#easy French door curtains

[23victoria]

34 + 35

pairings: 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗋𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝗅𝖾𝖼𝗅𝖾𝗋𝖼 𝗑 𝖿𝖾𝗆!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

warnings: 𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍 (𝗐𝗋𝖺𝗉 𝗂𝗍 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝖺𝗉 𝗂𝗍), 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿, 𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗀𝗇𝖺𝗇𝗍

authors note: 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗋𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝗅𝖾𝖼𝗅𝖾𝗋𝖼 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗆𝗁𝗆𝗆! 𝗂 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍 𝗂'𝗏𝖾 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗇....𝗁𝗈𝗉𝖾 𝗂𝗍𝗌 𝗀𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝖾𝗇𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁! 𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝖽𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄, 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾𝗌, 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝖾���𝗅𝗈𝗀𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽!! 𝗁𝗈𝗉𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖾𝗇𝗃𝗈𝗒!! 🤍

𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗇𝖺 𝖻𝖾 𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗀𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝗆𝗒 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗌?! CLICK HERE

1k celebration f1 masterlist

The sun peeks through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the bedroom as you begin to stir. The smell of something delicious wafts through the air, pulling you from your slumber. You stretch, the soft sheets rustling around you, and that's when you see Charles standing in the doorway, a tray in his hands and a loving smile on his face.

"Good morning, baby," he says, his voice filled with affection.

You sit up, propping yourself on the pillows as he brings the tray to you. It's a delightful spread of fresh fruit, fluffy pancakes, scrambled eggs, and crispy bacon, accompanied by a steaming cup of coffee and a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice.

"Charles, this looks amazing!" you exclaim, touched by the effort he's put into making your morning special.

He sets the tray on your lap and leans in to kiss your forehead. "Only the best for you," he says, his eyes sparkling with love. "I wanted to start our anniversary weekend off right."

As you take a bite of the pancakes, savoring the sweet syrup, he sits on the edge of the bed, watching you with a look of adoration. "You have until tonight to pack your essentials," he says casually.

You pause, fork halfway to your mouth. "Pack my essentials? What do you mean?"

He grins, a mischievous glint in his eye. "I already had your BFF buy you stuff and pack everything you might need. Your job is just to relax and get ready."

You're shocked, a mixture of excitement and curiosity bubbling up inside you. "Where are we going?" you ask, your voice filled with anticipation.

You stare at him, speechless. "Wait. Charles! My hair, my nails... nothing is done. Are you serious?"

"It's a surprise," he says with a wink. "But don't worry about a thing. I've scheduled a whole day of pampering for you. Your hair, nails, everything—it's all taken care of."

He laughs, leaning in to kiss you softly. "That's what you're doing today. Just relax and enjoy yourself. I've got everything planned."

After breakfast, you get ready for your day of pampering. You’re still buzzing with excitement and curiosity about the surprise trip. Charles gives you one last kiss before you head out the door, his parting words making you smile. "Enjoy your day, baby. You deserve it."

Your first stop is a high-end salon downtown, where you're greeted by friendly staff who seem to know exactly who you are. "Welcome! We've been expecting you," the receptionist says with a warm smile.

You're ushered into a private room where your stylist awaits. She’s bubbly and professional, and she wastes no time in discussing what you’d like for your hair. After a brief consultation, you decide on a style that's elegant yet easy to manage, perfect for a surprise trip.

As she works, you relax, letting the tension melt away. The stylist is skilled, her hands working magic on your hair. She gives you a deep conditioning treatment, a trim, and styles your hair into soft, cascading waves that frame your face beautifully.

Next, you’re led to the nail section, where you choose a chic chrome white French tip with tiny jewels for a touch of glamour. The nail technician is meticulous, ensuring each nail is perfect. The process is soothing, and you find yourself chatting with her, the time passing quickly.

Once your nails are done, you move on to a luxurious facial. The esthetician is gentle, applying various creams and masks that rejuvenate your skin, leaving it glowing and refreshed. You close your eyes, letting the serene environment and soft music lull you into a state of complete relaxation.

By the time you’re finished, you feel like a new person. Your hair looks stunning, your nails are impeccable, and your skin feels silky smooth. As you step out of the salon, you can’t help but admire your reflection in the glass door. Charles is going to love this, you think to yourself with a smile.

.•☆.°.•.*₊ ♪ ♫ .• ☆.°.• .

Charles picks you up outside the salon, his eyes lighting up when he sees you. "Wow, you look incredible," he says, pulling you in for a kiss. "How was your day?"

"It was amazing," you reply, your heart swelling with gratitude. "Thank you so much for everything. But I'm still dying to know where we're going."

He laughs, a low, rumbling sound that makes your heart flutter. "All in good time, baby."

He drives you to the airport, the anticipation building with each passing mile. When you arrive, he parks and leads you inside, his hand warm and reassuring in yours. As you walk through the bustling terminal, you can’t help but feel a mix of excitement and nerves.

"Charles, seriously, where are we going?" you ask again, hoping he’ll give you a hint.

He just smiles, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "You'll see soon enough. Trust me."

You board a private plane, a luxury you hadn't expected. The interior is plush and comfortable, with soft leather seats and elegant décor. As you settle in, a stewardess offers you a drink, and you accept a glass of champagne, the bubbles tickling your nose as you take a sip.

Charles sits beside you, his hand resting on your thigh. "I arranged for dinner to be served once we're in the air," he says, his voice low and intimate. "I thought it would be nice to enjoy a meal together while we fly."

You look at him, your heart overflowing with love and gratitude. "You're so cute," you say, leaning in to kiss him. "I love you. I'm so excited but also a little nervous."

He smiles, his eyes filled with warmth. "I love you too. And there's no need to be nervous. Everything is going to be perfect."

The plane takes off smoothly, and soon you’re soaring above the clouds. The stewardess brings out dinner—a beautifully arranged spread of gourmet dishes. There's a succulent filet mignon, a delicate salmon fillet, roasted vegetables, and a variety of decadent desserts.

As you dine, you and Charles talk about everything and nothing, the conversation flowing easily between you. The food is delicious, each bite a new sensation of flavor and texture. You feel completely spoiled, each moment more perfect than the last.

"You're really pulling out all the stops," you say, taking a sip of your champagne. "This is like a dream."

He reaches across the table, taking your hand in his. "You deserve nothing but the best," he says softly. "I wanted to make this anniversary unforgettable."

You smile, squeezing his hand. "It already is. But I can't help but wonder—where are we going?"

He chuckles, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on your hand. "Patience, baby. You'll know soon enough."

After dinner, you both recline your seats, the plane dimming its lights for the evening. You snuggle close to Charles, his arm wrapped around you as you gaze out at the stars twinkling outside the window.

"I can't wait to see what you have planned," you whisper, your voice filled with excitement.

He kisses your forehead, his lips soft and warm against your skin. "It's going to be amazing," he promises. "I can't wait to share it with you."

As the plane continues its journey, you close your eyes, feeling completely content. The anticipation of the surprise destination fills you with a sense of adventure and wonder. With Charles by your side, you know that whatever awaits you will be perfect.

Several hours later, the plane begins its descent. You wake up, feeling refreshed and curious about where you are. Charles looks at you, his eyes twinkling with excitement.

"We're almost there," he says, his voice filled with anticipation.

You look out the window, trying to catch a glimpse of your destination. The landscape below is beautiful, lush and green with hints of water sparkling in the distance. As the plane touches down, you feel a rush of excitement.

Once you’ve landed, Charles helps you gather your things, and you step off the plane into the warm, balmy air. The scenery is breathtaking—palm trees swaying gently in the breeze, the ocean stretching out to the horizon, and the sky painted with the colors of the setting sun.

“Charles, this is incredible,” you say, your eyes wide with wonder. “Where are we?”

He takes your hand, leading you towards a waiting car. “Welcome to Thailand,” he says with a grin. “Our home for the next week.”

You gasp, your heart racing with excitement. “Thailand? Are you serious?”

He nods, his eyes sparkling with delight. “I thought it would be the perfect place to celebrate our anniversary.”

You throw your arms around him, hugging him tightly. “Thank you, Charles. This is the best surprise ever.”

He kisses you, his lips warm and loving against yours. “Anything for you, baby. Now, let’s get settled in. We have an amazing week ahead of us.”

As you drive towards your hotel, the excitement and anticipation build within you. You can’t wait to see what other surprises Charles has in store. With him by your side, you know this trip will be nothing short of magical.

.•☆.°.•.*₊ ♪ ♫ .• ☆.°.• .

As you make your way to the candle-lit dinner he meticulously planned, the soft glow of lanterns and the soothing sound of the waves set the perfect ambiance. The setting is picturesque—a secluded beach with a table adorned with flowers, candles flickering gently in the evening breeze, and the scent of the ocean filling the air.

Charles, ever the gentleman, pulls out your chair, his eyes never leaving yours. He looks dashing in a crisp white shirt that contrasts beautifully with his tanned skin, his hair slightly tousled by the wind. You can’t help but smile at the thoughtfulness he’s put into this evening.

As you sit down, a waiter appears with a bottle of your favorite wine. Charles pours it for you, the liquid shimmering in the candlelight. You clink glasses, and he raises his, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“To us,” he says, his voice deep and sincere. “To three amazing years and many more to come.”

You smile, feeling a rush of warmth and affection. “To us,” you echo, taking a sip of the wine.

The first course arrives—a delicate seafood platter with fresh oysters, shrimp, and lobster, all beautifully presented. You savor each bite, the flavors bursting on your tongue. Charles watches you, his eyes dark with a mix of love and desire.

“This is amazing,” you say, your voice filled with genuine appreciation. “You really outdid yourself.”

He reaches across the table, taking your hand in his. “Only the best for you,” he replies, his thumb gently caressing your skin.

The conversation flows effortlessly as you enjoy the meal. You talk about your favorite memories from the past three years, laughing and reminiscing about the adventures you’ve shared. Charles is attentive, hanging on your every word, his gaze never wavering from your face.

The main course is a sumptuous Thai curry, rich and aromatic, with just the right amount of spice. You both savor the complex flavors, occasionally feeding each other bites. The intimacy of the moment is palpable, the connection between you deepening with each shared taste.

As the meal draws to a close, the waiter brings out a decadent dessert—mango sticky rice, perfectly sweet and fragrant. Charles takes a bite, then leans over to kiss you, his lips tasting of mango and coconut.

“I love you,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice husky.

“I love you too,” you whisper back, your heart swelling with emotion.

.•☆.°.•.*₊ ♪ ♫ .• ☆.°.• .

After dinner, you and Charles walk back to your hotel, hand in hand. The night is warm, the air filled with the scent of jasmine and the distant sound of music from a nearby festival. When you reach your room, he opens the door with a flourish, revealing a scene straight out of a fairy tale. The room is dimly lit, with rose petals scattered across the bed and soft music playing in the background.

Charles pulls you close, his hands resting on your hips. “I have one more surprise for you,” he says, his breath warm against your ear.

You raise an eyebrow, curious and excited. “Oh? And what might that be?”

He smiles, a slow, sensual smile that sends shivers down your spine. “Why don’t you sit down and find out?”

You sit on the edge of the bed, watching as he moves to the small table in the corner. He lights a few more candles, their soft glow adding to the romantic atmosphere. Then he turns back to you, his eyes dark and smoldering.

He walks over to you, his movements graceful and deliberate. When he reaches you, he kneels down, his hands sliding up your legs to rest on your thighs. “You look beautiful tonight,” he says, his voice low and filled with desire.

Your breath catches in your throat as he leans in, his lips brushing against your skin. He starts at your ankle, kissing his way up your leg, his touch sending sparks of electricity through your body. By the time he reaches your inner thigh, you’re already aching with need.

“Charles,” you whisper, your voice trembling with anticipation.

He looks up at you, his eyes filled with love and lust. “Just relax,” he murmurs. “Let me take care of you.”

You lean back, propping yourself up on your elbows as he continues his slow, sensual exploration. His hands are gentle but firm as they slide up your dress, pushing the fabric aside to reveal your bare skin. When his lips finally reach your core, you can’t help but moan, the sound echoing in the quiet room.

He takes his time, his tongue teasing and tasting you with a skill that leaves you breathless. Each flick and swirl sends waves of pleasure coursing through your body, building higher and higher until you’re on the edge of ecstasy. You grip the sheets, your knuckles white as you hold on, the sensations overwhelming.

“Charles, I’m so close,” you gasp, your body trembling with need.

He looks up at you, his eyes dark and intense. “Come for me,” he murmurs, his voice rough with desire. “I want to feel you come.”

His words send you over the edge, your body arching as the orgasm crashes over you. You cry out his name, your vision going white with pleasure. Charles doesn’t stop, his tongue still moving against you, prolonging your release until you’re shaking with aftershocks.

When you finally come down, he looks up at you, his lips glistening. “You taste amazing,” he says, his voice husky.

You pull him up to you, kissing him deeply, tasting yourself on his lips. “Your turn,” you whisper, a wicked smile playing on your lips.

You push Charles onto his back, your hands moving to unbutton his shirt. He watches you, his eyes filled with anticipation and desire. When you finally have his shirt off, you trail kisses down his chest, your tongue flicking out to taste his skin. He groans, his hands tangling in your hair as you make your way lower.

When you reach the waistband of his pants, you look up at him, your eyes dark with desire. “I want to make you feel as good as you made me feel,” you say, your voice low and sultry.

He swallows hard, his eyes never leaving yours. “You always do,” he replies, his voice rough with need.

You smile, your fingers deftly undoing his belt and sliding his pants down. When he’s finally bare before you, you take a moment to admire him, your eyes drinking in every inch of his body.

Then you lean down, your lips wrapping around him, your tongue teasing the sensitive head. He groans, his hips bucking as you take him deeper, your mouth moving up and down his length with practiced ease. You can feel him trembling beneath you, his hands gripping the sheets as he tries to hold on.

“God, you’re so good at that,” he gasps, his voice strained.

You hum in response, the vibration sending shivers through his body. You take him deeper, your hand moving to stroke the base as your mouth works its magic. He’s close, you can feel it, his body tensing as he nears the edge.

Just as he’s about to come, you pull back, a wicked smile on your lips. He looks at you, his eyes filled with desperation and desire. “Please,” he begs, his voice rough. “I need you.”

You climb onto the bed, straddling his hips as you align yourself with him. “Not yet,” you murmur, your voice low and teasing. “I want to ride you first.”

You sink down onto him, both of you gasping at the sensation. You start to move, your hips rocking back and forth as you take him deep inside you. The pleasure is intense, each thrust sending waves of ecstasy through your body. Charles watches you, his eyes dark with desire, his hands gripping your hips as you ride him.

“You look so hot,” he groans, his voice filled with awe. “God, I love watching you like this.”

You smile, your movements quickening as you feel the pleasure building. “I love it too,” you gasp, your body trembling with need.

Just as you’re about to come, Charles flips you over, pinning you beneath him. He thrusts into you hard and fast, his hands gripping your thighs as he drives you both towards release. The pleasure is overwhelming, each thrust sending you higher and higher until you’re on the edge of ecstasy.

“You want me to get you pregnant?” he growls, his voice rough with desire.

“Yes,” you moan, your body arching beneath him. “Yes, Charles, I want it so much.”

He thrusts into you one final time, both of you crying out as you come together. The sensation is intense, your body shaking with the force of your release. When it finally subsides, you collapse against the bed, your body spent and satisfied.

Charles pulls out of you gently, his movements careful and tender. He reaches for a warm rag, cleaning you up with a soft touch. “You were amazing,” he murmurs, his voice filled with love and admiration.

You smile, your heart swelling with affection. “So were you,” you reply, your voice soft.

He finishes cleaning you up, then scoops you into his arms, carrying you to the bathroom. When you see the rose petals and warm water waiting, you can’t help but smile. “You really thought of everything,” you say, your voice filled with wonder.

Charles sets you down gently into the bath, the warm water enveloping your tired muscles and soothing your skin. The scent of the rose petals fills the air, adding to the romantic atmosphere. He slips in behind you, pulling you close so your back rests against his chest. His arms wrap around you, holding you securely.

You both sigh in contentment, the warm water and intimate setting creating a perfect moment of peace and relaxation. Charles nuzzles your neck, placing soft kisses along your shoulder.

“This was perfect,” you murmur, leaning back into him.

He tightens his hold on you slightly, his lips brushing your ear. “I’m glad you enjoyed it,” he whispers. “I wanted tonight to be special for you.”

You turn your head slightly, meeting his gaze. “It was more than special. It was unforgettable.”

He smiles, his eyes filled with love. “I love you,” he says softly.

“I love you too,” you reply, your heart swelling with emotion.

You rest in the bath together, enjoying the quiet intimacy of the moment. Charles’s hands gently caress your skin, his touch soothing and comforting. You close your eyes, letting yourself relax completely in his embrace.

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© 23victoria 2023-24 I all rights reserved. do not republish, steal repost, modify, translate or claim my work as your own

[vonlycsnn]

Hello! May I request a Von lycaon x Gn Reader who is blind but has a optimistic personality? One who uses to love the simple things in life like feeling the sun, taking walks and enjoying any meals

Thank you so much! ♡

Have a nice day •u<~☆

♡ — A RAY OF SUNSHINE

~ VON LYCAON X BLIND (GN) READER.

SUMMARY: You spend your usual morning with your lover, Lycaon. He can't help but appreciate how optimistic you are despite your disability.

cw/tw: none.

A/N: I love this idea so much! I tried to do as much research as i possibly could for this, so my sincere apologies if i got anything wrong. Thank you for the kind words and for the request, I hope you enjoy reading this!

Faint footsteps can be heard approaching your bedroom. Soon after, the door gently opened. It made a quiet but noticeable squeak. But you were too deep in your sleep to hear any of it. The footsteps walked across the room and stopped.

 

Clawed hands grabbed the curtains and drew them open, revealing the morning view outside. You were suddenly hit by the sensation of warmth on your bare skin. You whined in protest. Knowing exactly what that meant.

 

You opened your eyes to see the blurry environment around you, folding the pillow you were laying on as a way to tell your beloved butler that you didn't want to get up just yet.

 

You hear a chuckle from your left ear, the bed sheets folded as you felt someone sitting on the edge of the bed. Then you felt someone breathing close to your neck; you couldn't help but giggle at how it feels.

 

"It's time to wake up, dear." Lycaon whispered.

 

You adjusted your position to face him, trying your best find his face with your hands. He chuckled once more and guided your hands to his fluffy cheeks. Immediately after you moved your fingers to feel his fur, he smiled.

 

"Mm...enjoying yourself?" The thiren asked. You merely nodded as you were still too sleepy to say anything just yet. You felt something brush against your legs, assuming that it's Lycaon's tail wagging.

 

You kept running your fingers against his fur for what seemed like minutes until you felt arms behind your back, lifting you up from your land of peace. "Lycaon nooo..." You lazily protested.

 

"Come on now. I've made you breakfast, fresh and warm for you to enjoy." He explains as he approaches the dining room.

 

The dining table was neatly organized, and the floors were spotless—a perfect start to your day. Oh, if only you could appreciate the effort he has put into cleaning this area...

 

He carefully put you down and guided you to your seat. As soon as you sat down, you smelt a delicious scent in front of you. You couldn't help but smile big when you realized what it was.

 

"I've made your favorite; french toast with a few slices of bacon."

 

You heard utensils being grabbed by the thiren; a hand gently moved your head in his direction. All you could see was a blurry white figure in front of you, but nevertheless you smiled softly.

 

"Open your mouth, love."

 

You obliged, happily receiving the food he's feeding you. Once you tasted the sweetness of the French toast and the salty bacon, you felt like you were sent to heaven. Lycaon's cooking is always so good.

 

As he was feeding you, he begins to reminisce about the past. Back when the two of you were merely friends.

 

—

 

"Master, you mustn't walk too far."

 

You heard him warning you; all you gave him was a smile and a giggle. One step...two step...You walked forward. Shoes removed to feel the concrete floor beneath your foot, and the cold air touched your face gently...It was soothing.

 

"Don't worry, Lycaon. I'm just going to stay right here." You assured him. His mouth opened, clearly wanting to say something, but he didn't. He merely stood there, waiting for you to finish your moment.

 

"The rooftop of this building...it's my favorite. Open spaces like these in general are a delight to be in."

 

You closed your eyes, strengthening your other senses. Being blind is not easy by any means. You remember the day you cried your eyes out as a child over the fact that you couldn't recognize simple shapes and figures. 

 

Your parents did everything in their power to help you; of course you were grateful for their efforts. But they knew that someday they couldn't help you anymore; that's why they hired the best servant they know: Von Lycaon from Victoria Housekeeping Co.

 

Someone who could help you with everyday needs, someone who could keep you safe from the dangers of the outside world—you were truly thankful for all he has done.

 

Despite your early disappointments and everyday struggles, you learned to accept how you are and enjoy your life with the things you already had. You were born with this condition. You couldn't change anything, and that's okay, even if you wanted to enjoy life like the rest of the world.

 

The thiren stayed silent, admiring you from afar. You were always the cheerful type, but hearing you say such optimistic words despite the disability you were given with...it was inspiring.

 

Lycaon smiled, and he walked towards you. You felt a hand on your shoulder.

 

"Then I'll bring you here more frequently if you'd like." Lycaon suggested.

 

You smiled big, nodding vigorously.

You couldn't be happier.

[fandomwritingbit]

Sweet girl pt.4

dbf William Afton x fem/virgin reader

synop: William finds reader sunbathing and goes after the opportunity, even with the risk of her dad catching the two of you.

warning: smut, corruption, coercion, inappropriate relationship, exhibitionism(?) William is as always pretty creepy and manipulative.

Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3

A/n: This one is pretty dirty at the end, just a heads up if you're into playing around with cum.

The view was fortunate, is the first thought to enter William’s head when he sees you like that. Completely unaware of him, facing away with your head buried in some book as you try to pick up some sun on your back. Vulnerable to him, the only thing keeping you safe was the french windows of your house, separating the fox from the rabbit. 

He’d come over meaning to return some kind of wrench to your dad, in hindsight you remember the conversation in passing, how you hadn’t been paying attention until you learned William was coming. Your father’s car wasn’t in the drive but he let himself in anyway, a flimsy hope of catching you home alone pushing him to. He called out, he’s not a complete criminal, “Anyone home?” and the like, all to no reply. Maybe he would have crept up the stairs to find your room, with you in it would have been delightful, but he still could have busied himself if you weren’t. Now that’s a thought, he bets your room is sweet, probably a tonne of pillows and teddies, some kind of soft light-coloured duvet, that air of innocence you’ve managed to maintain all this time. Delicious. 

Maybe he would have done that, if not for the music. Some sort of summery, perhaps Spanish influenced guitar, muffled through the house as though it were close by, so he looked for its source. And by God, is he glad he did.  

Your house has a knack for letting a lot of light in, keeps the place bright and airy, and now he sees why, not a stitch of curtains to be found on the large glass windows, and not much of a stitch to be found on you either. It’s the most tantalising sight, your legs bare and leading up to the plump of your arse in such a little bikini, the kind that ties with string at the hips. He notes its practicality for an adjustable fit but also its practicality for other reasons. Just watching through the glass, he palms the growing hardness in his trousers as he considers his options. 

Santana, you think to yourself when the next song on the playlist you found begins to play, your dad likes this song, you reckon you do too, though you can’t really decide from one or two listens. And you’re not really concentrating, not with your novel open in front of you, which after days of forcing yourself to read was finally getting interesting. Occupied. Distracted. Easy. 

That’s why you don’t hear the back door slide open. 

In fact, you don’t hear anything. Not the door. Not the footsteps on the grass. The only thing that makes William’s presence known to you is his shadow on your book, his large frame stealing your light. It’s a chilling sight, the kind of realisation that pushes you into slow motion; there’s someone behind you. 

You twist around so fast that your sunbed almost tips over with the force of your body against it, knees tucked up and eyes pinned open wide. The weight of adrenaline in your veins blinds you to the sight, it takes a few seconds before you realise that it’s him, and fear for your life can subside. Well, marginally. 

He can’t help but laugh at the frantic way you turned, all reflex as evident in its clumsiness, he should have said something, but hindsight is 20/20. 

With your chest still heaving, you try desperately to calm yourself down, “William?!” You say, with no real thought as to why. And at the predatory grin on his face you remember how little you're wearing, your skimpiest bikini, all straps and little substance so you can pick up as much sun as possible. You regret that now, especially with how blatantly his gaze is on your cleavage. “How uh did you get in?” You think the question as you ask it, concern making your brows raise. 

Finally managing to bring his gaze to your eyes, the sly expression on his face doesn’t budge an inch. “Door was unlocked.” His words are nonchalant and you nod, wishing you had a towel on hand to cover up with. Your dad was a bugger for leaving the door unlocked, case proven that any fucker could just walk in. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, my fence hopping days are long over.” 

You give him a small smile, though you’re not entirely convinced, with how persistent he’s been with you so far you don’t doubt he’d break and enter for another taste; and that thought makes your stomach flutter. 

“So… what are you doing?” Your voice is small, pinched with nerves, his stature over you right now is insanely intimidating, so tall you swear he could pick you up and toss you around like a dolly. 

“Just enjoying the view, it’s a lovely day.” He makes a point of looking you up and down, leaving you no question as to what view he’s referring to. You’re art, the way you’re propped up on your arms, nipples peeking through the tiny bikini top, your legs shiny in the sun pressed together to hide the part of you that sings to him. 

You look up at him shyly, uncertainly saying, “Yeah it is-” Your words go dry in your mouth when William’s hand come to your leg, a firm grip on your ankle that traces up more gently over your calf. You shiver at the touch. 

“This isn’t… My dad will be home soon.” You start trying to explain why him coming onto you right now wasn’t a good idea, but when your core is fluttering from his touch it’s pretty persuasive. 

“That is such a shame.” His tone is dripping with sarcasm, the false sadness practically tangible. As he speaks, he catches your ankles, lifting them so he can sit at the bottom of the sun bed, where he lets your legs lay over him, resuming grazing over your skin. “And here I was hoping to spend some time with you. It’s just a terrible set of circumstances, isn’t it?” He continues equally as mockingly and you can’t help but giggle. It’s manipulative, you think, how insistent this man can be without seeming too pushy, he has you wrapped around his finger when if anything it should be the other way around. 

“”But what if-” You start, but he cuts you off like he can read your mind. 

“We’d hear the car.” He offers, it’s flimsy but you’re willing to hang on to anything that would allow his hand to travel further up your leg, closer to where you need him. 

You murmur a quiet ‘okay’ and the moment it leaves your lips it’s replaced by the older man’s tongue, his body coming easily over yours and taking you away from the heat of the sun. He wants to be patient with you, slow and deliberate but it's hard when your skin is so soft under his fingers and you’re so receptive to the quick progression of this kiss. And it is quick, the way he invades your mouth is rough and dirty, making your back curve off the sunbed into him. 

It’s scary how much you want it, you can’t help it, pulling at his shirt, digging your fingers into his shoulders, spurring him to slide his hand between your legs. The spark is instant, electric pleasure throughout your body, it’s easy for him but your heart is pounding. You melt into it, that perfect way he finds rhythm on your clit, stoking that insatiable pressure in your core. It builds quickly, a slippery flame on a mountain of kindling, leaving you squirming under him as he moves away from your lips and begins sucking a sequence of kisses down your neck. 

The angle of his ministrations change, a finger trailing down through your folds and resting firmly on your entrance. You jolt, a short whine escaping your lips. Something close to dread seizes hold of you, you’ve never done that before, never had anyone inside of you and it makes you nervous. Doubly so, when you consider how easy it is for him to have you spiralling. 

“I need to feel how tight you are, lovely.” William speaks against your skin, causing goosebumps to prickle across your body, “You gonna let me?” He’s asking but teasing your hole already, your wet heat is just begging for him to slip inside, you know it, he knows it, and so despite the nerves you nod, rolling your hips slightly and resuming his stimulation on your clit yourself. 

He’s nice enough to press a single finger in first, slowly at that, letting you adjust to the feeling and waiting until your body relaxes a little before he moves. It’s nothing, but the way you’re clinging on to him says otherwise, scared but not willing to let go of your end that’s still rearing despite the intrusion. 

“Such a sweet thing.” He coos besides your ear, distracting you from the second long finger which joins in. It doesn’t hurt but it’s strange and you can’t help but gasp. His name flees your lips in a desperate way and he hums an answer against your skin, not that you had a question to begin with. You just can’t think straight, not with the pace of pushing his digits in and out and the rhythm on your nerves that has your climax tightening its fist around you immediately. 

You lose control, shuddering as you cum, the new sensation of having something to clench around making a moan tear through you. It’s hot the way you’re so desperate for him, the most basic of things making you lose your mind, and William tries not to think about how perfect that little cunt is going to feel around his cock, squeezing around him like you are his fingers right now. Eager. Pliant. Fragile.

William pulls out of you and as you begin to regain your senses you realise that you hate how pathetic you are. Only taking because you don’t have the agency to give anything yourself, it’s embarrassing. You want, need to make him feel good. 

“I- I want…” You try to speak coherently, but it's a struggle you’re still reeling from your climax, lost in the after waves mulling over you, making your pussy clamp around nothing, impatient with the urge to feel his fingers again, maybe more. He completely scrambles your brain every time and it’s not fair because you can’t seem to do the same, but you want to try. The night outside your house springs to mind, he had seemed so addicted then, like he needed your touch to survive, exactly how you feel right now.  

William hums some acknowledgement into the crook of your neck, slick with saliva from his assault there, he doesn’t stop the way you’re squirming has his cock throbbing and he has half a mind to make you cum again for his own gratification. 

You try again, forcing the thought out of you, “I want you in my mouth.” You manage, though it’s quiet and your face burns with the words. He blatantly laughs, partially in surprise, before shifting his frame to look at you. 

“What?” He knows what you said, he just wants to hear it again. 

You keep your eyes away from his, forcing yourself to commit to the idea even when you can’t imagine doing it. “Can I suck your cock?” The second you ask it in that sweet voice of yours he could have bust, so cute, so eager to please. 

“Course you fucking can.” There’s a hint of disbelief to his voice that you pride yourself on, you want to be able to surprise him , even though it scares you a little. William moves, standing up, leaving you to sit on the sunbed at the perfect height to be confronted by the arrogant bulge in his trousers. His cock is weeping, desperately hard in that way that you always manage to make him, intentionally or not. Your lip is between your teeth as you watch him reach for his belt, a pang ringing through your core when you think about how big his hands are and what they were doing to you moments ago.

He frees himself, stroking his dick at the sight of you and your obvious nerves. “You know what you’re doing, sweet girl?” He asks you with a wicked grin, god something about you just looking at his cock drives him fucking mad. 

“Not really.” You say shakily, resenting the need to be honest. 

He chuckles again, your innocence amuses him, “Come here.” 

You obey, sitting forward and lifting your hands to take a hold of his cock, it gives you a thrill to touch him, to hear his breath change at your action. So you stroke him eagerly until you have the courage to bring your head closer, his hand instantly cupping the back of your head. He guides your lips to his cockhead, sniggering as he taps his tip against your mouth, some of his precum coating your chin. 

You take the initiative to open your mouth and hesitantly stick out your tongue to taste him. It surprises you that it’s not unpleasant and so you settle into it, swirling your tongue around him before parting your lips enough to take his tip, lightly sucking on him. 

He groans, “That’s it, baby. Use your hands.” You obey, resuming stroking him whilst toying with the most sensitive part of his cock. He knows you’re not trying to tease him but fuck, his knuckles are white at the back of your head with the effort not to bury himself down your throat and use you like the little doll you are. 

The grip in your hair hurts a fair bit but it has you tingling and spurs you to try harder, hollowing your cheeks as you attempt to take more of him, you only half succeed, unable to cope when his cock digs into the back of your throat. He moans when your throat spasms around him, the fluttering making his need to cum very apparent. 

William begins to guide your movements a little, battling with the selfish need to fuck to completion and you whine unintelligible protest. It’s a lot to get used to and your panicked eyes say it all when you glance up at him. 

“Fuck.” He hisses when he meets your gaze, his voice hoarse with arousal, “You can do it. Just like that- gonna make me fucking-” You recognise the inability to get out a complete sentence and your pride makes the tears in your eyes worth it. Your thoughts are lewd, you want him to cum, want it in your mouth, you want to taste it. Want to swallow it because you know it’ll please him. 

But it’s cut short at the crisp sound of a car door slamming shut. The hawk like turn of William’s head confirms it, your dad is back, that absolute piece of fuckin- He lets go of you, rushing to right himself as you did the same, moving swiftly across the garden to grab the towel you left by the door. 

You sit back on your sunbed, praying that you don’t look as shattered as William, who’s left high and dry, forced to leave his shirt untucked with the meagre hope that it’ll obscure his raging erection. 

“Fucking hell.” He curses under his breath. He’d laugh if his cock wasn’t throbbing. 

“I’m sorry.” You say quietly, the sound of the front door closing cutting through the empty house. Clearly you dad wanted to be heard, whereas William previously hadn’t. 

“It’s not your fault.” He smirks a little, thinking about how pathetic this situation is. He takes a seat beside you, leaving the respectable amount of distance a middle-aged man should leave his friend’s daughter, whilst trying to think of an explanation for his presence here. 

Your father wastes no time in moving through the house looking for you, his calling yielded no response so he heads to the back garden. Emerging from the door, already speaking, “Hey, y/n. I’m back from- William? Didn’t expect to see you here…” The confusion in your dad’s voice is evident, he’s smiling but his eyes are narrow as he assesses the sight before him. 

You smile at your dad as best you can, glancing at William when he starts speaking, a crack in his confidence that you hope only you notice. “Chris. I was just after dropping off the socket wrench you leant me, I left it in the kitchen.” 

Your dad turns to look back towards the house and you jump in, an idea of an excuse coming to mind. “I was telling him about my book,” Suddenly you’re holding it, as if you were all along and William grins, what a good girl you are. “It’s getting really good, I was probably talking his ear off.” You cross your fingers that your sweet demeanour is enough to settle your dad’s obliviousness.

“No, it does sound good. I’ll have to borrow it.” He manages to deliver it in such a way that it sounds like he’s humouring you, being polite to a young lass’s rambling, it’s sold and your dad bought it. 

“Oh right.” Your dad agrees, smiling at his good daughter who’s so well-mannered and respectful to everyone, he’s proud of you. But so is William. “You want to stay for a cuppa?” He asks his friend and William grins at the fact that your dad isn’t the only mug in the house. 

“Yeah, that’d be nice.” 

He nods, turning to you, “Want one, sweetie?” 

“Uh yes, please.” With a word of understanding, your father heads back in the house to sort the tea out, the very moment his back is turned William leans close to you. 

“Aren’t you a good liar?” He chuckles his voice playfully dark, you smile but look down. You never used to be a good liar, that must be something this has cultivated. That he has cultivated. Still close to you, William speaks low and full of twisted intention, “Finish it, sweetheart.” 

You look at him confused but it quickly dawns on you what he means. “Don’t be crazy, my dad is-” 

He cuts off your sensible reasoning, with some of his own, “It won’t take long. Just with your hand, come on.” There’s an immature glee in his eyes as he takes your hand and quickly undoes his belt with the other, you don’t resist, in fact you’re brimming with excitement. This is so stupid, so dangerous, there’s no lying your way out of your hand in his trousers, maybe that’s what makes it sweeter when he places your hand on his cock. 

You stroke him quickly, your head is on a swivel between the mouth-watering sight of William tilting his head back in pleasure and the door where you’re willing your dad not to appear. There’s no finesse in it, it’s almost frantic, your hand sliding up and down his cock at a fast pace, trying to push him over the edge as quickly as possible. He’s close, all this fucking around has him begging to finish, its almost unpleasant how much he needs to cum and it shows in the near scowl on his face as you get him closer and closer. 

“Shit.” He curses, and you catch the tensing of his body as he finally touches his peak, ridgid as he can’t help but meet your fist as he cums. He spills in your hand, it’s ill thought out some of his release lands in the grass at his feet, but most on himself or trickling down the back of your hand onto the sunbed beneath. Messy and desperate, but he hardly notices through the overwhelming relief. 

You breathe out loudly, realising that you’ve been holding your breath for a fair while in anticipation, you’re almost giddy with excitement. He seems to finally notice the mess because he laughs, reaching for the towel around your body and using a corner of it to try to clean up. It looks pretty fucking bad, but it’ll have to surfice. 

You wait nervously for him to be done so you can also use it to wipe your hands, he recognises what you’re wanting to do but he has a different idea. He snatches your wrist and brings it to his mouth in a pretty startling way, he’s strong enough that you have no say in the matter, and can only watch as he licks his own release off the back of your hand. He sniggers into the action at the look on your face, near horrified, so sexually inept. It makes him want to do the most depraved things just to see that wide-eyed look. It’s gross, you think, to taste himself on your fingers like that, screwed up even, but you can’t deny the way you’re squirming, rubbing your legs together just to feel a sliver of stimulation. 

He’s well on his way to ruining you. 

pt.5 - here

[ventismacchiato]

26 behind the lens — the ship has sunk !

scaramouche x g!n reader

notes; same day but it’s now night time

translations for french at the end of the chapter

_________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

You hear a knock on the bathroom door, causing you to jump at the noise. You’d been hiding in your shared restroom for a while to update your friends on the situation, losing track of time as you sat atop the counter in nothing but your pajamas.

“Hey, are you alright?” Kuni asks from the other side of the door, “You’ve been in there for a while silently. Better not be jerking off without me.”

“I’m fine,” you call out, face blooming, “I just have an extensive thirty-step skin care routine,” you lie.

“Alright, I’m going to bed,” he hums, and you hear his footsteps walk off.

You place your face in your hands and let out a low groan, hiding a secret identity was not as easy as Hannah Montana made it seem. You hop off the counter and splash some water on your face to make it seem as if you did have a routine. After muting your phone so as to not hear Aether telling you how bad you were keeping a secret you sat on the edge of the tub for a few minutes, collecting your thoughts.

The stress was really catching up to you. What the fuck were you doing?

You turn your mind off and wander out into the bedroom, the only source of light being the beams of white streaming through the curtains. Kuni’s body was turned away from you, his chest rising up and down slowly. He must’ve been exhausted from today.

You quietly crawl under the covers with him, pulling the comforter up to your chin. You were going to face the other way so as to not bother him but much to your surprise, the blankets rustled and Kuni was now facing you.

He lifts his eyelids open and tugs you in close, hands sliding underneath your shirt to caress your cold skin. Your chests are pressed up against each other, which causes you to circle your hands around his waist out of instinct.

“Goodnight,” he mumbles, pressing his face into the pillow, “I’m glad you came,” he trails off.

“I am too,” you reply, letting yourself play with his hair.

“Star confessed to me today,” he says, his words muffled from his face being hidden in the pillow, but he peeks out to gauge your reaction. You pretend to be surprised.

“Oh, what did you say?”

“That I would rather be with you, obviously,” he says, pinching your waist.

“I’d like to be with you, too.”

Kuni blooms red at that, hiding his face back in the pillow.

You’d come clean after Paris.

You wanted to enjoy this for as long as you could.

_________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

filler

behind the lens !

masterlist — prev | next

sunghoon, yeonjun, and lujiuerhei as scara, felix as kazuha

ngl i kinda regret making ayaka a friend in this au but i’m too far gone ☠️

shadow moth hacking scara’s twt hes in a silly goofy mood

lmk if u can’t read anything in an ask and i’ll zoom in for u,,it’s hard trying to cram everything into ten pics

translations:

merci d'être entré dans ma vie = thank you for coming into my life

author’s notes — lmk if the french is right i trusted google for this one

synopsis — you, better known as STARDUST, and BALLADEER have always been in competition for the top streamer spot on twitch, which is especially impressive since the two of you have never shown your faces. you’ve never been on good terms, constantly one-upping each other in matches and getting into petty arguments on twitter, causing your fans to also dislike each other. that’s until BALLADEER does a face reveal that breaks the internet with his good looks…which makes you realize it’s the same guy you went on a date with last night. the type of date that made you crave to see him again. the only problem was he didn’t know you were STARDUST and he was way different behind the lens than he portrayed himself online to you. should you keep your identity a secret to salvage the relationship or just let him go?

taglist is closed — @captainzep @elysiumarchieve @plinkuro @sakkakuu-squared @eliqusgenma @vuvulia @kunikuzushiit @ins4nebish @stxrgxzxr @lilneps @uma-umie @goubaia @mitsukifilms @caesars-bubbles @wheneverthesunrise @its-like-twilight @kazuhalvrr @erosdevil @thenightsflower @p1utto @noodleshark420 @lxry-chxn @orbitscara @court-jester-stuff @lauragalliart @veyu002 @kaeyas-eyepatch-69 @leathernourishingshoepolish @satowaluverr @lexlapis @drunkwithfever @exhaustedcommunist @vincanzu @ainlaw @ovaliz @kitsuvil @whatamidoing89 @celestair @kunihaver @kazioli @xiaosoneandonly @cridtiins @cherrybeomgyu @asukahiriko @moon-320 @orionicchaos [1/3]

[running-with-kn1ves]

🧎‍♀️more edira????? in evil old lesbian office worker we trust 🙏

how about a honeymoon-esque vacation scenario??? I am dying to see more of casual edira, the way she was in that last drabble ahgdgshababnabab

ur writing is just so good 💝

A/N: This is so kind! I was really surprised that Edira kept showing up in my inbox but I can't complain! I didn't want to jump to honeymoon just yet so here's a little vacation/beach episode :D

CW: blackmail/forced relationship, power imbalance, edira grabbing reader’s butt, overall possessive red flags --WC:2300

Synopsis: vacay with your powertrip of a girlfriend Edira! But her workaholic tendencies are hard to escape. 

Taking “official” photos was always a humbling experience. You looked down at your passport ID for the hundredth time, grimacing at how dead you looked in the grainy picture. 

“It’s not that bad. And see, the light hit your eyes perfectly,” Edira promised, but it didn’t fix the frown on your face as you focused on each blemish and pore that was exacerbated tenfold in the tiny image that represented who you were across country lines. 

“Easy for you to say, you look the same as you did in your headshots on the branch website..” 

You looked at her from the bed, watching the back of her sandy grey-blonde head shake with a sigh. The business woman rapidly typed away on her glowing laptop, seemingly irritated by the crashing waves outside the open sliding doors. 

“Well, if you really want we can get it taken again, when I put my last name on there too.” 

At that, you were quiet. Moving in together, and now vacations across boarders…. Her reference to marriage shouldn’t have been shocking, but it put all other thoughts in your brain to a stop. You didn’t really want to marry her, did you? Your blackmailing boss who was more like a war general than a tender lover, one who daydreamed about bending you over her desk more than what flowers she’d want at the ceremony venue. The possibility of staring into her bleak expression at an empty, cold courthouse and being forced to elope was something that made your frown droop even further. 

The sad excuse of a wedding depressed you more than the thought of marrying Edira at all. 

But you shook that despairing vision out of your head-- you were here to relax, to get away from the stress of your office environment (your coworkers)  and neverending projects with cutthroat deadlines (running reports and files to Edira as soon as she requests them.)

“Well, I still don’t know how I convinced you to let us do this. I mean, I didn’t think you ever took vacations. When’s the last time you went on a trip that wasn’t for work?”

Edira stopped her clacking, french tips scraping along one of the computer’s keys. 

“This is my first. I never had any reason to use my PTO days, until now.”

Wow, you really WERE dating a workaholic. What kind of insane person doesn’t use their personal days the second they get the chance? If you had been more than a temp, you would’ve taken all of yours the second Edira tried to indoctrinate you into her little play “date” plan.

“Well then why are you doing work!? This is one of the few times you can get away with not being available every other second of the day. You’ve been on your computer since we got on the plane-- isn’t it time we actually, you know, vacationed?”

Edira returned to her email writing. “They might need me, I’m the only one who has access to the other branches’ inf--”

“C’monn, I think they’ll be fine without you for an hour or two. Otherwise, what was the point of coming here..” You hopped to the screen doors, opening the curtains to see the glimmering ocean right outside your suite.The sand rippled with the blowing wind, completely void of footsteps or life.  “I mean we LITERALLY have the ocean right here and you’d rather stare at your laptop.” 

Edira hummed, not convinced. 

Yikes; If you wanted to explore the island you were supposed to be vacationing on, you’d need to pull out the big guns. 

“You’d rather focus on your work than… spend time with me?” Your voice cracked, looking at the ships far away from your corner of the coast. It was physically sickening to sweeten yourself up in order to get Edira’s favor. But how else could you actually use this once-in-a-lifetime chance to swim in the Indian Ocean, to experience something, anything, outside of your boring desk job and droning urban life. 

At your buttered up question, Edira paused. You could see her looking at you from the corner of her eye, unreadable. 

She shut her laptop. Pushing away from the desk she sighed, running a sharp hand through her hair, tight jaw clenching and unclenching. 

“Put your bathing suit on.” Was all she said, unzipping the back of her form-fitting dress. 

You didn’t say anything, no claps of excitement or relentless thank you’s-- lest she change her mind to ruin your fun. You hurried to change your shorts and souvenir shirt (A present from the airport gift shop; Edira saw you eyeing it) as the businesswoman walked to the master bathroom. 

You prayed to be faster than her, hoping she wouldn’t catch you in a position that sparked her lust.

You were running around looking for sunscreen and towels when she came out, hands on her hips and dark sunglasses propped on her head. Even in her backless one piece, she looked like an executive on a business trip,  hard glare in her eyes and a muted black covering the front of her body. From the back however, a different person was hidden. The cheeky bottoms exposed nearly the full of her, well, bottom, as ruffled locks of hair fell like messy feathers down her shoulders, exposed to the salty wind. She was the sexy women in swimsuit magazines, meant to be a fantasy of maturity and dominance way out of your league. But here she was, looking you up and down as you hopped on one foot to try and grab a towel on the other side of the bed. 

“You know, i’m not really a big fan of the beach. I don’t know why I picked this place… should’ve chosen the mountains or something. Someplace we wouldn’t be bothered.”

Someplace she could have you all to herself, she meant. Somewhere you wouldn’t be distracted by things to do and  would come looking to her for warmth by the fire. 

“Maybe next vacation!” You hoped, praying that it turned the cogs in her machine brain to take you somewhere else, anywhere else, soon. “Meanwhile, we have our own private beach, thanks to you. We’ll only be bothered by the occasional seaweed. And maybe a fish or two.”

You gathered up the beach necessities in your arms, full of towels and a beach umbrella, along with small must-haves like water bottles and sunscreen spray cans. Edira looked at you with an incredilous stare, grabbing the towels and water from your hands to shove into her beach bag. 

“Yeah, didn’t really think of that.” You said, noticing how most of the things you grabbed could be fit into her infinite ‘lifes a beach’ tote-- complementary from your Airbnb hosts.

“Let’s go.” 

She walked out to the naked patio, locking her pointer finger with yours as you hiked the umbrella on your shoulder. You had come to learn Edira well; she didn’t like the sun, hated most gelatinous sugary mixtures, and was incredibly stubborn if an activity included something she found beneath her. Getting sand between her toes, included. 

You found a place far away from the shore and began spinning the umbrella’s pole into the ground. Edira would surely make use of its shade, but the ocean was calling your name as she sat down on her beach towel, squinting behind her sunglasses. 

“I can see the harbor from across the water; not particularly private, I’d say. The hosts’ll make sure to hear about this when we leave.”

“It’s private enough. What, did you want to go skinny dipping or something?” You laughed, clumping sand at the base of the umbrella with your foot. “The press would have a field day.”

You flumped down next to her, happy to be out of that stuffy, although beautiful, beach house that reminded you too much of Edira’s apartment. The warm sand was comforting, shells and rocks placed around you like little treasures. 

“If I want to go skinny dipping with you I should be able to, not have to worry about some fisherman watching while I touch you.” She pulled at your thigh, placing her hand on the inside as she lifted up her sunglasses. “Or maybe, you’d like that, letting them watch you frolick and squirm. Maybe we should find out if they can really see us--”

She had the full intention of digging under your bottoms to make a statement, but your reaction time to her had improved. 

“You’re such a worrywart, can we just swim now please? It’s better than sitting her in the hot sun, on the sticky sand..” You knew you caught her when she turned her nose at the mention of the sun, only worsening as she started to feel the sand cover her feet. 

She was a priss through and through, and sometimes it worked in your favor.

“Fine… but if I’m touched by something slimy I can’t help what I do.” 

You grinned with your teeth, unable to hold back a smile at finally getting to experience the beginning of your vacation. 

You ran to the waves crashing against the sand, feeling them flick up at your ankles and knees as you waded in the water.

You turned around to walk backwards into the sea, watching as the woman hesitantly took out a hairtie that once had her hair in a high pony. 

“Come on! Slowpoke!” 

Edira reached the gap between land and water, frowning at schools of tiny fish and jagged rocks that would surely make it hard to walk in heels the next morning. 

You had to drag her further, holding her outstretched hand as she let you lead her deeper into the water. 

“It’s not so bad, right? Nothing slimy thus far…”

“Something’s definitely touching my leg.” She remarked, linking arms with you as if you were a safety floaty. “And it smells like fish.”

You both trudged far enough from shore, a little more than waist deep as you watched the sun near the horizon line. 

You took a moment to look at it, staring as the boats pass by from far away, seeing the empty houses on the beach neighboring yours between areas of trees. 

Edira turned towards you, the same moment something coming to grip your bottom. 

“Something nabbed me!” You nearly shrieked, only to feel the same sensation on your other cheek, pulling you forward against Edira. She had her arms wrapped behind you, squeezing your ass like it was dough to be kneaded. 

“Thought I was the scared one, hm?” 

You looked away, putting your hands against Edira’s abdomen. She leered over you, ignoring your attempts to create distance as she caged you in. The waves pushed you together, water swaying as her legs brushed against your knees deep below. 

“don't look away from me now, you're too adorable like this…”

She watched your eyes barely peek up, defensive fists flattening against the bare of her collarbone. She was almost spotless, save for a few sun-kissed freckles sprinkled here and there. 

Edira grinned a wolfy smirk. Even despite her discomfort in the sea she knew you were wrapped around her finger, nervous lips twitching while watching her bring a hand from your bottom to your neck.

Her hands  were salty and wet from the sea, pulling at the base of your head to bring you closer. The workaholic almost seemed to begin destressing as her nose pressed against yours.. Edira nuzzled with her forehead pressed to your sweaty one, fine fingers caressing downward to grab your jaw. 

Without warning, her tongue perched itself against your cheek, turning your face to the side as she ran a long stripe up to your temple. It was wet and full, drawing out her time to savor the flavor and discomfort of your expression. 

“What are you--”

“Salty.” She murmured. “You're so soft, getting all mushy in my arms.” Edira laughed-- a real laugh, with a small snort as she leaned into you. She was so close, the intimate entertwining of your bodies so unusual from her normal obscurity.

It was hard not to look petulant when her eyes peered down at you with a gleam, as if you were a cute drunk thing at the bar she wanted to take home safe, or a pampered puppy ready to be suffocated with attention. 

“So cute.. might make me jealous letting all these boatmen see you in such a little bathing suit.” She teased, progressively in a better mood now with the clouds blocking the sun and your body so cooperative in her grasp. 

“Jealous?” You rolled your eyes. “Oh noo, I could never imagine my girlfriend being jealous.”

All the times of her domineering possessive behavior ran through your head, the sarcastic comment truly not detailing how severe she had gone.  

“I am your girlfriend…” she grinned, kissing your shoulder with a tight grip arpund your hips. “Now that I hear it,I want more… it sounds too, loose.”

Wait, did you really call her your “girlfriend”? Hell, maybe the sun was starting to get to you. 

“We'll it’s not like we can get MARRIED, haha,” you awkwardly brush off how romantic she's being all of a sudden, soft circles created by her nails running along the dip of your back. “I mean… right? We're too uncommitted for marriage, and I mean who would want to marry someone the’re in a fake relationship with.”

You couldn’t tell if you were talking about her or you anymore. Edira’s chest pressed against yours, arms tentatively keeping you trapped against her. 

“Mm… Still feels fake to you?” She questioned In your neck, surprisingly calmer than you expected her to be at that comment. “How much more do I need to convince you that this is real,” Those soft lips came to brush against your ear. “That you’re not going anywhere.”

[euphoricfilter]

𝐒𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐧𝐱𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐲 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐𝟐

still mad

tags/ warnings: games designer! jungkook, non-idol au, established relationship, fluff fluff fluff, and a jungkook who’s feeling sorry for himself

word count: 1.3k

notes: you can’t be mad at him anymore pls

☆ epic crazy callob with @bonny-kookoo 💝 ☆

☆ series masterlist

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆.

The both of you stare up at the ceiling, long silence stretching out between the both of you.

The only tell-tale sign Jungkook was awake is him laying on his back without snoring.

Warm sunlight pools into the room where he’d forgotten to close the curtains last night in his evident rage. Neither of you make a move to close them, too wake to care about going back to sleep now, yet neither of you ready to get up yet.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you” you break the silence, swallowing to wet your throat. “I guess I didn’t think about how you would feel if I kept it from you”

You tilt your head to look at him, pillow cold against your cheek. Your eyes flicker across the side of his face, waiting to see if he would say anything.

“I never want to hurt you” you pull the blanket up a little higher over your chest, “I just assumed it meant a lot and I didn’t want to ruin that for you…”

Jungkook lets out a long drawn sigh, “I know… I’m still mad though”

A smile quirks onto your lips, “Okay” you hum, “I’m thinking of making breakfast… if you want some?”

Jungkook’s head snaps towards you, eyes narrowing “I’m not hungry”

“Okay” you chirp, “Love you”

You push the duvet off you, toes curling against the carpet as the chill of the room creeps up your body, one of Jungkook’s forgotten hoodies picked up from the floor and slipped over your head.

You only make it to the living room before you hear heavy footsteps thud behind you, Jungkook’s foot probably catching on the blanket as he stumbles out of the bedroom, straight past you into the kitchen.

“I’m still mad” he doesn’t even look at you as he says it, pulling one of the cupboards open. He then turns to look at you, silent question vibrating between the both of you.

“French toast” you say, pulling one of the chairs out to watch him.

An easy routine as he pulls open the fridge and cupboard doors, quick to whisk the eggs and have the bread in the pan. A breakfast he’d perfected after you’d asked for it time and time again, determined to make sure whatever he fed you was the best of his ability because you deserved no less in his eyes.

“Thanks” you murmur, eyes glancing over at his plate when he slides it onto the table.

You look down at your plate, “You only having one piece of toast?”

He swallows, clearly debating whether to open his mouth or not.

“Only 3 pieces of bread left” he mumbles, hunched over the table.

You pause, fingers curling around your knife and fork as you cut a slice of your toast in half, cringing when it flops onto his plate, syrup spilling onto the table.

You lean back in your chair, corners of your lips curling into a smile when you catch sight of Jungkook’s own poorly hidden joy.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆.

“Jungkook!” you call out to him from the living room, ears straining as you hear the clacking of his keyboard stop for a moment, “I’m gonna go shopping, okay?”

You don’t expect a reply, crouching down to tie your shoes. Only to be startled by your boyfriend stood beside you moments later, socked feet almost silent against the floor.

“You can message me if you want anything…?” you glance up at him, heart hammering against your chest at the scare he’d given you.

“I’ll drive you” he pulls the car keys from the pocket of his jacket, “I’m still mad though”

You nod, “You sure? You seemed pretty busy in there” your eyes cast over towards the door of his office.

He simply shakes his head, slipping his own shoes on before he’s grabbing your jacket for you, helping you put it on before he’s slinking out the door to call the elevator up to your floor.

It’s quiet in the car, though not uncomfortable. Because as much as he told you he was still mad, you’d known Jungkook long enough to know he held no resentment towards you. His own fickle, silly little way of moping in his own self pity barely a bother anymore.

Because even when mad, both at himself, and at you, there has never been a day he wouldn’t go to the ends of earth if you asked. Never not there to help you when you needed it.

No amount of burning awful anger ever enough for him to take your existence for granted.

He reminds you of his pity filled rage as he pulls out a shopping cart for the both of you, stretching out his hand to hold yours like he always does when the both of you get groceries. He remembers to tug you down the snack isle, always picking out your favorites before he even thinks to grab his own. Leaning over your shoulder to get a glimpse of the list on your phone, always grabbing things from the higher shelves.

He reminds you he’s still mad when you get home, though still helps you put all the shopping away, tugging you to sit on the couch as he puts both your shoes away, quick to cut up some apples for the both of you to snack on after a successful shopping trip.

You leave him to do some work in the afternoon, hoping the space helps mellow out the internal anguish he was feeling. Because you knew he was equally worried about how disappointed you must have been, and the weird awkward sort of embarrassment of failing what should have been something so easy, embarrassment that he’s never felt with you before.

He lingers in the doorway that evening, your attention stripped away from the film on the tv as you glance over at him, head tilting a little.

He nods towards the bedroom, ends of his hair still damp from the shower he’d just taken.

“Wanna go to bed?” he murmurs.

You breathe out a long sigh, switching the tv off before your slipping into the bedroom behind him. He tugs you onto the mattress, pulling you how he wanted you until his face is pressed into your neck.

“Are you still mad?” you dare ask, tone a little teasing. You feel his lips quirk against the warm skin of your neck.

“Yeah… but more at myself than you; I can never really be mad at you” he admits, “I just wanted it to be perfect”

You hum, fingers running through his hair, “I know. And it was perfect, even if it wasn’t how you planned”

He peels his face from your neck, eyebrows furrowed, “I didn’t even ask you the question”

“Ask me now then” you murmur, eyes flickering between his own.

His own eyes widen, “Huh?”

“Ask me now”

He swallows, fingers skimming down your arms, dipping into your warm flesh, “Baby” he presses impossibly closer to you.

You hum, hands falling from his hair to hold his cheeks.

“I don’t even have the ring” he whispers.

Your lips quirk into a gentle smile, “Doesn’t matter, I don’t need a ring to know how much you love me”

“Still…” his hands skim over your hips.

“Jungkook” you laugh, thumb brushing over the gentle skin on his cheeks.

He whines, his hands mirroring yours as he holds your face now too.

“Will you marry me?�� he breathes, worried you could hear how hard his heart was hammering against his chest.

Your eyes flicker across his face, “Yes” you nod.

He lets out a long sigh, “I love you so much” his lips skim over yours, “And I think I will forever”

Your press forward, kiss gentle as you melt into him.

“And I love you just as much” you whisper, “this was perfect, thank you”

[live-love-be-unique]

This is purely a self indulgent piece of fluff because I think we all need a bit of Chef Luca love (featuring Choux the cat because I fully believe that Luca would be a proud cat dad)

Dance With Me

Oogum, oogum, boogum, boogum

Boogum now, baby, you're castin' your spell on me

The music woke you up first, then the sunlight streaming through the curtains. Your lips curl into a smile as you stretch your arms up over your head. Music only played in the apartment early in the morning on your favorite days. The days that Luca had off, the days where he wasn’t racing out the door before the crack of dawn to head to the restaurant. The days you had him all to yourself.

I say, "Oogum, oogum, boogum, boogum

Boogum now, baby, you're castin' your spell on me"

Sitting up and pulling the covers off you as you stepped onto the soft rug that covered the hardwood floor. You padded your way down the hallway, walls covered with pictures and memories the two of you shared, through to the kitchen.

The sweet smells of vanilla and cinnamon fill your nose as you found perhaps your favorite sight.

Luca has his back to you as he works over the stovetop, plaid pajama pants slung low on his waist, his tanned and toned body on display for you. He hadn’t spotted you yet, back still turned to the door as he cooked, head bopping as he sang softly along to the music. You smile to yourself leaning against the doorframe and watch as Luca moves around the kitchen with a relaxed, practiced ease.

Your little gray tabby cat rubs itself against your legs, leaning down you whisper “hi Choux” as you scratch his head. Luca turns around and sees you.

An easy grin graces his face, “Mornin’ baby, did I wake you?”

“No, but I appreciate the show” you say, your eyes drifting down over his tattooed arms and toned chest.

Luca smirks, holding his hand out to you “dance with me”. Grasping your hand, he pulls you close against his warm chest as you sway to the music. Laughing as he twirls you around.

Luca sings along as you dance and twirl together around the room

You got me doin' funny things like a clown

Just look at me

When you wear your bell bottom pants

I just stand there in a trance

I can't move, you're in the groove

Would you believe, little girl, that I am crazy 'bout you

Now go on with your bad self.

He spins you again and pulls you to him, wrapping his arms around you as you sway together, Luca’s head resting on top of yours.

When you wear those big earrings, long hair and things

You got style, girl, that sure is wild

And you wear that cute trench coat and you're standin' and posin'

You got soul, you got too much soul.

As the song comes to an end Luca dips you and he kisses you, lips moving languidly against yours.

“I made breakfast” Luca mutters against your lips.

“French toast?” You ask smiling, extracting yourself from his warm embrace and boiling water for your coffees.

“Mhmm” Luca comes up behind you, brushing your hair off your shoulder as he nuzzles into your neck, placing delicate kisses just below your ear. “With a strawberry coulis”

“My favorite” you smiling warmly, turning in Luca’s arms standing up on your toes and placing a kiss on his lips.

Luca lifted Choux off the kitchen table as you placed the coffee mugs down with the plates of French toast.

Sitting together in a comfortable silence, your legs draped over Luca’s lap as he mindlessly massages your calves. His fingers began to dance higher and higher upward, over your knees. You can see his grin form as he sips his coffee.

“What are you up too?” You ask chuckling as Luca fingers graze the edges of your sleep shorts.

“Nothing at all” He smirks, meeting your eyes, as his fingers continue exploring higher

“Mmm, sure” you say standing, you make your way towards the hallway before turning back “So are you coming or what, trouble?” You smirk before taking off running down the hallway.

Luca grins and chases after you towards your bedroom.

Taglist: @kdogreads, @arctvrvs, @chasing-fics, @danielleleah97, @nolita-fairytale, @meetingthestarcatchers, @royal-void, @wabi-sabi1090, @cosmicspacewitch, @ihyperfixateoncharacters, @sweet-sunflower64, @cadberrychicky, @xzarafx, @axololly, @louswrld, @codekiraqueen, @lexakp, @ourprisma, @delicatelyelegantcandy-blog @lulululujan, @translatemunson, @mycharminglxve, @jam1esl0v4, @jellycolors

[echo-goes-mmm]

Moonflower #17

Masterpost

Previous

Next

Warnings: implied domestic abuse

Iris woke up with a throbbing headache. She had been tucked into bed, which she didn’t remember doing.

The morning light filtered through her windows, and it made her head pound.

But in order to close the curtains, she’d have to get up.

Iris groaned and pulled her blanket over her head.

“Oh good,” said a quiet voice. “You’re awake.”

It took her a moment to recognize that it was Kit. “What time is it?” she mumbled. 

“Twelve after ten.”

Alarm ran through her, and she shot up. She winced.

“Take it easy,” said Kit. “It’s your day off.”

“Oh thank god.” Iris fell back against her pillows, vaguely nauseous. Kit stood next to her bed, amused. 

“Did you even go to bed?” she asked. 

“I slept.”

“In your room?”

“You were drunk. I wanted to keep an eye on you.”

“Thanks,” she said, closing her eyes. “Could you go get me some breakfast? With orange juice?”

Iris was aware she was whining, but she couldn’t bring herself to care at the moment. She could have asked Kit to magic away her hangover, but she deserved it for drinking so much. Served her right.

“Yes, Mistress.”

Kit left, and Iris lay in her bed, trying to will herself to shower. 

The need to use the bathroom eventually forced her out of bed.

Showering did make her feel better, and the floral soap lifted her mood.

By the time she had finished and gotten dressed, Kit had breakfast waiting for her.

“Have you eaten?” she asked, uncovering the french toast and pouring herself coffee.

“Yes,” he said.

“Good.”

Kit sat on the floor as she ate, and Iris could see a strong dark green coming in at his scalp.

“Your hair isn’t black, is it?”

He seemed startled by the question. “No,” he said simply.

“It’s changing color,” she continued, “You’ve got some green coming in. I take it that’s good?”

A faint smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. “Mhm.”

Slight disappointment coursed through her.

It seemed that for every day Kit had a conversation with her, he’d be nearly silent the next.

“Let’s get some sun after breakfast,” she suggested. “I’ve been inside all week, and you need to pick out where your garden will be.”

“I get to choose?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

Kit shrugged halfheartedly. Getting words out of him would be difficult today; she could tell.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” he had said that first evening. Maybe he just needed a topic.

“Have you thought about what you want to do with it?” she asked.

“A little.” Iris waited, taking a sip of her orange juice.

“I… I’d like it to look like home,” he explained, fiddling with the fabric of his shirt. “Just a bit.”

“Are you going to plant some wild roses?”

Kit nodded. “If I’m allowed.”

Iris stood from her chair. “You can plant whatever you want, Kit.”

“Even a tree? Ivy? Berry bushes?” he asked, following her out the door.

“I did say whatever you want.” Brennan greeted them with a nod, and they headed down the hall. “I’m not particularly interested in gardening, Kit. I don’t care what you plant; go wild.”

Kit brightened beside her, and Iris hid a smile. He was sweet, and he deserved a place that was his; that he could choose himself.

The late morning air was warm, slightly humid, and she assumed that was good for a plant fae like Kit.

He seemed to soak in the sun, and he truly looked much better than before.

Jeff was weeding a flower bed, wheelbarrow beside him and trowel in hand.

“Good morning, Jeff.”

Jeff looked up, and squinted in the bright sun.

“Morning, your majesty.” His eyes slid over to Kit, who winced. “Morning… you.”

“Hello,” said Kit. 

“I’ve offered Kit a spot on the grounds. Something just for him to look over.”

Jeff didn’t look pleased, but he knew better than to argue with her. “Fine with me,” he said tightly. 

“Great,” Iris gave him a sunny smile. “Thank you for understanding.”

Jeff softened a little before turning back to his work.

They wandered the gardens; Kit looking around for the perfect spot.

“Anything catch your eye yet?”

“Sorry,” he said.

“No, it’s fine,” she reassured him. “I don’t mind. I could use the exercise.”

They rounded a corner, and Kit stopped.

“What is it?”

“I, uh, I like that corner over there.”

Iris followed his gaze. The high garden wall met the castle, and the castle wall curved inwards, creating a small nook. It was empty, save for a tree that created a patch of shade against the sun.

“What do you like about it?” she asked lightly, curious.

Pink tinged Kit’s cheeks. “It’s quiet,” he said. “And out of the way. And, um, it looks nice for a nap,” he added quickly. “And the walls… I don’t have to worry about someone sneaking up on me.”

Iris recalled how James Harbor had boasted about catching Kit with an iron-laced net while he slept.

“Then it’s yours.”

___________________

Three days later, and Kit dozed under the oak. It was the perfect temperature; warm but not hot, and he curled into the protective roots of the tree.

A robin sang sweetly in the branches, and Kit hummed along.

Iris was busy in a meeting, and he had wanted a nap to pass the time.

He was right about how peaceful it was.

It seemed like this spot had been forgotten about, and he liked it that way. The perfect little oasis; where he could be left alone.

“Mr. Kit?”

Or not.

Kit yawned, stretching out. “Hm?”

“I- I need some help.”

Kit’s eyes flew open, and in front of him stood the red-haired maid from before. David.

He had a black eye, and he was holding a rucksack.

Kit sat up. “What happened?”

David sniffed, lip trembling, and Kit noticed his slight sway.

“Hey,” he said, softly. “Come here.”

David sank into the grass, and Kit scooted over to sit next to him.

“I’m not supposed to be here,” said David. “I- I should b-be at home. But I don’t want to go home anymore.”

His breath smelled like alcohol.

“Have you been drinking?”

David nodded, resting his chin on his legs. “I thought it would help,” he said. “It always helps Dad.”

“It doesn’t really work that way.”

David burst into tears.

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” he sobbed. “My face hurts and he takes all my money and now we don’t have anything for food because he spent it all and he gets mad at me for it and-”

David gasped for air, and Kit pulled him close. David wept into his shirt.

“I-” Kit worked his jaw, trying to sort out what he could and couldn’t say. “Are you hungry?” he settled on. Food never hurt anyone.

David nodded. “Y-yeah. We- we ran out of… I really tried. I really did.” His voice was so small, and anger bubbled in Kit’s chest.

“Let’s go get some lunch, and we’ll figure something out.”

David sniffled. “Okay.”

taglist: @paintedpigeon1 @cupcakes-and-pain @loserwithsyle @cepheusgalaxy @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @virtualbreadtale @bitchaknso @starfields08000 @honeycollectswhump @why-not-ask-me-a-better-question

[awkward-walking-potato]

can I request scott and remy headcanons where they get “French Mistaked” and by someone else's mutaton, and end up in an alternate universe where they are nothing but actors on the show/movie of the X-Men and in a world with no mutations, basically normal au. And in this alternate universe they are married to they’re crush from they’re universe and have to play it cool to the fact that they are married to they’re crush. Sorry if this doesn’t make sense

In Another Universe

You never saw it coming—the flash of light, the sudden wave of dizziness, and then everything went black. One moment you were fighting alongside the X-Men, dodging attacks in the heat of battle. The next, you were waking up in an unfamiliar room, the scent of coffee and something oddly domestic filling the air.

Blinking against the bright light, you sat up. The room wasn’t the X-Mansion—it was far too normal. No high-tech gadgets, no mutant alarms, just a cozy-looking bedroom, sunlight streaming through the curtains. It felt peaceful but wrong.

You rubbed your eyes, trying to piece together what had happened. But before you could make sense of it, the door swung open.

There, standing in the doorway, was Scott Summers—or at least, he looked like him. But he wasn’t wearing his red visor. He wasn’t even in uniform. Instead, he was in casual clothes, wearing a soft smile on his face, and no sign of his powers.

"Morning," he greeted with a playful grin, leaning casually against the doorframe.

You blinked, trying to suppress your shock. "Scott?" you asked, though the name felt strange leaving your mouth.

He raised an eyebrow. "Scott? What, are you in character already?" He laughed lightly. "I thought we weren’t shooting until later."

You froze, your heart racing. In character? What did that mean?

"Uh... sorry," you muttered. "I’m... confused. Where are we?"

"Where are we?" he repeated, confused. "We’re home." His gaze softened with concern as he stepped closer. "You sure you’re alright, babe? You look a little pale."

You stared at him, your mind racing. Babe? You weren’t home. And Scott—he was acting... different. Less like the stern leader of the X-Men and more like a regular guy. And he was calling you by pet names.

It hit you like a ton of bricks. This wasn’t your world.

"Wait," you began, your voice shaky. "Where are we, exactly?"

He frowned, his brow furrowing. "James and (Y/N)’s place. Did you hit your head or something?"

"James?" You echoed, confused. "Your name isn’t Scott?"

Now he looked genuinely concerned. "No... it's James," he said slowly. "Are you messing with me? We’ve been together for years, married for two. You’re really not feeling well, are you?"

Married? You stared down at your left hand in disbelief, seeing a wedding band glittering there. This wasn’t just another reality—this was an alternate universe where Scott—no, James—wasn’t an X-Man. He was an actor. And apparently, you were married to him.

He took a step closer, placing a gentle hand on your arm. "You’re really out of it. How about you stay home today? I’ll let the director know you need to rest."

"Director?" you asked, still reeling.

"Yeah, for X-Men: Mutant Heroes, remember?" James smiled. "You and me—Scott and Jean. The movie we’ve been shooting for weeks?"

You felt your stomach flip. In this world, you and James were actors, playing Scott Summers and Jean Grey in a movie about the X-Men. No one had powers, no mutant battles, just scripts and costumes.

"I... I think I need to sit down," you mumbled, overwhelmed.

James helped guide you back to the bed, his touch gentle. "Take it easy," he said softly. "You probably just had a bad dream or something."

You nodded, trying to keep calm, though your mind was racing. How were you supposed to get back to your world? And why were you stuck in a reality where you were married to your crush?

James sat down beside you, watching you closely. "I’ll make breakfast, and we can figure out what’s going on later, alright?"

You nodded again, trying to suppress the flurry of emotions. "Yeah... thanks, James."

He smiled, leaning in to kiss the top of your head before heading to the kitchen. You sat there, frozen, trying to wrap your head around the situation. James—Scott—whatever he called himself here—wasn’t the man you knew. Yet, you felt your heart flutter when he kissed you. How were you supposed to play it cool when everything was upside down?

Later that day, you found yourself on a movie set, watching as the cast and crew bustled around. James was in full costume, his red visor back on as he prepared for a scene. But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake the strangeness of it all. Scott Summers was real in your world—a leader, a fighter, a mutant—but here, he was just an actor playing a role.

And you—his wife in this world—had to act like this was normal.

James caught your eye and smiled, giving you a playful wink before walking over. "Ready to run lines with me?"

You nodded, trying to hide your awkwardness. "Sure."

As you rehearsed your lines, you couldn’t help but marvel at how natural he was in this world. He didn’t seem to notice anything strange, acting as if you two had always been together. His charm, his easygoing nature—it was a side of him you hadn’t seen in your world. But underneath it all, it was still him. And as the day wore on, you found it harder to separate James from Scott—the man you’d always admired.

That evening, after a long day on set, you and James returned to the house you shared. The routine was familiar, comfortable—like it had always been this way. But as you watched him move around the kitchen, cooking dinner, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of your situation.

He turned to you, catching you watching him. "What’s on your mind?"

You hesitated, unsure of what to say. "Just... thinking."

"About?" He raised an eyebrow, smirking.

"How lucky I am," you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

James chuckled, walking over and wrapping his arms around you. "That’s sweet, but I’m the lucky one." He leaned down, brushing his lips against yours. The kiss was soft, warm, and it took everything in you not to melt into it.

When he pulled back, he smiled down at you. "You’ve been acting weird all day, you know that?"

"Sorry," you mumbled, still dazed from the kiss. "Just... adjusting, I guess."

"To what?"

"To... all of this," you gestured vaguely, trying to hide your slip-up.

James raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "You’re something else, you know that?" He kissed your forehead again, lingering a bit longer this time. "I love you."

Your heart pounded in your chest as you forced yourself to smile. "I love you too."

For a moment, you let yourself enjoy the moment. You didn’t know how long you’d be stuck in this alternate universe, but one thing was certain—you were going to cherish every second with James, even if he wasn’t the Scott you knew. Because in some way, this was a dream come true.

[goguenard]

William Solaire HEADCANONS (very random)

(I will probably post a part II with more romantic/spicy headcanons but for now there you go)

-Huge dirty dancing fan, knows all the song and probably the whole movie by heart. Alexis showed him once and now they watch it every year at the clan (yes they have movie nights)

-He used to keep track of fashion trends and dressed appropriately but ended up sticking with a Victorian style and only dressing up according to the trends if required

-He always loved sketching and designing objects/jewellery and he still does it to this day (all in traditional with parchment paper and charcoal pens) he often finds local artists and commissions them to make his designs as gifts for the clan

-Very confused by technology and only knows the bare minimum, he would like to learn more but he genuinely struggles so he mostly asks Sam and Lovely

-He bonds a lot with Lovely, they have a book club together (Angel, Cam and some clan members are appart of it), Lovely explains gen Z stuff and William tells them stories

-William is a big tea enjoyer and keeps everyone’s favorite tea or coffee beans (also knows how to make homemade coffee) in his office when they come by to talk

-He drew portraits of every meaningful person he met and does more rendered ones (sometimes paintings) of everyone in the clan, he does little sessions where he invites them over to his residence one afternoon to pose however they want to

-On that note, when it comes to Quinn’s or Adam’s portraits he asked Darlin and Lovely what they wanted to do with them and they ended up burning them as a way to heal (he proposed that idea and picked a very nice location where they ate s’mores afterwards)

-He is from a seaside city in the south of France called Collioure, this city is known for its artists and was actually the place where the fauvism movement (an art movement) was born which is one of his favourite art movements with realism (him being from there also means that he has a southern accent, a french one but still a southern accent)

-He doesn’t eat much human food but likes to bake french treats like Bottreaux which is a simple diamond shaped fritter toper with sugar (also known as the fritter from princess and the frog) its very easy to make so he makes a bunch for the clan and often goes to New Orléans to eat them, he also has a cutesy « kiss the cook » apron that Vincent bought him to mock him years ago (he loved it and thought it was a progression in their relationship)

-Let’s be real, this man doesn’t care for pronouns. I think he identifies as a man but genuinely do not care how people refer to him, ESPECIALLY since he knows that using multiple pronouns help queer clan members feel more comfortable with their own identity

-This man is also probably pan or bi (i do think he might have a slight preference for men), and although he had PLENTY OF TIME to do so I don’t think he hooked up with a lot of people, only when he was curious about something (im not saying this man never got intimidate with anyone im saying that he wouldn’t ask for it and probably tested stuff because he wanted to)

-Demi sexual king that is also a strong believer in soulmates, reason why I think he never was in a relationship, he waited for his soulmate (scenario where he believes in romantic soulmates)

-Actually loves the sun especially the clear blue sky of southern france, he misses it a lot and paints a lot of sky because of it when he feels sad

-Contrary to Sam he actually prefers to eat from people, because he sees it as an interaction with someone rather than just a meal or an energy boost. So he has a bunch of different people (all consensual ofc) he regularly feeds on.

-Can handle social situations just fine, he is very charismatic and well spoken BUT it does tires him a lot (as to why Vincent handles most of it) so sometimes when he comes home from a very social day /week he doesn’t control his abilities as well and has broken door handles, curtains, sinks ect…

(The town in question aka Collioure)

(And the Bottereaux <33 fucking love those fritters)

[b-afterhours]

AOS Neon: Honeymoon (one shot)

SUMMARY: ‘90s. It’s the aftermath. Jaded, Bill and Alma navigate their new lives as they try to drag themselves out of the dark debaucherous trenches they had once ensnared themselves in. It’s easy to forget their evils when a silver lining introduces itself into their lives but can they create a less hedonistic life that would be just as satisfying?

WARNINGS: adult content, mature readers only.

Author's Note: This is PART ONE of this one shot series. Everything was becoming a bit too long to post as a whole piece, so part two will be posted soon. (this part is still long after spliting it, tho haha) thx for reading, and also thx for your patience. 

May 1995 | Honeymoon

Alma was sitting on the edge of a grand bed, fiddling with her camcorder. The French doors were wide open, inviting a cool sea breeze that gently made the white sheer curtains billow. Once the camcorder was in operating order, Alma slipped on her white leather huaraches and walked into the large, quaint washroom. She lifted the camera, aiming it at the mirror, and waved at her reflection, capturing the moment. She turned, showcasing her outfit—a deep v-neck halter top and hot pants you could see through the white lace tunic dress she wore over it.

She awkwardly fluffed up her hair, wondering what to record next. Lowering the camera, she began walking through the house, showing it off as she made her way through to look for Bill. Shortly, they would be leaving for a day on the water. He was out by the pool with his legs in the water, leaning back on his palms, looking out from the cliff the private villa sat on. His eyes were closed, enjoying the sun on his skin as the breeze blew his half-opened white linen button-down back. A closing door caused him to open his eyes. 

“Is it time to go?” He asked, and when turning, he saw the camcorder pointed at him. 

“Almost. Say hi.” 

“Hey,” he said, giving the camera a little two-finger salute as he stood up. 

“You look so hot,” she mused, making him turn away with a light blush. “Say where we are.” She directed. 

“Amalfi coast, baby!” He playfully stuck his tongue out directly into the lens and covered it with a large hand. 

….

They were on a boat riding the waves along the cliffs on the coast. Colorful homes, perched against the rock, seemingly stacked precariously right on top of each other. It was a beautiful sight; description could never give it justice. Not even the camcorder could truly capture the dreamy seaside town as they saw it. 

Bill invited Alma to sit on his lap and steer the boat. The rental company handed the keys over, and they were sent off with no further instructions besides how to turn it off and on. Bill found it peculiar but figured he could handle it. Navigating was easy, but as they ventured further from the main shore, the waters grew choppier. Spotting a wave in the distance, Bill reached around Alma to turn the wheel to avoid meeting it head-first. But his efforts were in vain—another wave crashed into the boat from the opposite side, splashing cold, salty water over the bow. Alma yelped, drenched, and startled; she had tried to steer clear of it when Bill suddenly overruled her.

Over her shoulder, she looked at him displeased as wet locks of her hair clung to her, and then they began laughing.

“Why don’t you just drive it?” She said, trying to slip off his lap, but he held her tightly, locking her in place. 

“No, no,” he chuckled, brushing the wet hair away from her face. “I was looking too far out. I didn’t see that one coming.” He kissed her. 

Their tongues met, and their hands wandered, carried away in the moment until a playful succession of honks from a passing boat snapped them out of their reverie. They had been in Italy on their honeymoon for a week now, and they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. It wasn’t that they hadn’t been this way before, but the thrill of being newlyweds brought a fresh intensity to their desire and attraction. It felt like a new chapter of their romance—one they were eager to explore together. 

There was also the lingering fact that they were trying to get pregnant. They had taken a test before their trip, and even after their Vegas wedding a few weeks ago, the results came out negative—much to their shared disappointment. It didn’t make sense to them, but they kept their worries private, choosing to keep it relaxed. Stressing too much about it wouldn’t be helpful. They felt that expressing their true feelings would jinx it all together.

After boating around the tall grottoes, they found themselves anchored in a quiet cove far from boat traffic. Bill playfully lifted Alma in his strong arms and threw her off the boat before diving in right behind her. They swam together in the calmer waters until Alma suddenly paused, her eyes fixed on the boat with a concerned expression. Bill turned to look, equally perplexed.

“What?” he asked, slicking his wet hair back.

“How do we get back on? Wasn’t the ladder on this side?” 

“No, it’s on the other side.” 

“No…” she said wearily. “Maybe it’s in the back?”

Bill began to second-guess himself as concern started to creep in. Alma began paddling toward the boat to check for the ladder, but Bill hollered, telling her he would check instead. With the full stretch of his arms, he swam with powerful strokes, quickly rounding the boat. Just as he suspected, the ladder was on the other side. He heard Alma laughing then—she had only been trying to scare him after the wave mishap.

“That’s not funny!” he yelled, but she only laughed harder—until he suddenly heard her sputtering. “Are you okay?” he called out with worry.

“Yeah,” Alma choked. “Water got in my mouth.” 

After their swim, they enjoyed lunch on the boat—a hearty sandwich they shared, filled with fresh pesto, burrata cheese, juicy tomatoes, arugula, prosciutto, and salami, all on freshly baked ciabatta bread. Alma had also packed a wicker basket with berries, cheeses, and sparkling water for snacking. Bill eventually brought the basket over to the bow of the boat, where Alma lay on her stomach on the thin mint green cushions, sunbathing with a book. He sat beside her, casually rolling a joint with weed he’d sourced from the housekeeper at the villa where they were staying. It wasn’t the best, but it did the job. 

Before laying back, he kissed her ass cheek, hardly covered by the hi-cut bikini she wore, and rested his head on it. The perfect pillow for him. 

“Do you want a hit?” he asked, his gaze traveling the slope of her back. She didn’t seem to hear him as she turned a page. He reached over and expertly unfastened the metal clasp of her bikini top with one hand, letting it snap away from her. 

“Oh, thanks, I was about to do that myself.” She muttered. 

“I asked if you wanted a hit.” 

“Huh,” she glanced over her shoulder. “Oh, sure.” She plucked the joint from his fingers, absentmindedly taking a puff while continuing to read.

“What kind of filthy shit are you reading this time?” He asked, taking the joint back. She seemed completely absorbed in the noir romance novel, captivated by whatever was on the page.

Alma chuckled softly. “I haven’t gotten to those parts yet. I just found out the main guy is actually a detective. The woman who is interested in him is his mark, and she doesn’t know. He’s romancing her for intel, but he’s falling for her instead.” 

“Sounds fucked up.” He muttered, even if his real thoughts found the plot slightly intriguing. 

“Yeah… but he’s so fucking hot it doesn’t matter,” she teased, flipping another page.  

“Mhmm,” he hummed, taking a toke. “Just remember where you can get the real thing.” He said, grabbing onto his package for emphasis. 

“I haven’t forgotten,” she turned over her shoulder and smirked. 

They enjoyed each other's company in comfortable silence. The boat's rocking lulled Bill into a cat nap, but when he awoke, he looked up at the face of the rock cliffs and the clear skies. 

“It’s so fucking nice here,” he said, voicing his thoughts out loud. 

Alma had set her book and bikini top aside, lying flat with her cheek resting on her forearm. She took a deep, wistful breath, taking in and admiring their beautiful setting. It was nice to enjoy a proper vacation for once, where work or obligations weren’t waiting for them around the corner. Their only rule while on holiday was that they could not discuss work at all. However, they both slipped once or twice. Now they were enjoying the fruits of their labor, spending their days mostly doing nothing—lounging, taking in the scenery, indulging in delicious food, and making love any chance they had in between.

“Aw, was our trip to Portland not pretty?” she asked facetiously, recalling their spontaneous weekend getaway to the city earlier in the year. “Or Vegas?”

“Compared to this?” he chuckled. “Nah. But now I do want a boat.” 

“And I want a pool,” she quipped. “But of course, you do.” 

“Take Echo around on it,” he smiled, thinking of her. “Do you think she misses us?” Echo was being cared for by Ulyssa, who was also house-sitting. Currently, they were in the den; Ulyssa had put one of Alma's aerobic workout VHS in the VCR and Echo was mimicking the workout alongside her. 

“Well, she was happy to hear from us when we called. But—I don’t know, I think she gets tired of us sometimes.”

“What? She’s a baby, what’s there to be tired of?” 

"Sure, but seeing the same two people all the time? We even take her to work! She’s been going since she was like six months old!” She laughed. 

“By the time she’s old enough to work, she’s going to have more job experience than her fucking boss, probably.” He laughed. “She misses us, though.” 

“Yeah,” Alma smiled. “I miss her too.” 

“And it won’t be only us she’ll have to see all the time for much longer.” He said optimistically, reaching for her foot and bending her knee to kiss her ankle. 

They shared some strawberries and sips of sparkling water before Alma went back to her book while Bill flipped around, hugging her bottom, which he laid his head on, cheek to cheek. She appreciated the light tickling fingers he ran over her bare back, sometimes fluttering her eyes closed when she felt the sensation run up to the top of her head. 

“Read some to me?” He asked, his breath ghosting over her flesh tantalizingly. 

“These parts are a bit boring…” 

“Just read.” 

She began reading aloud, the text describing the main character's unexcused absences from work due to late-night trysts with the mysterious man she was enamored with. Meanwhile, his hands continued to glide over her warm, tan skin until she felt one slip under her bikini bottoms, where he gently slid a finger inside her.

“Bill!” She gasped, looking around them. 

“No one’s around.” He said, beginning to pump his fingering teasingly inside her. 

Boats waded in the distance, but unless they had binoculars pointed at them, their occupants couldn’t make out what was happening at the bow of the boat. Noticing Alma’s shoulders relax and her enjoyment of his movements, he inserted another finger, eliciting a soft moan from her.

“Keep reading,” he instructed, but Alma was too caught up in the risqué nature of what they were doing to obey. “Keep reading, or I’ll stop,” he warned, slightly backing his fingers away. Alma looked back at him and pushed her hips against him. “I’m serious,” he said, slipping his fingers out all the way.

“Wait. I’ll read to you, baby.” 

She kept reading as his fingers worked inside her. Every time she paused to moan, his movements would momentarily slow, but the more she tried to ignore what was happening, the more he intensified his efforts. It was hard to focus on the text with her breath hitching, struggling to maintain the flow of the words. Bill seemed to enjoy feeling her wetness coating his fingers, experimenting with different motions to see which ones would make her stammer and break into moans she couldn’t suppress.

“Lift your hips,” he demanded, planting hard kisses on her ass cheek. 

She did as he said without missing a beat, her eyes still on the text. But she couldn’t tell you what she was reciting anymore—the words had lost all meaning. She felt his teeth graze her skin as his fingers tugged her bathing suit bottoms aside, letting his tongue delve into her core. A sharp gasp escaped her, and she struggled to keep reading while his tongue prodded and licked at her entrance.

“Oh fuck, that feels good,” she moaned. 

Bill paused, much to Alma’s annoyance. “Is that in the book?” he chuckled. “Keep reading if you want to come.”

Alma looked at him over her shoulder with a coy glint in her chestnut eyes. “Can I turn around?” 

“No. Read like this isn’t happening at all.” 

Alma took a deep breath to steady herself and continued as he wanted. It was hard to ignore the sensation of his tongue slurping and sucking as he shook his head back and forth animalistically behind her, but she focused, determined to take on the challenge. Suddenly, he repositioned himself, gripping her bucking hips to keep his face from being pushed away while he licked from her ass crack down. His tongue lapped and hummed at her sensitive bud, and he felt her body tense, her words reduced to choked-out sounds. Burying his face deeper, he felt her release with a loud moan, letting go of her hips to let her ride out the sensational last waves of her orgasm on his tongue. 

He crawled up from behind her, his broad form casting a shadow over her while leaving kisses up her spine and across her shoulder to meet her lips. Their tongues intertwined, her hand slipping past the waistband of his swim shorts, getting caught up in the moment when suddenly a friendly horn beeped several times in the distance. Reflexively, Bill put an arm around Alma to shield the fact that she was topless, but what was the use any way they were in Europe after all?

“I think that’s the same boat from earlier,” Bill laughed at the realization.

~~~

The following day, they woke early to visit a local street market set along narrow, cobbled roads. The previous night, Bill had prepared a lovely dinner at the villa, and afterward, they enjoyed a night swim in the pool, tiring themselves out into a full night’s rest. Earlier in the week, they had shopped at upscale boutiques, but they wanted an opportunity to see what the seaside city had to offer them that they just couldn’t get anywhere else. Alma sifted through a box of antique brooches, costume jewelry, and trinkets, picking out a few pieces before moving on.

Bill was at a booth nearby, looking at a stack of old sweaters, when Alma approached him; he had a dark-colored cashmere cardigan pressed against his body, gauging the fit.

“That’s nice,” she said, pulling big framed sunglasses she bought at a booth down her nose to get a better look at it. 

“Yeah, I’m getting it.” He smiled.

“What else did you find?” she asked, noticing his grip around something.

“Oh, this trench lighter,” he said, showing her the brass cylinder in his hand. “I think it’s World War 2.” 

Taking her hand, they reached a booth with children's clothes. He watched as Alma looked at a particular dress, but it was much too small for Echo to wear. A fleeting thought of a future baby who could fit it crossed their minds. She asked the woman running the booth if they had something similar in a larger size, and the woman waved her over to the other side of the booth. Alma held up a few options for Bill to help her choose. Each dress was beautifully detailed, featuring intricate embroidery that gave them an authentic artisan feel. 

They left with a few more items, including souvenirs for friends, and Bill stumbled upon a cassette for an obscure Italian shoegaze band at the very last booth they visited. Trekking their way back to the villa, they took a short break at a quaint café. Sitting outside under a yellow umbrella that shaded the tiny round table, they drank their robust, masterfully crafted coffee.

“What time is it?” 

“We’re still on time,” Bill said, setting his mug down. “I don’t get how you have all the planners you do and still won’t get a wristwatch?” 

“Feels too country club.” She shrugged. “Besides, you have yours on, I don’t need one.” 

They would be enjoying their penultimate day further inland at a vineyard for a wine tasting excursion. While the city they were in was walkable, albeit for the several uneven walkways and multiple staircases, they had rented a car. It was a small thing, but luckily the top went down, giving Bill room to actually sit up straight to drive it. 

They were looking over a map to get an idea of where they needed to go to reach the vineyard. 

“We’re here,” he pointed with a spare pen from Alma’s tote, circling the location of their villa. His other arm was draped on her chair, leaning towards her with his leg crossed over the other. With the tip of the pen, he followed a road that would take them out of the town and onto the freeway. “This road brought us here from the airport, remember? And we take this a few miles, then we turn here. It’ll take us into the village,” he explained, encircling the general area where the vineyard lay. “We’ll be there after a short drive.” 

“Alright,” Alma nodded. “I believe you.” She said, kissing his cheek, prompting him to turn to steal a kiss on the lips. 

Before they left, Bill tied a patterned silk handkerchief over Alma’s head to keep the wind from tangling her hair on the freeway. She sat with her knees on the seat, aiming her film camera at him as he drove along a cliff overlooking the sea. Though Bill kept his focus on the road, he couldn't help but worry about how small the car felt, concerned she might fall out. Once Alma glanced at the view outside her camera's viewfinder, the height spooked her, and she quickly sat her bottom firmly back into her seat, much to Bill's relief. 

“Yeah, sit down. We’re high up,” he chuckled.

“On top of the world!” She laughed with delight. 

They arrived in the village, where the roads were poorly paved. Driving up the hill, the vineyard estate was in view, overseeing the town, but they had to slow down to let a small herd of sheep cross the road. They still made it in time, and Bill got out, smoothing down his black button-down tucked into tailored trousers, before opening Alma’s door. She stepped out in a black two-piece Spanish-style dress with ruffled cap sleeves and a long skirt, paired with heels. 

They toured the estate with a group of others, admiring the gilded architecture and the frescoes of Christian imagery on the ceilings, while the guide shared the manor's history. They were brought to the warehouse, which stored the large barrels of wine, of which they would be tasting soon. The guide thoroughly explained the process from grapes to bottles. Though they hung back from the pack during the tour, when it was time to sit on the terrace overlooking the vineyard, they hurried to claim a table the furthest from the crowd.

Severs laid down an appetizer of bruschetta at their table, and then sommeliers would approach, describing the wine they were distributing before filling their glasses. 

“This one was good,” Bill said, tapping at a glass that had remains of a dry red. His other glasses still had a drink or so left in them. “We should get one for Bianca.” 

“Yeah, she would like that,” Alma smiled. Her glasses were all empty, including the glass of sparkling rose they were presented with when they joined the tour. 

The guests were invited to stroll through the vineyard at their leisure while the sun hung low in the sky. Alma and Bill were among the first to rise, exploring the neatly arranged rows of growing grapes. As they took pictures, a couple offered to snap some shots for them. Before long, they found themselves assisting others with their photos until they eventually found the chance to break away.

“They’re having their pictures taken by a published photographer. You should have charged them,” Bill lightly joked. 

“Well, you were there telling them you should have collected the fees while I was busy,” she chuckled, squeezing his arm as they strolled. She was feeling a little tipsy, to be honest.

Ahead of them, a swarm of gnats drove them to turn down a row of grapes to avoid them. At the end of the row, they encountered a small orchard with a footpath leading into it. Bill turned his head, and the estate looked back at him, while the other guests seemed to be preoccupied with the stream at the opposite end of the vineyard. 

The flourishing leafy branches dimmed the sun as they ventured a few paces into the orchard, seeking privacy. Once Alma felt they were hidden enough, she yanked him down by his arm, and they began to kiss passionately. Alma's hands immediately moved to undo his belt. Taking her by the waist, he guided them behind a tree for extra cover. She dropped to her knees, eliciting a delighted chuckle from Bill.

She latched onto him, feeling him quickly grow and thicken in her mouth. Maintaining eye contact with his lustful, half-lidded green eyes, she continued to pleasure him. Hollow cheeked and humming around him. A deep growl rumbled from his chest as she took him to the back of her throat.

“You like that?” she seductively asked when she pulled away, stroking him. 

“What’s not to like?” He said, threading his fingers through her hair while she swirled her tongue around him. “I love it when you’re being a good girl for me.” 

He thrust into her mouth as she submitted to him. They couldn’t prolong their impromptu escapade, but it wasn’t difficult to finish with how enthusiastic Alma was taking him. His hips ceased, holding himself in the back of her throat, but before he could pull away, she gripped his thighs to keep him there.

“Fuck,” he huffed as she took him deeper than he’d anticipated. He had wanted to pull her up from her knees and finish inside her, but that wasn’t going to happen. The muscles in his belly tightened as he released down her throat with a heavy grunt. 

She pulled back, allowing the rest to flood her mouth before making a show of it on her tongue. A pearly drop dribbled from her tongue and onto the fertile earth before she happily swallowed it. 

“I wanted to taste you,” she said, licking the slit of his tip affectionately. “Want me to tell you the notes and the vibe of it?” 

He laughed, tucking himself back into his trousers before helping her to her feet and brushing the leaves and mulch from her skirt. When he pulled away after giving her an appreciative kiss, he noticed a strange-looking shrine nearby.

“What’s that?” He nodded his head in its direction, fastening his buckle. 

“Huh?” She turned quickly, worried it was a person from their tour wandering about. 

In the orchard, a tree had been hollowed out to create a makeshift altar. As they approached, they noticed flies buzzing around white and green candles arranged in a semicircle, their bases fused with puddles of wax. Rust-colored dirt splotches clung oddly to them. Bells hung from braided ropes made of horsehair. At the center was a figure of an amply-shaped pendulum-breasted woman surrounded by other strange relics whose meanings were unclear to them.

“It’s like the altar your parents had for your siblings,” Bill said, crouching for a closer look.

“No,” Alma replied, feeling a creeping shiver up her spine. “It’s nothing like that. This is… I don’t know.” 

“Look at these,” he said, pointing along the edges of the wood structure. “Sigils.”

“They look like moon phases,” she said curiously. 

“Oh yeah,” he nodded in agreement. “Probably made with that dagger behind the little statue.” He pointed.

“Don’t touch it!” Alma quickly grabbed his hand when it got a little too close. 

He peered up at her with a smirk. “You scared?” 

“No,” she quipped unconvincingly. 

“It doesn’t mean anything, love,” he said, straightening up. “Well, it probably means something to whoever made this, but—” He briefly paused, noticing red-stained chicken feathers embedded in the candle wax and realizing the rust-colored dirt wasn’t actually dirt. He chose not to mention it. “It’s nothing.”

“Yeah… I don’t think we were supposed to find this. Can we go?” 

“You’re scared,” he chuckled, taking her hand to lead them out. “That’s okay.” 

“I’m not! You would not survive in a scary movie, it’s always the smug assholes that die first.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” he dismissed with a chuckle.

…

It was their last day in Italy, and they had no plans other than to savor their final hours in the villa. After wrestling with zippers and latches to close their overstuffed luggage, Alma and Bill relaxed together in the large Roman tub. As they begrudgingly complained about the long journey ahead, Bill gently washed her hair.

“Eh,” Bill sighed. “Let’s not think about it too much,” he said after rinsing the suds from her hair. “We’re still here.” 

He kissed her neck and wrapped his arms tightly around her as she sat between his legs. She held onto his arms, relaxing into his warm, loving embrace.

“I-I almost don’t want to leave,” she said in a hushed tone. “I just want to be like this all the time.” 

“Me too,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “It won’t be the last time we do something like this.” 

“Where do you want to go next?” 

“Anywhere,” he said, lifting her sud-covered hand from the water, kissing it. “I would go fucking anywhere with you.” 

Alma smiled. “Me too.” 

Dawn approached, and they had lounged around outdoors, half-dressed. Alma was in a cropped tee with a yin-yang print and panties, while Bill wore comfortable white boxer briefs and an unbuttoned white shirt that he rolled the sleeves of. Sharing a bottle of white wine, they spoke about the highlights of their trip and laughed about their real wedding night. Nothing happened—they both fell asleep. 

“God,” Bill groaned. “We just kept going and going, but it was one of the top ten best sleeps of my life, and you know I never sleep well.”

“You’ve been sleeping better lately, I think,” she said, pushing his hair from his forehead. 

“I think working out helps.” 

“I see,” she raised her brows. “You got a nice tan here too.” She said, sweeping her thumb across his sun-kissed clavicle. 

“You like it, don’t you?” He asked, noticing her gaze lingering on his toned physique. “I’m not some scrawny kid anymore.”

“You were hardly scrawny. I do like it, though, as I’ve said before,” she quickly added. She had complimented him plenty of times before. “But I think you sometimes like it even more than I do.”

“I’m not that fucking weird,” he defended. 

“Then why do you have half a boner right now?” 

He laughed. “I’ve been having it.” 

He pulled her onto his lap, causing her to giggle before their lips met in a kiss. Alma then stood up, took off her shirt, and stepped back, just out of reach before he could pull her back in.

“Let’s go slow,” she said with a teasing smile, biting her lip. They had been on each other with a hunger and haste that left them breathless since arriving. “We have all night.” 

“You want me to make love to you,” he peered up at her, golden, just like the hour they were in.

“Isn’t that what we’ve been doing?” she asked cheekily.

He stood, lifting her into his arms, bridal style. “Yeah, that is what we’ve been doing,” he kissed her. 

The French doors were left open to let the sunset glow beam in, and their lips disconnected when he laid her down on the bed softly. 

“I have another lingerie set I could wear,” Alma suggested, propping herself up on her elbows.

“Just like this,” he said, crawling above her. “You’re perfect like this.” 

They rolled around in bed, caressing, kissing, nails lightly scratching, and teeth grazing flesh. Alma hovered over him, kissing along his stubbly jaw and neck, reaching down to his wide chest planting affectionate kisses. While her teeth softly grazed his nipples, her hand glided along his side, and he braced himself for her touch, but she left her hand on his hip, continuing to trail kisses down his torso. His eyes fluttered closed, enjoying the sensation of her dark, long hair tickling his skin. A smirk spread across his face as he felt her lick down his happy trail. Peering down, he saw her cheek nuzzling the erection straining against his underwear. She looked up at him with a sweet, playful gaze, and he smiled back at her.

He let out a pleasant moan as she kissed and licked the white fabric holding him back. She got to her knees, hooking her thumbs around the straps of her panties, putting a show of slowly lowering them. She paused, revealing only a groomed triangle of pubic hair, before lowering herself right on top of him. He chuckled, amused by her playful teasing. 

They languidly rutted against each other, soft, breathy moans escaping them. He wrapped an arm around her waist and flipped her over on her back. Pushing her legs in the air, he took her panties off. He held his gaze on her pussy, glinting like a diamond with her arousal, while he pressed kisses on her leg. 

“Gorgeous,” his eyes flicked up to meet hers. “I want to kiss every inch of you.” 

He leaned down, kissing her pussy affectionately before rising to kiss her lips and trailing them down her body, mirroring the actions she had taken earlier. He cupped her breasts, licking her nipples until they were hard peaks. She sighed in pleasure as he added another hickey to the collection on her chest while running her fingers through his hair. His hand slid down her side, traveling to brush against the hair on her mound, back and forth, sending sensual shivers across her body as he continued to brush his lips down her torso.

He pressed a long, loving kiss just below her navel before resting his forehead against her belly. He looked as if he were kneeling in prayer between her legs, and Alma softened.

“I want you to have my baby,” he said, gazing up at her with heartfelt sincerity.

Until now, they had avoided talking about their lovemaking in terms of trying to conceive, wary of the pressure it might bring. The weight of his statement struck her—it wasn’t just about indulging in each other's bodies or enjoying their connection; there was more to all of this. 

Alma nodded. “I’ll give you a baby,” she softly touched his cheek. “I’ll give you however many you want.” 

His loins heated hearing that. She leaned forward, cupping his face in her hands, and they shared a deep, passionate kiss illuminated in the salmon sunlight. He leaned back, taking his underwear off, but still, he went slow. Taking his freed erection, he slipped the blushing tip of his cock inside her making her moan in anticipation, but he pulled back. Dipping the head in several times before sliding it up and down her wet slit. He positioned it at her clit and pressed a flat palm against them, and began thrusting. Rubbing himself on her sensitive nerve.

“I love when you do that,” Alma gasped. 

He bit his lip, feeling the slick of her arousal spread. He dipped down and pushed into her slowly, feeling her warmth envelop him inch by inch. Satisfied moans left them once he filled her, and he began rolling his hips. 

“Fuck, I love you,” he said with his head bowing by hers. 

Alma wrapped her arms around him, panting in his ear. The tenderness with which he rocked into her made her heart flutter, and Bill could feel it in her pussy. It encouraged him to pick up the rhythm of his thrusts, wanting more. He turned his head, watching her brows scrunch and her mouth hang open as her moans grew more urgent. Her muscles clenched around him, causing him to draw in a sharp breath at the sensation.

“Don’t stop,” she said before locking lips with him.

He maintained the rhythm when she met her peak and moaned into his mouth. He didn’t give her time to settle when he rose to his knees, taking her with him so she was now positioned in his lap. She began to grind her hips at a quick pace, her eagerness he loved so much evident. However, he gently placed his hands on her waist, guiding her to slow down.

“Easy, baby,” he reminded with a light chuckle. 

Their movements stilled as they got lost in the worship of each other's bodies. Alma bared down on him, causing him to twitch, and his hips jerked involuntarily from beneath her. She matched his thrusts, her breath hitching with the depth of their connection. He let her take the helm, leaning back to watch her pleasure herself as she pleased. His hand slid from her shoulder, distracted by the way she rode him. It rested by the side of her throat, his thumb pressing at the base. Noticing this, he attempted to slide his hand down to grasp one of her bouncing breasts.

Alma stopped him, gently placing his hand back where it had been. He was stunned—he hadn’t touched her throat this way ever since the night he almost lost her at the hands of someone else. It was difficult for her to allow anything to touch her neck for a long time. However, she trusted him. He had started with soft kisses, which she gradually learned to accept, though some nights she’d still pull away, and he’d stop without a word.

Touching her neck took longer; even something as simple as brushing her hair off her shoulder would make her flinch. He understood. He knew all too well, from his own painful upbringing, that bruises may fade, but the memory of them lingers. He saw what was done to her. But more than that, she had seen what his hands were capable of. He feared, deep down, that maybe she was afraid of him. Yet she always fervently reassured him—again and again—that what he had done was never the reason for her hesitation. His hands saved her.

When she pressed her throat into his hand, which rested there as he looked on, concerned, he was taken aback. He knew she trusted him completely, but this felt like true surrender. She was offering him the most vulnerable part of herself—even as he was already within another. 

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, but there was a look of certainty and resolve that stopped him from pulling his hand away, even as his anxious mind screamed at him to do so. Still, he held on with the lightest touch, careful, gentle—mindful. 

The pace of her hips quickened, and tears slipped from her cheeks as she closed her eyes, rapt in pleasure. Bill’s chest tightened as he felt her clench and flutter around him, the intensity almost overwhelming. When her climax hit her, even with trembling sore thighs, she continued to grind on him. His gaze dropped to where their bodies were joined, her body moving in a fluid motion, the sight of it causing his muscles to tense. The visual, combined with the sound of Alma’s moans and her wetness, pushed him closer to the edge, the pleasure almost too much to contain.

Her head was tossed back, but with his hand wrapped around her neck, he coaxed her to look at him. 

“Tell me where you want it,” he asked with an intense look in his eyes.

"Come inside me," she panted, her voice breathless. "Put a baby in me," she moaned loudly.

Quickly, he repositioned them back into the missionary position. His hand remained on her throat as he snapped his hips, burying himself deep inside her with a final thrust, releasing his essence. Lost in the throes of his own climax, his grip on her throat tightened. Alma waited a moment, watching as his thrusts served to pump his cum further inside her, before gently reaching for his hand. His head snapped up, guilt already rising as he realized he hadn’t been completely mindful of his hold. But before he could apologize, she pressed her lips tenderly into his palm, reassuring him without words. 

…

June 1995 | Seattle

Bill came through the side door of his home, kicking off his running shoes after his jog through the neighborhood before dawn broke. As he climbed the stairs, he pulled off his headphones and left his Walkman on the bench in the mezzanine, while on his way to the bedroom, he paused to check on Echo.

The disco ball nightlight cast soft, glittering specks around Echo's room, where she was facing away, seemingly sound asleep. Her toys, however, were scattered across the floor when one of her tasks before bed was putting them away in the chest. Bill narrowed his eyes in suspicion. Creeping quietly into the room, careful not to wake her, he approached the bed. Echo’s chubby cheek was pressed into her pillow, her full lips parted slightly, in deep sleep. That could only mean one thing—she had pretended to sleep when put to bed last night and stayed up playing with her toys. He hated having to get on to her about things, but she couldn’t be up in the middle of the night without them knowing; it just wasn’t safe.

Entering his bedroom, Bill was surprised to find the unmade bed empty. It was too early for Alma to be awake, yet the sound of cascading water came from the en suite bathroom. He tossed his cap on the bench at the foot of the bed in passing and then put his sweaty gray shirt into the hamper in the closet room before heading toward the bathroom only in his red running shorts. 

Alma wiped the steam from the glass shower door when she noticed Bill’s figure entering the bathroom. 

“Hey,” she greeted with a soft smile, her voice warm and relaxed.

“You’re up early, babe.” 

"I told you last night I had a meeting with the city arts council manager," she said, a hint of annoyance creeping into her voice. 

“Oh, yeah, I knew that,” he said, pulling off his shorts to join her in the shower. He paused mid-motion, noticing the pregnancy test lying face down on the sink counter. “Did you already check this?��

“Uhm, no…” she said, with trepidation.

“Can I?” 

“Sure,” she said after a hesitant beat. 

He flipped the test over and stared at the results, his brows furrowing, perplexed. He tilted the test back and forth, trying to catch the light just right to discern whether there were two pink lines present. Alma wrung her hair out quickly after growing increasingly uneasy with the silence.

“What?” she asked, her concern growing as she stepped out of the shower and quickly wrapped a fluffy black towel around herself.

Bill glanced between her and the test, unsure of what to say. “Uh, do we have another one?” he asked, opening the cabinet door underneath the sink where they kept the tests.

“That was the last one. What does it say?” 

“Uh… I don’t know?” He bit his lip.

“Well, let me see,” she said, plucking the test from his grip. Her shoulders slumped, and she frowned. “It’s negative.” 

“Wait,” Bill stopped her before she could toss it in the trash bin. “There’s another line—I think?” He attempted to point it out, but she didn’t seem interested. “This one just might be a dud. I can buy some more—” 

“No—just forget it,” she said with a huff, turning and walking out of the bathroom.

“Alma?” he called after her. He glanced at the test one last time, hoping the results had miraculously changed during their conversation, but the results remained the same. Indecipherable. He left it on the counter and followed her.

He found Alma in the closet room, buttoning a black pinstriped vest to her body. She quickly turned her head, blinking back tears she was trying to suppress. Bill took a deep breath, feeling a pang of sympathy for her disappointment.

“Hey,” he said gently, approaching her. “It’s just a bad test. We can get more.” 

“No,” she said, shrugging him off when he leaned in for a reassuring kiss. “I’m tired.”

“Don’t do that,” he sighed. 

Alma glanced up at him apologetically and gave him a kiss. “Sorry. Forget the tests. Can we just talk about this later?” She reached for a pair of matching dress pants from the hanger.

“Mm,” he chewed on his lip, meeting her pleading gaze. “Okay. Fine,” he acquiesced.

Later—had turned into a couple of days, much to Bill's annoyance. Since that morning, Alma had been sour and distant. She had been cold towards him; they hadn’t had sex for two days until last night, but it just felt purely mechanical, and it drove him further up the wall. He would have stopped in the middle of it if she hadn’t finally participated by straddling him and rode him hard and fast as if letting out some frustration until he came with no other choice to. She unceremoniously dismounted him, cum dripping from her and back onto him, and fell asleep with her back turned to him without a word. He suddenly understood how he used to be, shutting her out in the same way. It seemed she had learned it from the best. Now it bit him in the ass.

It was evening in the home office. Alma sat on the soft leather couch, entertaining Echo and making her giggle for a moment before turning back to her planners. She was reading from a stack of sticky notes, jotting down important dates to transfer to her booking planner.

Bill was at the desk, working on the computer, when he glanced over at Alma. Although he was aware that their daughter was present, her continued behavior as if nothing had happened a few days ago made his nostrils flare with frustration.

“Hey, this tech stock I have went up,” he announced, pointing at the computer screen, hoping that his accountant wife would be interested enough to come over and take a look. “By a lot.” 

She didn’t even do so much as look up at him; instead, she kept writing in her planner. “Oh, that’s good, babe,” she nodded but remained unmoved.

Bill scratched his head and took a deep breath, glancing at the wall clock. It wasn’t quite Echo’s bedtime yet, but he couldn’t stand the stuffy energy in the room any longer.

“Echo,” he called for her. “Let’s get ready for bed.” 

Alma didn’t remark about it being early, but Echo certainly gave him a curious look about it. 

“Listen to your Daddy, E’,” Alma said, opening her arms for a tight embrace. “Come here.” She kissed Echo on the cheek. “Good nighties. I love you.” 

“Good nighties, Mommy!” Echo giggled in her arms.

Bill picked up Echo and, before leaving the room, he turned to Alma. “I’m heading to bed, too.” 

“Okay,” Alma replied with an indifferent nod.

He got Echo ready for bed, helping her into pj’s and reading her a book until she fell asleep. Double-checking, he lifted her arm by the shirt cuff around her wrist with a finger and watched it fall limp by her side. Carefully, he slid out of her bed and tucked her in, placing a soft kiss on her forehead before departing.

He stood in the dark hallway, the light from the office casting a glow at the other end. He swallowed hard, torn between going straight to the bedroom or confronting Alma in the office. He hated every bit of this fucked up, cold silence, and he resented that he had turned on his heel and decided to go to bed without her instead.

Laying in bed, he wished that pleasuring himself in the shower had relaxed him enough to fall asleep quickly, but it didn’t. Because of the sex they had the night before, he thought jerking off how he knew his body best would be some consolation, but she was on his mind. Times of her being more enthusiastic and receiving compared to last night getting him off, but when he finished, the clarity settled in. He was left saddened as he watched his release waste away down the drain. 

He woke in the middle of the night, momentarily disoriented, unsure of when he had fallen asleep. He was alone in the bed. Turning to the glowing green digital alarm clock on his nightstand, he saw that it was 3:40 a.m.

He groaned loudly as he got out of bed, rubbing his forehead. Though the light was off, he instinctively checked the last place he had seen Alma—the office. Flicking the light on, he quickly turned it off again, momentarily blinding himself, but it was clear the room was empty. Rubbing his eyes, he passed through the archway to the mezzanine and even glancing with his black speckled vision over the banister, the living room was vacant as well. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he heard the faint sound of the TV, some infomercial droning on during these hell hours, coming from the den.

As he approached the sectional, the glow from the TV illuminated her pedicured feet and hair-stubble legs until she fully appeared. Alma lay there, her arm draped off the couch, dressed in a spaghetti-strap tank and panties. Bill stood still, watching her chest rise and fall in even breaths. He sighed and shook his head before turning off the TV, silencing the grating, cartoonish product-shilling voice of the infomercial mid-sentence. The only sounds left were the faint crackle of the TV's settling static and Alma’s soft snoring.

It didn’t matter if his back would ache the rest of the day; he sat down in the crux of the couch beside her. He gently took her hanging hand and held it, managing to fall asleep. When he woke later that morning, she was nestled in his arms, as if they had sought each other out in their sleep. Tenderly, he brushed a few strands of hair from her face, then let his hand drift from her shoulder, down her arm, and over to her belly, resting it above her otherwise flat womb. The touch caused her to stir, and he quickly pulled his hand away, swallowing hard as she woke. She looked confused at first, but when her eyes met his tired gaze, her expression softened.

“Sorry,” she mumbled groggily. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep down here.” He stayed silent, uncertain if she was being truthful, but kissed her anyway. To his relief, she kissed him back with more feeling than she had in the past few days. Just as he considered taking it further, vying for connection, she started to get up. “I know your back hurts,” she said, pulling him by the hands as he slowly rose. “You should have just taken me to bed.”

“It’s alright,” he sighed, straightening his stiff back.

The day unfolded much like the others. Alma remained avoidant, still unwilling to talk. Bill tried steering their conversations toward the issue, but she always managed to dodge it. That night, Alma was alone in the private sitting room lying on the lounge chaise reading the sequel to the noir romance book she read on their honeymoon when Bill walked in. He looked at her with genuine surprise, he hadn’t expected to see her there. He had been in the office, doing much of nothing before stepping out for a smoke on the balcony. The last time he saw her, she was heading into the sauna. Now he wondered if he had only just imagined it.

Alma watched him as he grabbed the stash box from a shelf. Bill opened it and frowned. He’d forgotten he had smoked the last joint and didn’t feel like taking the time to roll another, so he put the box back and decided to head to bed. As he turned, he caught Alma quickly shifting her gaze back to her book, pretending she hadn’t been watching him.

“Are you sleeping in here tonight?” he asked with a hint of snark.

“No. But maybe I should,” she muttered, speaking more to the pages of her book than to him.

He cleared his throat, hoping she’d look at him, but instead, she just adjusted the strap of her nightgown back onto her shoulder. He could see her discomfort, but at this point, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Can you—can you look at me?” 

Alma tensed, taking a deep breath before her eyes flicked toward him, where he stood by the fireplace. Putting her book down, she straightened up and looked at him like he asked, her expression silently saying, well?

“The other day, Alma? These past couple of days, even. What’s going on?” 

She looked everywhere but him, wanting desperately to flee, but there was no escape, and was obligated to meet his gaze again. 

“I don’t know, Bill,” she shrugged. “I really thought…” Her voice trailed off. “Maybe I just can’t do it. I’m tired.” 

He closed his eyes, frustrated by her words. “Tired? You don’t think that I-”

“We fuck, and fuck, and fuck, and nothing is happening! It’s starting to feel—” she stopped abruptly, unwilling to voice what she almost said. She had been reading self-help books since the beginning of the year and knew she just couldn’t always act on impulse. Regardless, she didn’t like what her thoughts had conjured. 

Bill’s jaw tightened, and his nostrils flared. “Starting to feel like what?” When she looked away, shaking her head, he pressed on. “Starting to feel like what, Alma?”

“Like a chore!” she snapped back at him. Her eyes widened in shock, mirroring his own horrified expression at her words.

“A chore,” he repeated, stunned and hurt. “Fuck…” he muttered, scratching the back of his head and looking away, dejected, crossing his arms. 

“I—I don’t mean that,” her voice cracked. “I don’t. It’s just,” she paused, blinking and gazing at the skylight above them as tears stung her eyes. “I can’t give you what you want, Bill. The tests… I can’t. We’ve been trying for seven months!”

“You,” he said, closing his eyes and pressing his lips into a hard line as he tried to steady himself. “You’re only thinking about yourself in this.”

“What?” 

“The tests… I know I might look disappointed, and you might think it’s disappointment in you, but it’s not, love. It’s me!” He pointed at his chest with a pained expression, admitting his true thoughts of inadequacy out loud. “Maybe it’s me that can’t!”

Alma gasped, biting her quivering lip, heartbroken that he felt this way. “Bill, no…”

Tears streamed down Alma's face, feeling so fucking awful. Bill inhaled deeply through his nose, blinking rapidly as his own tears threatened to spill.

He cleared his throat. “We can just… shit,” he said under his breath when he felt his tears flood the hollow of his eyes, which he quickly wiped away. “We'll just forget this.” 

Alma rested her elbows on her knees, sobbing regretfully into her hands. “I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Bill approached her and crouched down, gently pulling her hands away from her face. Alma clung to him, weeping into the crook of his neck.

“I’m sorry too,” he said, his voice filled with sadness. “I just want to go back to before all this. I asked for this, and… I want it to be fun again.”

“It is fun,” she sobbed. “It’s not a chore; I was just being a bitch!” He held her tightly until she calmed down. She sat back, took a shaky breath, and wiped her runny nose with the inside of her nightgown. “There’s nothing wrong with you,” she said, caressing his cheek.

“There’s nothing wrong with you either, love.” He rose to sit next to her on the lounge chaise. 

“We can still try,” she said softly. “If you still want to. Just no tests. It’s messing with us.” 

Bill took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay,” he sighed. “No tests.” 

…

July 1995

When he arrived for his first shift at Sheisty Sound Records, he was surprised to see the marquee out front read, "WELCOME GIANCARLO."

The aisles were bustling with customers browsing through the shelves. A group of teens and young adults began to form a line in front of the cash wrap, each holding CD copies of the hottest hip-hop album that had just dropped. It was even playing on the shop’s sound system.

“Hey, Giancarlo,” Ash called for him.

He worked at the shop in Seattle for a few days now. Most of his tasks were menial—sweeping floors, tidying shelves, breaking down shipment boxes, stamping hundreds of white paper bags with the store logo (his hands still stained with blue ink), and, unfortunately, cleaning the bathrooms. Currently, he was carefully scraping price tags off a pile of records with a box knife. The job became much easier after Darby showed him a trick—dabbing a napkin soaked in lighter fluid on the tags so they would come off smoothly instead of peeling away in frustrating little pieces.

“Yes?” he inquired, looking up and realizing a couple of customers were staring back at him impatiently.

“Could you hop on the other register?” she asked, closing the cash till and reaching for another customer’s items.

“I’m allowed to?” he asked, uncertain.

“They never said you couldn’t. I need some help here, homie.”

“Oh, okay, sure.” He nodded, stepping over to assist her.

When Bill and his family picked him up at the airport, they asked whether he was ready to jump straight into a shift at the record shop right then and there as they drove back into town. While Giancarlo had come to work at the shop—and used that as a key selling point to convince his parents to let him travel—he hadn’t expected Bill to actually put him to work right away.

“Right now? I mean, sure, I guess.” 

Bill and Alma laughed. “We’re kidding,” Bill said, looking at him through the rearview mirror. 

“Relax a little!” Alma turned to him and winked. “How was the flight? What did you bring us?” She asked, peering curiously at the white box sitting beside him.  

“Uh, my mom sent me with some cannolis for you all,” he said while gently pulling his headphone wire out of Echo’s grasp.

“I freakin’ love her,” Alma quickly said while he continued speaking.

“I was in California for, like, two hours, so that was cool. But, uh, I just slept on the flight, so...” He lightly shrugged. 

“Nice. How was your mom when you left?” 

“God,” he groaned lightly before mimicking his mother’s accent with exaggerated precision. “Giancarlo Rocco, any time you land, you call me!” he said, earning amused chuckles from Bill and Alma. “Don’t talk to anyone you don’t know! Did you remember to bring your inhaler? Like, jeez,” he sighed. “I haven’t had to use that thing since I was twelve, but she still made me bring it. And don’t worry, I called. But she wants me to call when we get to the house.”

“Oh, she gave us a run-down of how you like your eggs and how you like to get tucked into bed at night,” Alma said, but Gian remained silent. “I’m kidding again. We didn’t get any instructions, I promise. She trusts you; you’re just her last baby. I’m sure it makes her a little sad seeing you travel on your own like a big boy.” 

The young man saw Bill’s eyes dart towards Alma somberly when she spoke; he didn’t know what to make of that but figured it was nothing when he reached for her hand and kissed the back of it. 

Giancarlo’s eyes widened at the sight of the house when they arrived. The color was striking—black, or almost black. He hadn’t known you could paint a house that color, but it looked pretty chic. Bill parked their black Tahoe outside under the breezeway instead of the garage, so Alma could quickly get Echo out of the drizzle through the side door. Both Alma and Echo were recovering from a cold Echo had picked up from somewhere, and Bill managed to remain unscathed by the illness. 

At the peak of their illness, Echo had vomited in the middle of the night. Alma got up to strip the bed but found herself dry-heaving doing the task. She wasn’t typically squeamish, but her stomach churned so violently that it was a miracle she made it to Echo’s bathroom after struggling with the child safety knob to throw up. Echo stood by, looking concerned and frightened, as Alma rinsed her mouth in the sink. After Echo’s repeated questions, Alma reassured her that she was okay. Exhausted, she gave up trying to clean the mess, took Echo to sleep in her bed, and left it for Bill to handle in the morning.

“I’ll meet you two inside!” Alma said before leaving them. 

“Wow,” Giancarlo said, stepping out of the SUV and taking in the grandeur of the house. “Real dump you have here.”

Bill smiled, slipping the keys into his bomber jacket. “Ah well, home is what you make it, right?”

Bill gave Giancarlo a tour of the house as soon as they entered. After showing him the first level, they started up the stairs and paused at the library, where Alma joined them with Echo in tow. While on the second level, they went straight to the home office. Alma showed off her cameras, and Bill showed him the small vintage lighter collection he began recently before the tour came to an end.

“Our room is just down the hall,” Bill pointed out, carrying his daughter in his arms. “Echo is right by,” he pointed at a door on the opposite side. “This is a guest room, and we store shit in the room next to Echo’s for now at least.” 

“Is this where I’m sleeping?” he asked, peering into the guest room. 

“You want to see where you’re sleeping?” Alma asked, peeking around Bill to look at him. “You’re going to like it.” 

He did appreciate his sleeping quarters in the basement. It had a living room of sorts; it was large, with a couch, a pool table, a mini fridge, and gym equipment in the corner. The walls had a few framed concert and movie posters, but other than that, most of the decoration was minimal. There was a TV center in the bedroom, where he would be sleeping on a comfy, plush queen-sized bed. 

“This is nice! Thanks, guys.” 

“For sure!” Alma smiled. “The bathroom and shower are through that door. And yeah, it’s your own space to enjoy. The laundry room is on the other side of the room, so if you hear any noise, it’s just that.” 

“We’ll leave you alone now,” Bill said as he watched Giancarlo scan his sleeping quarters appreciatively. “Meet us in the dining room when you’re all settled.” 

When he was left alone, he immediately checked the mini fridge. It was stocked with the snacks, candy, and drinks he liked. He remembered overhearing Alma reminding Bill to ask for his favorite snacks during a previous phone call. With a smile, he grabbed a small bottle of Sunny D.

That evening, after dinner, they surprised Giancarlo with a small round chantilly cake. His 17th birthday had been just two weeks earlier, and Alma had insisted on getting him a cake to celebrate. Alma asked how he had celebrated his birthday, and Giancarlo described a fun day at an arcade, where he and some friends had played laser tag.

“Oh, that sounds fun!” Alma said, resting her head on her hand at the dinner table and listening attentively. 

The more she looked at him, the harder it became for Giancarlo to hold his gaze. He always thought Alma was very pretty, but his brother Lorenzo’s crush on her had put him off. She was his mother’s best friend, and she was Mr. Skarsgård’s girl, so it just felt strange that his brother crushed so hard for her. Especially, when she wasn’t the only beautiful friend his mother worked with that he’d been around that he could choose from. However, now, with Alma giving him her undivided attention and showing genuine interest in what he had to say, his face flushed with warmth. He felt a shy, awkwardness wanting to creep up, but he pushed it away as best as he could. It was nice to have attention from a pretty girl, no—woman. A woman as pretty as her making him feel seen was nice. 

“I probably wouldn’t be very good at it, but being under the black lights and stuff would be fun.” She said with a girlish giggle. “Kind of like a club.”

“She has bad aim.” Bill quipped before taking a sip of his water. 

“Yeah, unfortunately,” she lightly shrugged with a carefree smile. Briefly, Bill and Alma shared a glance, as if remembering a time she missed with amusement. 

Soon after becoming well acquainted and shown around the city, he finally started working at the record shop.

“Chill on the ‘mister’ and 'miss' stuff here,” Bill said as he backed into a parking spot by the shop. “I mean, you even call Echo ‘miss’ and she’s three, man.” He lightly chuckled. “But I get it, it’s just how you are.” 

“Yeah, I kind of got that vibe seeing the city, it’s more laid back.” Gian shrugged. 

“Exactly. But everyone is cool, and you’ve kinda met half of them already, so don’t worry too much if you do it by accident.” 

Bill reintroduced Giancarlo to Darby, leaving them to make some calls and taking two in-person meetings with sharp-looking men in the office that day. He caught on quickly, and now he was checking out customers, feeling more like a real employee at Sheisty Sound Records.

With Giancarlo’s help, the line grew shorter, and the crowd was soon managed. Ash gave him a high five for his speediness. Alma walked in, holding the door open with a booted foot while balancing several rolls of posters under her arms. As she maneuvered through the threshold, Matt came over and took them from her.

“I didn’t know you were working this morning?” She said, after thanking him. 

“I’m not. I’m just here on my lunch break.” Matt’s hours had gone down to part-time since he had started trade school, but it seemed like he couldn’t stay away sometimes. The record store was a comfort zone of his. “It’s busy though!” 

“Good, good,” she sighed, feeling unusually winded from her minimal efforts. 

Alma approached the cash wrap and asked Ash if she could steal Gian for a moment before she went on her lunch break. 

“I just need some help carrying some boxes out of the radio room.”

Giancarlo followed Alma to the backstage area and through the green room. Although he had been given a tour of the facilities by Darby, he wasn’t familiar with the radio room. He watched as she rummaged through her small backpack purse for a ring of keys and then opened the heavy door.

“Has your day been going okay?” she asked, peering up at him through long mascara lashes. “No one's been rude to you? I mean anyone.” 

“No,” he said sheepishly. “It’s been good, Miss Alma.” He awkwardly scratched his elbow. “What goes on in this room?”

“Well, not much, yet,” Alma said, pointing at the dusty hardware. “We’re slowly selling and trading some of this old junk for proper studio equipment. We hope to rent out this space for private studio sessions. That’s the plan, anyway.” She said, placing her hands on her hips.

“A studio would be cool!” 

“I think so, too! Imagine seeing ‘Recorded at Sheisty Sound Studios’ on the music packaging!” 

“Legit! Bill hasn’t mentioned this at all?” he said, scanning the equipment.

“Because it’s not finished yet,” she lightly laughed. “Speaking of the execution is more impressive than the plans, right?” 

“I get that, yeah,” he nodded.

“Besides, he thinks talking too early about things before they’re done will jinx it.” 

“Are those the boxes you needed moving?” He pointed to some beaten cardboard shipping boxes in a corner.

“Oh, yeah. You know what? Let me pull my Jeep around back; it’ll be easier. Just be careful they're full of broken CDs.” 

“Broken?”

“Yeah, they arrived like that,” Alma said, shaking her head with visible annoyance. “It looks like someone opened the box and started chewing on them! I’ve been trying to get the warehouse to exchange them for nearly three weeks now. Anyway, I’ll be right back.”

While working these past few days, Giancarlo noticed just how busy Alma and Bill were. They were constantly picking up supplies for the shop, taking calls, and meeting with important people—all while managing a child who ran about the store. On top of that, even with limited capacity due to being miles away, Bill still oversaw Trigger Finger. It seemed exhausting, but they both seemed to enjoy the contained chaos.

Later that evening, as Giancarlo was helping Chrissy update the "UPCOMING SHOWS" chalkboard, he held the ladder she was sitting on and read out the list of acts and dates Alma had given him. Bill came by and asked if Giancarlo would be ready to leave in 15 minutes.

“Or maybe, once you’re done helping Chrissy,” he said, looking up at her from where she sat. “How’s it going up there?” 

“Unfortunately, the air isn’t any crisper,” she replied with her usual dry humor, “but it’s very strange to be able to see the top of your head. Did you know it’s misshapen?” 

Bill kissed his teeth with an amused smirk on his face when he turned his head towards the office.

“It’s already at the post! I was told that the shipment would be replaced.” Alma’s irritated voice rang from the office. “Well, that’s fucking unacceptable!” She was up from her seat to close the office door for some privacy. 

“Hold on,” Bill muttered, stepping away and heading toward the office. “Alma.” His voice was firm but calm. She glanced up at him sharply, her frustration evident. “Give it to me.” He gestured toward the phone.

Alma hesitated for a beat, then handed it over as Bill closed the door behind him. Unknowingly, he shut it on his daughter, who ran over to follow him in. The little girl frowned, on the verge of tears, but Darby swooped in just in time, distracting her before she could.

Giancarlo heard Chrissy snicker above him while she wrote neatly and legibly on the chalkboard. “He’s going to let whoever she’s speaking to have it.” 

“Mhmm.” Giancarlo hummed knowingly. 

“He’s a nice boss, but he doesn’t put up with any bullshit, for sure,” she added with a sing-song tone. “Are you related to Alma?”

“Me? No, uhm, Bill and my mom are business partners. It’s uh, it’s yeah,” he stammered. “I’ve just known them since I was a kid, so you could say family friends, I guess.” 

“Oh, okay. How old are you?” 

“Seventeen. Since last month.” Giancarlo said, turning toward the office as he heard the faint sound of Bill’s raised voice. 

“Gemini?” Chrissy asked curiously. 

“Uhm no? I think I’m a cancer, so my mom tells me. I don’t know much about that, though. But what are you?” He asked to be polite. 

“Scorpio.” Giancarlo only nodded, not familiar with what that meant. “Okay, that was the last one on the list, right?” 

“Yeah,” he nodded and then held out his hand for her to get down. 

“You worked with Donnie the other day, right?” 

“I did.” He said folding the ladder closed to put it away. 

“Cool. Well, there’s a small carnival in town, and we’re going. Would you, maybe, want to go? Maybe see what we really get into instead of hanging out with mid-30-year-olds and a baby the whole time you’re here?” She lightly laughed. 

“Uh, yeah! I don’t think they would mind. I still have to ask, though.” 

“For sure! We’re going tomorrow night. We’re both off, so we’re heading out by seven.” 

Bill and Alma came out of the office laughing after having their less-than-savory message run up to the supervisor of the shipment warehouse, who would finally correct their mistake. 

Later that evening, as dinner wrapped up—a meal of meatballs with mashed potatoes Bill had made—Giancarlo decided to mention his plans.

“She offered to pick me up, too,” he said as a selling point.

Bill sat back in his seat in thought and then exchanged a long uncertain look with Alma, who was wiping Echo’s messy sauce covered hands with a napkin. 

“So… you don’t want to hang out with us?” Bill asked, crossing his arms. 

“I thought you came to visit us or, at the very least, Bill.” She pointed at him with a hand. “He’s been excited about you coming here.”

“Oh, I-I mean,” Giancarlo stammered, worried he had offended them or disrespected their hospitality. He glanced at Bill, then back at Alma, who was smirking.

“It’s fine,” Bill said with a chuckle. “We don’t mind.” 

“With all due respect, I don’t like how serious you two can pretend to be. It’s really unnerving if I’m honest.” He said, making them laugh. 

“You’re going to have fun, Chrissy is a funny girl. Donnie too, he’s a bit of a jock though, but a sweetheart. Like you,” she winked. 

“What time should I be expected back?” 

Bill scratched at his collarbone with furrowed brows and looked at Alma's equally contemplative expression. He was such a good kid, he was asking for a curfew that they hadn’t even considered giving him. 

“Uhm,” Bill sighed, glancing at Alma for guidance while rubbing his jaw. Alma seemed to enjoy seeing him struggle with this. As parents, they wouldn’t need to set curfews for years to come, so this was new for them. “How about ten?”

“Or what time does your mom usually expect you home when you’re out?” Alma inquired.

“9:30.” He said begrudgingly.

“Wow,” Alma said, taken aback by his honesty. He could have lied to them by giving a much later time, but instead, he shaved off thirty minutes from the curfew Bill suggested. 

“Well,” Bill spoke up. “Bianca, respectfully, isn’t here. You’re with us. You just turned seventeen, I think you know how to handle yourself a bit. So what do you think is an appropriate time to be home?” 

“11:30?” 

“Then twelve,” said Bill. “Be home by twelve.” 

Bill and Alma were in the private sitting room that evening, enjoying the night. Echo was tucked in bed, and Giancarlo had been out for a few hours now. Alma lit some incense sticks by the fireplace and returned to the couch with a glass of scotch neat for Bill, who smiled brightly at her. It felt like a little reward, given to him when earlier in the bedroom he had her pressed down into the mattress, grinding into her while she lay prone beneath him, bouncing her hips to meet his thrusts. After taking some pressure off themselves, sex between them had returned to where they set aside their inhibitions and just let their bodies talk. 

“He’s probably going to be here like right on the dot! He’s like a little old man inside,” she said, sitting in his lap with her back resting on the armrest. 

“He needs to be deprogrammed from whatever mind control B’ has him under,” Bill laughed, setting his drink on the table after a small sip. “In Vegas, he went out with a fake ID though, so he’s not a total square. He does things.”

“Oh yeah. And he just respects you a lot. What happened when you gave him money before he left? He didn’t want to take it, did he?” 

Bill shook his head. “Nah. He’s a little too polite for his own good. I get why Bianca raised her sons that way, but—” He trailed off as Alma lightly yawned, nuzzling her head into the crook of his neck. His hand stroked her smooth legs absentmindedly, his voice softening with concern. “Are you feeling better?”

“Hmm. Yeah, why?” 

“I heard you gag when you blew your nose this morning in the bathroom.” 

“It was gross and thick, like it came from the back of my throat. My body is just purging the remnants of the cold, I guess.” 

“Yeah…” he said, kissing the top of her head. 

Bill was in the den, watching a movie with Alma, but she had fallen asleep with her head in his lap while they waited on Giancarlo. She had been going to bed much earlier, he noticed. He was noticing a lot of things lately with her, but he wasn’t sure how to address them. It was sleeping early and sleeping in. Yesterday morning, she thought the new gallon of milk had gone bad. He checked—it was fine. Then there were the cannolis he’d only managed to snag a bite of; he suspected she’d devoured most of them, but he wasn’t about to accuse her of that.

Despite the nagging thoughts in his mind, things had been great between them since their emotionally charged argument not long ago. He feared messing things up by asking her to take a pregnancy test. If he pushed it on her, and it was negative, he’d feel like an asshole. Alma told him she would know, but he had to bite his tongue when she said so because, only from hearing about it, she hadn’t any idea she was pregnant with Echo for many weeks. If he said that, though, that would have just started a fight he didn’t have in him to have. So he stayed quiet, lost in thought, gently stroking her hair as the movie flickered on the screen.

Taking a deep breath, he checked the clock on the entertainment center. It was five minutes until 11:30. Although he’d said Giancarlo was allowed to come back by midnight, he was certain he’d still be coming through the door at this time regardless. The minutes ticked by, the hour arrived, and then it passed.

Alma was up again, but Bill told her not to worry. However, she knew her friend Bianca well, she might be miles away now, but she wouldn’t hesitate to deal with both of them if something happened to her child. 

“What do you think he could be doing?” Alma asked, taking a sip of cold water as a headache began to set in, and then hugged herself in one of Bill’s oversized hoodies.

“He better be having the time of his fuckin’ life being out this late,” he muttered. 

Alma smirked, amused. “I told him. Nothing good happens after two am.” 

Bill nodded, glancing over at the clock, seeing that there were 40 minutes until two. 

“Do you think I accidentally gave him permission to stay out ‘til then by saying that?” Alma said, feeling like she made a mistake.

“Hmm, no. This… is kind of weird for him, but he has our number in case he needs a ride. I should have given him one of our pagers,” he said regretfully. “Maybe Chrissy is drunk or—” 

“Maybe he is?” 

“Eh.” 

“Or stoned? Does he do that?” 

“He doesn’t even know I do that.” 

“Oh please. He’s not dumb.” 

Bill groaned loudly, letting his head fall back on the couch. Alma’s late-night questions were starting to get on his nerves, while he silently worried.

“This is eating you up…” Alma lightly chuckled. “He probably met some girl. Imagine. When Echo is his age?” 

Bill pinched the bridge of his nose, he didn’t want to imagine it at all. “She’s never leaving the house. I should have never said twelve—fuck. Knowing all the shit I used to do at his age… the only thing I can think he’s doing is doing a girl in someone’s back seat instead of being home right now.” 

“You’re such a fucking Romeo,” Alma rolled her eyes. 

“You keep asking questions, and that’s what I think, so.”

“He tells you stuff like that?” 

Bill shrugged indifferently. “Kind of, but not often. Obviously.” 

“You two talk like asshole locker room boys, don’t you?” 

“No,” he lightly chucked because he wasn’t being all that truthful. “He’s told me stuff. I don’t ask for details.” 

“Right,” Alma side-eyed him. 

“He’s a young man, what more can I say, other than telling him to wrap it up if he’s going to go there?” 

“Hmm, yeah,” Alma agreed, blinking her heavy eyes. “I’m tired,” she sighed. 

“I can wait up for him.” 

“I don’t want to leave you worrying by yourself.” 

“You look tired, love,” he said gently, hoping to not offend her by agreeing. “If it’s you he’s decided to listen to, he should be here soon.” 

“Sorry, I don’t know why I said that. But okay,” she yawned loudly. “I’m only talking so much to keep myself up, but I’m annoying myself too.” 

Bill escorted Alma to bed and waited in the living room in the dark, staring out the large window that overlooked the long front yard. He could see headlights through the fence of trees on the road, and there usually wasn’t much traffic in the neighborhood, especially at night. The car turned into his driveway at an even speed while the headlights swept across the dark room. He recognized Chrissy’s little 1980s beater when she cut the lights off. As the car slowly made its way around the arched driveway and back onto the road, Bill waited for the knock at the door, but it didn’t come. He could imagine Giancarlo, standing there worried, debating whether he should sleep on the porch like a dog rather than dare knock on the door at this hour. 

Bill turned on the small lamp on the side table by the couch and stood up. A light, tentative knock sounded from the door, seemingly prompted by the glow of the lamp. When Bill opened the door, Giancarlo slightly flinched.

“Mr. Skarsgård, I-I’m sorry I didn’t mean to—” 

Bill raised his pointer finger to his lips. “Come inside.” He stepped aside, his stern gaze following Giancarlo as he walked past him. “You fucking reek.” 

“Shit,” Giancarlo muttered under his breath, his gaze fixed on the floor in shame.

“Like skunk and cheap whore perfume,” Bill said, amused. 

“I’m really sorry. And to Miss Alma, I’m sorry. I-If you haven’t called her already, could you give me a chance to speak to my mother about what I did later this morning?” 

“She doesn’t need to know.” Giancarlo looked at him, both surprised and relieved. “You’ve come back in one piece. Did you have a good time tonight, at least?” 

“Uh, yeah,” Giancarlo said, a bashful smile creeping onto his face as he looked down at the floor again.

Bill smiled. “Good. Tell me about it in the morning then.” 

That morning, Bill was the first one up for a run, or so he thought. He wasn’t even going to bother with waking up Giancarlo to join him, but as he passed Echo’s room to check on her before leaving, she was stirring in her sleep. He stood there for a second, watching to see if she was just shifting into a more comfortable position. When she turned over, through narrowly opened eyes, she saw her father at the doorway and smiled. 

“Papa,” she said tiredly, rubbing her eyes. 

“Morning,” he said happily, taking a seat on her bed. “Did you sleep well, honey?” 

She nodded while he pushed her hair from her face. “Mama?” 

“Still asleep. Do you want to go sleep some more with her? I’m going to run.” 

“I go?” 

“With me? Hmm, maybe next time. Look outside,” he pointed to her window, covered with sheer lavender curtains. “No sun.” 

“Early?” She wondered, scrunching her eyes. 

“Early. Yeah, very,” he said, blinking his tired eyes, he only slept a few hours. 

He gently picked her up out of bed, and as they made their way down the hall, Echo knocked off his black cap, which he left behind to pick up later. Alma was sprawled out on the bed, her cheek smashed against the pillow and her back facing the entryway. Bill placed Echo on the bed and encouraged her to wake her up. Echo crawled over Alma’s back and sat down on her, pushing gently on her shoulders to nudge her awake. 

“Mama, mama,” Echo repeated until Alma stirred awake.

“Hey, baby,” she whispered, groggily. “Why are you up so early?” 

“She was up–”

“Oh my god!” Alma exclaimed, startled by Bill, who had been standing silently behind her. It wasn’t unusual for Echo to find her alone some mornings while he was up early working out, so she had expected this morning to be the same. “Something—Giancarlo didn’t come home?” She asked, sitting up with worry.

“He’s here,” Bill assured her, and she exhaled with relief. “I told you last night when I got in bed.” He tilted his head, noting her confused expression. When he mentioned it, she replied with a sleepy, ‘Oh, good.’ He figured now that she must have been talking in her sleep. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Alma replied, laying back down and stretching as Echo crawled over her, nuzzling her face into Alma’s exposed belly where her tank top had ridden up. Alma looked down at her with amusement. “Silly girl,” she said, pulling Echo into an embrace. “Let’s sleep some more, E.” She then pulled the covers over them, settling in for a bit more rest.

“I’ll be back,” Bill said, kissing her before leaving. 

“I’ll be waiting,” Alma sighed, sinking comfortably into bed.

Giancarlo woke up to find fruit roll-up snack wrappers in his bed that he barely remembered eating. Despite knowing he wasn’t in trouble, the anxiety he felt didn’t entirely go away. He groaned as he slid out of bed, still feeling a bit regretful, but decided to get ready for the day instead of loafing around. After a refreshing shower, he felt exponentially better and couldn’t help but smile as he thought about the events of the night before.

He had gone to the carnival, where they only stayed for a while, enjoying a few rides and playing some games. He won a large neon-colored stuffed giraffe from a ball and milk jug game and offered it to Chrissy as thanks for driving, but he was stuck carrying it around, sort of wishing he lost instead. Chrissy and Donnie were older teens in community college, so he met some of their friends, who invited them to a party at a house with a backyard deck overlooking a large lake.

The party was packed with young adults of all ages, drinking from red solo cups and smoking from a makeshift gravity bong made with a five-gallon water jug and a dirty plastic trash bin. Giancarlo mingled with some of Chrissy’s friends, who were friendly but couldn’t help but point out his accent when he spoke. Though it was slightly annoying, he tried to deflect by mentioning that they had a strange accent too, but they denied it with a laugh.

Giancarlo exchanged a few words with Chrissy as they hollered over the music, "Fantastic Voyage" by Coolio thumping through the speakers. Despite the upbeat vibe, their conversation took an awkward turn when Chrissy brought up his mother being business partners with Bill. 

“Uh yeah, she owns half the place and runs it,” he said, sipping from his nearly empty solo cup. 

“Was that weird? When she decided to get into that business?” Chrissy asked curiously. “The strip club. What’s it called again?” 

“Trigger Finger. 

“Right, Trigger Finger, what the fuck is that about?” She laughed, and he slightly chuckled, knowing what it meant because Bill had told him. 

“To answer your other question, no, it’s not weird… She’s been in the business my whole life, so,” he shrugged. “She danced. I guess she was pretty good ‘cause when I was little she’d make me and my brother put on gloves and count her earnings. Just fat stacks laid out on the living room floor.” 

“No shit!” Chrissy laughed. “She must be a babe! Did Alma ever dance? Donnie thinks she did,” she deflected the suspicion onto him rather than claim they were hers.

He finished his beer, feeling the conversation shift into uncomfortable territory. “No, she just bartended,” he clarified, scratching his head.

“Right. Sucks, she would have been a moneymaker,” she lightly laughed. 

“Uh, yeah, probably,” Gian said, tugging at the hem of his Coogi sweater, feeling the need to escape the conversation. “I’m going to get some more,” he added, shaking his empty cup. “Did you want some more?” he asked, glancing into her cup. It was still mostly full, but he asked anyway to be polite and quickly excused himself when she declined. 

While waiting for some boys to finish assisting with a keg stand, Giancarlo was approached by a girl his age. She asked if he could refill her cup too. She had fox-shaped eyes, full berry-stained lips, tan skin, and ears peeking from her long, straight black hair. She seemed to have been charmed by his looks as well when they both smiled at each other bashfully. 

As Giancarlo made his way up from the basement and into the kitchen, he paused. Bill was standing before Alma, her back was against the island. He was sweaty, wearing a black shirt with cut-off sleeves, leaning down, murmuring something in her ear while her cheeks blushed pink. It reminded him of how his friends would chat up girls. She playfully pushed him away, but her other hand rested lightly on the waistband of his running shorts, keeping him close.

Giancarlo hesitated, unsure whether to quietly retreat or make his presence known. It was a bit strange to see them like this; even if it was their home, he had never seen them so overly affectionate outside their wedding. He debated stepping back out of view and making more noise to alert them to his presence, hoping to avoid interrupting their private moment.

“You can be so sweet,” he overheard Alma softly say as she leaned into Bill’s affectionate kisses along her neck. 

Before she could flutter her eyes closed, she peeped Giancarlo stepping out from the frame of the kitchen archway. Alma took her grip away from Bill's waistband and placed her other on his cheek to gently halt his movements. She liked him, all sweaty from his morning workouts. Something about his warm, dewy skin and his musky scent always invoked a need in her, and he knew that and took advantage anytime he could. 

She gave him a pointed look, and he straightened up, clearing his throat. Giancarlo took a beat to enter when he heard the fridge open and soft chatting. 

“There’s something that’s gone bad in here,” Alma said, pinching her nose, moving stuff about. 

“Alma, I don’t smell anything. Are you sure–” 

“Good morning,” Gian said shyly. 

They both turned to look at him. He looked fine, if not a bit embarrassed. Being young, hangovers didn’t affect him much; he only appeared tired as he rubbed his shoulder.

“Morning. Had second guesses about joining the carni’ life?” Alma joked. 

“Uh, the pay wasn’t up to par. I’m sorry, Miss Alma, for coming home late. It was very rude of me.” 

“Ah, well. Shit happens, right? You want some coffee?” 

“Please. I would like that.” 

“I’ll check on Echo,” Bill quickly said to Alma. She was upstairs struggling to dress herself in her swimsuit. They didn’t want to fight her about doing so because she was excited to go to her swimming lesson. “Thanks for apologizing,” he patted Giancarlo on the shoulder in passing. Though neither he nor Alma was upset, it was the principle of giving his wife an apology that he appreciated. 

…

“Okay, we’re leaving!” Alma said from down the hall.

He and Giancarlo were in the office, and Bill was showing him a few business-related tasks he performed daily. Giancarlo was interested in pursuing a business degree when he started college, so he asked a bunch of thoughtful questions that even made Bill take pause to answer carefully. 

Echo ran in to kiss her father goodbye, and then she darted to Giancarlo for a hug. “Come swim, GiGi?” she asked, her eyes wide with excitement.

Giancarlo chuckled, crouching to meet her hug. “Next time, E’,” he said softly.

Alma, catching the interaction, winked at Giancarlo. Until suddenly, Echo was heard saying, “Damn it.” 

“E’ c’mon, what did we say?” Bill lightly admonished.

“There was something bad in the fridge,” Alma said, gaining Bill attention as she picked Echo up. “It was the leftover dumplings. They went black and furry.”

Bill's brows furrowed, and he frowned, more upset to learn she found the issue rather than relieved. He felt he was onto something, but the rotten dumplings made him doubt his thoughts. “Well, good thing you found it,” he muttered. 

Alma brushed off his strange reaction as she adjusted Echo on her hip. “I’ll see you two at the shop later,” she said, giving Bill a light kiss goodbye before heading out the door.

Bill watched her leave, in the windbreaker and shorts she wore over her modest one-piece swimsuit. "Echo has two more classes left," he mentioned to Giancarlo, breaking the brief silence. "She’s a fast learner. Last week, she ran and jumped in by herself, though. They had to teach her not to do that, obviously.”

Giancarlo smiled, glancing at the door. “She’s pretty fearless.” 

“Yeah, a little crazy too. Like, impulsive, you know? That’s from her mother.” 

Shortly, Giancarlo was following Bill down the hall to his bedroom. As they reached the doorway, he hesitated, his feet instinctively stopping at the threshold. While he was allowed in his mother's room, he just never felt comfortable entering it. It always felt like her private sanctuary away from everything, where she could unwind out of the view of gawking eyes. His mother was beautiful with a big personality to boot; he always saw how people looked at her as a little boy long before he understood her profession, so he respected the boundary of her bedroom as a place where she could just be. Bill paused, glancing back at him, noticing the hesitation. 

“What, are you some kind of vampire? You need to be invited in,” Bill teased, nudging his head for him to follow.

Giancarlo stepped inside, taking in the space. The room was nicely kept, with a large, neatly made bed, and above it hung an abstract painting, dark and chaotic, almost like an angsty Jackson Pollock. The overcast light filtered through the open curtains, giving the room a muted glow. His gaze drifted to Alma’s vanity, where her short black eyeliner pencil lay uncapped, leaving a small streak across the surface. Otherwise, the space was tidy, with all her other products neatly arranged.

Giancarlo followed Bill into the walk-in closet, taking in the neat arrangement of clothes—rows of button-downs, jackets, dresses, and stacks of folded band shirts beside an array of shoes. Bill moved with casual ease as he secretly slipped a bottle of lube out of sight under a stack of shirts. He joined him by a large tabletop dresser in the center of the room. Bill paused for a moment, glancing back at him with a small, mischievous grin.

“Hm, you’re not supposed to know about this but,” he shrugged nonchalantly.

Bill opened a thin drawer and slipped his hand underneath, and a soft click sounded as he revealed a hidden compartment. Under the drawer were others, but they were revealed to be a facade as the safe showed itself, which Bill pulled out slightly, quickly entering a code on the keypad. The safe opened with a satisfying beep.

He produced two handguns, and Giancarlo was taken aback for a moment but tried to remain cool. 

“Let’s shoot these,” Bill said, a playful smirk on his face. “And then you can tell me what happened last night.”

Giancarlo couldn’t help but think that Bill’s earlier comments about Alma being crazy now seemed like a deflection on his part. The truth was underneath the surface, they both were. 

While he thought the plans for the day were to go back to work at the record shop, shooting guns at a makeshift target in the edges of the backyard was a lot more fun. He wasn’t shy around them per se, his mother owned one, and he’s helped his father clean his before. This was the first time he was allowed to shoot one, though. 

“It hit that tree!” Bill laughed, tracking where the bullet went after he held the gun sideways and missed the target. “Anyway, I figured it was some girl.” He said, returning to Gian’s retelling of his night. “She took you out to the deck?” 

“Yeah, the boat deck. We just happened to walk out there; she kept asking me to say certain words because of my accent, but she was cute about it,” he shrugged bashfully. “But the mood kind of changed when a bunch of other people showed up to make out.”

“Oh,” Bill raised his brows, a knowing look on his face. “And then you did too, I guess?” He checked the cartridge, counting the remaining bullets.

“Well, we talked some more, but yeah,” Giancarlo said, aiming carefully and hitting the target this time.

“Nice,” Bill complimented. “What’s her name?” 

“Gabriela.” 

“Gabriela,” he teased, raising an eyebrow. “Well, at least you have something to share with your friends back home. You got her number?” 

“I got all of it—her number, her address, and her email.”

Bill chuckled. “Good. What the hell did you two talk about? I didn’t know you were such a Casanova.” Giancarlo blushed hot red, and Bill tilted his head, intrigued. “Gian?” he said, a knowing smirk on his face. “You didn’t.”

“Eh?” He replied, looking embarrassed yet proud. 

“For real?” He looked at him under his raised brows, causing his forehead wrinkles to show more prominent. 

“Yeah…”

“For real?” He repeated, still in disbelief and amused. “Fucking hell,” he laughed incredulously. 

Giancarlo hadn’t expected it, but there they were in the boathouse, away from everyone else on the deck. When she asked him to take her shirt off, he hesitated, nervous despite having been in similar situations before. His hands shook slightly as he peeled the fabric away. It was daunting hoping he was doing things correctly. 

Suddenly, she laid back on the floorboards, and he hovered over her, speckling her neck with hickeys. He felt her push gently at his shoulders, and worry crept in—was she not enjoying it?

“Have you ever eaten pussy before?” 

Gian swallowed hard. “Yeah…” he lied but tried to sound confident. “Do you want me to?” 

She responded by pushing her short skirt up. He wasn’t sure if he was doing a good job, it was rather dark, and he relied on his sense of touch to guide him, but it felt like she was enjoying herself. Then, things escalated quickly. She was pulling down his pants and boxers, and he felt himself physically sweat. His heart raced when she guided him towards her entrance. 

“Wait,” Gian panted. “One second.” He patted his pants, feeling for his wallet, where he stored a condom for this very moment.

“Oh,” she giggled, watching him rip the foil open. “Right.” 

“Well, I hope you wore a condom, or else you’re gonna have a little Echo of your own in nine months,” Bill laughed. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Gian nervously scratched his neck. He liked Echo well enough, but a child at his age sounded like a nightmare scenario. “Could I ask you a question?” 

“Hmm, okay, sure,” he agreed reluctantly. 

“N-nothing about last night,” Gian assured him. “I was just thinking—you're so different here. Not in a bad way. Just more relaxed, I guess.”

Bill puffed his lip out in thought. “Eh, sure. It’s a slower pace here than New York, so—”

“Do you like it here?” He asked thoughtfully. “The house, the four-car garage, the wife, the kid… And what’s next, a dog?” 

Bill chuckled. “A dog would be cool. Hmm.” He chewed on his lip, deep in thought. “I do like it here. I don’t have to be anyone but myself. The Bill I am in New York? He’s kind of...fake. Do you think I enjoy being a badass asshole all the time? It’s exhausting. Your mom’s tough in her own way, but in our line of work, you have to dial it up. You have to harden yourself, or you’ll get railroaded and stomped out real quick.”

Giancarlo nodded, in understanding.

“But yeah,” Bill continued, “my wife and kid are at swimming lessons right now, for fuck’s sake. It’s suburban as hell, but trying to rebel at my age? That’d be pathetic. When I was a shitty little punk kid, I thought the status quo was the enemy,” he said, lining a shot at the target and taking it. “But I was a little wrong about it. You don’t have to fall in line with the cookie-cutter life. It’s about figuring out what works for you.” He shrugged. “And it’s not like I can’t still listen to the old music. But it’s the mid-nineties now, though. Hip-hop is the thing making conservatives clutch their pearls. That’s the new punk, I think.”

“Yeah, it kind of is!” 

“Yeah,” Bill chuckled. “I like it. Gets the old, closed-minded people squirming, and that means something, I guess. If it’s making them react, it’s doing what it’s supposed to do.” He paused, running a hand through his hair. “Anyway, I went off a bit, but I’m only saying this because change is inevitable, you know? Your thoughts change, your life changes, but if you fight it, life will drop something so fucked up on your lap the only way out is through, or you’re de—” he caught himself, swallowing the word. “Left behind. You don’t ever want to get to that point. And you won’t, because you’re a smart kid. All that to say, yeah. I like it here. Alma made a good call, landing us in this place.”

“Right, right, and was this something you’ve been wanting to get off your chest lately or—” He laughed. 

“You asked, smartass!” Bill shot back, grinning. “Don’t act so fucking cool now just because you got pussy for the first time in your life last night. That’s nothing.” 

“Not the first time, technically!” Giancarlo replied, sounding a little offended.

“A finger bang doesn’t count, Gian.”

“The hell it doesn’t!” he laughed. 

“You don’t even know,” Bill laughed, shaking his head. “You don’t even know, that’s all I’ll say.”

“Don’t know what?” 

“Well, that’s for you to find out. Not all girls are the same. You’ll know when you know. Anyway, let’s shoot the rest of these bullets. I don’t want to be out here when Alma and Echo come.” 

“Are you not allowed?” he asked Bill while he pointed the gun at the target.

“Eh, she worries about the neighbors, as if they’re so close by.” He rolled his eyes. “I say fuck them,” he said, pulling the trigger. 

Later that evening they were all in the den, all except Bill, who was having one of his work calls with Bianca in the office. Alma warmed up pizza rolls, brought chips, and made root beer floats for the family movie night. Echo was busy passing her tiny troll dolls to Giancarlo to hold while she arranged her stuffed animals in front of the entertainment center. However, she quickly became distracted by the chips and French onion dip, leaving Giancarlo stuck holding the plastic toys in his hands.

“Did you have a good time riding around in the Mustang today?” Alma asked him, lying against the armrest on the opposite side of him. 

She wore Bill’s oversized hoodie again, paired with biker shorts, her bare feet digging into fluffy throw pillows. Though she was mindful of dressing more modestly since they had a young guest, Giancarlo still found it strange to see her like this. He respectfully kept his gaze above her shoulders, especially in the mornings when she wore tight tank tops and short cotton shorts. It wasn’t difficult for him—he remembered a few times when, as a much younger boy, he and Lorenzo had to accompany his mother to work when their father "forgot" to take them some weekends. They would wait in the locker rooms with homework before them. Though the other dancers did their best to cover up, knowing the children were there, his mother had trained her boys to always keep their eyes down regardless.

Giancarlo nodded, setting Echo’s toys on the couch cushion. “It’s real fast.” He chuckled.

“Did he let you drive it?” She smirked.

“Just around this neighborhood. My dad is a trucker, you know, but honestly, I’ve only driven a handful of times.” 

Alma’s jaw dropped. A boy from Brooklyn wouldn’t have much driving experience, when there was the subway and taxis galore to get around. “You didn’t tell Bill that, did you?” Giancarlo sheepishly shook his head, making her laugh. “I wouldn’t have either. How was your week here, though?” she asked, taking a sip of her float. “Did we work you too hard? Are you ready to go home?” 

“No, I liked working at the shop! I liked working with Darby. He’s a cool guy, showing me stuff and all that. He told me he used to be an English tutor.” 

“He was, yeah,” Alma said, getting a few chips out of the bowl to eat. 

“Yeah, well, he offered to proofread my college admission essays whenever I needed the help. I thought that was nice of him. But yeah, thanks for taking your time earlier to show me how you balance books and all that. It’s all really helpful.” 

“Oh yeah, no problem,” she smiled. “It can be kinda boring, I’ll admit, but some days something comes up, and it gets a little exciting, especially when you solve it.” 

“GiGi look!” Echo exclaimed, pointing at the TV when some slapstick scene played out. “So silly!”

“I think she’s really enjoyed having you around,” Alma said to Giancarlo. “She loves being a little hostess. Remember how she was on Thanksgiving, serving rolls at the dinner table?”

“Mhmm, I had like five on my plate.” 

“Yeah! I think I had about that many too.” She laughed. 

They fell silent, returning to the movie. Giancarlo sat back, sipping on his root beer with the vanilla ice cream half melted, wondering how he liked it. He noticed Alma repositioning herself, rubbing the side of her belly uncomfortably, as if she had gotten a belly ache. She was eating the pizza rolls rather quickly, so his only assumption fell on that. 

Alma swallowed thickly, getting up from the couch. “Uhm, could you keep an eye on Echo for a sec’?

“Sure,” he nodded, noticing sweat on her upper lip.

She entered the downstairs bathroom and opened the mirrored cabinet, reaching for a bottle of Pepto-Bismol. She made herself queasy from eating too quickly. As she took a swig directly from the bottle, the thick, neon-pink liquid hit her tongue, but when she tried to swallow, her stomach churned. She coughed and spit into the sink, tears stinging her eyes. Suddenly, a loud, long burp escaped her, bringing the relief she was seeking. Still, for good measure, she took another shot of Pepto, but this time she shot back like a shot of chilled tequila, and she was able to hold it down.

They were laughing at a funny bit in the movie when the downstairs phone rang. Alma looked down the hall where it sat in annoyance.

“I can answer it.” Giancarlo offered.

“Nah, just let it ring. We don’t take calls after nine.” 

The ringing cut off, then started up again. Alma got up to take the receiver off the unit to prevent it from ringing again. Just as she reached for it, the phone stopped mid-ring, only to blare again a moment later.

“What the fuck?” she muttered. 

Upstairs in the office, Bill heard the incoming call tone on his line while speaking to Bianca. He ignored the red flashing light since he was wrapping up his call with her anyway. 

“I’ll talk to you later. Thanks for caring for my baby,” Bianca said. “I’m ready for him to be home, though.” 

“Mhmm. It’s no problem, we have a room he can have if he decides he doesn’t want to get on the plane.” He heard his pager beep in the drawer, and it made his brows raise. 

“Yeah, no way!” 

When he got off the call with Bianca, he went to press the call waiting button, surprised it remained flashing this long. “Hello?” 

“Hey, it’s Darby.” 

“What’s up?” 

“Have you seen the news? Are you near a TV?” Darby asked, still at the shop as he closed up. He was distracted by Kurt Loder from MTV News, whose voice filled the store, continuously updating viewers on the breaking story.

“What’s going on?” Bill asked. Just then, he heard a faint scream from downstairs. 

“NO!” Alma’s voice cut through the air.

“Uh, Darby, let me get back to you,” he said quickly, hanging up despite hearing Darby’s protests on the other end of the line.

Echo whined when Alma cut the movie off, holding the receiver between her ear and shoulder. It had been Ulyssa calling her from a loud dive bar payphone in Chicago. Alma, in a panic, clicked the channel button on the remote, trying to find MTV, struggling to remember the numbers to dial directly to it.

Ulyssa heard her friend gasp loudly on the phone. “No!” 

“I know, it’s so fucked up!!” Ulyssa said sadly and in disbelief. “I-I don’t want to believe it! I’m so sorry, Alma!” 

“What the hell is going on?” Bill asked, coming up from behind her. 

She quickly got off the phone with Ulyssa and then pointed at the TV before them. “Look!” 

Kurt Loder was on the TV, and on the screen to the right was a photo of the lead singer who performed at the secret show, his birth year hyphenated with the current year, 1995, just below. 

Bill furrowed his brows, looking a bit shocked. “He’s dead? What the fuck happened?”

“He OD’d,” Giancarlo informed him. 

“For fuck's sake!” He grumbled, running a hand through his hair, and looked back at Alma.

Her hand was clasped over her mouth, and he noticed tears silently streaming down her cheeks. Unsure of what to say, he scratched his brow. Sure, she was a fan, and they had shared a moment, but a rock star overdosing wasn’t new, unfortunately. Not only that, she wasn’t someone who came to tears so easily. She glanced up at him briefly before hurrying off, and he caught the sound of a sob escaping her once she reached the hallway.

When Bill turned toward Giancarlo, he noticed a look of concern on his face. “She’ll be okay. Uh, could you watch E’? I need to call Darby back. Fuck…” he muttered, running a hand through his hair again.

Even though it was after hours, they were all on their way to the record store. Darby had informed Bill over the phone that some fans of the band were beginning to gather outside the shop. Bill was annoyed by that, but in some way he understood. The band and its poetic, melancholic, deep-thinking lead singer had been important to a lot of people and to the town they hailed from. Since their iconic homecoming show, every now and again Bill would be asked by customers or out-of-town fans of that night. And he would be happy to share, recognizing the impact it had and proud of his wife's part in it.

“Is that the news?” Giancarlo asked, pointing out the window as they drove past the front of the shop.

“Shit, yeah, it is…” Alma said, leaning over to peer through Bill’s window.

“How are they able to do this so fast?” Bill muttered, his eyes catching the flicker of tea candles lit on the walkway, along with pictures of the singer, clearly ripped from magazines and taped to poster boards. Fans had already turned the front of his shop into an impromptu memorial, and now even the local news was covering it. He shook his head, half in disbelief. "It’s like they were waiting for something like this to happen.”

At first, Bill had considered waiting until morning to check on the shop, but now he was glad he’d come to see it for himself. The scene outside was somber, a group of fans gathered together, hugging, crying, and singing the band’s songs softly in unison.

He sighed, doubtful that they’d even be able to open the shop tomorrow. This wasn’t just a memorial—it was quickly turning into a vigil, and it didn’t look like it would end anytime soon.

Alma gently lifted Echo from her car seat, disturbing her from her sleep. “Shh, baby, it’s okay,” she cooed softly. Echo stirred, her little hands clutching Alma’s dress. Alma had dressed her in her princess nightgown, anticipating that Echo might need to sleep in the office for a while tonight, unsure how long this unexpected trip would take.

“We can go in around the back,” Bill pointed out to Giancarlo while they stood looking at the commotion as he put his black cap on. 

Alma passed Echo off to Bill, the little girl fussing in his arms until she shifted, resting her cheek comfortably on his shoulder. He glanced at Alma, who took a deep breath, visibly steadying herself. She slipped on a jean jacket over her casual black and white plaid spaghetti-strap dress, which she had thrown on hastily before they left the house. 

“Can I go on ahead?” Giancarlo asked, his curiosity piqued by the growing memorial. More people were showing up, some carrying grocery store bouquets, others with bottles of Jack Daniel's in hand, paying tribute in their own way.

Bill nodded. “Right behind you.” Once Giancarlo left, he turned to Alma, his voice soft. “You gonna be okay?”

Alma shrugged indifferently. “Yeah.” Then, after a pause, she let out a bitter laugh. “What a fucking cliché.”

“Mhmm,” Bill agreed quietly, reaching for her hand and giving it a squeeze before leading them forward.

Another news station was set up in front of the store, and Bill sighed internally, seeing the situation's full weight. 

“Is it a show, Papa?” Echo asked curiously. “Is it a party?” 

“Put your head down, baby,” he whispered to Echo, who was looking around, intrigued by the gathering, and gently guided her head to rest on his shoulder again. He didn’t want her on some news broadcast for something so grim. Instead, he kept his focus straight ahead as he navigated through the crowd.

“Look GiGi!” she hollered at Giancarlo, who walked a little ahead of them as they made their way down the alley where the large mural of Echo adorned the side of the building. “Look at me, GiGi!” Her elated demeanor stood in stark contrast to the somber tone of the night, but as a child, she just didn’t understand. Her parents preferred it that way. “It me!” 

When they entered through the back door, Darby greeted them as he chose to stay, to watch the store not out of loyalty alone but also out of curiosity. He was a big fan as well, but he was just mostly deeply disappointed. 

After taking a few calls and trying to prevent the memorial from spilling in front of the door, they all found themselves on the roof, where they could discreetly watch over the gathering below.

“That reporter was the first one here,” Darby pointed with the two fingers holding his cigarette at a smartly dressed woman in a muted red suit dress. “I think that’s what started everyone making their way here. I overheard her mentioning that there were fans gathered at his house and even at his childhood home in Olympia. The current owners had to check into a hotel because of the crowd outside their house.” 

Alma sighed loudly as she watched the police arrive, trying to clear people off the road. She perched carefully on the ledge beside Giancarlo, watching the scene below them. 

“You know, a girl at the party I went to told me how she tried to get into the show they had here,” Giancarlo said, turning to Alma.

“Yeah, I bet. Everyone and their mother tried to get into the show. Quite crazy—stressful,” she raised her brows. “People stayed outside just to hear what they could. Just happy to even feel the vibrations.” 

“That’s what she ended up doing.”

“Too bad she wasn’t your friend then, I would have let her in,” she smirked. “Was she nice?” Bill had only confirmed to her that he had met a girl when he was out later but nothing more. 

“She was,” he blushed. “Uh, are you going to talk to the news?” He pointed below, his expression curious.

She grimaced, contemplating the question. “I don’t know. There’s not much to say. I just booked them here for a show. Once.”

Bill, overhearing her, chimed in, “It was a damn good show, though. It got this shop on the map.”

“That’s true,” Darby agreed, nodding in affirmation. 

“Yeah… I don’t know, not tonight,” Alma replied, giving Bill a pointed look. “You could always talk to them too.”

“I could. But not tonight,” he winked at her, taking a puff of his cigarette.

"Sorry, the end of your trip turned out to be such a bummer,” she turned to Giancarlo, playfully nudging him.

“Eh. This is like history, though, is it not? Like Jim Morrison or something?” 

“Shit… Maybe bigger than that,” Darby said.

….

A week had passed, and things at Sheisty Sound Records had settled somewhat. The store had been closed for three days; it just wasn’t feasible to operate with so many people crowding the storefront. However, they managed to coexist with the mourners, who were welcomed and agreed to be mindful of crowding the front door. To maintain crowd control, they decided to cancel an upcoming gig and replace it with an album listening party for the band, which they hosted alongside BUZ’R FM, instead. All three studio albums, along with their EPs and b-sides, played in order, filling the store with familiar fuzzy guitars and smooth gravelly vocals.

Alma had left the listening party early with Echo; using her kid as an excuse as to why. Bill stayed behind at the shop, he could tell she was tired, just like she had been lately, but that evening she looked even more drained than usual. When he walked her to her Jeep, she even looked pale and clammy. Before shutting her door, he asked if she was alright, and she seemed rather annoyed over his concern. 

“Yeah…” she said dismissively. “This is all just—a lot. Depressing.” 

It was the following morning after the listening party. Bill emerged from the basement, where he had been lifting weights, and crossed paths with Alma and Echo on his way to the shower. Alma looked more refreshed, even glowing, which reignited those nagging suspicions in his mind. After his quick shower, he joined his family in the kitchen. Echo was busy helping by placing slices of iron-rich bread into the toaster, her small hand pushing the lever down as she giggled with excitement.

“I try?” Echo asked eagerly when she saw her mother crack an egg into a bowl.

Bill heard Alma clear her throat as he reached into the fridge for orange juice, and he noticed her looking at the golden yolk and clear whites with slight disgust.

“Yeah, you can do the last one,” she offered, her tone encouraging as she assisted Echo in positioning the egg for cracking.

She watched the yolk and whites plop in the bowl, joining the others, and it deepened her disgust. Alma told her daughter to take a seat at the breakfast nook to join her father. Taking a deep, shaky breath, Alma braced herself to whisk the eggs with a fork. Her stomach churned, and her mouth began to water at the sight. With a quick decision, she poured the mixture onto the hot skillet, hoping that cooking the eggs would somehow make them less unsightly.

Bill was engaged in conversation with Echo, who was intently listening to him explain a cartoon strip from the newspaper, when he suddenly heard Alma gag loudly. He turned to her and noticed her cheeks were flushed, a sheen of sweat glistening on her upper lip.

She turned away, embarrassed. “Can you do this?” Bill nodded, laying the newspaper down, and swiftly taking over the hot pan. “I can’t with the fucking eggs today,” she muttered under her breath before heading upstairs to the bathroom. 

As she climbed the stairs, her stomach continued to churn, and she swallowed hard against the rising nausea, feeling the cold sweat bead on her brow. Once inside, she leaned against the cool surface of the sink, trying to steady her breathing. The image of the whisked uncooked eggs, their slimy texture, and the odd wet, raw smell, flashed in her mind, and she wretched.

Running to the toilet, she spat and coughed, but nothing came out. Her stomach was empty, and all she felt was the sting of stomach acid burning her esophagus. She groaned, wiping her sweaty forehead with the back of her hand, then walked back to the sink, rinsing her mouth with mouthwash. Taking a deep breath, she exhaled and looked at her reflection in the mirror before her, but she quickly looked away. 

Her reflection looked accusatory, and she couldn’t handle that at this moment. She had noticed how Bill had been watching her for a while now, his concerned glances lingering a bit too long. His constant questions about whether she was okay—questions she couldn’t answer with complete honesty but always deflected with a reassuring "yes" to ease his worries. The sinking feeling of her denial settled in alongside a rising tide of fear. 

Bill and Echo ate breakfast downstairs, enjoying each other's company. Alma never returned to join them, which he really didn’t appreciate, but he brushed it off. All his sneaking suspicions of her being pregnant now seem glaring after how pale she looked from cooking some perfectly fine eggs. Now that was something. That wasn’t something you could easily explain away. 

“Papa,” Echo said, tugging at his arm while he was distracted in thought. “I play on the tris-tricky…”

“The tricycle,” he said, helping her.

“Yeah!” She grinned. “Tric-tr…”

“Tricycle,” he enunciated again, a bit more clearly.

“Tri-sick-caul,” she repeated with concentration.

“Yeah, you got it,” he smiled. “We can do that later. If you eat more of the fruit on your plate,” he pointed before stealing a piece of watermelon.  

“Where’s Mama?” She asked, scrunching her eyes. 

He hummed, taking a bite of his toast. “I think she went back to sleep.” 

“She sooooo sleepies. All da’ time,” she mentioned, scooping ketchup-covered scrambled eggs onto her spoon. She managed to get most of it into her mouth, but with her other hand, she pushed stray bits of egg past her lips.

Bill slightly raised a brow. If she noticed that, then maybe he wasn’t overanalyzing so much. 

When they finished their meal, he brought out the playpen to the living room and put Echo in it. She didn’t like it too much anymore, as she said it was for babies and felt too old for it. 

“Just for a little bit,” he told Echo. “I’ll be right back,” he stressed. “I hope to see you still in here when I do.” 

“Mm,” she lightly frowned, pushing against the rail.

“Echo, it’s just for a little bit. Okay? For me?” 

“Okay, Papa,” she pouted but plopped down and accepted it.

Bill entered the bedroom and found Alma, cocooned in the thick eggplant-colored duvet, her body curled tightly into itself. He bit his lip, uncertain of how to approach her. He decided to lay next to her in bed, getting on her level, just as he did when comforting Echo. With one arm resting behind his head, he turned his gaze toward her. Though her eyes were closed, he could hear her soft whimpers of discomfort, signaling that she wasn’t asleep. Her nausea persisted, and a headache had settled in, making her retreat inward. She clearly wanted to be left alone, but when he touched her forehead as if to check her temperature, she slowly opened her eyes and looked up at him. 

“Are you okay?” He asked gently. 

Alma’s irritation flashed in her eyes, her voice sharp. “God, you keep asking! Yes, I’ll be fine.”

Bill's lip curled, clearly offended by her tone, but he softened after a beat. “Alma. I have to ask you a question. Are you pregnant? I’m so serious right now. Are you?”

She paused, uncertain. “I don’t know?”

Bill sighed, frustration creeping into his voice. “You’ve been a little off lately. Strange symptoms you’ve never had. Last week, you sobbed over—”

“Really?” Alma interrupted, her tone defensive.

“You don’t cry easily. You cried more about a rock star who OD’d than you did during the wedding speech I gave you.” 

Alma rose to her knees, her frustration spilling over. "You cannot be serious! Are you still jealous he kissed my hand?! I’ll cut it off if you want me to!" she snapped.

Bill's expression hardened as he sat up. "Now you're not being serious!" he accused, his voice rising. "I asked you a genuine question, and you can't answer me!"

She rolled her eyes, brushing off his concern. "I would be a little off, honestly, now that you want to point it out. This is the second guy who’s kissed me, who’s fucking dead now! So maybe you should watch out." Her voice was thick with sarcasm as she crawled out of bed.

Bill followed her, his expression firm. "Don’t be funny," he said, looking down at her sternly. "I didn’t come here to fight. If we could just buy a test, that’s all I’m asking." His voice softened, but the seriousness remained in his gaze.

“I don’t want to!” Alma blurted, her voice cracking as tears welled up in her eyes. Bill was taken aback, his chest tightening as he saw her visibly upset. She blinked back tears, her breath shaky. “I’m scared,” she admitted with a soft whisper.

Bill took a deep breath and sat on the edge of the bed. His head was bowed, looking a bit defeated. “I’ve been trying to be understanding. I just—this is new to me,” he said softly, looking up at her with tired eyes. “I’m not trying to dredge up old shit, but that’s the truth. You’ve been through this before, and you know your body, I get that, but this is my first time. For all of it.” 

Alma’s defensive posture eased. “I’m sorry," she whispered. "I just want it to happen so badly, and I feel like the more I want it, the less likely it’ll happen. So I-I keep it in,” she explained, pressing a balled fist against her chest. “I get so scared to be as excited as you when I take those tests. I hate disappointing you.”

Bill reached for her, guiding her to sit on his lap. “If it’s only ever us and Echo, I’m more thankful and happy for it. You two are more than enough.” He paused for a moment, his voice softening. “Maybe… I’m just asking for too much?”

Alma wrapped her arms around him, squeezing tightly. She swallowed hard, her voice heavy with emotion. “No… it’s not too much,” she replied sadly. “I want another little baby too. Echo needs a sibling; she can’t be alone when we’re gone. It’s not fair.” 

Bill stared up at the ceiling, trying to distance himself from the overwhelming feelings her words stirred in him. He knew how deeply personal those thoughts were to Alma, and they made his heart ache for her.

“So,” he began, clearing his throat to regain some composure, “you’ll just let me know? Please, if there’s any thought that you might be... tell me?”

Alma nodded slowly. “I’ll take a test if you get it.”

“Really?” Bill asked, surprised by her willingness.

“Yes… but tomorrow,” she said softly. “Clean slate.”

He took a deep breath, relieved. “Okay. Yeah.” 

~~~

Bill took Echo out on her tricycle after lunch, guiding her as they circled the arched driveway.

“Pedal harder!” he encouraged while he jogged backward. “Or you’re never going to beat me!” 

Her giggles filled the air as she tried to pedal faster, her little legs moving frantically, determined to race past him. He laughed too, amused by her effort. 

Meanwhile, Alma sat in the living room folding laundry, glancing out the window as she watched Bill and Echo playing together. However, her thoughts were miles away, consumed by memories of her mother. She felt for her in a way she hadn’t fully grasped before. The struggles her mother had endured with her father now seemed so much clearer.

Alma’s heart weighed heavy, understanding now, even if only just a fraction of what her mother must have gone through—the stress, disappointment, and the unbearable feeling of inadequacy. The deep desire for something that just never seemed to come, no matter how badly it was wanted, until Alma. She was their miracle, she knew they loved her so much, but sometimes she felt that she was never the daughter they had wished her to be. 

Privately, Alma enjoyed how things were now. It had been nearly two years since Bill moved to Seattle. And after a year in their home, they finally felt settled. She and Bill had found a comfortable rhythm, a groove, shaped by their routines around Echo. Though she wanted a baby, the thought that everything could change tomorrow was daunting. It scared her.

Outside, Bill’s boot rested lightly on the back wheel of Echo’s tricycle as he made revving sounds, causing the bike to jerk playfully. He watched her giggle as she pedaled hard when he let off, and the same thought crossed his mind. He loved these moments with her, and though he'd never put Echo to the side if a new baby came into the picture, he knew these times—just the three of them—were fleeting. 

TBC

[kydrogendragon]

I'd like to see 25 of the Valentine's prompts with Gault/Lucienne

Aaaa, we love these two together! This was a cute one to write, so thank you for the prompt, nonny!

Pairing: Gaucienne Words: 537 Warnings: None~ Ao3 Link here

Gault pushes open their bedroom door with her hip, the tray in her hands steady as she makes her way across the rug covered floors to the bed. Lucienne looks up, still sprawled out across the white sheets. She sighs, stretching her limbs high above her head as she slowly shifts herself up into a sitting position. Gault carefully climbs into bed beside her, balancing the tray with assorted breakfast goodies as she settles in.

Lucienne reaches over, sliding her glasses onto her face as she leans into Gault’s side. It’s early by Gault’s standards, late by Lucienne’s, so she’s glad to see her newly titled fiancee sleeping in for once.

Light streams in through the sheer curtains of the large sliding glass doors that lead to the outer balcony. The door is cracked open, just slightly, to allow in that fresh salty sea air and the gentle crashing of waves. The house sits just on the edge before the land turns to sand. It’s quiet out here, tucked away in a small corner so it almost feels like they’re all alone. It hadn’t been easy to reserve this spot—Hell, it’s usually booked out years in advance due to it’s perfect location—but if there was ever a time Gault was thankful to count Morpheus as a friend, it was now. There’s nothing those Endless connections of his couldn’t do. She owes him one.

“Good morning, my future wife,” Gault says, nuzzling into the side of Lucienne’s head. Lucienne chuckles, tilting her head up so as to press a kiss to Gault’s lips. They’re soft, as always, and part so sweetly for her that it makes Gault’s heart sing. As Lucienne sighs, blinking away the sleep from her eyes, Gault can’t help but feel incredibly lucky to have her in her life.

“Good morning,” Her eyes are soft as they ease on down to the french toast, eggs, fruit, and coffee that litter the tray between them. “Is this for me, then?”

Gault chuckles. “Well, I figured you wouldn’t be opposed to sharing. But yes.” She pressed another kiss to Lucienne’s cheek before handing a fork to her lover. “Here, dig in. You’ll need the energy for my plans for you.”

“Oh?” Lucienne says, arching her brow. “And what exactly is it that you have planned for me?”

“And ruin the surprise?”

“Not even a sneak peak?”

Gault shakes her head, fondly. “Fine. Let’s just say that extra suitcase I brought has very little clothes and a whole lot more fun packed inside. And I very much intend to use each and every one with you.”

“Is that so?” Lucienne’s gaze is sharp as she glances over at the smaller iridescent suitcase in the corner. “And is there the option for me to use these goodies you brought on you?”

“If you’re good.”

Lucienne smiles with a huff. She takes her fork and cuts off a corner of the syrup covered french toast and lifts it to Gault’s lips. “Well then, I best be on my best behavior.”

Gault closes her mouth around the bite, letting her tongue dart out, caressing the pronged metal as she stares Lucienne down with darkened eyes. “Yes, yes you will.

[writer-of-various]

Drownin' In The Rain

(High School AU)

High School isn't easy, there's drama at school and whatever is happening at home, it just ruins a teen's mental health. An unexpected group of teenagers are about to become friends who need a way out of their shitty lives.

WARNINGS: Use of F-Slur, Violence, Bullying, Implied Abuse

Chapter I / Edward

The ringing of an alarm clock forced awake a young man, his eyes opening the slightest bit and a groan left him as bright light peeked through his wearing curtains. He can smell coffee, the aroma wafting through the cool air as he hears soft muffles from beyond his closed door. A heavy sigh escapes him this time as he slams a pale hand on his alarm clock, shutting it up as he forces himself out of the comfort of his bed. The creaking noise it made had him wincing, careful to place his feet on the equally as creaky floor and shivering at the cold touch of tile against his warm feet. He risks a glance at his clock and feels the slightest bit relieved, he didn't snooze it until it was five minutes before the bell rang this time.

He stands up and stretches, walking over to his closet and grabbing whatever he got his hands on first, sleepily wandering into his bathroom and turning the shower on, waiting for the water to warm up before jumping in and cleaning up. After five minutes, he starts to smell French toast and bacon and hurries up cleaning up, throwing his clothes on and scurrying downstairs. He smiles softly at the sight of his sister, Samantha, and his father talking, Sam helping their father set up the table but his eyes narrow slightly at her attire.

"What are you wearing?" He speaks up and gives an apologetic smile when he realizes he startled both of them, his father giving him a warm smile in greeting before turning his attention back to the French toast. Sam, however, rolls her eyes and places a hand on her left hip.

"Clothes, Eddie. I thought that was obvious." She tilts her head to the side, trying to play innocent but her brother wasn't going to deal with her young teenage attitude so early in the morning.

"If you can call those clothes, Sammy." He says the childhood nickname with a bit more bite and it's Samantha's turn to narrow her eyes. "Most of your stomach is showing and those are not even tights. Look how many holes they have!"

"Hey, I don't judge you when you dress like some old man!"

Their father gives her a look and she gives him a smile, "Not that your outfits are bad, vater."

"I hope not. Enough bickering though, sit down, both of you." They comply, giving each other looks before turning their attention to breakfast, their stomachs growling. Once the food was served, they dug in, and their father watched with a small smile as they ate, although the guilt he felt made him sulk as his plate remained empty, his kids not noticing. When they asked for seconds, he was quick to offer the rest of the food from the pan, placing his clean plate back on the disk rack and taking their plates once they were done. He listened idly as they raced back upstairs to finish getting ready before rushing back down and bidding him goodbye as they headed out the door for school, leaving him alone to his thoughts.

"Remember that girl, Vivian?" Samantha speaks up after a long five minutes of silence and Edward turns the volume down on the radio, humming to let her know to continue. "Well...she keeps...confronting me about not being father's real daughter."

Edward swallows hard, looking at his sister when he stops at a red light, his heart tearing at the look of distress written across the fourteen year old's face.

"I'm sorry, Sam. Have you tried talking to an adult about this? I know she's always giving you a hard time–"

"The adults won't do anything, Eddie! They never have, and they never will. We're different from all the other kids, we're adopted! And ever since mutter died, it's been hard to get by! We wear old shoes, we sometimes don't get to eat at home at all, and we barely get to use this old car whenever we get our gas allowance. It sucks." Samantha huffs out a heavy breath, crossing her arms over her chest as she glares out the window. "Father has done so much to keep us fed and protected, so why does he have to struggle so much with money? He saved us."

Edward turns the car into the middle school parking lot and sighs, putting the car into break and turning to face Sam.

"Life is hard, Sam. Life is also very unfair. Father is trying everything he can do to get more assistance, but with the problems going on with the government...we might not get the checks we need to get by. It's bad enough he was furloughed a few months back and he's barely getting his paychecks in. Just hang in a little more, okay? Be strong for father, for us. And Vivian, don't listen to a single piece of shit that comes out of her mouth, because her mother is a cheating whore and her father is a lazy pig who can't even function a hotel." Samantha giggles at that, giving her brother a thankful smile as she leans over to hug him. He hugs her back, not wanting to let go but he does so reluctantly, wanting nothing more to just ease his sister's worries and her troubles.

"Thank you, Eddie. I gotta go, see you later." Sam hurries and leaves the car, racing up the steps inside her school right as the first bell rang, warning students they have a few minutes to get to class. Edward stares at the doors to the school for a minute longer before putting the car into drive and leaving the parking lot, mentally preparing himself for the hell he is about to step into.

High School.

×××

Edward gazed at the whiteboard with a bored expression, having muffled the sound of his English teacher's voice since the old man decided to start giving a lesson. He heard snickers a few seats away from him and turned his head slightly, frowning when he saw some of the stereotypical jocks make crude gestures towards one of their classmates, a pretty girl who's grip on her pencil looked threatening. He spared a glance at the clock and his eyes widened when the bell rang, signaling for lunch. The students in the class hurriedly shoved their notebooks into their backpacks and rushed out of the class for the lunch period, Edward taking his time. He looked over to the girl again and saw her walking up to the teacher, talking to him in a hushed voice but Edward knew what she was requesting: a seat change. The teacher looked over to him and seemed to nod at the girl, stepping back a bit and looking over at him again.

"Edward, can you come here?" The teacher called and Edward nodded, slinging his backpack over his shoulder and cautiously making his way over, avoiding eye contact with the girl. "Ms. Alekov here is looking for a new seat and I was wondering if it'll be alright if she were to take the seat next to yours since Mr. McCain won't be returning this school year."

The girl looks up at Edward, and his breath is caught in his throat at how dark her blue eyes were; they were like a storm in the middle of the Pacific ocean, specks of gray resembling the storm clouds while the blue was the darkened sea.

"Uh, yeah. I don't mind." He stutters out, looking away quickly and their teacher claps his hands together, writing the adjustment on the seating chart and thanking them both.

"Thank you." The girl says quietly to him before walking out of the class, and it takes Edward a few seconds to recover from hearing her soft voice before he rushes out of the class as well. He frowns when he doesn't see her walking down any of the halls, tugging the strap from his backpack closer to him as he heads to the library, not in the mood to go to the cafeteria and face the loudness of rousey teenagers.

Ms. Sophia, the school's beloved librarian, smiles when she sees him enter, immediately standing from her seat and holding up a stack of papers stapled together. Upon closer look, Edward groans as he sees a familiar title, his face heating up.

"Mr. Schuster couldn't keep this to himself, he wants you to use this to apply for that science scholarship!" The older woman says in a chirpy voice. Edward takes his article out of her hands, gazing at the title and although his heart swells with intense pride, his mind sulks because the reality is that he'll never get into the college of his dreams. The money is one problem, his main challenge is his self-confidence.

"I don't know..." He finally says, and Ms. Sophia raises a brow.

"Why not? You're in the top 30 of your class, you have amazing grades and perfect attendance! I know it's still early in the year, but this is Senior year, Edward. This is your time to show all those colleges what you are worth." She gives him a knowing smile and Edward hesitates before nodding, his hands trembling as he can imagine himself applying to Harvard, using this article he wrote to win a huge scholarship that other kids are likely to apply for as well.

"Thank you, Ms. Sophia" Edward gives her a warm smile and the woman nods, grabbing something from behind her desk, handing a tray to Edward.

"I grabbed you lunch, I know you hate the crowds. Come, sit down with me. How's Samantha, a d your father?" Ms. Sophia looks a bit flush at mentioning his father, but Edward pays it no attention and sits across from her, letting himself ramble about Samantha and his father. He never once talked about himself, and Ms. Sophia took note of this, concerned about eating at her but she keeps playing it as typical teenage boy behavior. But...was it really?

×××

The end of the school day brought joy to Edward, his fingers twirling his keys as he made his way across the parking lot to his car. He's oblivious to the tall football player who's following him, his day at its peak when it comes crashing down when he's pulled back from his backpack. He stumbles back, the force knocking him down as his backpack is ripped off of him, the sound of it unzipping forcing him to turn around and narrow his eyes at none other than quarterback Lev Kravchenko. But his eyes widen when he sees the taller boy holding his article.

"What's this I've been hearing so much about?" Lev taunts, flipping through the papers harshly, and Edward moves to stand when the quarterback rips one out from the staple, but he's kicked hard in the chest, falling onto his back. A broken cry leaves him and his face heats up in embarrassment and anger, watching as Lev rips the papers and grins maliciously at him.

"Don't bother applying for that scholarship, Fritz" Lev sneers down at him with disgust, "I mean, did you really think any college would want you, when your own parents didn't?" He moves his leg to kick Edward again when a blur runs past him and Lev is tackled to the floor, a smaller yet well built boy punching him swiftly in the face.

"Fuck off, Kravchenko!" The newcomer growls, grunting when Lev throws him off of him and delivers a punch to his stomach, forcing the younger boy to kneel over and hiss in pain.

"You're going to regret that, faggot." Lev growls, spitting at the boy before stalking off. Edward ignores his ruined papers in favor of the boy, limping over to him and offering his hand, which the younger takes with a grateful smile.

"Ignore that asshole, man. He's just jealous he didn't make team captain." The boy says, looking at Edward and sighing. "Really, man, forget him. And don't let him push you around. Sorry about your papers." Edward recognizes the boy, Tommy, or Tank as he hears people call him. He's the new captain for the football team, the youngest person to be elected as such in their school.

"It's fine, I can get another copy. Will you be alright?" Edward's gaze lands on the bruise around Tommy's left eye, and he knew the boy had it before fighting Lev.

"Yeah, they don't call the Tank for nothing! See you around, man!" Tommy is quick to leave, patting his back on his way out and Edward watches him walk away. He had heard the rumors surrounding the other boy, but he won't be like the rest of his classmates and judge the boy. After all, he did beat up one of his own teammates.

With a heavy sigh, Edward gets in his car and drives to Samantha's school, using all his will to not let his tears fall from his eyes.

Everything would get better.

Right?

[eleanoreunlocked]

𝐰𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

listening outside closed doors while holding her your breath, doing anything just to prove a point, the triumphant "I told you so" lulling from pink lips, constellations half dreamed up drawn on skin, stealing ribbons from worn out pointe shoes, piles of locked diaries holding out of order thoughts and unspoken secrets and the unapologetic ceasing of her hearts desires.

⌜victoria pedretti.  30.  cis woman.  she/her.⌟  ╱  was  that  ELEANORE AVIVA KOENIG  i  just  saw  wandering  around  lake  stillwater?  you  know  the  THE CONSPIRACY THEORIST?  odd  …  i  never  imagined  they’d  be  back  in  town,  especially  after  everything  that  happened  last  time.  but  i  guess  it  makes  sense,  considering  they've  always  been  known  for  being  IMAGINATIVE and  INTROSPECTIVE.  still,  they  you'd  think  they'd  be  more  cautious—especially  since  they’re  also  quite  OBSESSIVE and  MEDDLESOME,  but  then  again  that  explains,  why she worked on the school paper in college.  last  i  heard  they  were  working  as  a  SCREAM QUEEN/PODCASTER in  PALO ALTO CALIFORNIA …  i  wonder  if  that's  where  they  picked  up  that  LOCKED DIARY  they're  always  carrying  around.  nonetheless,  with  whatever  happened  on  that  lake  all  those  years  ago,  they'd  better  hope  the  cabin  keeps  them  safe  this  time  around.

NAME: Eleanore Aviva Koenig

NAME MEANING: Eleanore (French) "Light" or "Sun ray" Aviva (Hebrew) "Spring or Spring time" Koenig (translated from Yiddish Meylekh) "King"

NICK NAMES: Nora Ellie (only from her twin)

AGE: 30

BIRTHDATE: tbd

CAREER: Horror Film actress (Scream Queen) & Podcaster

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Pansexual/Romantic

HISTORY

EARLY LIFE

Eleanore was born the twin sister to Julian "The Red Herring" Koenig. Their parents were incredibly accomplished people who set the bench mark for success incredibly high. It was a bench mark that Julian met time and time again. Maybe that should have strained things between the twins, but Nora always saw things exactly for what they were, especially where her brother was concerned. She never faulted him for the ways he excelled in life, in fact Nora worried for him even as children. A girl born deeply in tune not only only with herself but of those around her. Some people said this keen emotional insight was just the young girl being "melodramatic". Often on the cusp of tears or going off on some story she made up while imagining what ifs and spinning stories into her own personal folklore. Either way she was unavoidably perceptive, often looking at you as if she could read your mind, and sometimes it seemed as if she really could. This made trait made it easy for Nora to fit in, always anticipating who she had to be in order to benefit the most. It was no surprise she ended up in the local community theater as soon as she could. And while Nora lived for the production of a stage show she loved even more the whispers of real hard to imagine life happening at curtain fall. See the thing about Nora was while she was no book smart genius like her twin, she could read people and disappear into her surroundings with ease. Sometimes if she was engulfed enough in her surroundings some people would simply forget she was there. This allowed her to be like a fly on the wall. She saw people as they really were with their layers pulled back, the versions of them they wouldn't usually share. Finishing high school she worried that college would send her and her brother down different paths, there was no way she was getting into any of the Ivy league schools he was and in truth her heart had been set on Julliard. If they couldn't go together, then maybe she could throw herself into the creative endeavor of her life. However, things have a way for working out and in the end the twins attended the same university. Neither truly going in the direction either anticipated, but in the direction they both would have ultimately chosen either way.

COLLEGE

University opened her life up to a multitude of new experiences and friends. Nora majored in astronomy and took a position on the school paper where her love for knowledge and peeling back the layers of what people truly want to leave unknown flourished more than it ever had in previous years. With friends who encouraged her (so long as she wasn't poking about in their business that was) Nora stepped ever boldly into herself.

NOW

After the death of Jamie Novak, Nora closed in on herself, poured all her thoughts and misaligned feelings into journals she filled front to back. Locking them as the last page was finished never to open them again. The fracture of Jamie's death was impossible to understand and maybe part of Nora wondered if everyone was being completely honest about the moments leading up to Jamie's death. She knew it would consume her, become an obsession if she allowed it. Nora knew she needed a way to emotionally disappear. With the help of her mother she grabbed onto an old love for acting and found herself taking up roles in horror films. From straight to TV productions to major motion picture horror franchises Nora made herself into a scream queen, the ultimate "final girl". With her rising fame her opinions started to hold more weight. Nora never one to pass by an good opputunity used that momentum to start a podcast doing what she enjoyed the most; peeling back the layers of other peoples lives and secrets. It was a promising way to avoid her problems and gave her a sense of direction in the slow times between films. Nora picked her topics carefully, cold cases with little to no coverage. The tales of shooting stars, lives gone in a blink. People missing under mysterious circumstances, unraveling conspiracy theories and creating some of her own. Nora had a knack for seeing beyond the shallow ends of what was presented, finding a needle in a hay stack. A time or two she'd even helped reignite old cases, bring up the needed momentum to uncover new evidence, re-question suspects; case closed. With a purpose and a way to throw all her emotional energy into things that could not reach her Nora felt like she was recovering. At least until Harper died and left them all with one final request. Nora wanted to say no. No part of her wanted to go back to that cabin ever again, to face all she had lost, all that she had done catching up to her. But if there was ever a chance to find out if anyone knew more than they'd let on now would be it. Time can't erase the things we try to hide. Time can't hide the truth.

[franklyshipping]

Seeing Past His Act ~ A Markiplier Ego Fanfic

WOOP WOOP NEXT FIC HERE WE GO! This one comes from a fabulous anon prompt featuring our favourite butler boi... and it's time Actor Mark got to be on the receiving end for once! LET'S DO THIS!

Actor was a man of faults, and everyone said so. He was coercive, arrogant, egocentric, uncaring about things that did not affect him, and sometimes he was simply downright rude. Technically though, none of these attributes were his fault – they were simply the elements of his design. And, to be fair, they weren’t his only elements. However these more secret traits were rarely seen, and certainly never acknowledged. There was one, however, who did get to see these softer, finer pieces. That one was Benjamin, the most loyal butler to have ever walked the earth. Why was he loyal? He was no idiot, he wasn’t the sort to put up with ill-treatment or discomforting conditions. He stayed with Actor because Actor, despite his general personality, had always treated him right. Over time that respect had turned to companionship, rife with teasing, kindness, and insight for them both into each other.

There was much Benjamin had grown to love about Actor. His sense of humour, his style, his flamboyance, his adoration of drama, his beauty… his laughter. No matter the tiredness Benjamin might feel, hearing Actor’s laugh would cast away any hint of darkness. It was loud, room-filling, and lit up his entire face to make him look even more stunning. Benjamin smiled to himself, and started humming a little tune as he finished preparing everything for Actor’s breakfast, which he always took in bed. This morning on the tray sat a cup of coffee fresh from the cafetiere, a glass of orange juice (no pulp) along with a plate of hot, syrup covered waffles, plus some fancy French pastries. Benjamin took the tray upstairs and knocked on the door.

‘Come in!’

Benjamin entered Actor’s utterly lavish chambers (yes, chambers, he really was that guy) and smiled when he saw Actor sat up in bed. Benjamin remained awed over how Actor somehow looked perfect even when he’d just woken up, hair tousled in a naturally elegant way, eyes bright and ready for whatever came at him. He brought the breakfast tray over and Actor took it with a happy sigh, resting it on his lap. He inhaled deeply, then grinned at Benjamin.

‘Mm, looking delicious. The breakfast looks lovely too.’

He winked, bringing a smile to the butler’s face – yep, still always the insatiable flirt. Benjamin drew open the huge curtains, letting the golden light of late morning into the room as Actor happily ate.

‘What’s on my agenda?’

‘Ah, there’s nothing in your diary for today.’

‘Oh good, I’ve been well overdue a lazy day.’

Actor let out a pleased hum as the sun streamed in, allowing him to see Benjamin all the better, and it was a sight he very much enjoyed. He admired how Benjamin always looked so pristine, with a finer finish than the smoothest statue or sleekest painting. He carried himself with such elegance, such effortlessness, and the way he smiled was just so easy. He was a naturally happy soul, and being around him always served to soothed the weight that sometimes tugged at Actor. Benjamin was a sweet balm, the most loyal companion… and Actor valued him more than anything else.

‘Come, sit, I insist that you try one of these.’

Actor grinned, patting a spot beside him on the bed. Benjamin sat by him, and a little pinkness appeared on his cheeks when Actor picked up one of the pastries, and moved to feed it to him.

‘Open wide.’

Benjamin smiled and took a tentative bite… and it was divine. An almond croissant with icing sugar and swirls of raspberry jam on top – Benjamin thought he was in heaven! His eyes fluttered shut for a moment as he let out a little hum… but then his eyes flew open when he felt something touch his bottom lip. He opened his eyes and saw Actor, swiping some icing sugar from his bottom lip, and licking it off his finger like it was the most casual thing in the world!

‘You like?’

Actor said, taking his own bite of the pastry and grinning when Benjamin nodded shyly.

‘Good. With the amount I ordered I’ll definitely need your help eating them.’

Benjamin laughed softly – another trait that few knew of Actor. He insisted Benjamin have the loveliest food, rest, and all the fine things he could ever want. Benjamin never asked for such things, but he always felt amazing when Actor insisted on sharing it all with him. As the morning continued Actor took time over his breakfast, giving Benjamin many more mouthfuls – he liked to see Benjamin eating well, it always brought him joy. When it was cleared away Actor ambled to his robe wardrobe and started browsing, humming musingly as his fingers drifted over practically every hue of silk dressing gown known to humanity.

‘Hmm, I think today is a crimson day.’

Benjamin tried not to stare, he really did… but the way Actor’s toned midriff tensed and stretched as he slipped on the robe was too beautiful not to admire! Benjamin acted as if he was polishing the mahogany headboard of the king-sized bed, all the while glancing in his peripheral at Actor… who had suddenly huffed.

‘God damnit…’

Benjamin was confused for moment, but soon had to bite back a laugh when he saw that Actor had been putting on his robe inside out. Actor chuckled and rolled his eyes, flashing Benjamin a grin as he tried to free his arms from the sleeves.

‘I might need a second coffee.’

Benjamin giggled softly, but the urge to keep giggling was hard to repress when he watched, and realised Actor couldn’t get his arms free! Actor grunted as he tried to ease his biceps out of the sleeves, but the silk wouldn’t budge and he certainly wasn’t going to be rough and risk ripping it! Actor grunted, wriggling from every angle, trying to ease his fingers under the fabric to loosen it… but nothing worked. After a few moments Benjamin smiled, a fond glimmer in his eyes.

‘Would you like some assistance, sir?’

Actor was clearly embarrassed, but he nevertheless nodded and sat at the end of his bed. Benjamin sat by him once more and went about trying to loosen the material around his arms without damaging it – it seemed to be clinging tight to his muscles, which Benjamin couldn’t help but look at with barely hidden admiration. An admiration that Actor noticed, and found very enjoyable.

‘See something you like?’

He said with a smirk, and his words made Benjamin go beet red as he suddenly stuttered.

‘Wha– no, I– well I mean… um–’

‘Relax. You can look as much as you like, I don’t mind.’

Actor laughed, making Benjamin blink with endearing confusion.

‘Really?’

‘Of course! I find it very flattering.’

He winked, coaxing yet another shy grin from the butler. Actor’s confidence never ceased to amaze and impress him, and for a moment all Benjamin could do was gaze at him… which meant he lost his concentration, just for a moment. So his fingers, which had been trying to ease the sleeves off Actor’s arms, slipped down and brushed into Actor’s armpits. Actor let out a poorly muffled gasp, and he flinched. Benjamin noticed and his eyes went wide, immediately worried he was in some kind of discomfort.

‘Sir, are you alright?’

‘Yes fine.’

“Are you sure, did I hurt you?’

‘No I’m fine.’

‘But… you flinched–’

‘I just got a little chill.’

Actor insisted, clearing his throat a little as he painted on a charming smile… and yet Benjamin could see that underneath, there was something nervous brewing on his face. Benjamin glanced down to where his fingertips had nudged, where they still hovered in fact, and a very curious thought entered his head. Could he be? No… but… what if he was? Benjamin knew he shouldn’t dare. He knew he’d likely receive the king of all punishments… but he just had to try it. With a little smile on his face, he fluttered his fingers in Actor’s hollows, and the man flinched away with a surprised giggle.

‘Hey!’

‘Oh my… you’re… you’re ticklish!’

Benjamin was beyond delighted, whilst Actor was beyond mortified. Now Benjamin had started, he just couldn’t help himself. He kept his fingers fluttering in Actor’s hollows, which he couldn’t protect thanks to his damn gown trapping his arms! He yelped, immediately trying to wriggle away as he spluttered.

‘Heyheyhey nohoho gehehet ahahaway!’

Amidst his escape attempt he lost his balance, ending up on his back on the bed – Benjamin eagerly took advantage, kneeling over him from above as he continued to stroke and tease his armpits, giggling.

‘I must say this is very adora–’

‘Ihihif you fihinish thahat wohord I’ll throhow yohou in aha feheather pit!’

Benjamin blushed a little, but at this point he’d really just throw caution to the wind. He upgraded his flutters to scratches now as he grinned.

‘Adorable.’

Actor let out a little shriek at the feeling of Benjamin’s blunt nails swirling in his hollows, sending little ticklish shocks all the way down his spine and bringing out a stream of cackles from him. All he could do was kick his legs fruitlessly as his arms remained stuck in the stubborn silk, despite Actor’s struggles.

‘IHIHI’LL GEHET YOHOU FOHOR THIHIHIS!’

Actor could feel the heat building in his cheeks, a sign of embarrassment which was an incredibly rare look on the man. Benjamin felt his tummy flutter at the sight, and he giggled cheekily.

‘I didn’t know you already put on rouge this morning… or is that natural?’

Actor felt his face getting even hotter – he didn’t know what was more flustering, the words themselves or the fact that it was Benjamin saying them. He was so used to the man being meek and sweet and shy and so easy to tease… he hadn’t fathomed that Benjamin had this kind of side to him. And, honestly… he didn’t dislike it. Actor attempted to growl, but his giggles drowned out any hope of intimidation as Benjamin just tickled on and on and on.

‘YOHOHOU’RE A LIHIHITTLE SHIHIT!’

‘Sir, that’s not very nice!’

Benjamin retorted with a faux gasp. The butler had never really had a natural inclination for drama or sarcasm, but being with Actor for so long had meant some of that attitude had rubbed off on him over the years. Benjamin dragged his fingers down Actor’s midriff until he reached his soft sides, scratching playfully – a tickle which, much to his delight, made Actor snort.

‘AH­–nononohoho nahahat thehehere!’

‘Aww you’re so soft here, does that tickle?’

‘Whahat the hehehell doho yohohou thihihink?!’

Benjamin giggled at the retort, and playfully pinched at the man’s sides as he beamed down at him.

‘Well now, someone got out of the sassy side of the bed this morning!’

Actor snorted even more as he wriggled about, still unable to free himself from his own clothing as he tried to muster a glare – it was half-hearted at best.

‘Juhuhust yohohou WAHAIT uhuntil Ihi gehet my hahands ohohon yohou!’

Benjamin felt butterflies surge in his tummy at that comment, his head going to a rather flustering place – to his relief though, Actor was too distracted by the tickling to notice. Benjain used his thumbs to massage the dips of Actor’s sides now, making the man jolt and yelp amidst his giggles as Benjamin replied with a grin.

‘You need to get your hands free first.’

‘Shuhuhuhut uhuhuhup!’

Actor retorted, getting more and more embarrassed that he felt like he was going to combust at any moment! Sure he’d been tickled before but never by Benjamin… and let’s just say that it was hitting a little bit differently. Seeing his playful smile, hearing his teases, feeling his tickly touch – it all made Actor’s heart race with more than just embarrassment. There was joy. There was… love. Now, Benjamin’s fingers snuck down to tease against Actor’s prominent hips, all while the butler beamed playfully.

‘Dear oh dear, do I need to teach you some manners?’

Benjamin’s heart was full of love too. Seeing Actor like this was something he never could have fathomed, and yet here he was. Somehow looking even more handsome and bright and vibrant than he ever thought possible. Benjamin relished in the squeal that scratching at Actor’s hips brought out, and the butler just couldn’t stop giggling at the whole thing.

‘BEHENJAMIN IHI SWEHEAR TO GAHAHAD!’

‘What? Is there something wrong?’

‘IHIHI WIHILL EHEHEND YOHOHOU!’

‘Well if you do that you won’t have a butler, then where will you be?’

Benjamin retorted, his tongue poking out through his teeth as he grinned and used his thumbs to rub circles against his hipbones. The motion made Actor wriggle and cackle in what sounded like every pitch known to man! Actor’s cheeks were starting to ache from all his smiling as he continued trying to roll about to escape.

‘AHAT LEHEAST IHI WOHON’T BE BEHEING TOHORTURED!’

Benjamin grinned fondly, as always loving how the man could make everything dramatic. But then Benjamin’s eyes went wide… as he saw a mass of red silk shoot across the bedroom. Thanks to Actor struggling just enough at just the right angle, he’d freed his arms from the garment. Benjamin’s breath hitched as he watched Actor realise he was free… and grin wolfishly. Benjamin squealed when Actor pounced on him, pinning him onto the messy bed effortlessly as Benjamin started babbling.

‘Wait wait sir I’m sorry I–’

‘Hush.’

Actor’s tone was playfully stern, which made Benjamin gulp. His wrists were now pinned above his hand, and with his free hand Actor stroked Benjamin’s cheek… which swiftly went very, very red.  Actor’s grin widened when he saw it, and when he spoke his tone was soft, and a tad breathless.

‘There are very few I would allow to get away with what you’ve just done…’

Benjamin shivered shyly, and then felt his heart flutter at what Actor said next.

‘Lucky for you I like you… I always have.’

The whisper sent even more butterflies through Benjamin’s system, almost making him speechless. Almost.

‘I’ve always liked you too.’

Actor’s heart, in a moment of rareness, actually fluttered in his chest, and his grin softened into a genuine smile. Another rarity. Actor leaned in slowly, and pressed a gentle kiss to Benjamin’s forehead, before murmuring tenderly.

‘My dear Benjamin…’

Benjamin felt like he was melting from the affection as he looked up at Actor, feeling like the dreams he’d had for so long were finally real. Then his heart raced when he saw Actor’s smirk return with full mischief.

‘Now… I think it’s only fair I reacquaint myself with your tickle spots, wouldn’t you agree?’

Benjamin had burst into giggles before Actor even touched him, and when he did it sparked more joy in Benjamin than he even thought was possible to feel all at once. The same joy shone in Actor to as he, like Benjamin, relished in the warmth, the laughter, the joy… and the love.

WOOOO HOPE YOU GUYS LIKED THIS FIC LEMME KNOW IF YA DID WOOO LUV YOUS!!

[millenniumringg]

Was tagged by my beloveds @justapalspal. and @yuusaris to do the "share a few paragraphs from your WIP" tag game :3 I've been kind of radio silent on my fics lately so here's my chance to prove I've been working on stuff LMAO

If you wanna do this, DO IT!! I don't know who to tag off the top of my head cuz tired... but DO THIS IF U WANT!!! YEAH YOU!!!!

So, here are some bits from some of my WIPs :-) there may be spoilers for some fics like Ghostbusters and Clean Sneak, but nothing too detailed ;)

From Ghostbusters! A Yugioh AU

(From the unfortunately delayed final chapter (im so sorry its gonna come i swear) where Ryou and Yugi are desperately trying to figure out how to solve the current Ghost Dilemma that is rapidly consuming Domino)

Ryou held the phone out between himself and Yugi. They waited, holding their breath in hopes they might actually get someone to answer the phone.

“Kaiba Corp, how can I assist you?”

Ryou and Yugi stared at each other. They weren’t really expecting an answer.

“Um,” Yugi quickly spoke up, “Yes, um, is Seto Kaiba available?”

“I’m sorry sir. Mister Kaiba is very busy. I can take a—”

“Busy with what?” Ryou challenged. “Listen lady, I don’t know if you’ve been outside, but it’s like night of the living dead out there. Get Kaiba on the phone and tell him it’s the Ghostbusters.”

“The Ghostbusters? I… I’m not sure if he—”

Yugi groaned. “Please just get him on the phone. He needs our help and we need his. It’s an emergency!”

The woman on the other line made a distressed hum. She seemed nervous, but Ryou and Yugi knew there was no time to lose.

Eventually, the woman sighed. “Please hold.”

When the line went quiet, Ryou grinned at Yugi.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe that actually worked.”

Yugi nodded, but his excitement quickly faded. “That was the easy part, though.”

From The Clean Sneak

(Continuing from the train capture gone awry, Yugi, Atem, Mai, and Isis must come up with a plan to get Amir away from Ryou)

“I promised to look out for my brothers, Mai.”

“Isis…” Mai hummed with uncertainty, for she recognized that determined look in Isis’ eyes. “What are you doing?”

“I’m saving Amir from himself.” Isis pushed her rifle into Mai’s hands before reaching behind herself to pull out a revolver. The handle was wooden with beautiful, delicate pearl designs embedded into it. She opened up the cylinder, counting the bullets inside.

“Three shots Mai,” She continued, but Mai wasn’t convinced.

“Three shots and what? You’ll shoot him and drag him off the train?! Isis, you’re not thinking straight. We have to—”

“We have to save Ryou. I’m saving my brother. My family.” Isis opened up the sleeper car door, her revolver in hand. “I’m just going to talk to him.”

“Talk to him?!” All three of the others in the train car exclaimed, looking at Isis in shock.

“Sweetie, I don’t think he wants to talk anymore. I think you need to think this over a little more—”

From an untitled Heartshipping ficlet

(I'm currently working on something for @ninjam117 's birthday... so here's a snippet of that >:) )

Thinking about it made Yugi blush. He put his head in his hands, angry at himself for having such… tainted thoughts about a stranger. About an alluring young man. A pale, green-eyed, white-haired angel. 

Yugi groaned to himself. He was hopeless. The man wasn’t coming. It was well past midnight. Probably 2am. He should get some rest already. He was sure the young man had better places to be anyway. 

With a heavy sigh, Yugi straightened up. He tilted his head toward the moon in the distance, gazing at it and the stars momentarily before forcing himself to turn away. 

With his head low, Yugi quietly shut the balcony French doors. He shut all the curtains, then crawled into bed, not even bothering to take his party garments off. 

The sheer curtains over the French doors did little to hide the moonlight. It bothered Yugi, for the light was so pale and magical. A perfect night to experience something… new. Something fantastic.

Yugi’s eyelids grew heavy. His blinking slowed as he stared at the edge of his bed, at the elegant night sky. 

It was quiet. Peaceful. 

Eventually, Yugi shut his eyes, sleep having taken him over.

From Cornered 2 title pending maybe

(Yes I'm making a sequel, yes I'm insane. First snippet is from chapter 1)

It didn’t take long at all for the two to peel their clothes off. They’d done it countless times before. It was almost as routine to shower together as it was to work out together.

The water was running. Malik and Ryou were kissing, holding each other almost unbearably close.

“We’re going to be late,” Malik murmured between kisses, but Ryou was relentless. He held onto Malik’s head and kissed him over and over again. Eventually, Malik had to pull himself free to laugh.

Ryou groaned. He leaned his head into the crook of Malik’s neck, his arms wrapped around his lover’s body.

“Fine.” But Ryou didn’t move. He closed his eyes, reveling in the peace that came with being close to Malik.

Malik hugged Ryou back. They stood under the running water for a while, content to remain in the embrace for as long as possible.

“I love you,” Ryou whispered, not wanting to ruin the peace by speaking too loud.

Malik smiled. He held Ryou tighter and kissed Ryou’s head.

“I love you, too.”

Ryou pulled away. He looked at Malik, thankful his face was already red from the run so Malik couldn’t see how much he was blushing. He felt over Malik’s shoulders, trailing his hands down along his chest and to his sides.

“Do you want me to wash your hair?” Malik asked. Ryou closed his eyes, took in a deep breath and nodded.

Ryou turned around and let Malik do his wonders. His hands were so gentle. So warm and kind and never malicious.

“Is this okay?” He would ask frequently and Ryou would reply, “Yes. Perfect.”

“I think you might be due for a trim soon,” Malik commented. “Your hair is getting longer.”

Ryou hummed. “Yeah. Probably.”

Malik gently tilted Ryou’s head back to rinse the soap out. Then, of course, as always, Ryou did the same for Malik. 

“Do you remember when we first did this?” Ryou asked, keeping his eyes fixated on the lathering task. “And we cried.”

Malik let out a thoughtful hum. “Of course I do.”

Ryou smiled a little. The memory was bittersweet, but felt more sweet as time went on.

“...Is everything okay?” Malik asked, hesitance in his tone.

“Everything is just fine,” Ryou replied, tilting Malik’s head back to rinse the soap. He hummed happily.

From Cornered 2... But some time later in the fic

(Another taste of what's inevitably to come in Cornered 2 but THATS IT no more sippies ... maybe)

Ryou forced his legs to back away. He forced his eyes to tear away, but nothing seemed to help. The gym spun around him. Voices that weren’t there were on a loop, getting louder and louder. 

He hurried to the locker room, bumping into one or two people along the way. His shoulders were tense, his hands balled up tight.

Unfortunately, the locker room did not provide the solace Ryou, for some reason, thought it would. 

Stiffly, Ryou sat down on the bench, holding his head in his hands. 

He wanted this to stop. He wanted the voices to stop. He wanted the panic to stop. 

But thinking such things only made it worse. It wasn’t going to stop. It was never going to stop. These things already happened to him. Ryou couldn’t go back in time and fix it. He couldn’t go back and… and…

You’re never going to forget me, you know.

“I know,” Ryou said aloud, answering the voice in his head. 

Every time you sleep, you’ll dream of me.

“I know,” Ryou said louder. 

Every time you close your eyes—

“I SEE YOU!” Ryou shouted abruptly, rising to his feet. 

“I see you every day! I hear you every day! Shut up! Be quiet! Just be fucking quiet!”

Ryou wanted to punch the lockers. He wanted to throw all of his things and roll on the floor and sob, but the only thing he could bring himself to do was stand in the middle of the locker room and yell.

No…

No. 

“Fuck you,” Ryou said aloud again, smashing his hand into his locker before pulling it open aggressively. “I’m in control. I’m in control. I AM IN CONTROL!”

“Are you..?”

Ryou nearly screamed. He jumped, not expecting Jounouchi’s voice to be so close. 

Oh god. Ryou had forgotten he was in public. The locker room wasn’t empty. Dozens of eyes were staring at him. 

Ryou thought he might throw up.

“Hey, Touzoku, it’s okay—”

Ryou shoved Jounouchi’s hands away. He didn’t know why, though. He could really use the comfort. 

…The only comfort he wanted, though, was the only comfort he couldn’t have.

“I-I…” Ryou swallowed. He searched for words that weren’t angry or rude or frantic, but it was hard. “I’m leaving. I need to go.”

Jounouchi frowned. He stepped away as Ryou chaotically shoved things in his gym bag and walked out of the locker room.

“Where are you going? Let me drive you.”

“I can drive myself,” Ryou said through gritted teeth, though he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to be mean to Jounouchi at all, but right now that was all he could give him.

“Please, Touzoku,” Jounouchi urged, following Ryou outside. “Something is wrong. You’re not—”

“Of course something is wrong!” Ryou practically screeched, whirling around to glare at Jounouchi. “Something has been wrong with me for four fucking years, Katsuya! I can’t get away from a man in prison and my fucking fiancee is in a fucking coma!”

Ryou was out of breath. People in the gym were gathered by the front door, watching the commotion. 

“Touzoku…”

“Jounouchi,” Ryou breathed. “I..” He put a hand up in the air, shaking his head. “I can’t. I need to see Malik. That’s all I want to do right now.”