it off to shake her hand. Her fingers were delicate, but they didn’t falter at the chill. “You look taller on the TV,” she joked lightly. “It’s nice to meet you. Phantom, right?”

He nodded. “Uh, it was nice to meet you, too, Ms.-?”

“Sylvie Rosales,” she supplemented. Audrey snuck around her to flounce deeper into the house, taking the adult’s distraction as an invitation, and Wyatt started to follow her, but hesitated. He snuck a hand out around Fuzzy to tug on Danny’s arm, so he leaned down accommodatingly.

Wyatt stood on his tiptoes to whisper in his ear. “Can I come see you sometimes?”

Oh, heck, no. That would be truly asking for disaster. “No,” he quickly replied, but before Wyatt’s pout could evolve into a true objection, he added, “but if you really don’t tell anyone how to find me, I could drop by sometimes.” He looked towards Ms. Rosales. “If that’s okay?”

Wyatt looked over to his mom pleadingly, stars in his eyes. What have I gotten myself into, Danny wondered, but he couldn’t help feeling charmed. Ms. Rosales looked like she was thinking along the same lines, with her thin-lipped smile and folded arms. “As long as you don’t cause any trouble,” she hedged.

“Thank you!!” Wyatt hugged Danny spontaneously, smushing his face into his shoulder. Fuzzy grunted his objection.

Danny ruffled the kid’s mop of hair. “I should get going. Take care of Fuzzy,” he grinned, pulling away. “And stay safe,” he added in his false baritone with a mock salute.

“You, too,” he heard Ms. Rosales call after him as he phased through the wall. He looped above the street once cheerfully before disappearing to sneak back home. He’d left his window open; rose-tinted light and a handful of moths had spilled onto his bedroom floor. This time, he didn’t reappear or turn back until he’d stealthily drawn the window and curtains closed.

He still had an hour or so to plug into his homework. He hummed as he started back in on the paragraph he’d been stuck on. It didn’t seem as daunting now, even with the lost time and near reveal. He’d have to keep an eye on his nosy little neighbor, but in the end, maybe it was the moments like today that made the whole gig worth it.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 3: Signed In Blood]

Series summary: You are an overwhelmed and disenchanted nurse in Boston, Massachusetts. Queen is an eccentric British rock band you’ve never heard of. But once your fates intertwine in the summer of 1974, none of your lives will ever be the same...

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language, physical frailty, sneaky foreshadowing.

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii​ @loveandbeloved29​ @killer-queen-xo​ @maggieroseevans​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @queenlover05​ @someforeigntragedy​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​ @joemazzmatazz​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye​ @namelesslosers​ @inthegardensofourminds​ @deacyblues​ @youngpastafanmug​ @sleepretreat​

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! :)

The cashier blinks at you as he scans the items in your basket: two Cokes, an orange juice, a Mountain Dew, a grape Fanta, a box of Ritz crackers, a KitKat, three packs of cherry Pop Rocks, and assorted bags of Lay’s chips. “You must have, like, a lot of kids.”

“Something like that.”

Terminal E of Logan International Airport is bustling with swiftly-moving businessmen dragging rolling suitcases, tidy-looking flight attendants, careening toddlers and frazzled mothers. The band is waiting at the gate; their plane to Heathrow is scheduled to board in thirty minutes. Our plane, you correct yourself. I’m going too.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, I ran out of paper bags but I can check in the back if you want—”

“Oh no,” you protest, slapping a ten-dollar bill onto the counter and gathering up the snacks. You’ve cultivated a stubborn solidarity with your fellow service industry employees. “That’s cool, I’ve got it. Thanks. Have a great day!”

“You too! Good luck with your kids!”

You laugh as you trot away. Yes, my very large, extremely anarchic British children. You could have sent Freddie and Rog for the snacks, but you don’t trust them not to try to steal something and end up getting strip-searched by TSA; Brian is still too weak to go anywhere alone; and John...well, John dissolves into blood-red cheeks and averted eyes if you ask him anything. You weave through the crowded terminal, shifting your arms to keep the snacks centered.

“Wow, you have your hands full there!”

You peer around the heap to see a businessman in a powder blue suit, neatly combed black hair, mid-thirties, benign smile. Your arms are beginning to ache. “Ha, yeah. I guess I do.”

“Need some help?” he asks, still smiling.

“Oh, thank you so much, but I’ve got it—”

“Nonsense.” He cheerfully plucks the chips and Pop Rocks out of your grasp. “Where are we going?”

Oh no. You know this type of man. He’s the guy who flirts with the nurses while his wife is recovering from a gallbladder removal, who tries to impress you with his mid-level accounting job and Marshall Field's neckties, who obliviously—or worse, forcefully—offers assistance when it’s least desired. He’s the type to play superhero so he can get a taste of what it feels like to be someone who matters. He’s not usually dangerous, but he is viperous if his fantasy gets interrupted, bitter and desperate and striking out like a wounded animal. Jesus christ, I do not have time for this bullshit today. The muscles in your forearms are screaming now. “Seriously, I can handle it. Thank you. Can I get my snacks back? My friends are waiting.”

His smile falters; suddenly, Mr. Aspiring Superman doesn’t seem so benign at all. And you can’t help but notice that his grip around your criminally overpriced airport snacks doesn’t loosen. Oh fucking hell. “What the hell’s wrong with you? Are you stupid or something? Don’t you get it, I’m trying to help—”

“Hey, baby!” chimes a voice from nowhere. An arm appears around your shoulders, pulling you in; John lands a series of kisses across your neck and jawline as the businessman gawks, speechless and horrified. “Did you finish shopping? Oh, you remembered my Coke! Thanks, baby. You’re the best. Come on, they’re gonna start boarding soon...” He stops, stares at the businessman, points with narrowed steely grey eyes: “Are those my Pop Rocks?”

“Uh, uh, yeah, uh...” The man hastily shoves the snacks into John’s hands and flees. John immediately backs away from you, clears his throat, casts his eyes down the opposite end of the airport terminal.  

“Oh my god,” you say, stunned. “I’ve never heard you talk that much at once. Ever.”

He flushes and combs his agile fingers through his hair. “Yeah, I’m so sorry, I just thought...I saw that he was...I figured that would get him to piss off without causing a scene...I’m sorry, I don’t know why I did that, I—”

“No, John, seriously, that was brilliant. Thank you.”

“Yeah?” And you think you can detect something in his voice like hope: cautious, fragile hope. More than that, you can still feel his lips against your skin, hot and sure and assertive, almost dominating.

You grin over at him as you walk together towards the gate. “I bet everyone thinks you’re real innocent because you’re the shy, quiet, mysterious one or whatever. But you have some serious game under all of that, don’t you?”

John chuckles out of pure shock, still not looking at you. “I doubt it.”

“I’m onto you, bassist. Those groupies aren’t going to know what hit them.”

Wait, he has a girlfriend, isn’t that what Freddie said? But if he does, John doesn’t correct you.

“Do I see my beloved Pop Rocks?!” Roger squeals when he spies you both. John tosses all three packets to him. Roger rips one open, pours the entirety of the contents into his mouth, then motions for you to pass him the can of grape Fanta. He gulps the Fanta and drums his palms against his thighs as his mouth erupts into sugary explosions.

“Majestic,” you comment.

“Wha...?! I will not be outdone!” Freddie seizes all the remaining Pop Rocks—both packs—and empties them into his mouth, then douses them with Coke. Dark fizzing soda and ruby crystals spew out of his nose. Roger throws back his head and cackles like a hyena as John launches balled-up napkins at Freddie. You ignore them and check on Brian, who is lounged sideways across five seats.

“How you doing, Bri?”

He groans in reply. You give him the orange juice and Ritz crackers.

“Eat, please, Bri.”

“I can’t. I’m dying.”

“You aren’t bloody dying!” Freddie sighs, exasperated, still mopping Coke off his face.

You lay the back of your hand against Brian’s forehead and frown. “You’re burning up, Mr. May.”

“I’ve got aspirin somewhere...” Roger says as he rummages through his luggage.

“He can’t have it. His liver’s still recovering, no over-the-counter meds.” You take two still-cold cans—your Mountain Dew and Bri’s orange juice—and press them to Brian’s cheeks. John, without speaking, lays his Coke against the back of Brian’s neck. “Think you can make it through a six-hour flight?”

Brian’s glassy eyes roam to you. “No offense, but I would literally rather be disemboweled by rabid opossums than spend another night in Boston.”

“Opossums very rarely contract rabies. But your point is noted. We’ll get you home.”

“Thank you,” Brian breathes, drained. “And thank you, John.”

“Not a problem.”

Freddie squats in front of Bri in skin-tight jeans littered with patches, brushes the mess of curls off Brian’s forehead, and pushes a Ritz cracker into his mouth. Brian grimaces but chews it reluctantly. Freddie grins. “You must be truly desperate to trust your wellbeing to Deaky.”

“He’s unexpectedly ferocious,” you warn Brian. “He ran off some creep at the snack stand. Kid could definitely murder you if he tried.”

“Yeah? Well done, Deaks!” Roger gives John a high-five, then aggressively ruffles his hair and growls. “Who’s my favorite little killer bassist?! Grrr. Grrrrrrrrr. Come on. Show me them pearly whites, Mack the Knife.”

John chomps at Roger’s hands in his very best impression of a shark. Roger laughs and yanks teasingly at John’s hair, his face lit up like the Boston Harbor on the Fourth of July.

The next time you look for Freddie, he’s disappeared. You finally spot him several seats away, bent over a notebook and scribbling furiously, snapping his fingers over and over again and murmuring to himself: “Killer bassist...killer woman...killer bitch...killer queen.”

~~~~~~~~~~

When boarding begins, Freddie and Roger practically carry Brian onto the plane. They drop him into a window seat and Brian promptly drapes a sweater over his head and falls asleep. You sit beside him and flip through a fashion magazine you found in the pocket on the back of the chair in front of you, but Roger keeps interrupting by ranking the pictured outfits on a scale of one to eleven.

“Why eleven?”

“Because I gave that neon yellow coat three pages ago a ten, but now I like these rainbow pants even more. So they have to be an eleven.”

“Okay Roger.”

Freddie and John sit in the row in front of you and alternate between scrawling in their notebooks—song lyrics for Freddie, sketches of some kind of amplifier for John—and tossing peanuts into each other’s mouths. John doesn’t speak to you, but he keeps glimpsing back between the seats like he’s considering it. When Roger gets up two hours in to take a smoke break and chase down extra peanut packets for Freddie, John finally turns around and peeks over his seat.

“Why don’t opossums get rabies?” he asks.

“That’s what’s on your mind?” you tease, sipping Mountain Dew.

“Maybe.”

“Okay. Buckle up. It’s technically possible for opossums to get rabies. But they have naturally super low body temperatures, like 94 or 95 degrees Fahrenheit. So the virus usually can’t survive in their system. Thus, squeaky clean opossums.”

“Well. Minus the ticks and fleas and dirt and rubbish and all that.”

“Most of the cute things in life are at least slightly grubby.”

“Like Roger Taylor.”

You laugh. “That man has definitely been submerged in garbage at some point.”

“You have no idea. But you have to learn to be a Londoner now. We wouldn’t say grubby, we’d say dodgy.”

“Dodgy. Got it.”

“Show me. Use it in a sentence.”

“Roger is super dodgy, while Brian is much less so. Jury’s still out on John.”

“Well done.” He applauds.

Now you reach out to touch his hair, like Roger did earlier; it’s impossibly soft and downy, comforting, almost homey. John smiles patiently. “You have fantastic bone structure, you know,” you tell him. “You should cut this off one day so people can see it.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely. But in the meantime...” You gently thread your fingertips through his locks, twirl a strand, observe that those blue-grey eyes that seemed steely back at the airport are now as soft and innocuous as morning fog. Roger reappears with his loot of peanut packets and gasps, pretending to be scandalized.

“What’s going on here?! Jesus, Deaks, I leave you alone for three minutes and you’ve got her all enamored with your soft cuddly exterior and latent homicidal tendencies.”

“It’s a winning combination.” John catches the peanuts that Roger hurls his way and turns to split them with Freddie.

You gaze up at Roger and beam. “Hey, dodgy Rogey.”

“Oh, you think that’s charming?” He slinks into his seat and drapes an arm across your shoulders. “You realize you’re one of us now, right? That makes you dodgy too.”

“As long as I don’t have to participate in any scandalous naked photoshoots.”

“Oh my god, that was one time! Freddie, Fred, hey, Freddie, why would you show her those...?!”

Hours later, when the plane hits the runway at Heathrow, Brian jolts awake and clutches for you like a staircase railing. He’s cooler to the touch now, appears less feverish, insists he feels better; nevertheless, Freddie and Roger escort him all through the airport like intense and sunglasses-armored Secret Service agents flanking Nixon, steadying him on escalators and dragging his luggage. As the five of you descend into the arrivals area, Freddie points to a group of young women and shrieks in delight, waves, blows flirtatious kisses all the way down the steps.  

“Freddie!” the blonde one calls, leaping in her heels and grinning enormously. She’s holding a large, glittery sign that reads: Welcome home, Queen! Freddie races to meet her, sweeps her off her feet, dips her halfway to the floor and kisses her deeply, theatrically. The blonde woman in his arms giggles and buries her fingers in his mane of shining black hair.

“Darling?” Freddie says, spinning to find you, flourishing his artful hands. “This is Mary Austin, the love of my life. Mary, this is our new best friend, Florence Nightingale.”

“Well,” you confess. “That’s not my actual name, obviously. It’s—”

“I quite like Florence Nightingale,” John says. “I’ve always fancied the name Florence. That’s where Dante was from. He was exiled during some political conflict and ended up bouncing around all over Italy. He eventually landed in Ravenna and finished The Divine Comedy there. By the time he died, he hadn’t seen Florence in twenty years. But Florence was always home.” He smiles at you in an off-kilter, crafty sort of way that tells you you’ve at last been admitted into the diminutive, highly selective circle of people that John calls friends; and you feel like you’ve won the lottery for the second time in forty-eight hours.

“Hmm,” Freddie replies, puzzled. Mary nods uncertainly. Then John turns to greet a petite auburn-haired girl in a simple turquoise sundress and with long, bone-white legs.

Brian pulls you away to introduce you to his girlfriend, the one he was always trying to call on the hospital phone. He rests his hands on your shoulders as he presents you. “Chrissie, I love this woman.”

Chrissie glowers and crosses her arms. “Oh.”

“Wait, no, sorry, I mean she saved my life. She was my nightshift nurse in Boston. I was completely lost before she found me, tremendously depressed. You know how I get. She’s come to London to look after me. Then we’re going to convince the record company to hire her as our travel nurse.”

“Oh!” Now Chrissie softens. She has wavy brunette hair, plump cheeks, marvelous wide-set blue eyes, a completely uncomplicated presence. She embraces you kindly, gratefully. “Thank you so much, love.”

“No, please, it was my pleasure! Bri is a perfect gentleman. And a genius. But you already know that.”

“Chris, I was hoping she could borrow our couch for a few days until she finds her own place...”

“Of course!” Chrissie replies, fussing with your hair, studying you, her mind roiling. “What’s ours is yours. But it’s not much, I’ll warn you.”

“I’ll pay rent. And cook and clean. I’ll be a certified house wench.”

Chrissie laughs, then screams as Brian staggers and collapses to the floor. “Bri—?!”

“He’s alright,” you announce calmly as everyone crowds around. You claw through your luggage, pull out an instant cold pack, crack it and press it to Brian’s forehead. He stirs and mumbles something about New Orleans. “Rog, can you flag down a taxi? We gotta get him home.”

“Sure, you got it.” Roger darts off. And as Chrissie, Freddie, Mary, John, and John’s girlfriend—whom you gather from their conversation is named Veronica—scuttle to reassure Brian and fetch him water, you lock stares with Josephine. Roger’s girlfriend—super casual, not exclusive, that’s what he told me—is beautiful and slim and tan and dark-eyed and, worse than all of that, palpably clever. She considers you silently, and what crosses through her pristine, heart-shaped face is not mere suspicion but knowing; and perhaps there is acceptance there as well.

No, not acceptance, you realize. Resignation. Disappointment. Powerlessness.

You tear your eyes away from Josephine and turn back to Brian: tilting a bottle of water against his lips, pulling him to his feet, fanning him with airplane tickets, leading him to a bench to wait for the taxi. The others help, oblivious to the shadow that has marauded through the room like an eclipse.

I won’t end up like her, you think to yourself with savage determination. I won’t let myself love him.

~~~~~~~~~~

Brian sinks into a plush orange lounge chair as you and Chrissie cart the luggage inside. You get a tour of their tiny apartment, shove your few remaining belongings beneath the couch where you now live, and drop into the plaid cushions, covering your face with your hands.

“Oh my god. I can’t believe I did this. I quit my job. I left Boston. I’m living on some random couple’s couch in London. Oh my god.”

“Hey,” Chrissie says warmly, lifting your chin. “We aren’t so random. We’re your friends. Maybe we’re even your destiny.”

“Jesus, you’re something out of a fairytale.”

“You’re the one who’s going to be cleaning my house, Cinderella.” Chrissie tosses a bag over her shoulder and heads for the door. “I have to swing by work and see if my students killed the substitute teacher today, will you two be alright here?”

“Of course,” you say. Brian gives her a groggy thumbs-up.

“Okay. Bye for now. Love you lots, Bri.”

“Love you,” Brian replies weakly. Chrissie departs into a bright London summer. Brian looks over at you sorrowfully, guiltily. “I miss New Orleans.”

“What do you miss about New Orleans, Bri?” You know Queen stopped there before they came to Boston, before they came into your life.

“Can I confess something to you?”

“Sure.”

He stares at the wall, vacant, acutely distressed. “I think I’m in love with a stripper called Peaches.”

“Oooookay.” You snatch up your purse and dash for the apartment door.

“Wait, no, really, I—”

“Don’t tell me about it. Call Roger or someone. Or, better yet, write a song about it and make some money so we can all have mansions with swimming pools one day. Do you need anything from that grocery store on the corner?”  

Brian sighs mournfully. “I suppose not.”

“Alright. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes. Then you’re getting homemade chicken noodle soup. Everything will be better now, Brian. I promise. Everything will go back to the way it should be. Now that you’re home. Now that you’re here.”

Brian echoes quietly to himself as you open the door and sunlight floods in: “Now I’m here.”

[incorrectnewsies]

Ben Fankhauser’s Insta Live story highlights (4/5) aka Ben’s Broadway Bistro 

So there’s a lot to unpack here. It’s an hour of footage. I only did the first half but this is still long af

You have 24 hours to rewatch it on his instagram story (plznfanku) but there were also some lovely people who recorded it and have posted it either on here or on youtube (I don’t have any links so feel free to reblog/comment with them)

- his little wave when he’s playing piano (and he’s so good wtf) 

- I love how happy and joyful he looks while performing, even to a simple camera and Kyle 

- if you don’t know who Kyle is, he’s his roommate and bestie and let me tell you, Kyle was amazing

- when the song he’s singing (idk what it was sorry) changes tempo and becomes all upbeat he just radiates sunshine I love him!!!!

- glad to say he still owns the title of “riff daddy”

- admitting he’s terrible at Instagram HA 

- his little spin and snap 

- ”we’re making breakfast” 

- 2 seconds later, someone commenting: “what are we making?”

- Ben Fank: “we’re making breakfast”

- YES BEN BABY BUT WHAT BREAKFAST FOOD ARE WE MAKING

- “that’s how I’m getting through this corona virus. Coffee, I guess.” 

- “let me tell you about oven bacon. merp merp merp merp muow” yes tell me about oven bacon

- “set your oven to 380 degrees. Why 380 degress? Cause I’m a random motherfu err” he says when he said shit a minute earlier

- “*quoting a comment* an erster. Mkay, okay I see you.”

- he asks for tips from chefs like three times 

- shows off his 3D Illuminati pepper 

- intermission: show some love for Kyle!!!! 

- has great cutting technique (you curl your fingertips in slightly on top of what you’re cutting to keep your fingertips from being under the knife)

- precision + Ben Fank = a match made in heaven 

- Kyle flipping the camera on himself by accident 

- favorite song from Newsies: Carrying the Banner + clapping and a salsa dance 

- sort of sad because Ben doesn’t sing in that song :( 

- he talks with his hands and with his facial expressions so much wow I love

- little wink wink ;)

- everyone asking him to sing Poor Guys Head is Spinning (abbreviated PGHIS) with Alex Wong encouraging everyone

- he acknowledges them and then goes on to ignore them LMFAO

- Ben (sort of, not really) wanting to be Evan Hansen shakes me to MY CORE the power that could cause...

- okay... like... this man I mean I know he is literally Davey Jacobs BUT HE IS LITERALLY DAVEY JACOBS

- “tall ass potato”

- he stops everything to make sure it is shown how he cuts his potatoes

- intermission: gratitude towards first responders  ❤️

- the way he looks up while talking about burritos is really cute but also lmao 

- when he’s asked his favorite dog breed: “oooooOHHHHHHHH”

- “Y’all are literally watching me cut potatoes” YES AND WE DON’T REGRET A THING

- “wITH preCISION” 

- doesn’t know what kind of potato he’s working with (gold potatoes, Ben. Gold potatoes) 

- “y’all didn’t think you’d get this closeup to my *haaaaands*

- “can y’all appreciate the precision? Cause I can.”

- Intermission: I am once again asking for your cooking tips

- Kyle: “Someone wants to know what’s your favorite thing about Kyle?” Ben: *high pitched* Is that for real?”

- he goes on to talk about how Kyle is tech savy and rigged up their apartment instead of talking about his personality or qualities lmao

- his little sneeze and spin, also people telling him to wash his hands afterwards

- calls himself a grandpa 

- his mom sent him to theatre camp when he was a LAD

- “this is getting pretty hot” he says with a head bob

- also gets excited that we got a look at Kyle when he accidently switches the camera onto him

- everyone commenting about the bacon because he hasn’t checked on it since the start of the video

- doesn’t know how much olive oil he put in his pan but it must cover the bottom

- “hot grEEse”

- *vegetables sizzle when he puts them in oiled pan* “that’s the sound when you make a really good zinger at a friend and you walk away it’s like zzzz” *snaps*

- I want to know when he went to Bryant Park Christmas market because I was there this year and if he was there when I was there and didn’t know I would scream

- “this water is a beralin” 

- you can see how proud he is of his potatoes when he puts them into the water

- calls the boiling water water, then grEEse, then water again

- intermission: condolences to people who have had their plays and musicals canceled because of Corona virus 

- his profile is so nice w o w

- uses the same spoon to stir the vegetables to stir the potatoes because he’s a “dirty birdie” 

- demands for the PGHIS in the comment section (led by Alex Wong again)

- his favorite yiddish slang word is slamazel (might have spelt that wrong)

- intermission: love for the Flamingo Kid 

- checks on the bacon finally

- *talking about bacon* “you like it crisp or what? If you don’t like it crisp begone.” (favorite quote of the video)

- him and his grubby lil fingers

- *talking about Ozark* “wuufh wuufh! it’s great”

- gets sort of bashful about talking about him playing poker hehe

- the way he “walks down the street”

- *Ben goes offscreen* question: what’s you go to hand washing song?” Ben *slides back onscreen with a smile on his face* I’m going to play it for you

- couldn’t think to describe his potatoes as hard

- *bacon pops* “Did you hear that? This bacon is trying to sass me! Did you hear that?”

- messes up the abbreviation for PGHIS a couple of times

- his little “poor” when he’s trying to figure out what he wants to do 🥺!!!!!! 

- I’m sure you heard his performance already. Amazing.

Okay that was the halfway point of the video so if you want me to do the other part lmk haha

[prince-claremont-diaz]

étoiles et fleurs

Summary: Lucas is next in line for the throne, about to be engaged to marry a young noble woman and he hates it. That is, until he runs into the curious florist, Eliott, on a walk through the city. Lucas has little choices in life, but will one of them be Eliott?

Word count: 2.9k

Warnings: none 

Ao3 version

i.

Lucas hushed the other boy as his back hit the stone wall, a laugh tumbling out of the boy's pale pink lips. He ignored Lucas in favour of pressing him harder into the wall, kissing him hard on the lips. Stunned, Lucas kept his eyes wide open but kissed the other boy back fervently. His heart hammered inside his chest, sending blood rushing through his head until it was almost spinning. A muffled groan erupted from his throat as the boy's mouth moved from his lips to his throat, sucking a bruise into his pale skin.

"No marks!" Lucas blurted, coming to his senses and pushing the boy's face away from his neck. He stumbled back, eyebrows furrowed as he frowned at Lucas in confusion and protest. "For fucks sake, you idiot, it's illegal," he countered, rolling his eyes.

"So? Would it not be worth it?" he replied, arching a seductive eyebrow. His fingers were idly fumbling around, finding his hips like they fit. He leaned in, mouth barely a centimetre from Lucas' ear as he whispered, "Would I not be worth it?"

Lucas huffed, rolling his eyes out of sight of the other boy. "I won't lie to you. It probably wouldn't be worth hanging for you," he remarked, allowing the other's hands to wander further south. "Which is why—" he lifted the other boy's chin to face him abruptly, "—no marks can be left. Got it?"

"Whatever you say your highness." Lucas scoffed, slapping his chest.

"You know I hate being called that E—" Lucas began to complain before halting as a palm pressed into his crotch. "Fuck."

This continued for another few minutes, both boys kissing and grinding against the stone wall, only the faint glow of the lanterns along the corridor lighting them. Lucas was starting to get into it, kissing back with ease, barely aware of his grubby surroundings.

That is, until he heard footsteps followed shortly by a cleared throat. "Shit," Lucas groaned, shoving the other boy off of him and turning towards the sound. "Oh come on, Manon. Really?" he whined, scowling at the girl standing in the glow of the lanterns.

"Really, Lucas?" Manon mocked, aiming a curious and slightly disapproving glance at the disheveled looking Edward who was leaning against the opposite wall. She waved a half-hearted hand towards Edward who promptly slid away, disappearing down the dim corridor. Once Edward was gone, Manon grabbed one of Lucas' wrists and began yanking him behind him down the hallway, the long sleeve of her scarlet nightgown falling over his hand. "You know, you're lucky it was just me who found you fraternising with a servant boy and not… literally anyone else. Are you an idiot?" Manon was saying, dragging Lucas up a spiral staircase, pouting.

Once they reached the floor Lucas' room was located, he pulled his wrist free of his sister's grasp, scowling. "What were you doing down there anyway? I thought your quarters were on the other side of the castle?" Lucas stated, avidly avoiding Manon's comments. He was well aware of his stupidity.

Manon sighed, giving him a pointed look. "They are. Glad you remembered," Manon replied, "I couldn't sleep, so I was going for a walk. Can't say I was expecting to find that waiting for me in the usually abandoned corridor." She gestured vaguely towards the spiral staircase situated behind where they were standing in the middle of the hall.

"Oh, don't be such a nosy git. It was barely even that interesting," Lucas snapped, crossing his arms over his chest, frown deepening. Manon opened her mouth to reply, but Lucas cut her off. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to bed." And without pause for a reply, Lucas spun on his heels and strode away down the carpeted hallway, not even glancing over his shoulder at Manon standing alone in the middle of the hallway.

Lucas entered his bedroom chamber in a huff, letting the door slam shut behind him, the noise echoing through the hall. He was muttering to himself about family and 'nosy pricks' as he climbed into his four poster bed, burrowing up to his chin under the heavy blue blankets. His room was deathly silent in the midnight air, not even his pet Pomeranian stirring in her bed. It was almost unsettling.

As he began to calm down, turned onto his side to look towards the window across from him, Lucas was filled with regret at his conversation with Manon. Lucas was well known throughout both the castle and the kingdom as an irritable and angsty boy, but he hated to be like that with Manon. She was just about the only family member he had that didn't have issues with him. His father never viewed him as good enough and his mother was always ill, paying no attention to him because of her mental health. Manon, however, always gave him attention.

Of all the people Lucas had problems with in that castle, Manon would never be one of them.

♤

The next morning dawned far too soon for how late he finally fell asleep. He was half buried under the covers, pillow over his head, when one of the servants threw open the curtains to wake him up. As the bright sunlight burned his eyes, Lucas groaned and burrowed deeper under the covers. "Fuck off," he grumbled, muffled under the fabric.

"Sir, you have business to attend to. You are meeting with the Jeanson family today. Their daughter, Chloé, could become your wife someday," insisted the familiar voice of Alexia. Lucas groaned again, rolling over onto his back and covering his face with his arm. "Look, I know you have no interest in marriage, but you unfortunately have to," Alexia continued, voice softening. She was another of the few people that treated Lucas like more of a friend than an irritating master.

"Do I really have to go meet them? Can't I just sleep in for once?" Lucas whined, peeking out from the crook of his elbow.

Alexia rolled her eyes and flicked his leg, making Lucas yelp into a seated position. "Unfortunately, sir, you have to meet with them. Potential future in-laws and all that," she replied, going into his closet to grab him a selection of outfits.

"Are they that important of a family?" Lucas asked vaguely as Alexia returned with a bundle of fabrics of many colours. "Like are they absolutely critical to avoid a war or whatever?"

Alexia snorted, putting his clothes at the foot of the bed. "Fuck if I know. I never pay any attention to politics," she replied, standing with her hands on her hips. "Now get dressed into something pretty. Don't want another argument with His Magesty, do you?" Lucas flipped her off, grabbing one of his pillows and tossing it her way. She guffawed, dodging out of the way. The pillow landed with a heavy thud just next to his sleeping dog, Ouba, who startled awake, barking loudly.

"Sorry, Ouba," Lucas said, resigning himself to getting out of bed and searching through his clothes for a decent yet zero-fucks-given outfit to wear. "You're lucky you're not next in line for a dog throne," Lucas grumbled, pointing at Ouba who was now staring at him from her bed, tail wagging excitedly.

"Or if only I wasn't next in line for a real throne," he mumbled to himself, looking in the mirror by the window.

♤

An hour later, Lucas made his way downstairs to the main hall where the rest of his family was. He decided on wearing black dress trousers, a white button down, pale yellow waistcoat and a navy blue tailcoat that swished behind him as he walked. He was greeted outside the doors to the main hall by two of the usual servants who bowed their heads and opened the doors for him. He muttered his thanks and stepped inside.

The main hall was pretty obsolete in Lucas' opinion. It was just a massive empty room with a few thrones at the end. The cool stone floor had a massive blood red carpet running from the doors all the way to the thrones. It had a high ceiling with stained glass windows on all sides of the top of the ceiling, spilling a rainbow kaleidoscope of luminescence onto the ground and up the walls and depicting romanticized depictions of the history of their family. The back wall of the room had a massive family coat of arms on a huge textile piece, hanging from the ceiling. Besides the carpet and thrones, the room was empty of furnishing or interests.

The rest of Lucas' family was standing waiting for him inside the main hall. Manon, dressed in a long scarlet dress with purple ribbons on her corset, was standing alongside their mother, who was standing next to their father. The king, as usual these days, was already scowling at Lucas, arms crossed and jaw set. Lucas heaved a sigh, walking down the carpet towards the rest of his family.

"So good of you to finally join us, Lucas," he said just as Lucas reached the end of the carpet and shuffled in beside his sister. "The guests will be here any second and your hair is still standing up everywhere." Lucas opened his mouth to protest, shutting it when his father snapped his fingers sharply to summon one of the attendants to come and fix his hair.

Just as she finished flattening his hair as best as she could, the doors to the hall swung open and a man dressed in bright bottle green robes entered. He cleared his throat before announcing, "Introducing the Jeanson family of Marseille; Earl Claudius, his wife Countess Sofia and their daughter Chloé."

Chloé was very pretty, Lucas would admit. She had long dark brown hair which cascaded down her back, half pulled back with a braided bun and bright friendly eyes. She was dressed in a ruffled cream dress with pink accents and a matching hat, complimenting her figure nicely. If she was closer to Lucas' type, he could see the appeal in someone like her.

"What a beautiful name. Chloé," Lucas remarked, testing her name out on his lips. Chloé giggled girlishly, grinning as Lucas took one of her hands and kissed the back of it. He winked as he let go, letting his grasp linger slightly.

Chloé tucked a loose strand of hair behind one of her ears, blinking flirtatiously. Lucas could vomit. "It's lovely to make your acquaintance, your Royal Highness," she greeted cheerfully.

"I insist it's even lovelier to make yours," he replied smoothly, winking once again. She blushed scarlet, eyes darting to the floor, sheepish smile on her face. She's way too easy to flirt with Lucas thought to himself, forcing a smile at her.

Lucas glanced at the rest of his family who were all gaping at him, not even bothering to hide their shock at Lucas' reaction. Lucas caught his father's eye who shook himself off, coming to his senses and clearing his throat. He turned to the Earl and Countess, training his face into an amicable smile. "Shall we leave these two to get to know each other? I would love to show you the grounds…" the king said, turning to the Jeansons.

Manon caught his eye as they exited, arching a single eyebrow and mouthing, "Really?" Lucas couldn't agree more, but knew he had to put on a show.

And then Lucas and Chloé were left alone in the empty main hall.

"So, what are we doing now?" Chloé asked once the door shut behind the others, eyes wide with curiosity. "We could visit the gardens. I saw them when we came in and they look so pretty!" she suggested cheerfully.

"Are you up for an adventure?" Lucas asked instead, eyebrows raised. He offered her his arm to link, which she did, smiling sweetly, cheeks rosy.

"What kind of adventure?" she asked, following Lucas out into the entrance hall. Lucas raised his eyebrows teasingly, holding a finger up to his lips and pulling her out through the front doors and out of the castle, crossing the front lawn at a jog.

"It's a surprise."

♤

The city centre was only a ten minute walk from the entrance to the castle. Situated at the bottom of a small hill, the town had cobblestone streets which twisted and turned, overlapping unevenly as each individual building was situated. There were market stalls all along the road, selling fruits and vegetables and flowers and anything else from trinkets to pots and pans. Washing lines hung between buildings, dresses and shirts and trousers dangling from above, swaying in the light spring breeze. Children chased after dogs and threw balls, people called to each other from windows and in the road and people tried to sell their goods in the market stalls. It was the kind of chaos Lucas didn't get the privilege of seeing often back at the castle where everything was planned to a T.

"This is wonderful! Do you visit here often?" Chloé was ecstatic, looking around the street with a wide grin on her face, waving to a little girl with blonde pigtails chasing after a ball.

Lucas shook his head, pulling Chloé along the street by her hand, looking around the beautiful chaos around him. "Not really. They don't let me leave the castle at all, most of the time," Lucas explained somewhat sadly.

Chloé was in the midst of babbling about—well, Lucas didn't really know—as they wandered from side street to side street, when they came upon another market stall. This one was selling thousands of beautiful flowers, all spilling out of their baskets, bright petals catching the eye as bumble bees bobbed around them. Lucas was about to pull Chloé off towards a bakery he knew had good pastries when he glanced up at the florist and felt his heart thud onto the cobblestones.

He was even more gorgeous than the flowers he sold.

Lucas paused, staring at the stall from the side street, still holding onto Chloé. The man selling flowers stared right back. He had messy wavy brown hair and sharp cheekbones, gaze intense even from several metres away. He was dressed simply in a collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up and tartan trousers, sorting a bouquet of Eucharis and Calla lilies into a yellow bow.

"What is it?" Chloé asked at the sudden stop, almost tripping over her shoes. She followed Lucas' stare over to the flower stand, cheeks flushing.

"Come along. Let me get you an arrangement," Lucas suggested, pulling Chloé over to the stand by her elbow, heart hammering in his chest cavity. Could other people hear it as he could?

They stopped just short of the stall, looking over the flowers on show. At least Chloé was. "Good afternoon. Are you looking for anything in particular today?" The man behind the stall asked, looking right at Lucas with the clearest blue eyes Lucas had seen. You could go swimming in those eyes.

"What about a surprise? What do you think suits her best?" Lucas asked, raising an eyebrow, staring right back at the man.

The man's eyes lit up, grin broadening on his face so much his eyes crinkled. "That sounds wonderful," he replied, turning to look at Chloé for the first time. She looked back and forth between the two boys, blinking rapidly, eyelashes fluttering. The man narrowed his eyes, furrowed his brows and stared Chloé down, seeming to really think about his choice. After a moment, he seemed to have made up his mind, plucking various flowers out of the baskets to sort into a small bouquet.

After another few minutes, he held up an arrangement of lavender, magnolias and a few red geraniums. Lucas glanced at the various flowers, barely able to stifle a snort as the man handed over the flowers, tied neatly with a turquoise ribbon. He caught the man's eye and unless Lucas was very much mistaken, the florist smirked.

"How much?" Lucas asked, peeling his gaze away from the florist finally to watch Chloé sniffing the flowers contentedly.

"For the beautiful magnolia girl? Free of charge," the man replied. As soon as Chloé was looking down, the man caught Lucas' eye and winked.

Lucas sputtered slightly, cheeks flushing and eyes widening. He glanced at Chloé, looking stunned and bashful and cleared his throat. "That's very generous of you, sir! But I insist I can afford it." Lucas pulled his wallet out of his coat pocket, rifling through the change.

The man sighed. "Fine. That'll be 5 francs, please, sir," the man replied, somewhat resentful as he held out his hand to collect the change from Lucas. Their hands brushed as he handed over 10 francs, insisting he kept the change. "Enjoy the rest of your day."

"You too!" Chloé chimed, yanking excitedly on Lucas' arm.

"Thank you, sir," Lucas called over his shoulder. He dared a wink at the gentleman, priding himself when his cheeks turned a faint pink and his gaze fell back to his flowers, a smile peeking from his lips.

"He was nice," Chloé said after a few moments of silence, walking along the street and periodically sniffing the flower arrangement.

Lucas nodded distractedly, still thinking back to the way the man smiled. "Yeah. Yeah he was…" he replied quietly, glancing over his shoulder one last time to find the man watching them go.

He would have to come back to the village more often.

[theentiregdtime]

bleasse can u write dee and dennis getting rlly high n coming out to eachother or dee somehow finding out mac and dennis r together 😳

PHILADELPHIA, PA

8:00 P.M.ON A FRIDAY

“Damn it, Deandra, what in the shit are you talking about?”

“Yeah, Dee, I’m not following this at all. But it’s getting late, and we haven’t had any customers since noon, so I was thinking me and Frank could just leave-”

“No, no one is leaving, okay?” Dee insists. “I called a meeting and you two are going to shut up and listen to me for once!”

Frank and Charlie exchange a glance. Charlie looks like he’s willing to make a run for it if they both do, and Frank is frowning at him like he knows there’s no way out. They’re not saying anything, but they always seem to know what the other is thinking- they have this weird, creepy telepathy thing.

“So…” Charlie whistles, gaping at Dee like like he thinks she might blow up at any moment (she might), “what’s up?”

“Is this about the ladies’ night thing? ‘Cause we already voted on that.” Frank waves his stubby, little arms through the air. “We get it, Deandra, you want puss, but we can’t just go givin’ out free drinks, this ain’t a charity!”

“For the love of-” Dee snarls in her throat and rubs at her face. She’s going to kill them. She’s going to kill all of them. But she can’t kill them yet, at least not for a couple more years, not until she knows she can get away with it- so she regains her composure with and sighs. Her bangs are all ruffled now. “That’s not what this is about. It’s about this.”

She holds her phone out for Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum to see.

“What am I looking at?”

“Well, Frank, she took a picture of a phone with her phone, which is cool, definitely worth the wait, but what would be even better is if we got a third phone and-”

“Not the phone, you boobs!” Dee spits. “The text!”

Charlie swipes her cell to squint at the picture.

“It’s… It says… milk…”

Frank pats Charlie’s shoulder and takes the phone from his hands. He adjusts his glasses and puts it up to his face- like, right up to his face. Like, he definitely has to be too close to read it now. Any closer and it’ll literally be on his face.

Again, Dee is going to kill them.

“Meet you at 9. Don’t say anything to Dee or Charlie. This is the best thing ever and I don’t want them to ruin it.” Frank pokes the screen. “Then there’s some sort of little yellow man smiling at me-”

“Give me that!” Dee snatches the phone back from Frank’s fat, grubby fingers. “The point is, Mac and Dennis are up to something and they don’t want us to know.”

“Yeah, okay, but why did you read Dennis’ texts…?” Charlie asks.

“Yeah, that’s shitty etiquette. You never know what Donald could be texting about- could be you see somethin’ you don’t wanna see.”

“It’s Dennis,” Dee corrects him knowing damn well he’ll re-forget within the hour, “and he left it on the bar! That’s fair game!”

“I don’t know.” Charlie shrugs. “I’m kind of starting not to take your side anymore, it’s like, you’re the bad guy here…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Frank agrees, talking with his mouth full and spitting crumbs. What is he even chewing? Is he eating loose saltines out of his pocket? “No one likes a sneaky bitch.”

Dee pinches the bridge of her nose.

She’s wasting her night for this! And why? So she can save the bar and keep these two dick nips in business? She should just walk right on out of here, pour some gasoline, light a match, burn them and this whole place down, go home, put on her pajamas, watch a movie…

She opens her eyes and remembers that she’s still in the back office, and she still hasn’t gotten her point across to these rabid weasel men.

“Listen, you little shit brains.” Dee pounds a fist on the desk. “I think it’s very obvious what’s happening here.”

Charlie nods. “Well, yeah, it’s been-”

“Mac and Dennis are selling the bar.”

Frank chokes on a cracker, hacks it back up, and swallows hard.

“Selling the bar? They only own half the damn thing!”

“Yeah, and like,” Charlie cuts in, “why would they sell it? I mean, what would we even do all day?”

“Look, I don’t know exactly how or why, but I think it’s pretty obvious what’s going on. They’re meeting with someone tonight and they’re gonna get rich off this deal and leave the rest of us out of it- and if it’s the best thing that ever happened, then it must be a shitload of money.”

Dee would actually be thrilled to get out of this dump. It’d finally give her the chance to focus on her acting career. She could leave these jerkwads behind, move away from this garbage town, meet some refined people who don’t consider chocolate mints high-class living… But she needs her cut, they owe her her cut.

Even if she doesn’t technically own any shares of the bar, those sons of bitches owe her for putting up with them and their stupid schemes and their verbal abuse for years and years and years. She could give a shit about what happens to Frank and Charlie, but she needs them on her side for this, or she’s never going to get anywhere.

“But I’ve got a plan. I turned on Dennis’ location sharing weeks ago and he hasn’t noticed, so we can track him and-”

“Jeez, Dee, what the hell is this?”

“You are not coming out on top here, Deandra.”

“I mean, this is saying more about you than Mac and Dennis.”

“Just- Shut up for five minutes!” Dee yelps, then switches to squatting and baby-talking down to them. “Can you do that? Can you shut your mouths for five whole minutes while I talk? Or do you want to be out of a job? Do you want to live in the sewers? Do you? Huh?”

Neither of them gives her any lip.

“Good. Now, Dennis should arrive wherever they’re meeting in about,” -she glances at the clock- “forty-five minutes, which gives us just enough time to stop by my apartment, work on some disguises, figure out our characters-”

“Wait- Wh- Our characters?” Charlie stammers.

“Well, yeah. See, we need to intercept the deal, disguise ourselves as Paddy’s customers… you know, tell some stories about what a piece of shit the bar is!” Dee throws her hands in the air. “It’ll be easy, because the bar is a piece of shit.”

Frank raises a skeptical eyebrow. “So to save the bar… we’re gonna make everyone hate the bar. Do you hear yourself right now?”

“Oh, like it’s going to jeopardize our flourishing business.” Dee paces to the other side of the room. “I bet no one’s even in here right now, and if they are, we sure as shit aren’t serving them!”

Dee swings the door open and peeks out into the bar. Aside from one of the regulars fast asleep in a booth (he’s old, he mostly comes here to nap), there’s only one customer. He notices Dee and perks up, waving in her direction.

“Hey, can I get a Jack and Coke, or…?”

“Can’t you see I’m busy?” she snaps and slams the door shut, spinning back around to finish detailing her plan.

“Anyways, here’s what I’m thinking…”

—–

“This is so cool.”

Dennis glances up from his Riesling to find Mac gawking at him across the table. He has both elbows on it like some sort of barbarian, leaning forward onto his arms and grinning so wide that it tugs at the wrinkles around his eyes. He looks completely normal, and not at all like Jack Nicholson in The Shining.

“It’s, aha…” -he chuckles and sets his glass down- “the same as it always is.”

“Well, I know, but it’s… different now.” Mac reaches across the table and brushes their fingers together, just the ghost of a touch. He leans on his free hand and makes a face like his entire brain has turned to mashed potatoes and all that’s left is Dennis. Dennis pretends to think it’s stupid. “S'awesome.”

Mac’s right, it isn’t the same, not exactly. All of the usual pieces are there. Everything is as it is every month- the uncomfortable chairs are the same, the wait staff is the same (he assumes, he can never remember), the menu is the same, and they’ll spend twenty minutes looking at it before ordering the same meals they always do.

The only thing that separates this from a regular monthly dinner is that little feeling in Dennis’ chest like something is swirling around inside of him, like something’s been filled- like it’s overflowing, in fact- and it’s going to spill out of him at any moment. It’s a good feeling, surprisingly. The air conditioner is blasting directly on his back, and his chair is wobbly, but he’s warmer and more comfortable than he’s ever been in his life.

“You know, I was thinking…”

“Are we ready to order-”

“Begone!” Dennis snaps at the waiter, flitting a hand through the air in a shooing motion. “Can’t you see we’re busy here?”

“Yeah, don’t interrupt my boyfriend, asshole!” Mac shouts so loudly that people five tables from them turn their heads. He seems so giddy to say it that he can hardly keep still in his seat.

The waiter rolls his eyes, huffs, and stomps away. He’s mumbling something under his breath, and typically, Dennis would demand he turn around and say it to his face like a man, but it’s not worth it tonight.

“See, that’s what I’m talking about!” Mac all but giggles. “That was badass, dude.”

“You know what? It was.” Dennis drinks the last sip of his wine, then holds the glass out over the edge of the table. “But the service here is absolutely unacceptable, I mean, have you even seen a waiter?”

—–

It’s almost 9:20 when they arrive at Guigino’s.

They would have made it on time if not for Frank and Charlie changing costumes every ten seconds. They didn’t listen to Dee’s suggestions at all. Why listen to her? That would almost make too much sense, it would be too reasonable.

In the end, they seem pretty happy with what they’ve settled on.

Frank is wearing a dark wig, a feather boa, and what he thought was a very expensive dress, but is in fact a red bathrobe- and to make matters worse, he has his Crocs on under it. Charlie’s sporting a purple suit with too-small sleeves and pretending to smoke from a pipe. They’ve single-handedly managed to make themselves the two most conspicuous people on the planet, but Dee couldn’t change their minds. They said if they were going to do this whole mystery thing, they really wanted to pull the classy Clue vibe.

So Dee is the only one dressed like an actual waiter, rocking a fake mustache (not that you can tell) and a three-piece suit she thinks matches the Guigino’s attire (she can never remember what the wait staff looks like). She’s got it all planned out. She’s going to intercept orders, drop in on Mac and Dennis’ little exchange, and get some patrons talking about what a shithole Paddy’s Pub is.

And Frank and Charlie are going to do… whatever it is that they’re doing.

Before they go their separate ways, they duck in front of one of the windows and peer inside. It’s a crowded night, which is good- it’ll make it easier for them to blend in. Dee scans the restaurant until she spots Mac and Dennis seated near the kitchen.

“What the hell, why are they alone?” Dee whispers, her breath fogging up the glass.

“Well, maybe they’re just on a-”

“They must be keeping it on the down-low,” Frank cuts Charlie off. “Don’t want to be seen together.”

“That doesn’t make any sense, how would they even communicate?”

“I don’t know, through the waiter or something. You know, passin’ notes, sendin’ messages- encrypted messages. They buy their table fish, that’s code for let’s make this deal, they have ‘em bring the chicken instead, that’s like, how about you up the ante a little bit?”

Goddamn it. These goddamn sons of bitches. They’re going to tank this whole thing before it begins, they aren’t helping at all, and Charlie is actually pretending to take puffs on the pipe even though there’s no one out here!

“What are you talking about?” Dee asks, knowing it’s futile before she even finishes the question.

“The chicken is sub-par, Deandra.”

“Yeah, everybody knows that,” Charlie agrees.

“It’s very dry.”

“No, about the secret messages!” she hisses.

Frank shrugs. “All I’m saying is, must be some pretty high-profile characters.”

Dee isn’t so sure there’s a sale happening anymore. There’s definitely something going on, but she doesn’t know what it is. Looking in, it kind of seems like it’s just one of their lame monthly dinners, but there must be something else… and she’s going to have to figure it out on her own.

But she’s not completely alone. She and her character, Alfredo, a waiter with a dark past who can take any order but the order of his own heart, who can clear any table but can’t turn the tables of fate, are in this together.

“You guys go do your Nancy Drew thing or whatever.” Dee stands up and twirls the tip of her mustache. “I’m going to hit this place from the back.”

—–

Frank and Charlie make their way inside as Dee sneaks around through the back entrance and into the kitchen. They look pretty damn classy, if Frank says so himself.

Dressed like this, they can sit at any table they want and blend right in with the rich folk. Frank should know, he used to be one of them- he knows how to look the part.

His Crocs squeak against the tile with every step up to the hostess’ podium.

“Good even-”

“Yes, darling!” Frank announces and flips his hair. “I’m Miss Scarlett, and this is my lover, Professor-”

“Professor Purple,” Charlie finishes his sentence for him, taking a drag from his pipe.

“It’s Plum, Charlie,” Frank whispers.

“What the hell is a plum?”

“It’s a fruit.”

“That doesn’t sound right. That’s not a thing.”

“Anyways!” Frank turns back to the hostess, voice booming again. “We’re meeting with some associates, so if you don’t mind, we’ll just make our way to their table.”

Before she can object, they’ve already passed the podium and are approaching the nearest family. They’ve got to start somewhere, so they might as well go in order. After all, you can never know an undercover agent just from looking at ‘em. They invade right under your nose, like Red Dawn.

They drag a couple of empty chairs up to the first table, a suspiciously average-looking couple with a small child (they’re starting younger and younger, these child spies). The scooting noise echoes through the restaurant, and it’s loud as shit, but Frank isn’t picking a chair up off the ground- not with his nails freshly-cleaned.

“Boy,” he starts as they both plop themselves down, “have we had a rough night.”

The supposed 'mother’ narrows her eyes at them. “I’m sorry, who are…?”

“We just came in from Paddy’s Pub,” Charlie elaborates, crossing his legs and taking another fake puff. He looks fancy as shit. “Let me tell ya’, that place is a hole- literally! There are glory holes in every wall!”

The woman gasps. The man beside her pulls their alleged child towards him and covers his ears.

“I got bit by a rat there once,” Frank says, “now look at me- I’m covered in hair! And I used to be beautiful.”

“Yeah, and this is just the hair you can see,” Charlie adds.

“Here,” Frank hikes up his skirt and lifts his leg up, with a bit of a struggle, on top of the table. His heel lands in a very warm carbonara. “Let me show ya’ my ankles.”

—–

Dee pokes her head out of the kitchen door, a plate of fried artichokes or some shit in her hand. She’s close enough to Mac and Dennis that she can mostly make out their conversation over the clattering and steaming noises in the room.

“I don’t know, I was just surprised you didn’t want to tell them,” Dennis is saying. “I assumed you’d be screaming about it every day for a week.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to, Dennis, but you know how they are, they’re gonna be jealous of us, 'cause they’re all sad and alone, and they’re gonna be total assholes about it.”

This is it. This is going somewhere. Dee picks one of the breaded green things off the plate and pops it in her mouth. It’s mushy and it tastes like the underside of a pickled boot.

“So what? Since when do you care?”

“I’m just- I’m worried they’re gonna talk you out of it.”

A pause.

“Mac, baby, this has been a long time coming, nothing is going to-”

Dee misses the rest when a waiter bumps into her from behind. Fuck.

“Oh, uh, excuse me,” she says in her gruffest voice, standing up straight. She brushes the panko crumbs out of her mustache.

The waiter is just squinting at her for some reason- perv.

“Do I know you…?” he asks.

“Not possible,” Dee answers, shaking her head. “I just started here yesterday. And before that…” -she gazes into the distance- “well, that’s a story of another time, another place, a story of love and betrayal and murder-”

“You know what? I don’t care.” The waiter pushes past her and stops at Mac and Dennis’ table.

What an asshole. If he were the one talking, she’d listen to him! That goddamn jerk! She should teach him a lesson. If she weren’t so busy with this mission, she’d pants him or tie his shoelaces together or something.

This is a problem, too. If he’s Mac and Dennis’ waiter, Dee is never going to be able to spy on them without him calling her out.

She sneaks past the three of them and stops beside a family a few tables down, setting the cursed plate of artichokes between them.

“Your appetizer,” she grumbles.

“We didn’t have a-”

“It’s on the house. They’re fantastic, you’re gonna love 'em, they taste nothing at all like a live octopus.”

Dee stays put at the end of their table, trying to listen in on the conversation. They’re still talking to the waiter- they always have so many goddamn questions. They can’t just order food, no, that would be too simple, it’s always what’s the soup of the day and can you make me Tuesday’s soup instead and how fresh is the fish and where are the tomatoes in your bolognese from?

“Did you… need something or…?” the man at the table questions.

“Shh,” she hushes him without looking.

They’re discussing their little scheme again, but Dee can’t make out what they’re saying. Damn it. She’s going to have to get closer.

She swipes a carafe of water and winds around the half-wall, shimmying down until she’s hidden by one of the faux plants. She pretends to water it, pouring cold chunks of ice down into the pot as she eavesdrops.

“I just can’t believe it took so long.”

“Well, maybe if you hadn’t spent the better part of your life raving about how sinful and unnatural- Why are you picking off my salad? You hate salad.”

“Yeah, but I like croutons, dude. You should have asked for chicken on this.”

“That’s absurd, Mac, everybody knows the chicken here is sub-par.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Dee catches a red blob and a purple blob whipping across the restaurant. They’re making it hard for her to focus. She turns to watch them for a second, and in that short time, witnesses Charlie eating spaghetti with his hands and Frank showing a very uncomfortable-looking woman his teeth.

“Oh, goddamn it!” she whispers.

Dee was going to leave them to their own devices, but they’re going to make a scene and get themselves kicked out. If Mac and Dennis spot them, they’re going to know Dee’s here, too, even if she’s wearing an incredible disguise. She can’t let that happen- she’s going to have to go interfere.

—–

“So…” -Charlie picks up a spaghetti noodle and drops it into his mouth, sauce dripping onto his shirt- “which one of you gentlemen is looking to make a deal?”

He’s managed to ditch Frank, who’s started with this weird 'the beer at Paddy’s shrinks your teeth’ angle, and has decided to act out his own plan instead. See, he has a good thing going at the bar, but these are some very money-having people they’re talking to, people looking for investments, people with lots and lots of shiny coins… and Charlie has plenty of ideas.

The well-dressed men across the table exchange a look, then turn back to him with their hands folded.

“We’re listening,” one of them says. He has a funny voice- he sounds like an evil cat.

This is new. Charlie almost doesn’t know where to go from here. The last three groups asked him to leave or threatened to have him kicked out, and he’d bounced between them with a 'very well then, good day!’ and a tip of his pipe.

But now, these are smart people. They’re actually listening to what Charlie has to say- no one ever listens to what Charlie has to say! If they did, they wouldn’t be here right now. They’d know that there is no scheme and this is just a stupid date they’re crashing!

So he might as well take advantage of the situation and make himself some coins, or rubies, or chalk, or you know, whatever the currency is where these dudes are from. Either way, it works for him.

“My good men…” -he slaps his hands down on the table for dramatic effect- “have you ever thought gee, I sure am a big fan of red cheese, but it’s hard to eat all this wax? Well-”

“No, no, we’re not interested in any of that,” the other guy interrupts. “We’re interested in her.”

Charlie’s eyes follow the path of his finger, which at first, he thinks might be directed at Dee (but who would want that?).

He sees that he’s, in fact, talking about Frank, who’s busy pulling hairs out of his eyebrow and showing them to a child. Charlie isn’t sure what that is, probably some kind of 'Paddy’s is radioactive’ thing.

“What?” he asks in disbelief. “No way, man, I could never sell-”

A fat stack of money is slammed down on the table. Green money. Paper money. Soft money!

Charlie sneers and leans in.

“I’m listening…”

—–

“Why are we still talking about this, dude? It’s not a big deal.”

“Oh no, you do not get to decide that,” Dennis bites back, jamming his glass in Mac’s direction and spilling a few drops. He’ll admit, he’s a little wine drunk. “If I say it’s a big deal, then it’s a big deal! This is a relationship, Mac.”

Mac seems stunned by that. Maybe that’s the first time they’ve used that word- Dennis isn’t sure anymore. This new bottle of Pinot Blanc he’s ordered is fantastic and his fish is overcooked, so he’s just been drinking… and at this point, everything is starting to blur.

“I know, Dennis.” His tone is softer now, but he’s still arguing. Son of a bitch. Beautiful son of a bitch. “It’s just, this is our thing, and people are always trying to get in the middle of it, and for once, just for like a week, I didn’t want it to be anyone else’s.”

Dennis had really pictured this being the other way around. He’s always the one hushing Mac and urging him to keep things just between the two of them. He assumed Mac would be harassing friends and strangers alike, telling them what an outstanding boyfriend Dennis Reynolds is, to the point of annoyance.

Dennis has always been the one who’s wanted to scream his feelings at the top of his lungs, but didn’t for fear that someone else would hear him. Now that person is Mac, who has so boldly decided to reverse the roles without warning, and Dennis doesn’t know how to be in this position.

He doesn’t even know how to answer. Instead, he swirls his glass, watching the liquid slosh around and around so that he doesn’t have to look up at Mac’s dumb, tender puppy dog eyes.

“You know what?” Mac says, and scoots his chair out. “Fuck it.”

He assumes Mac’s going to walk out of the restaurant. That would be apropos, wouldn’t it? Dennis walks out of the bar for a year and Mac walks out on their dinner date for the night. It’s not even a drop of his own medicine and it still burns like acid.

Whatever. He slugs down the rest of his drink and pours himself another- might as well get hammered.

—–

“Excuse me, Sir, may I refill your water?” Dee asks, doing a shitty voice that sounds like Batman, as she approaches Frank’s table.

He waves her out of the way. “Fuck off, I’m trying to watch Charlie.”

It doesn’t work and she only leans in closer. Her breath smells like old sauerkraut.

“Goddamn it, Frank,” -she’s back to her normal squawking voice- “you two cock socks are going to blow my whole cover here. What are you even doing? Why are you sitting by yourself?”

Frank gives her a shove so he can spy on Charlie’s negotiations. He’s pretty good at reading lips. Like right now, one of the guys is saying something about marrying a horse. Twisted sack of shit.

“Because! Charlie is trying to sell me to those mafia-lookin’ guys. He’s a damn double agent!” Frank hollers through a mouth of bread. “But don’t worry, I solved the problem. As soon as those sons of bitches stand up-”

“For the love of- I don’t care!” Dee flaps her hands around. She looks like a chicken. “I was fine with you two doing your stupid costumes, and pretending to be a couple, and putting your body parts in peoples’ soup, but you cannot make a scene! I am this close to figuring out what Mac and Dennis are up to.”

Frank dips another breadstick in his soda and crams it down his gullet whole.

“Who gives a shit?” he tries to say, but mostly what comes out is root beer bread. He’s already reaching for another. “Charlie double-crossed me-”

Dee snatches him by his feather boa and digs her talons into his collarbone. It does not feel great. Frank swallows his food in fear.

“Listen, you son of a bitch, I don’t care if Charlie sells you, because you know what? You’re worth nothing! If he trades you for a shiny paperclip, which he probably will, it will still be more than you’re worth. You guys had one job! All you had to do was shut up while I spied on Mac and Dennis, but no, you’ve somehow gotten yourselves involved with some foreign investors who clearly don’t mind a short, foul, hairy woman who reeks of salami! I swear to god, if you can’t just sit here and keep a low profile for the next fifteen minutes, I will come down upon you like-”

There are a couple of taps on a microphone, and high-pitched feedback fills the restaurant. Most of the patrons moan and cover their ears.

“Shit, sorry, that was loud. But also, I’m not sorry, because I’ve got shit to say.”

That’s Mac talking.

Dee lets go of Frank and he drops back onto his seat. Both of them turn to watch Mac where he’s standing by the piano. He’s whispering to the pianist- actually, it looks more like he’s threatening him- who starts playing a song that sounds vaguely familiar, but Frank can’t place.

“Look, you’re all here tonight because you have people who love you and care about you and take you on dates and aren’t afraid to let you know how they feel. But let me tell each and every one of you motherfuckers… that person you’re with, that person across the table from you, who seems like the only person in the whole, entire world… they’re a piece of shit compared to Dennis Reynolds.”

Oh, yeah, they’re doing the gay speech thing again. Always a classic. Dee looks surprised as shit even though they’ve been through this, like, eight times.

Frank loses interest and dips another breadstick into his drink. They’re made for each other, they always have been- bread and root beer- he doesn’t get how everybody doesn’t see that.

“The first day I met him, I thought Dennis was the smartest, handsomest, most awesome-est guy I’d ever met- but I was wrong. Because every day I wake up, I meet a new version of him that’s somehow even better than he was yesterday. But I’ve been acting so stupid and scared and lame… because all my life, I thought if I just wasn’t loud about something, it would go away. But I don’t want this to go away, so I’m gonna be loud!”

Daniel (is that his name?) is making a stupid face. He looks like he just won the lottery or some shit.

“Dennis, look, I didn’t tell people about us because I didn’t even think about other people! I almost never do! You’re, like, everything to me, man. And I’m so lucky this happened. You’re the meaning in my life. You’re the inspiration.”

“When you love somebody,” Mac sings along to the piano, except he’s really just yelling, “til the end of time!”

The music fades out, and is immediately replaced by the confused chatter of irritated customers. One of the waiters says something about how he’s got to find another job before he finally ends it all.

“Oh, they’re just bangin’,” Frank says with a shrug.

“Ohhh,” Dee draws out, “that makes sense. Well, see, that- that’s nothing. I don’t care about that.”

“I just can’t believe Charlie didn’t know.”

“Right? He’s usually on top of this kind of stuff.”

They both start to blow the joint, but they don’t get far before a symphony of chairs falling and plates shattering resounds across Guigino’s. Frank looks over to see both of the investors have fallen to the floor atop each other, shoelaces tied together, covered in broken glass. Charlie stops counting the money in his hands and stares, wide-eyed, at Frank.

“You’ll never take me alive!” Frank roars, whipping a wrench out of the back of his dress. If you’re gonna look the part, you gotta act the part!

He charges towards Charlie’s table with the wrench above his head, his wig flying off in the process. “Someone’s got to get bludgeoned!”

“Wait,” Mac says into the microphone, “Frank? Charlie?”

“Oh, goddamn it!” Dennis shrieks. “What are you people doing here?!”

“Wait, actually, that’s pretty funny, Charlie,” Mac chuckles. “Did you do that?”

“No, man!” Charlie shouts back. “That was all Frank! That’s hilarious, man!”

Charlie reaches out to give Frank a high-five… and eh, he decides he’ll forgive him. He tosses the wrench to the floor and gives Charlie’s hand a slap. No one can split up the gruesome twosome, not even a couple of men in black looking to buy a glamorous whore.

“Well, that’s just…” -Dennis chugs the rest of his wine straight from the bottle, half of it ending up on his shirt- “that’s awesome.”

“I know, why hasn’t anyone thought of that before?” Mac laughs into the microphone.

Before either of them realizes she was ever even there, Dee storms out of the restaurant with a growl.

Dennis raises his glass, flinging wine on the couple next to him. “Monthly dinner, baby!”

The four of them hoot and holler together, and yeah, Frank thinks, bread and root beer make a pretty good couple.

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: Devil’s Due

Summary: Years ago, Lacey made a deal. Now, at the height of her fame, he comes to collect. Lacey, though, is canny, and she’s ready for whatever he might ask of her in return for his magic.

Written for the @a-monthly-rumbelling moodboard prompt, available here.

Rated: T

=====

Devil’s Due

Lacey’s expecting him when he arrives at the same time as her breakfast. She’s been counting the days, because it would never do to be caught unawares when dealing with the likes of him. Despite everything that’s happened in her favour over the last five years, Lacey is genre-savvy enough not to be complacent.

So, he doesn’t catch her unawares when he slips into her bedroom behind the maid bringing coffee and croissants. She gives him a nod of acknowledgement. Calm and collected; although there’s that same frisson of fear that she felt the first time they met, it’s more a knee-jerk reaction to what he is than to what he may ask of her.

The maid leaves, not registering the appearance of another person in the room. She wouldn’t, of course. He made it clear last time that only Lacey would be able to see him.

“You’re not surprised.” He sounds surprised himself. Surprised, and something else. Lacey would say something along the lines of elation. He’s actually happy that she’s not surprised.

“Naturally. It’s five years to the day. I knew that you’d come to collect.”

He smiles, and it’s such a dangerous smile, but such a thrilling one too. He looks different to the first time they met. He’s wearing a sharp suit, exquisitely fitted around his slim frame. The crutch from last time has been replaced by an elegant cane, and the missing tooth now glitters gold. As her fortunes have increased, so have his, it seems. Or maybe this is just his way, altering his appearance to suit the circumstances. Back when she’d been undiscovered, singing in clubs for a pittance and sleeping in a different bed every night, no fixed abode, he had mirrored her hunger. Now she is sated and successful and he mirrors her comfort.

Lacey remembers their first meeting, in the alley outside the club. It is three o’clock in the morning, and Lacey is lighting her first cigarette of the night. The tips have been poor lately and she’ll have to make this pack last. He comes out of nowhere, offering her a match when her lighter doesn’t work. She’s certain she checked the alley for lurkers when she first came out. It’s as if he’s stepped out of the darkness itself. She just stares at him, both of them watching the match flame burn down to his fingers. He doesn’t throw it down until it goes out completely, and when he lights the next, his skin, although grubby, is unburned. That’s when Lacey knows what he is.

“I can make you famous,”, he whispers, breath smelling faintly of sulphur, or does she imagine that? From any other hobo on the streets it would be a pathetic line, but when the third match has burned down and Lacey has finally lit her cigarette and taken a long, calming drag, she knows that he could and would make good on his words.

“Can you, now?” She tries to play it cool and uninterested, but that hunger for success has already burst into life again and is champing at the bit to be let out to play and to devour whatever he might offer. “And what would be the price?”

She knows the story. A classic tale reworked so many times over that it’s become part of the collective psyche. At the end of your rope, someone offers your hopes and dreams on a plate. But no-one gets something for nothing; soon you’ll get your backside bitten if you don’t follow the rules.

“Just say the word, dearie, and fame and fortune could be yours.”

“And what would be the price?” Lacey repeats. “My soul?”

He laughs, a high-pitched, twittering giggle. “Oh no. That’s just crass. Souls fell out of fashion years ago. We live in a materialistic world, after all. Everyone needs things.”

“In that case, first-born child is traditional, isn’t it?”

He shakes his head. “Far too risky an investment. What if you never reproduce? Immaculate conception is the other side’s domain.”

“So, what then? There’s no such thing as a free lunch, or a free foot in the door. Especially not in Hollywood.”

“Let’s just say that you’ll owe me a favour.”

Lacey’s savvy. She knows that she’s better off walking away. But savvy won’t keep her alive if she can’t buy bread and the hunger for food, fame and fortune is gnawing at her insides.

“Then let’s make a deal.”

The terms are agreed, and he says he’ll return in five years. Lacey begins her countdown. She may have given in to temptation, but she can still be sharp.

And here he is, five years later, calmly standing in her bedroom doorway. She beckons him closer and offers a croissant, as if she has any power in this exchange. Still, he accepts, perching on the edge of her bed and taking a bite of flaky pastry.

“Time’s been kind to you,” she says.

“Even kinder to you. Breakfast in bed. It’s a far cry from singing for your supper, isn’t it?”

“I can’t complain. So, your favour.”

He tuts. “All business and no small talk. Such a shame. I wanted to hear all about your next role. And all the gossip from the Oscars, of course. You looked truly ravishing, my dear.”

“Thank you.” She’s determined not to be lulled into a false sense of security. He would not be here unless he wanted something. She must keep that in the forefront of her mind. She’s known it for five years, so she can’t afford to let her guard down now at this final moment.

“You’re right though.” He’s changed tack again, making Lacey’s head spin with all his different directions, determined to follow him to the bitter end and never lose her way. “You’ve never once complained about the pressures of fame, about its burdens. That’s what I like about you, Lacey. You’ve never taken my gifts for granted.”

“God giveth, and God taketh away.” She smirks at his raised eyebrow. “Or the other side, of course.”

“That’s more like it, dearie.” He leans in a little closer now that he’s finished eating. “There’s something else I’ve noticed.”

“Oh yes? And what might that be?” Although Lacey is enjoying their banter, a small part of her wants to cut to the chase. She’s been anticipating this day for the last five years and the suspense is killing her.

“You’ve never been linked with another name. A beautiful young talent like you, I would have thought that every red top journalist under the sun would have given their right arm for the hot gossip on Lacey French’s latest beau. Or belle, if you’re that way inclined.”

It’s true. She hasn’t been in any kind of relationship since the day she made the deal, not that the ones she’d been in before had anything close to meaning in them. She tells herself again that this is the result of being prepared. The fewer people she has attached to her, the less chance there is of someone she loves being caught in the crossfire when he comes to collect.

Deep down, though, she knows that the real reason is far darker, far less noble than the one she would choose to give him. She knows that he knows it too, and that there would be little point to her sanctimonious lie.

For all that he has changed in appearance since the last time they met, one thing remains the same. His eyes are unchanged. They’re still the dark and deceptively dangerous eyes he had before. One might call them soulless in their depths: indeed, Lacey wrote him off as soulless five years ago.

Today though, the light is better, mid-morning compared to the small hours of the night. Lacey can see that those dark, dark eyes are far from soulless. They’re so deep that they’re eternal, full of secrets as old as time itself, and older than that again. There’s history in his eyes, the full spectrum of human emotion on a worldwide scale that Lacey could never hope to emulate. He’s not unfeeling. He is feeling, in the most literal sense of the word, all those base, animalistic feelings deemed sinful brought into one embodiment. As that realisation sinks in, Lacey knows and fully accepts the reason for her five years’ detachment from others of her human race. The only man, if he can be called such, who has ever sparked her interest, is sitting in front of her now.

“My price,” he says presently, bringing her back to reality.

“Of course.”

“A kiss.”

“What?” At first she thinks she hasn’t heard him correctly. After all, he was the one who stressed the importance of things at their last meeting.

“Do you disagree to my terms?” There’s ice in his smooth voice. Just a little, but it still chills her through, nonetheless.

“Not at all.” She hastens to correct the misunderstanding. “It just seems something so small and insignificant in comparison to the gift given.”

“Ah, dearie, it’s for me to decide what is and isn’t worth the price. A kiss from you would be very precious indeed.”

Lacey wonders, because there’s got to be more to it than that. If that was his price, why not take it there and then in the alley? She’s certainly done worse in alleys in her time. Just what will she be giving away if she gives him this simple thing? A kiss in exchange for all that he has given her – fame, fortune, wealth, comfort, security…

Lacey brings her hand to his face, her fingers cupping his cheek gently. He’s warm to the touch, unnaturally so. If he were a normal man, she’d say he had a fever, but she knows better. His eyes never falter from her face, but he remains silent and his hands stay clasped in his lap, neither encouraging nor dissuading, leaving her to settle the score on her own terms.

His lips are scalding as Lacey presses her mouth against his. It’s not a chaste, Hollywood kiss. If Lacey’s going for this, then she’s going for it wholeheartedly. She won’t be accused of not making an effort.

He’s surprisingly soft and pliant and his lips part eagerly under the pressure from her tongue. His hand comes up to cradle the back of her head, but his touch is light; she feels no urge to fight it.

She expected him to taste sulphurous, like the vague scent that she can sometimes pick up in his vicinity, or maybe it’s just her imagination. He doesn’t. He tastes of apples, pomegranates, the forbidden fruits that lead to darker depths.

Lacey knows then, as she closes her eyes and sinks down into his embrace. Oh, he was clever when he said that he did not want her soul. Even if it was not his prize, he has ensnared her, nonetheless. She thinks of her next project, Pride and Prejudice, filming to start in two weeks.

You have bewitched me; body and soul.

Her soul is his now, whether he wants it or not. With this single kiss, the culmination of five years of intrigue and wondering, he’s ruined her for any other man who might cross her path. He was the only one she wanted before, and now she knows that she will never want another.

There’s lust and passion and excitement and desire in his eyes when they break away, a perfect mirror for her own thoughts and emotions. He smiles his dangerous smile, sated, his price collected, and he gets up to leave. Lacey knows that he would always leave her wanting more, but she won’t give him the satisfaction of letting him know it. He already knows it. He already knows everything.

“Will I be seeing you again?” she asks, affecting an unconcerned tone.

His grin is wicked as he pauses by the door.

“As you wish, Miss French.”

[duncvns]

Beautiful Stranger (Duncan Shepherd x Reader)

Based off of icylangdon’s prompt 

Summary- You’ve always had a distaste for the Shepherd boy, but when you run into him at a charity ball, accompanying your mother. When you step out of the ballroom for a minute for some air, Duncan meets you, just out of sight of everyone else

(Reader is Claire’s daughter bc I love writing that situation and I know you guys love it too)

Warnings- semi-public sex, hate sex, filthy dirty talk, unprotected sex, creampie kink

Words- 1813

Claire hums lowly next to you, her fingers busy writing out an email. No words were spoken to you, your mother always preferred the silence while she was 'working'. She was dragging you to yet another charity ball against your will since you just had to accompany her after your fathers sudden passing.

The flashing blue and red lights emitted from the police cruisers cast a warm glow throughout the car, painting the black interior as the car pulled up to the venue, the sirens unexpectedly stopping.

You never really wanted to go to events, but ever since the unexpected return of Annette Shepherd, her narcissistic and utterly sexist brother, and her devil spawn of a son, you _really _didn't want to show up. Not to mention the circulating theories of Claire killing Francis.

The cool December air was unforgiving on your bare skin as you stepped out of the large car. The President's security detail helped you from the car, his warm hand sending goosebumps down your neck. The quiet click of Claire's Louboutins grew closer before her hand grabbed ahold of your arm.

Hand in hand, you two walked into the impressive building, power pouring off of you two. Claire's infamous fake smile made its debut as she scanned the room. "Don't say anything if you see that witch, Annette. Or her offensive, joke of a man, brother." Her smile stayed glued onto her face as she mumbled to you.

"I wouldn't dream of it, mother." Your voice was monotone. The perfect mix of,_ I really don't want to be here, I fucking hate my life, and is it too late to run away to Mexico and change my last name_, coating your voice. Claire handed out a few waves and nods to passerby's, you do the same to the few people you recognized.

"Don't act out tonight, Y/N. I fully expect the Shepherd boy to be here and I don't need any more bad press with you two-" Her sentence quickly melted into a greeting towards Mark. "Mark, I wasn't expecting you here tonight." She kissed him on the cheek, her voice friendly and lifted. Only something she did for strangers.

"I was expecting to find you somewhere around here. I wasn't expecting to see you, Y/N. You look wonderful."

"Oh, Mark, you're too sweet." You smiled clearing your throat. "I'm going to try and find Seth." You detached Claire's bony grip from your arm before excusing yourself. You couldn't stand Seth, his overachieving personality too much for you sometimes. But, he was the only one of your White House connections that you could actually speak to, and it helped how he was only a year or two older than you.

"Remember what I told you, baby." Claire winked before allowing Mark to lead her onto the floor.

You wandered the ballroom like a stray puppy, dodging the rare familiar face. You could see your mother and Mark slow dancing on the floor, a gleeful smile upon her lips. Mark was one of the few people that you were fond of. After Francis died, he carefully scooped up your broken pieces and put them back together slowly, making sure you were loved and protected the entire time. He was like your second father.

"Y/N! Just the person I wanted to see!" You rolled your eyes at the all-too-familiar voice that seemed to carry for miles. Seth jogged to catch up with you, his breath quick.

"Hey, Seth." You exhaled, pulling him in for a hug. The fabric of his basic suit still cold from the outside air.

"Listen, I can't stay long. Duncan is here tonight and Annette wants me to keep an eye on him." He looked over his shoulders as if he was afraid of being caught. "Sh, there he is." He turned your head in a direction forcefully, pulling a few strands of your hair from its neatly presented updo. You slapped his grubby hands from your hair and looked in the direction he was pointing to.

Sure enough, The Shepherd heir himself was making his way through the entrance. He, of course, was not wearing the classic black suit and tie, and why would he? He's Duncan fucking Shepherd. He was wearing a black turtle neck, immaculately pressed under a grey suit jacket and matching pants. His mother was stuck to his arm, her gaze lovely, but only for her son. Her mouth was moving slowly, whatever comment she made, making Duncan nod. His eyes flitted over you, barely noticing your presence. Annette pursed her lips as her eyes landed on you, and you rolled your eyes. She shook her head to counteract your rude action, causing Duncan to breathe out a chuckle. You push a lock of hair behind your ear, not forgetting to flash your middle finger to the two, making sure they saw. Annette shot you a disapproving glare, which you returned with an innocent shrug.

Seth watched the entire exchange, one eyebrow cocked. He knew you hated the Shepherds and the Shepherds hated you, but he's never seen you two interact. "Hey, I'm gonna step out. If Claire is looking for me, just tell her I'm out in the hall," You rubbed Seth's back gently before making your way to the exit. You passed Doug entering the ballroom, and you knew the man had nothing but foul intentions tonight.

The hallway was empty, besides the scattered security details guarding the event. You let your back fall flush against the cool wall, allowing you a quick breather. You could still hear the muffled classical music and expensive laughs that penetrated the walls.

"If it isn't the Underwood heir?" You cringed at the slow, confident voice that pierced the once calm air. You crossed your arms over your chest and looked to Duncan.

"I could say the same, Shepherd heir." You spat. He chuckled, taking a spot right next to you. "What the hell do you want?"

"Ouch, Y/N, with all the history we shared, I'd expect you to be a little kinder towards me," She drawled. His cocky voice played back flashbacks of you two's time together. You could see the shiny perspiration coating his rapidly rising and falling chest as your naked bodies touched in the most intimate way, exposed give for the thin white sheet. That night still haunts you to this day. If you never would have bedded the man you probably wouldn't have trust issues.

"You can fuck right off, you filthy, shameful, revolting excuse for a man." Your top lip curled in utter hate. All of the problems he caused you bubbling in your stomach sickeningly. "Oh, I forgot. It's not your fault you're such a screw-up, Dunc, you were raised by literal scum."

A tiny growl escaped his throat before quickly winded his hand around your throat and pressing you against the wall. A shocked squeal was pushed from you as his hand tightened around your sensitive skin to the point of painful.

"Get off of me," You commanded softly, Duncan's hand cutting off most of your air intake. He breathed out a chuckle, enjoying the control he had over your body. Deep down, he always has had control over your body. That night, so intimate, has left Duncan's imprint on you. Any man who touched you the way he had, so well, could never measure to his holy grip.

His free hand brushed over your bottom lip before slipping their way inside of your mouth. You debated biting off his fingers, but you figured that would be too messy. His expert fingers press down on your tongue, a gag clenching through your stomach. He smirked, pressing his fingers down onto your slippery tongue harder. Your bloodshot eyes clenched shut as he roughly spun you over, his fingers slipping from your throat.

"Beg for it," His teeth grazed over your earlobe, barely missing the gold earring. He bunched your expensive just above your waistline, giving him proper access to your gray lace panties.

"Go fuck yourself," Your hot breath created a thin, wet sheen onto the lacquered walls.

"Why would I do that when I could fuck you?" You could feel the inevitable wetness pool in your underwear at his dominating grip, and you mentally cursed your body. "I wonder what would happen if, God forbid, somebody steps out here and find you, pinned against the wall with my cock buried deep inside of you. Begging moans coming from your filthy lips,"

"Shut up," you breathed shakily, his hands snuck under your dress, cupping your leaking cunt through your underwear. You bit back a moan, afraid that somebody would hear you and decide to investigate the noise. His long fingers circled your clit slowly, applying delicious pressure to your most sensitive spot.

You hated your body for enjoying this. You hated how badly you needed Duncan's toxic touch. How badly you craved it. His hands disappeared from your body for a split second, his hands working quickly to undo his expensive designer belt, leaving you panting heavily against the wall, your dress hiked up past your hips and your panties soaked through.

"Tell me how much you hate me," He growled in your ear, his busy hands now working to rip off your delicate panties. You clenched your eyes shut before spitting out a-

"I hate you so much," You panted, biting your lip at bunt feeling of his swollen cock head pushing against your dripping entrance.

"Say it again."

"God, I fucking hate you so much. I hate you, you disgusting man-whore." You gritted, eliciting a moan from your red-bitten lips as his cock was finally sheathed fully inside of you. He grunted in response, giving you quick, shallow thrusts. Your loud moans were swallowed by the jazz band playing merrily in the room directly next to you.

"Shut up, you stupid bitch, you're gonna get us caught." His hand curled around your mouth, muffling your moans. His cock stretched your velvety walls obscenely, flashbacks from that night in your bedroom rushing over you like a bad childhood memory.

Duncan's tight thrusts became sloppy, signaling his quickly approaching release. "You fucking incompetent, can't even last twenty minutes," A teasing laugh broke through your muffled moans. Duncan's hand covering your mouth was ripped away, taking their spot back on your throat.

"I said, shut up, you stupid bitch."

A long, drawn-out grunt ripped through the music, quick spurts of Duncan's seed painting your insides. His cock slipped out of you heavily, leaving a string of his hot cum dribbling from your used hole.

He yanked your elegant black gown back over your sweaty skin, your dirty lace panties left in tatters at your heels. He delivered a quick slap to your ass before leaning close to you and whispering.

"Such a delicious, horrible, Beautiful Enemy,"

"Shut up, loser."

Tagged inspo’s and loves❤- @icylangdon @langdonsrapture @lvngdvns @wroteclassicaly @duncvn  @lanawintrs @holylangdon @gypsylilacs @queencocoakimmie  @langdonsdemon

[cathwritessometimes]

Anti Gravity | Episode 1: Weakness Ungnome

(I almost forgot that I had this side blog so I’m posting some of my fanfics from wattpad now. If ya wanna check out my content there my username is galacticath.)

Working at the Mystery Shack, the world's tackiest roadside tourist attraction, was not on Wendy's Summer Fun list. Getting a job was her dad's idea.

Dan Corduroy believed in hard work. And only being twelve years old was no exception.

Wendy practically had to drag herself to work on the first day of summer to her first day of work. It had been a week since she had started working, and it showed.

Her face held a contorted expression of disgruntlement as she pushed open the gift-shop door and pinned her name tag onto her green flannel shirt.

Wendy slumped across the empty room, took a broom from the supply closet, and began to sweep. Sweeping was the easiest task. You look like you're busy doing something while your actually trying to avoid work, and it was always perfect for secretly being lazy under Stan Pine's watchful eye.

"What's got'cha so sour?" Dipper spoke up from behind his book. He didn't even have to look directly at her, anyone could've sensed Wendy's bad mood from a mile away.

"Everything." Wendy muttered her reply.

It was embarrassing to be the only kid in your grade who had to work almost every day of the summer. Just that night Wendy had received a phone call from her best friend, Tambry talking about going to a Summer Bash Party at a local water park. She had lied and said her family was going camping. The truth was way to cringe-worthy to tell even her closest friend.

A pair of footsteps thundered down the staircase as Mabel burst into the room.

"Sup, ma peeps!" She exclaimed while leaning against the counter. Today her quirky sense of fashion consisted of Galaxy leggings paired with a black sweatshirt that had a pair of cat whiskers and the phrase "MEOW" printed across the chest.

"Don't forget your name tag." Dipper said without tearing his eyes away from his book.

Mabel grinned as she said, "Oh, you mean THIS bad boy?" She revealed a glittery name tag with her name written in a swirly font. She smiled proudly as she pinned it to her shirt and asked "What'dya guys think?"

Wendy wasn't much for glitter, but she smiled anyways. It was hard to be grumpy with Mabel around. Her quirkiness always seemed to get everyone in a good mood.

"HELP!" squeaked a terrified voice as Soos suddenly flung open the door and jumped behind the counter. His small body was vibrating with fear.

Dipper finally put down his book, "Woah, Soos! What's wrong?" he asked.

Soos sat up, his eyes wide as saucers,

"On my way here I saw these little people wearing super pointy hats, and so I threw a rock at one and they started CHASING ME!" He exclaimed, waving his small arms frantically.

Dipper stood up from behind the counter and turned to his sister as he said, "it's the gnomes again."

Mabel sighed and rolled her eyes as she mumbled, "I'll get the leaf-blower."

Wendy stopped sweeping. "Wait, what?" She wrinkled her nose, "Gnomes? Are you being serious?"

Dipper forced a smile, "Uh- no, we meant...uh it was probably just Gompers. You know how that goat will eat just about anything, he was probably chasing after Soos's lunch box again."

"But Soos said-"

"You know how Soos can be," Dipper pointed out, "overactive imagination."

"Ah," Wendy said with a slow nod.

She shrugged it off. You hear weird stuff like that all the time in a town like Gravity Falls. People always seemed to be making up the most ridiculous stories and myths, it was no wonder so many tourists showed up at a place like the Mystery Shack.

                       . . . . . . . .

                     24 Hours Later

                       .  .  .  .  .  .  .  . 

Wendy always wondered where Dipper disappeared to every now and then. Sometimes he'd announce that he was running an errand, other times he seemed to literally disappear. Same for Mabel, who instead always seemed to be ditching her shifts to hang out with her friends.

"I guess that's just what teenagers are like."

Wendy thought to herself this morning after Dipper and Mabel hurriedly announced their need to run a quick errand.

This meant that it was up to her and Soos to work by theirselves for the morning. Most people would think twice about letting twelve year olds run a gift shop on their own, but not Stanford Pines.

"Mornin' Wendy!" Greeted Soos as he walked through the door and flipped the CLOSED sign to OPEN. He wore his usual dark green question mark t-shirt and a tan baseball cap. His grubby fingers were curled around a bright red tool box that had been decorated with a variety of race car, dinosaur, and space themed stickers.

When Wendy met him on her first day of work, Soos had proudly introduced himself as the Handy Man of the Mystery Shack.

This, by far, had to be the most age-inappropriate job for a twelve-year old, thought Wendy. She couldn't help but imagine Soos accidentally burning down the Shack just by attempting to replace a lightbulb.

"Good morning, Soos." Wendy replied, climbing on top of the stool behind the check-out counter and pinning her name tag to her shirt.

She yawned so widely her eyes began to water. These working hours sure were taking a tole on her sleep. Wendy's eyes began to droop and she rested her head in her arms, hoping to get just enough shut-eye to be able to make it through her last shift of the week.

When she opened her eyes she found Soos was standing right in front of her, his face inches from hers. Wendy stifled a surprised scream.

"I can't believe those gnomes yesterday!" Soos exclaimed excitedly. Wendy could tell from the hyperactive twinkle in his eyes that the "gnome" incident of the previous morning was all he had been thinking about lately.

Wendy decided to go along with it. Sometimes Soos felt like her little brother, despite the fact that they were in the same grade. (Sometimes Wendy wondered if Soos was actually a toddler masquerading as a middle-schooler)

And as a sister-figure, it was her job to look after him.

"So what did they look like?" Wendy asked.

"They were about," Soos thought to himself for a moment before holding his hands about twelve inches apart,"this tall. With red pointy hats and long beards- like Santa!" he frowned, "except Santa's jolly and nice, these doods were real meanies."

Wendy nodded to show her understanding although she wasn't really paying attention. Her attention was drawn to Dipper who had just entered the Gift Shop, looking sweaty and flustered.

"Yo, Dippin' Sauce!" Soos exclaimed, holding up a hand for a high-five. Dipper smiled and returned the gesture.

"Hey, thanks for holding up my post."

Wendy had to bite her tongue to keep herself  from smiling like a complete idiot as she stuttered, "It- it's no problem!"

Dipper ran his fingers through his thick, chestnut brown hair, "I'm gonna go freshen up a bit before starting my shift, it'll be just a minute."

Wendy smiled and waved as he headed upstairs, "Take all the time you need!"

She sighed in deep awe. She felt as if she were melting in her seat. Then she remembered that Soos was there too.

"Oh, sorry, Soos- what else were you saying about the gnomes?"

[williamaltham]

[possessive] your muse resting their hand on mine’s leg or the small of their back while they’re sitting beside each other

Slurred bellows and drunken laughter came from the people around them in all different directions, from up the hill toward the small paved town they were near, all the way down to the docks ahead of them. A fire crackled in front of them, and with the sun setting in the distance made William feel warm all over. The sure soon arrival of the moon with the fire gave them a soft orange and blue hue to the world around them. Just then a splash could be heard, and Ellis chuckled in William’s ear upon looking over to see a woman having just pushed a grubby looking man off the dock and into the waters. William grinned at the sound of his laugh and Ellis lightly rubbed the small of his back where his hand rested, making William feel all too content and wishing he could rest against him. People may be too drunk to notice the quiet affection they showed, but nuzzling each other by the fire would be a bit too much.

They were out now amongst their crew members, their grossly infinite levels of affection for each other too hard to hide any longer, but there were townspeople here along with a couple of other smaller merchant ships. Even amongst the crew, they were still testing the waters a bit. Ellis, being Ellis, had more guts about it, especially knowing that his crew wouldn’t dare disrespect him to his face, but clearly even out here he felt the need to hide again. Not entirely, however, what with the minor intimate hand on William’s back. It was too hard not to touch the other or wear their love at least a little. They’d lost too many years. They may not be able to wear it out loud, but small whispers would do just fine for now. Small whispers they could handle. William knew that if anyone were to say anything cross, Ellis would see to it that they wouldn’t live to see another sunrise, but still if the two weren’t careful they could raise an army of uglies with torches and pitchforks and a couple of nooses ready for them, and while it was nothing they couldn’t handle, they’d prefer to avoid it.

William was mere moments away from obtaining a ‘fuck it’ attitude and resting his head on his man’s shoulder, wanting nothing else in the moment, when a voice behind them made the both of them slightly jolt at the surprise. Ellis’s hand quickly left William’s back and he clasped his hands together, clearing his throat. William found it hard to mask his disappointment. His absolute biggest pet peeve, the most assured way to quickly stomp on his joy, was to interrupt any moment between he and Ellis.

“Look who showed up again after all this time,” the voice had said, loudly, and right behind them. A beautiful woman with curly brown hair to her shoulders, bosoms spilling over her dress, red lips, red cheeks, and light eyes bent over next to them, her features accentuated by the fire. Her arms slithered around Ellis’s shoulders from behind him, her hands pressed flat against his chest. William couldn’t help but narrow his eyes, disliking this interaction already.

Ellis cleared his throat yet again and William knew he was uncomfortable. Not because of the person or her presence in general, but because of her presence here and now, while he was with William. He could read it all over the man’s face. His man’s face. William -- unfortunately -- knew all about Ellis’s sexual exploits now, he had for a good while, but he still hated being reminded of it. He preferred to forget all about it. He had never wanted to know who, how many, how long, and where Ellis had fucked, and really wished Ellis hadn’t just decided to share that information with him. But, he had, and William was now being forced to remember the details. It was bad enough just knowing about it all. Now he was here meeting one of those details. The woman who was gorgeous in his eyes just moments before, was suddenly not as pretty. Ellis tried to politely remove her hands from his chest, taking one and kissing it. “Hello, miss Delia,” he said carefully, glancing over at William, whose face was that of sheer annoyance.

“And how are you, my darling?” she cooed at him, inviting herself to sit next to Ellis and pick up a conversation.

William, whose body had been turned just slightly toward Ellis, now moved so that he was facing forward. He closed his lids and rolled his eyes as far as they could go without feeling like they’d soon actually fall out and roll into the back of his head. The two conversed for a few minutes, William staring into the flames as they licked the air. It was only so long before he picked up the bottle of rum he and Ellis had been sharing and began to down the rest of it nonchalantly. The two were too busy talking to notice anyhow. He wasn’t paying a ton of attention, only picking up bits and pieces here and there. He wasn’t very interested in their conversation, and would rather pretend he was alone than face that she was here with them. Of what bits he’d gathered, Ellis was apparently a regular, making sure to stop and see her when he was in town. Nice. That’s cute. He rolled his eyes again, trying really hard not to mock them like a child.

He caught sight of Delia setting her hand on Ellis’s shoulder and moving it up and down his upper arm, but Ellis seemed to take absolutely no mind. William huffed to himself. The alcohol he’d ingested on top of the buzz he’d already had before he finished off the bottle began to roll through him, warming him up. He didn’t like this warmth. It wasn’t warm like before, with the buzz he had and the fire and his Ellis making him feel content and cozy and his insides all soft. It was sweaty and irritable, the soft feeling in his chest feeling like it was being wound tight as she touched him. He unbuttoned his shirt all the way down save for the last few, and the ones tucked into his pants, in an attempt to cool himself down figuratively and literally. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees.

Never had he felt like this before. Well, he had, when Ellis spoke of the times he’d decided to stick his dick in things, but it was different. It was hard to get over, but it was in the past. This was the present, and this person was touching him. A person who’d touched him before, touched in ways only William was allowed to touch him, was touching him right now. She was here right now, with her hands all over him, her other hand having just moved to his hair. Playing with Ellis’s hair was one of William’s favorite things to do. It had been since they were kids. Literally hundreds of nights he’d spent falling asleep playing with his boy’s hair. He could have vomited right there thinking about someone else doing his job of playing with his hair in their lost years, and wanted to smack her hands away for doing it now. He was only seeing it through his peripherals but it was still too much.

He clenched his jaw and tried to think rationally. He knew Ellis was his man, and that wasn’t going to change, especially not by a random harlot who didn’t mean anything in comparison to what William meant to him. If that was the case he would have taken her aboard his ship and forgotten all about William. It wasn’t working. He couldn’t see through his cloud of jealousy. As he came out of his thoughts, their conversation faded back in.

“...love it if you came to see me again. I’m free tonight…”

Without thinking about what he was doing for even a second, and completely unable to stop himself even if he wanted to, he sat back up and turned back in toward Ellis again. His hand rested atop Ellis’s leg, noticeably too, as he moved it back and forth the way she had to his arm. “Well,” William sighed with a smile on his face, his hand sliding up higher and further inward on his thigh, “Ellis,” he used his free hand to pick hers out of Ellis’s hair and drop it into her lap, “is not.” He let his hand end its upward journey just centimeters away from Ellis’s dick. “Free, I mean,” William clarified unnecessarily, just to further the point. “He’ll be with me.” He gave a shitty little grin, looking between the two of them.

“W--” Delia began to say something, but William interrupted her, closing his eyes for a short moment and shushing her.

“Because you see,” he began, staring her down intently before he moved his eyes to Ellis, softening as he looked at him, “he’s mine.” The smile on his face twitched as he looked into his eyes. “These warm eyes are mine. And so are those brows.” He grabbed onto Ellis’s shirt and tugged him toward himself, exhaling through his nose as their lips met for a hard and short kiss. “Those lips,” he grinned breathlessly, “they’re mine.” His head spun for a moment, the alcohol now hitting his brain. He ran his hand through Ellis’s slightly tangled hair, gently pulling his fingers down through some curls. “And these locks are mine. Don’t fucking touch them.” He shot her a very serious look, quite bothered by her touching his hair.

Then suddenly, -- the rum possibly aiding in his epiphany, seeing what he hadn’t before... or rather the rum making him see incorrectly, -- he noticed the details of her appearance better. The brown hair, wavy and being shorter than most women’s as it sat just past her shoulders. The closest length you could get to what he’d have remembered of William’s, which hung around his jaw when he left. Blue eyes. A seemingly mild disposition but clearly unafraid of the world. William began laughing, the liquor increasing the humor in it all. He shook his finger at the girl as he snickered. “You’re just a…” he chuckled and lost his sentence, his words starting to slur now that the words had to filter through his rum soaked brain.

He quieted and leaned into Ellis, “Hmm,” he hummed quietly in his ear. He gave his thigh a good squeeze with the hand that still rested on it. He pushed Ellis’s hair away from his ear and bit down on his earlobe. “Oh...” he giggled quietly and then bit at the skin on his jaw, “Ellis, babe…” he whispered, “You’re in so much trouble.” He nudged his nose against Ellis’s cheek and pulled away with a smirk on his face.

The girl was clearly a knockoff version of William, and he was definitely going to address this when he wasn’t so giggly. He laughed again and dropped his chin on Ellis’s shoulder, then moved his hand back down Ellis’s leg before he wrapped both of his arms around his torso. Seeing her and thinking about her still bothered him, but the whole thing was now amusing to him at the moment. Though, even through an intoxicated mind, he decided he’d refrain from addressing the whole knockoff thing out loud. She’d not understand and he’d made his point. However… he was sick of her presence at this point, and for how much longer he could refrain from any further rudeness he was uncertain.

“Make her leave,” William instructed Ellis, sounding bored, “before I do.”

[tobns]

SNOWED IN: A (Tragic) Christmas Story — part four.

In Which Our Only Hope Rests On the Least Helpful Person We Know

After the unexpected police presence on the doorstep, the rest of the day is uneventful in comparison.

Most of it comes from the fact that Josh, Jackie and I corral everyone else in the house to living on the trigger that the cops could reappear at any moment to whisk us all away in handcuffs after Josh’s terribly executed attempt of playing it cool. Jen’s also kept to her word that she wouldn’t meddle anymore, which has become our Walmart brand of Christmas miracles – after getting twenty-six inches of snow holding us hostage, knowing that Jen isn’t going to force us all into another come-as-close-to-Jesus-as-we-sinners-will-ever-get meeting against our will. The vibe in the house has shifted over to the more tolerable end of the spectrum, no more fears of Dayo wielding a butcher knife with Alexander as its target or Jackie flying off the handle altogether lingering out in the open. We just spend the day coexisting rather peacefully, which is all I can ask for, I guess. At this point, asking for anything has only backfired on us: we ask to leave, we’re entrapped in a predicament that probably won’t see us on the road until New Year’s. I ask for things to go over smoothly, things explode.

As ridiculous as the last few days have seemed, I understand the sentiment Jen had in wanting to see this through with some sort of success as the outcome. Nostalgia has never been something I’ve been able to escape, and being back with my old group of friends has reawakened all sorts of longings for how things used to be. That’s the sucker punch nostalgia always brings: it makes you miss the things you know you can never go back to, and down the black hole you’ll go either trying to get over it or bring it back with your bare hands.

Maybe Jen has done her job, effectively dragging me over to the dark side.

Christmas is tomorrow, and the most festive thing that we’ve done thus far is having a dinner where we were actually able to converse with one another without any underlying hostility on paper plates with little Christmas trees on them. Part of me is waiting for the other shoe to drop, Jen rounding up all of us to go caroling or do a dramatic reading of the Christmas story, but it never happens. I go to sleep still anticipating something to happen, even though nothing does.

And then I’m finding myself awakened.

“Isabelle,” a voice softly summons me, and the not-so-gentle shaking following after it. “Yo, Izzy.”

I stir, limbs slinging as I sit upright in bed. “What?” I grumble, the back of my hand colliding with what I assume is another body as I kick the sheets out of the tangle they’ve formed around my legs. Standing over me in the dark is Jackie, Jack, and Dayo, all of them fully dressed and staring at me expectantly.

“No,” I yawn, shaking my head. “I am not going to help you all prank Alexander. Go back to bed, Scooby Gang.”

“The time for fun and games is over,” Jackie whispers. “We’re blowing this popsicle stand, Fuhrman.”

“We’re doing what?”

“Leaving,” Jack repeats in a hushed voice as he does the honor of clarifying for me. “We’re leaving.”

I drag my hands down my face, heels of my hands rubbing at my eyes. “Did you people forget that there are like, two feet of snow on the ground? Are Santa’s reindeer going to pull us back to the Big Apple and wherever the hell Dayo’s planning to go?”

Jackie, who’s sitting on her knees on the bed, leans back onto her ankles and stares up at Dayo. “I told you she was gonna be grouchy.”

“He was what, expecting me to be a ray of sunshine?”

Dayo frowns, arms folding over his chest. “Okay, I don’t know what you did with baby Izzy, but I want her back.”

“Come back in about seven hours,” I tell him, pulling the blanket around my kneecaps up a little higher as I go to lay back down. Jackie catches me before I get nestled back under, a hand wrapping around my wrist.

“Oh no you don’t, Fuhrmie,” she whistles. “I told you I was gonna Prince Charming your ass and ride you out of here on a white horse as I saved you from Ludwig’s grubby little paws. I’m seeing this thing through.”

“You are ridiculous.”

“I’m simply trying to preserve your innocence.”

“My innocence left me a long time ago, Emerson.”

“Okay, can we please stop discussing sex and just hit the road already?” Dayo interjects, the irritation rising in his voice. “The more distance we put between us and this place before the ass-crack of dawn when Jennifer wakes up, the better off we are.”

I card a hand back through my hair, shoulders slouching. There are so many flaws in the logic they’re throwing my way that I’m beginning to wonder if this is all just another caffeine-induced dream, and that I’ll wake up any minute to the tune of Jackie telling me to get my leg off of her torso. “And again, I raise the question of how are we supposed to get out of here? There are two feet of snow on the ground. We didn’t exactly go for the snowmobile section at the rental car service.”

Jackie and Dayo both point to Jack, who raises his hand. “I’ve been outside for the last hour hauling a path down to the driveway and moving all the snow on our car over to Alexander’s.” My eyebrows furrow – for every one question I get answered, they raise about three more, and all of this trying to nail down what their plan actually is is draining. I finally decide to shut up and go along with it, before Jackie decides to haul me over her shoulder fireman-style and drag me away against my will.

“Fine,” I huff, kicking the covers out of my way. “But I’m going as is. We’re making a break for it, not heading to the long-lost Mockingjay premiere.”

Jackie smiles as she scoots away from my body. “Even better. We don’t have time for you to be your extra ass self.”

Scowling, I shoot her the middle finger and hop down off of the bed.

Dayo offers me a blanket to throw around my shoulders before we sneak out the back door – apparently, Jackie has packed my bag for me, already loaded up in the car. I don’t know when in the hell they had time to do all this, so I guess the saying still rings true: once you’re a member of the Hunger Games gang, you never sleep again.

We go tiptoeing out the front door, Jack bringing up the rear and making sure no one else’s eyes follow us out the door. It’s even colder outside than it was the night before, and I curl up to Dayo, forcing him to drag me along behind him since I don’t feel up to walking. He all but picks me up and throws me into the backseat of the car, sliding in beside me.

“Are we sure this is a good idea?” I say through a yawn, bundling my blanket tighter around me. “I mean, what’s the plan from here? So far, all I’m seeing is us making it out of the driveway and then meeting the very, very obvious roadblock.”

Jackie glares at me through the rearview mirror. “Since when do you need to know all the details?”

I stare back at her, bewildered. “Um, since the first day we met.”

She sighs. “What’s the harm in a little spontaneity, Belly? We might make it to the airport, we might make it to some sketchy Super 8—”

Dayo leans over the console, twisting his body around the seat as he interrupts Jackie. “Yeah, we’ll sleep at the Super 8 when I see Jesus descend down from heaven.”

“—we might sleep on the side of a road in a snow bank,” Jackie rectifies, her eyes cutting at Dayo. “Point is, live on the edge. Make that your New Year’s resolution for 2018 or something.”

I roll my eyes at her as Jack brings the car to life in the quietest way he knows how – which, of course, is loud enough to wake up the whole damn state of Colorado as he accidentally hits the alarm button while trying to turn the keys in the ignition. “You moron!” Jackie whisper-shouts, like that’s going to keep anyone from hearing us make our getaway, swatting at Jack’s arm. “Hit the damn button!”

“What button?” Jack responds.

“The one that shuts this thing up!”

I peel my back of the backseat, leaning forwards. “Oh yeah,” I say dryly, shooting Jackie a thumbs up. “Spontaneity really is fun.”

“Fuhrman, I will slice and dice you.”

“Jackie, help me!”

Jack and Jackie fumble for another minute to get the keys out of the ignition in the hopes that will stop it, then hitting the unlock button on both of their doors and the keys before finally the alarm stops on its own. They glance back at us, both of them flustered in the face and not because of the wind chill. “Okay,” Jack says after a pause, taking the moment to catch his breath. “Let’s try this again.”

Dayo visibly winces as Jack goes back in for the ignition, inching the key towards the slot with bated breath. He sticks it in, waiting for the alarms to sound once again, but nothing happens. “Hallelujah,” he sighs.

No sooner do the words roll off his lips does the alarm goes off again.

“Goddammit!”

This time, instead of rushing to find the magic button that will shut this vehicle up, Jack just leans back in the seat with both arms folded over his chest, glaring at the steering wheel as he waits it out. Jackie buries her head in her hands. Dayo and I exchange glances, and I simply draw my knees up to my chest. I get the feeling we’ll be here for a while.

The alarm stops blaring after what feels like an eternity, Jack moving to turn the key in the ignition. The third time must always be the charm, because this time it starts up without a hitch, engine purring to life. “Now we’re in business,” Jack declares smoothly.

“Yeah, only after we woke up the entire world.”

“They’ll mistake us for Santa,” he dismisses, taking off the brake and moving the gear shift into reverse. I snort.

“I think you meant Satan.”

Jack creeps down the edge of the driveway in the path he has quite literally shuffled out for himself to follow, Jackie serving as the eyes in the back of his head so he doesn’t accidentally hit Jen’s mailbox. Dayo’s on his phone, presumably looking up flights, and all I can do is shrink farther back into the upholstery of the seat. Where Jackie’s sixth sense is her intuition on whether something is right, mine is the intuition on whether something is bound to go horribly wrong. My spidey senses tingle the whole way down the sidewalk.

We get turned out at the bottom of the road, and sure enough, the snow returns to a height of two feet tall. For a moment, Jack sits there and stares at the road as he tries to decide what the best course of action is. I want to suggest that going back indoors is a grand idea, but I get the feeling Jackie is one step away from gagging me with the blanket, so I stay quiet.

“What are you waiting for?” Jackie asks, looking over at her boyfriend. “Step on the gas and let’s go!”

“Jackie,” he says very calmly, like he’s explaining all of this to a child. “There are two feet of snow on the ground, and we are in a rav4. I know you struggle to practice the virtue of patience, but I need you to at least pretend you can.”

She groans, slouching down a little farther in his seat. “Dayo, please tell me you’re having luck finding us plane tickets.”

We begin to inch forward little by little, the speedometer not even hitting five miles an hour as Jack starts plowing through the snow in the direction of the main road. Dayo gives the slight nod of his head as he looks back up.

“Yeah, I think so. There are still a few seats left on a layover flight to Dallas, it’s leaving from Denver though—"

In unison, Jack, Jackie and I all reply: “Keep looking.”

His eyebrows knit together, but he doesn’t question it any. He returns back down to the phone, scrolling mindlessly through the possible flight options.

My train of thought leads me to dozing off, my head falling on Dayo’s shoulder and him tolerating my curled-up body taking up almost the entire back seat because Dayo is still the best big brother any girl could ask for. It’s all too easy to nod off, especially since Jack has demanded not only patience from Jackie, but silence as well, so he can concentrate.

I stir back awake, hardly even realizing I’ve done so until I blink and see that we have stopped moving entirely, sitting in the pitch black of the middle of the road. Jack and Jackie are arguing in the front seat, and Dayo has taken to wrapping his leather jacket around his head in the hopes it will drown out their voices.

“What’s going on?” I mumble, stretching out my arms. Dayo might be a great big brother, but he is a terrible pillow.

Dayo does a double take when he hears my voice added to the mix, lifting up one of the arms of his jacket that has covered his face and rolling his eyes. “We’re stuck,” he catches me up to speed.

“We are not stuck!” Jackie quickly retaliates from the front seat. Jack groans.

“Yes, we are, Jackie! Unless you can suddenly will this car forward with your mind or the tornado comes to take us all to Oz, then we aren’t moving another fucking inch!”

I look over at Dayo for more explanation. “Where are we?”

“We’re about ten miles from Jen’s,” he says. “But it took us about forty minutes to get here. I don’t even think we hit the main road.”

“I don’t think we did, either,” Jack adds. “We’re still the only fools on the road.”

“We did not make it this far just to…quit!” Jackie snaps. Jack reaches over, resting a hand on her shoulder rather patronizingly.

“Jac, babe, we didn’t make it that far to start off.” She very quickly swats his hand away, wiggling away from it.

I sit up a little bit, adjusting the blanket around my shoulders. Somehow, we’ve also compromised heat all in the name of this little escape excursion as well – it is just as cold in this vehicle as it was when we got in. “Okay,” I begin. “So, just throw the car in reverse and head back to Jen’s. Problem solved.”

“We tried that,” Jack tells me. “And even if it had worked, Jackie all but pushed the gear shift back into drive against our will. It’s like she just wants to break the car and make me pay a fee for it.” As the words fall out of his mouth, dripping in sarcasm, he turns give Jackie a look. She shakes her head, waving her hand around in dismissal.

“We are not stopping now,” she repeats forcefully. “There is only forward. That’s the only option, other than wading our way through ten miles of snow on foot back to the house.”

“We cannot walk,” Dayo quickly insists.

Jack nods. “We don’t have anything to protect ourselves from any possible bears—”

“Jack, I swear to god—”

“I can just call somebody back at the house,” I offer up, reaching for Dayo’s cell phone. “And they can come get us.” Jack points back at me, our eyes meeting in the rearview mirror as he gives an affirmative nod.

“That. That is a great idea. I nominate we do that.”

Dayo, Jack and I all look at Jackie as we wait for her to give us some sort of sign that she won’t kill us if we go through with it. She stares blankly into space for a few moments, before throwing her hands up in exasperation. “Fine. FINE. Call one of the knuckleheads, but when we start the new year on literal house arrest, don’t say I didn’t try to save our asses.”

I go through all of Dayo’s contacts, stopping once I get to Josh’s number and hitting the call button. I bring it to my ear, hand violently motioning for Jackie to stop her under-her-breath mumbling so I can hear. It rings once, twice, three times, and then cuts straight to voicemail. “Asleep,” I deduce as I return to the list, trying Leven instead. Her phone doesn’t even ring, just gives me the same message that she’s had since 2011. I go for Amandla, only to get the ‘this number is out of service’ spiel. I shoot Dayo a look at that one – the least he can do is delete obsolete phone numbers, instead of planting false hope.

I sigh as I click out of the phone app, sifting back through the list of contacts to see if there’s anyone else I can call. I’m almost ready to lead our small parade on foot back to the house before the idea pops in my head. It’s a bad idea, an idea that I’m sure no one, including part of my conscience, will agree with, but it’s this or freeze to death. I will be damned if I go out like this, and on Christmas at that.

So, I dial the number that I still have memorized from years and years ago, waiting with bated breath for the line to click.

After the third ring, when my heart is beginning to drop into my stomach at the disappointment that we’ve really gone and done it, stranding ourselves here in the least imaginable condition ever, there’s the sound of the line connecting and a shuffling noise that follows. “Mm, hello?”

I can’t help but to exhale in relief. “Oh, thank god,” I breathe into the phone.

“Wait, Belle? Why are you on Dayo’s phone?” Alexander’s voice is scratchy – I’ve most definitely woken him up.

Jack and Jackie have spun around in their seats, staring at me, and Dayo’s looking at me expectantly. I make the very deliberate decision to drop no giveaway hints as to who it is I’ve gotten ahold of almost right away. “Um, long story,” I say, looking back at them. “Listen, I may or may not be in trouble.”

“Trouble?” he repeats, and there’s more shuffling that follows. “I’m on my way up to your room, gimme a second to get my baseball bat.”

My face falls, and I roll my eyes. “Yeah…about that. I’m not up in my room.”

“Wait, you aren’t?”

“No,” I answer.

“Then where are you?”

My fingers have locked onto a stray piece of hair, absentmindedly twirling it around. “Um,” I start, my voice rising an octave. “Just get in your car and follow the tire tracks?”

“Follow the ti—” He stops mid-sentence. “Let me guess, Jackie.”

“Ding ding ding.”

He sighs. “I’m heading outside now. I’ll be there in a few.”

“You’re a lifesaver.”

“Just for this, I’m going to ask that you save my life when Jackie realizes that I’m the one you’ve summoned to rescue you.” With that, the line goes dead. I pull the phone away from my ear, holding it back out to Dayo.

“Well?” Jackie asks. “Did you get ahold of someone?”

“Yeah,” I reply, purposefully avoiding all eye contact with her. “Yeah, they’re on their way to come get us.”

Jack lets out a long sigh of relief, slumping down in his seat with a hand resting over his heart in gratitude. Jackie, however, isn’t as pleased to learn this revelation – in fact, her eyes narrow into slits as she leans a little farther over the console.

“Isabelle,” she begins slowly. “Why are you suddenly being very vague and using rather non-descriptive pronouns? Who did you call?”

I start to shrink back into the seat, drawing my blanket a little closer around me as if it will save me from the inevitable hell that’s about to come raining down on me. “Let’s just remember that we are very blessed,” I squeak. “And that we should be grateful we got ahold of anyone to come rescue our stupid asses to begin with.”

“Isabelle…”

“So blessed, in fact, that it should not matter who comes to get us, but that we’re all together, that we have our health, and that’s all that matters on this fine holiday.”

“Did you call Ludwig?”

“Maybe?” I peep. Jackie groans loudly, spinning back around and slamming back into her seat. “He was the only one that would answer! It’s not my fault Dayo doesn’t keep his phone numbers updated.”

“I’m just gonna take my chances with the bears,” she announces dramatically, reaching for the door handle.

“Oh, come on, Jackie, get a grip.”

“Me? I’m not the one who he’s fucked over time and time again, Belly, that would be you.” Our eyes meet in the rearview mirror. “I know you don’t like hearing this, but you’re oblivious.”

“And I know you don’t like hearing this, but you’re more obsessed with Zander than I am,” I fire back. “He had shitty girlfriends who didn’t like me, big deal. He says stupid things – have you seen who you’re dating, no offense Jack.” His hands lift in mock arrest. “I’m just…being nice to him! I’m not dropping my panties for the man. And even if I was, I’m twenty, Jac. You don’t have to play mama bear anymore, you know that, right?”

Her face falls a little, settling into a genuine frown, and I instantly feel horrible. She’s about to cry. “I know I don’t,” she says in a small voice. “But you’re still fourteen and baby Izzy to me. I like protecting you and using Ludwig as my punching bag. It’s what I’m good at.”

I offer her a smile, leaning forward and resting a blanketed hand over hers on the console. “I know you do, but I can take care of myself, and you can use him as your punching bag without using my honor as your excuse for it.”

“He’s still in love with you, Jingle Bells,” Dayo pipes up. “Jackie wasn’t kidding when she said his type is the discount Isabelle – he’s not gonna dare breathe a hint of that in your direction, because all he wants to do is make sure you’re happy, and he thinks that that’s leaving you alone. Even when he wants otherwise. It’s why he goes for the lookalikes, and I can guarantee if you showed him half a sign, he’d drop all of that in a heartbeat. You’re what he wants, after all.”

I begin to lose a little bit of the sentiment of the moment, throwing my hands up. “Okay, when did my love life suddenly become an open conversation?”

“When you became too oblivious to see what the hell was happening in it,” Jack adds.

I sit up a little straighter, staring at him defiantly. “Let’s discuss the life and times of Jacquelack, shall we?”

Jackie glances back at me, a devilish smirk stretching over her lips. “Oh no,” she sings gleefully. “You’re getting defensive, which means this is about to get good. Let’s go back to Alexbelle.”

“Let’s not and say we did.”

She turns back around, her eyes widening a little when she finishes giving me a quick once-over, processing all of my body language and I guess connecting back onto our similar wavelength to read my mind. I can’t help but to feel a bit like a zoo animal, cowering back as the heat begins to rise in my cheeks. “Oh my god, Belly,” she breathes out incredulously. “You really like him, don’t you? Oh my god!”

“Please go back to slandering his very existence,” I beg, wincing. “I miss it already.”

“Why didn’t you say something to me?”

“When?” I retort dryly. “While you were trying to replace the Grim Reaper and put him six feet under yourself, or when he was sitting six inches away on the car ride to Jen’s?”

“Hey, I could have talked you up as I tried forcing snow down his esophagus. It was a prime opportunity.”

I roll my eyes. “Oh yeah, because that’s the time every girl wants to be brought up – when the guy is on his death bed.”

“Okay, can we please refrain on the girl talk?” Dayo requests.

“Dude, hell no,” Jack deters before Jackie or I get the chance. “I need all the details I can get so I can milk every last cent out of Amandla when I tell her I won the bet.”

“The bet?!” I screech.

Like magic, headlights begin to appear in the back window. Jack claps once, springing out of his seat. “What do you know!?” he announces all too enthusiastically. “Prince Charming has come to save us after all.”

Jack jumps out of the car before I can lunge over the console and thwack him, popping the trunk to retrieve all of our bags. Dayo gets out as well, leaving just me and Jackie to stare at one another. She hasn’t looked this excited since the announcement of Harry Potter and the Cursed Child.

“What are you gonna do?” she whispers.

“Nothing,” I hiss through gritted teeth.

“Like hell you will. I need something good to come out of this hellacious nightmare, Fuhrman.” She reaches over, resting a hand on my kneecap. “Just this once, you get a free pass – I’ll pretend that I can’t see Alexander’s tongue going down your throat. However, I draw the line at groping. Do that behind a closed door.”

My eyes widen, and I start swatting at her. “Insufferable.”

Her lips pucker as she blows me a kiss. “Don’t make me tell Jack to go pick some mistletoe.”

As she gets out of the car, I call after her, “He wouldn’t go find any anyways – he’s not venturing off this road without any bear repellent!” The majority of my statement falls on deaf ears as she slams the door, chuckling darkly the whole way.

I’m now beginning to remember the downsides of hanging out with my former costars, changing my mind entirely. Nostalgia be damned – if I never see these people again, it will be too soon.

Taking a deep breath and assuming it is now or never, seeing as how the chances of my audience disappearing is on the latter side of that, I push the door open, and kick it out so I can hop out and not compromise any of my blanket bundling. The snow comes up past my ankles as my feet sink into it, and I do my best to pick up my legs and move forward.

Jack grabs my bag out of the trunk before I get the chance to grab it, thus eliminating my only opportunity to get away from Alexander without talking to him. There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes as he walks past me, nudging me with his elbow. My face falls into a scowl as I move to punch him in the shoulder.

Alexander is leaning up against the side of our car, moving to push the trunk down once Jack slides out of the way. I stand there, feeling rather obsolete as I try to figure out what the hell to do with myself. The smart idea would be to just shuffle past him and hop in his truck, but I can feel Jackie’s eyes burning holes in me from the other side of the windshield. Knowing her, she’ll be more than happy to fill Blondie in if I don’t do it myself.

“So, why were you trying to make a break for it?” Alexander asks me.

“To be fair, I was dragged along against my will. Apparently, Jackie’s taking our whole package deal status to the next level these days.”

He nods slowly, arms folding across his chest. “Surely you had to know it wasn’t going to go well.”

I shrug. “I tried to tell them.”

A beat of awkward silence passes over us, the sound of the car door shutting as Jack clambers inside the cab, leaving me and Alexander as alone as we can be. “You weren’t trying to get away from anyone in particular then?” he asks, seeking some sort of clarification.

“No,” I answer soundly. “Besides, why would I want to leave when there’s heat at the house?”

His voice lowers a little, one of his hands coming up to scratch at his neck. “Good, ‘cause I just…I really hope you know how sorry I am about that thing the other day. Having your trust is worth so much more than a thousand dollars to me, Belle.” It’s a very good thing the wind has decided to pick back up again, giving me valid excuse for the redness rising in my cheeks.

“It’s okay,” I say quietly.

Alexander reaches into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet. He opens it, turning it around and showing it to me – for a minute, old habits die hard and I swear he’s about to show me a condom, but instead, it’s just the inside of his wallet. Credit cards, drivers license, the corner of a one-dollar bill peeking out of the top, a picture of me dressed in Jen’s mom’s clothes saluting the camera and the smile on my face hard to ignore—

Oh.

He smiles as my eyes land on it. “I told you I’d put it in my wallet,” he discloses. “I always wanna have that on hand when I need a good laugh.” I get the feeling that there’s something else he’d like to say in addition to that, but he doesn’t. He simply stops, folding his wallet back up and shoving it back in his pocket.

“Zander?” I say suddenly, his eyes lifting up to mine. “You, um…you know that thing Jackie said yesterday? About the knockoff Isabelles?”

It’s Alexander’s turn to go red in the face, and I can tell that he wants for the ground to swallow him whole. “I—look, about that,” he stammers out, doing his best to pull an excuse out of his ass.

“Yeah, about that,” I repeat teasingly, taking a step closer to him. “Are there any knockoff Isabelles currently in the picture?”

He chokes out his reply. “Uh…no, why?”

One of my shoulders falls in a nonchalant shrug. “Well, you know what they say; name brand wins every time over the generic one.”

With that, I pull myself up on my tiptoes, encasing him in my blanket and bring my lips to his. He’s happy to meet me halfway, hands clutching my hips like they’re a newfound lifeline as he hoists me up out of the snow, my legs wrapping around his waist. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t imagined this once or twice or a couple of dozen times back when I was fourteen, the heat fogging up all of my thoughts and Alexander being the most gorgeous thing I’d ever laid my eyes on – if only I could jump back in time, pat little Isabelle on the head, and tell her kissing him is just as magical as she’d imagined. Even if the surrounding environment is less than ideal, the both of us leaning against Jack’s rental car in below-freezing weather.

I don’t know how long we stand there like that, Alexander’s lips on mine (it wouldn’t surprise or bother me if the cold has frozen them together) and the upper half of him wrapped inside of the blanket with me, my arms tight around his neck. It comes to an abrupt end at the sound of the car horn echoing out in the night, the two of us pulling apart only to see Jackie hanging out of the driver side window, hand still firmly laying on the horn.

“Alright, pass expired!”