#i have a planner a wall calendar and a phone calendar and let me tell you

[witchoil]

adhd means having three different calendars none of which are the whole truth but which nonetheless are the shoestring holding your week together

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

Waiting for You

A Michael Gavey Drabble

Author’s Note: I guess I’m doing drabbles now? This came to me when I was in my third meeting in a row that covered the same information we got in meeting #1 lol

Summary: It’s the evening of your first date with Michael Gavey, but a phone call with your mum lasted way longer than it should have and now you’re running a little bit late. Unfortunately, you forgot your phone at your dorm, so you have no way of letting Michael know.

Waiting for You

7:15

That was the time you had agreed to meet Michael at the pub. He was completely certain about that - he’d written it in his planner, the calendar on the wall of his dorm, and his Yahoo calendar.

He looked at his watch again.

7:23

Being a few minutes late made sense, he thought. You didn’t have a car, and public transportation can be somewhat unreliable on weekends. But now, you were nearly ten minutes late. Even with imprecise bus timings, that seemed like a lot.

It certainly seemed long enough for Michael’s mind to start spiraling.

Maybe you had forgotten. Maybe you got on the wrong bus. Maybe the bus had a mechanical failure, or was stuck in unavoidable traffic.

The longer he stood there, hands shoved into the pockets of his trousers as he stared at the pavement outside the pub, the more far-fetched his thoughts became.

Maybe a faculty member had suddenly needed your help and you couldn’t say no. Maybe your bud had been in an accident. Maybe you’d been kidnapped somehow.

Maybe…

7:28

Maybe you’d realized you didn’t actually want to go out with him.

Why would you? After his outburst in the dining hall at the beginning of the year, he was infamous within your college. Everyone knew the creepy maths nerd who’d made a fool of himself on the first day.

It made perfect sense that you wouldn’t want to be seen with him. What if the essence of his social pariah-dom would rub off on you somehow, and people started treating you the way they treated him?

You wouldn’t want that. He wouldn’t want that for you.

Ditching him would be the smart move. After all, it had apparently worked well for Oliver Quick, the cunt. Maybe if you abandoned him as well, you’d also get an invite to Felix Carton’s estate for the summer. For all he knew, it was a requirement.

7:34

It had been stupid of him to even think you’d want to go out with him.

You were popular and well-liked. You were gorgeous. You were smart. All things that should have wiped Michael off your radar entirely.

But you were also kind. You were friendly to him. You talked to him.

When he asked if you wanted to study with him, you’d said yes. When he asked to exchange phone numbers, you’d said yes. And when he asked you out on a date - this date - you’d said yes.

The memory returned, even as he tried to shove it away. When he asked Oliver if he would get him another pint, he’d said yes, too.

Then, he’d abandoned him.

7:41

Apparently, this was just what happened to Michael. He found someone he liked, thought they liked him, too, then was left behind when something better turned up.

It had happened many times before, and would probably happen many times in the future.

Michael bit hard on the inside of his cheek, hoping the pain would chase away the monumental feeling of loneliness that threatened to overtake him. He should just go back to his dorm. It was pathetic to wait out here for this long. He should -

7:44

“Michael!”

He looked up and saw you running toward him, your cheeks flushed as you pushed through the crowd. When you finally stopped in front of him, panting from exertion, you grimaced slightly. He braved himself for what you would say.

“I am so, so sorry I’m late!” You said breathlessly. “My mum called, and she could talk for hours and hours if she wanted, and I tried to tell her I had to leave, but she wouldn’t…”

You half-sighed, half-groaned, rubbing your hands over your face. “And then I left my phone in my room and I couldn’t tell you I was on my way, so…”

Michael stared at you blankly as you continued to explain. He had almost completely resigned himself to the fact that you weren’t coming. But here you were.

Not only had you actually come, but you had ran to him. You were trying so hard to make him see that it wasn’t intentional. You… you were still talking.

“It’s fine,” he said, halting your babbling. “I understand.”

Your smile of relief was quite possibly the prettiest thing he’d ever seen.

He laughed in awe, then tried to play it off. “My mum doesn’t know when to shut up, either.”

You laughed with him and grabbed his hand. “Still, I’m so sorry. You’ve been waiting here, probably bored out of your mind, and…”

“Nah,” he shrugged, “it’s all forgotten now.” Indeed, he could hardly remember the panicked train of thought he’d been on for the last half hour. “Thank you - for coming, I mean.”

You smiled again. “Of course! I’ve been looking forward to this.”

Without giving him time to respond, you pulled him into the pub, both of you now laughing. “Since I was late, I’m paying!”

[b-afterhours]

AOS Neon: Sinner's Paradise (oneshot)

SUMMARY: ‘90s. It’s the aftermath. Jaded, Bill and Alma navigate their new lives as they try to drag themselves out of the dark debacherous 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: one of two oneshots to fill in some gaps before we saw their ending. Enjoy! sidenote: currently updating the masterlist to this full series but most are already linked at this time!

March 1995

A little over a month before their late April wedding, the family was in the office of their Seattle home during the evening. Bill sat on the armrest of the brown leather couch, looking over one of Alma’s event planners, one of many planners she owned. Alma stood before a large paper calendar hung on the wall, chewing on the end of a marker in thought. She had accidentally booked a show during the week they’d be in Vegas. Both the shop and the club would be closed to the public so that friends and family could join them.

Using his pinky finger as a guide, he read through what she had jotted down in the planner and paused at a specific date block.

“Put them here,” he stood up, grabbed the marker Alma held, and scribbled them on a date. “Second act. We’ll ask them to cut a song or two. Headliner will just go on a little later.”

“Yeah, okay.” Alma agreed, pushing her large-frame glasses up the bridge of her nose. 

“Better to reschedule than cancel.” He softly massaged the nape of her neck with his free hand, but only briefly. With the same hand, he quickly flipped to May, making sure she hadn’t scheduled anything over their honeymoon on the Amalfi Coast, but she color-blocked the row with a red marker. 

Alma noticed Bill checking the time on the big vintage wall clock. He had a phone meeting with Bianca. They often spoke on the phone, but twice a week they talked business. 

“Thanks for helping me.” She stood on her tiptoes to kiss him. “Tell Bianca I said hi.” 

He pulled her in and grabbed her ass while kissing her again with more passion. They would be making love later, hoping to get pregnant. They started in December, just as she had promised him. So far, they haven’t been successful. They weren’t trying to stress so much about it and rather enjoy themselves. Yet, there was still a little nagging, disappointed voice in the back of their consciousness. Wondering why creating Echo, though not planned, just seemed to happen so easily. Without even a thought, no less.

Alma gently pushed him away, with a lustful, knowing twinkle in her gaze. “Echo,” she turned to her. “Are you done working over there?” 

Echo had been sitting at the head of the large office desk, scribbling on loose sheets of paper, mimicking her parents at work.

“Almost.” She said, making them chuckle.

“Oh, c’mon on, E’. Let’s get ready for bed. Say nighties to Daddy. And I’ll meet you later, Daddy.” she said with a cheeky wink.

Echo slid out of the big office chair, stumbling a bit, but ran into her father's embrace, and off they went, leaving him to his second job on the other coast. 

The phone call lasted nearly an hour; half of it only pertaining to Trigger Finger, until they began speaking about their personal affairs. 

“The street the record shop sits on is having a spring block party. All the other businesses put stuff out on the sidewalks. It’s basically a little festival.” 

“What are you doing? Live music, I guess?”

“Yeah.” He said adjusting a crooked frame on the opposite wall from the desk. 

While sitting at the desk, he had been staring at it for a while and finally decided to straighten it out. Alma had created the gallery wall in the office using frames and wall decor she’d found at yard sales, thrift stores, or things within the boxes she shipped from Strathburg. Amid the ceramic jackalope head, small framed prints, and mirrors, there were personal effects included in the montage as well. A few concert photos and some artistic shots Alma had taken of Echo were on display. 

One photo showed Bill and Alma as teens; Bill leaned against a post with one foot flat against it, a cigarette between his fingers, while Alma stood in front of him. In the photo, their heads were turned toward the camera. Bill had a slight scowl on his face, while Alma wore a sweet smile. Despite the fact that the photographer had obviously called for their attention, neither could remember who had taken the photo. They were at a football game, though they never sat on the bleachers to watch, but rather hung out behind them with others who also came just to have something to do on a Friday night. Nearby was the rosary Alma's father, Antonio, had given her, filled with some of her sibling's ashes. She hadn’t known what to do with it for a while until Ulyssa, with her crafty ways, suggested displaying it inside a shadowbox.

“But we have this narrow alleyway that separates us from the main set of buildings,” he continued, walking past an antique armoire that housed Alma’s cameras behind glass cabinet doors. He took a seat at the desk once the frame was no longer a bother. “We hired a muralist to paint an image of Echo on the wall. This gel print in neon pink and yellow that Alma made for me a few years ago for Valentine’s.” 

“Oh, yes! I’ve seen that on the mantel at the penthouse during Thanksgiving.” 

“Yeah! I brought it back this way. It’s the last thing we're doing to the building. Once we had the marquee up in front of the entrance, I kinda found more to do.” He chuckled. 

“That looks fantastic! I saw the photo of you and Alma in front of it in that local magazine she mailed to me. Offbeat?

“Oh, the grand reopening article.” He leaned back in his seat.

“You said like two things in it, but I enjoyed what Alma said. About community building and such. She’s pretty natural with that.” 

“Well, she’s more familiar with the guy who wrote it, so.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” She playfully dismissed. “So. Are you ready to get married next month?” 

“Are you ready for Vegas?” 

“Abso-fucking-lutely!” She exclaimed. “I’m betting my luck as soon as I land. I’m shopping for my outfits later this week! I’m gonna be sparkling like a damn disco ball honey.” She laughed. “Lorenzo is excited with him being twenty-one and all, but of course, Giancarlo has been fussing because he’s not eighteen yet.” 

Bill chuckled. “Yeah, I know. When I told him the wedding date, he asked if I could wait another year until he was.” 

“He did not!” Bianca said, appalled, that her son would even ask such a thing. “That boy, I swear!” 

“Ah, he’s just saying what any kid his age would say.” 

“Still! As if you two haven’t waited long enough. I’m glad it has been a short engagement, even.” 

“Ah, yeah. Me too. I’m happy Alma suggested Vegas.” He said, scribbling on a sheet of paper Echo had been scribbling on herself. However, he did notice some kind of attempt to spell her name. 

“Might as well just do the drive-thru marriage there. I heard they do that too!” She laughed. 

“Quick question, do you know what kind of dress Alma picked out?” He softly muttered so that his voice wouldn’t carry out the office.

“Why in the hell do you think I’d tell you that?” She laughed.

There was a tone on the phone indicating he had another call. He glanced at the clock; it was too late to receive calls at his home at this hour unless he was expecting them. 

“Uhm, I have another call coming in, B’.”

“Okay. I gotta go back down to the floor.” She said as she was in the club loft speaking to him. “Send my hello to Alma, honey. I’ll talk to you later.” 

“Later.” He said quickly, putting the pen down and hitting the blinking call-waiting button. “Hello?”

“Hey, uh, it’s Gustaf.” 

“What’s up? Someone needs bail money.” He joked, but there was no laughter on the other end. The silence felt unusually unsettling. “W-what is it?” 

“Uhm…” He sighed. “I know, you couldn’t give a fuck, but you should know. Dad’s gone.” 

Bill sat stunned, and the way his heart sank conflicted with his true feelings. After having a short moment to process, all he could muster out was, “Okay.” 

“Okay?” 

He could feel himself becoming angry, making him sick to his stomach. “What the hell do you want me to say? He’s, he’s been—” He paused. What he wanted to say was that he’d been dead to him the day he left Strathburg.

“Yeah, okay. I understand. I know he was awful, but—”

“There is no, but.” 

“Yeah, okay. Shit,” he loudly exhaled. “I’m sorry, brother. We left you behind a lot; you were too little to deal with that alone. After mom, he changed.” 

Emotion overwhelmed Bill suddenly as tears fought to escape his eyes. “Yeah, well. That’s that, right? C-could I call you later?” 

“Sure. Sure, yeah.” 

The frame he fixed had gone crooked again, and Bill didn’t know how long he had been blankly staring at it. He hated the feelings of grief that were running through him over his abusive father. He couldn’t give a shit, yet the loss felt great. He was now an orphan in the world, and as much as that felt isolating it just felt—strange. Getting up from his seat, he poured himself a glass of whiskey from the bar cart, and then something possessed him to grab the shoebox of photos Gustaf had given him on his very last visit to his hometown. Which he had never opened since receiving it.

From the closet he took the items back to the desk, he took a big swig of the drink and then ripped the top off as if something would jump out of it. Inside, little cheap toys were accompanying the photos. Green toy soldiers, marbles, and jacks. He examined some of the cooler glass marbles at first and then set those aside. Picking up the handful of old photos, he flicked through a series of him as a little boy. He couldn’t recall his childhood well, but the feelings he was experiencing indicated that these were times before it all got so bad. 

It was one particular photo he reached that pained him. It twisted his stomach. Staring back at him was a little confused boy with a hollow look in his eyes. A little boy he knew was internally screaming for help. He sat back in his chair to collect himself for a moment and then laid that photo face down. He continued. Some of him and his older brothers were photographed on an orange couch with their mother. He may have been around four. Then one of him and his mother in a happy embrace. Those photos gave him great comfort; they felt like a warm hug. Maybe that’s what compelled him to look through the box. Not to reconcile with the death of his father, but because he wished he had his mother’s comfort.

He reached a few photos in which his father was in, but he just felt numb. Having his own child, he just couldn’t comprehend the abuse he had experienced. It never made sense then, and it especially didn’t make sense now. There were times he tried to understand. Until he realized he was just rationalizing his abuse into justification. Where there was none.

The last time he spoke to his father was on the phone a month after he found out he had a child of his own. He was drunk and alone, still hurt by the reveal, but he was also scared. Scared that he’d be just as bad, that it would bring out a monster in him that had risen within his father. Even drunk, he came to his senses, reminding himself and promising to whatever God existed out there that he would never be that. He shouted at him, telling him that he got it all without him. That he made something of himself. That he’d lay down dead before he ever put his daughter through what he had experienced. 

All his father said on the phone was a condescending, “Good for you, son.” 

“Fuck you!” He screamed, slamming the phone down before tossing the whole unit across the room. 

Alma spritzed herself with a soft, sweet vanilla marshmallow perfume before she began tiptoeing down the hallway in a skimpy baby doll négligée. She peered in, hoping to surprise him, but was taken aback. He sat at the desk with his shoulders bobbing and his head in his hands, crying. Everything hit him simultaneously: sadness, anger, relief, and even some happiness. However, he just couldn't deal with his conflicting emotions any other way. The last tears he would ever shed for that man.

“Bill?” Alma said softly, concerned.

“Fuck.” He choked out, pressing his palms into his eyes.

She quickly approached him, and he wrapped his arms around her while burying his face into her side like a child would. She could feel his tears seeping through the thin fabric of her négligée. Not daring to say a word, she rubbed his back to settle him while thinking the worst. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs to their full capacity, and slowly exhaled. 

“I need a smoke.” He sniffled, sitting back and searching for his pack in a desk drawer. 

Alma watched him, red-eyed and flush-faced, lighting it inside the office. A forbidden act, but Alma wouldn’t dare to reprimand him for it. He stood up and began heading out to the balcony. 

“I’ll wait for you,” she said, unsure of what he wanted of her. 

“Come.” He walked back, taking her hand. “I want you with me.” 

Anxiously picking at the hem of her négligée, Alma sat on a cushioned outdoor chair, while he stood leaning on the balcony railing, looking out toward the woods. He was muttering curse words under his breath while he puffed away. 

“Fucking son of a bitch.” He snarled, flicking his cigarette away as opposed to using the designated glass ashtray. 

“What…” she bit her lip when his head snapped in her direction. As if he remembered she was there all along. “Uhm.” 

He closed his eyes and did his best to soften his demeanor. She was sitting there looking pretty in the sheer black négligée, which he could see the hi-cut panties through. The vibe was all wrong, though. She just looked at him, deeply concerned. 

“He,” pausing, he put his hands on his hips and looked out at the yard again. “My dad’s dead.” He announced it flatly, without looking at her. 

“Oh my god,” she softly gasped. She didn’t have any good thoughts or sentiments for the man, but she knew Bill hated him with all of his guts. Rightfully so. In all honesty, she pictured him popping a bottle of champagne at the news of his passing. However, she knew there were more nuances to his complicated feelings all around. 

“Yeah.” He nodded.

“What, uhm, what can I do?”

“Nothing,” he sighed. “It’s just,” he said, spinning his pointer finger by the side of his head. “I just can’t fucking believe it. I want to be happy, and a part of me is, but… I don’t know.” 

“Yeah,” she stood up and wrapped her arms around him, and he relaxed as much as he could into it. “I love you.” 

“It’s done.” He said, repeating the same sentiment he uttered about Craig when he lay lifeless before them. 

“It’s done, babe. I’m sorry. I’m sorry you ever had to go through that.” 

They held each other silently for a while before Alma led him back inside so they could relax and just put this moment behind them for good. 

Bill watched the skirt of the négligée swish across her bottom, reminding him of where the night was supposed to lead before that epic damper of a call he received. To her surprise, he spun Alma around and pulled her close. She had suspected they’d just go to bed, not wanting to push anything more on him tonight.

“Fuck, you look sexy in this.” He picked her up effortlessly onto his waist. 

“Do you still want to?” She asked, inspecting his eyes with a hand on his cheek. There was a deep sadness she wished she could take away.

“I do. I need you.”

…

Sinner’s Paradise

The following month, they landed in Sin City. Alma ran around the entire penthouse suite, her laughter echoing as she leaped onto the main bed. It was big and round, covered with a purple crushed velvet duvet with an abundance of similar-colored silk pillows. With a gleeful smile, she noticed the ceiling above the bed was mirrored, her image staring right back at her. After checking the loft space out, Bill descended the curved steps to join her.

“Hurry up!” Alma urged, taking her top off and baring her breasts. 

He laughed with delight, taking his off while making his way to join her. 

Later, they waited around the sitting area impatiently, freshly showered and wearing hotel robes. Alma had taken another pregnancy test, and they were waiting for the results. They had taken one before traveling, which results were negative. This one was only precautionary. She wanted to have some fun while in the desert city but needed to know just how much fun in case. Though she hoped for a miracle, she also hoped this would be her last hurrah before the sober nine months came.

“I’ll check it,” Bill patted her thigh before sitting up. It had to be more than enough time now.

He quickly flipped the test around that lay face down on the bathroom counter. He sighed, disappointed. Negative. He tossed the test in the trash; he would just tell her. When he exited the bathroom, she knew immediately by the look on his face.

“No?” 

“No.” 

“But we–we knew it would be, you know.” 

“Yeah.” He nodded. “Let’s open that champagne now.” 

They arrived in Las Vegas ahead of their guests, who were scheduled to trickle into town the following day. Echo would join them with Yolani and Ulyssa at noon, and though it was hard to leave their daughter behind, they trusted their chosen chaperones. Having two caregivers eased some of their nerves, even for Bill, who had always struggled with leaving her behind in the past. However, he took comfort in knowing that Alma was with her, so this time was different. Soon, they would be separated for much longer on another continent during their honeymoon, so they had to accustom themselves to her absence. 

They did a bit of sightseeing, walking the Fremont strip from end to end in the desert heat, then took a taxi back to the hotel to get ready for their dinner reservations. Bill watched, amused, as Alma hung dresses and other items she had brought into the closet of a spare bedroom. They were all pretty skimpy.

“You do remember your dad is coming too, right? Do you have anything—normal?” 

Alma turned to him and cracked a smile. "Yeah, yeah. Imagine if he saw me in this, though?" she chuckled, holding a corset top against her torso before hanging it up. "Or this," she added, pulling out the white bachelorette two-piece party dress. The tight skirt was made of sheer layers of fabric.

“I think he’d be upset with you and me. But are you wearing a bra with that?” He furrowed his brows. 

She flashed him a look of annoyance. “Bill. No.” 

“I don’t care how you wear it, but… I’m not going to be with you. It’s Vegas, Alma.” 

“What are you trying to say? That I’ll look like an escort?” He didn’t answer; instead, he continued tying the thin laces of his dress shoes. “Give me a break. I’m wearing the Versace Bondage dress you gifted me tonight. What the hell do you think people will think of you walking around with me in it?” 

He flashed his cheeky, dimple smile at her. “That I’m the luckiest man in the world.” 

Alma blushed, but then rolled her eyes when he chuckled smugly, knowing she expected him to give a more unsavory smart-ass reply.

After dinner, they found themselves on the casino floor of their hotel. Bill strolled her around, showing off how stunning she looked before they settled at the slot machines. He handed a fifty-dollar bill to a waitress, who left them drinks as they tried to hit big on a promising machine. Alma sat in his lap in a very relaxed manner, his hand resting between her thighs while he smoked a cigarillo. Together, they watched as the hundred-dollar bet in the machine slowly increased in small increments.

“Quit nickel and dime’ing it,” he said. “Just hit it.” He slapped the max bet button and met her annoyed glance. Suddenly, the machine began flashing lights and sounding out; they had won ten free spins. “See!” He kissed her shoulder.

They watched the machine spin for them, and it hit several times, bumping their overall total to closer to five hundred dollars. Alma hit the cash-out button and then took a big swig of her drink before standing up. 

“Let's go to the lounge now! I’ll buy!” 

They found themselves in a lounge bar, The Daisy, which had an art deco speakeasy atmosphere. They were there for a while, drinking and enjoying each other's company while a live jazz band played. It was a rarity they were ever really completely alone, and they found it quite nice. They discussed their honeymoon destination while a novelty dry ice drink fogged and bubbled before them. Excited about finally utilizing their money for a relaxing trip for once.

“You know it’ll be so much prettier than the pictures in the travel brochure. I’m excited about all the pasta.” And she really meant that, tired of the salads and carb’ restriction these past months. “We’re going to gain like 10 pounds.” She giggled. 

“I want to take a boat around. I saw that they rent them out there.” Alma side-eyed him playfully. “I wouldn’t go out so far we couldn’t see the shore. I don’t want to be that responsible.”

When they stood up from the round booth they had occupied, the liquor smacked them. Being experts, they composed themselves enough and went on to their scheduled nighttime limo ride to see the city and all its neon lights and glittering bulbs on the strip. It was lit up like a debaucherous, adult arcade slash circus.

Bill took photos of Alma, seated in the back of the limo with her smooth legs out, holding a glass of champagne. He passed his sunglasses to her to wear on the end of her button nose for the next few snapshots. The drinks kept flowing in the limo, and their behavior loosened even more. They made out, forgetting the city for a while. Then, as more champagne was being poured, Alma found herself out of the sunroof and then suddenly ducked back in when she felt him bury his head between her thighs. The action caused her to fall back on a seat, giggling with him. She playfully chastised him before going back through the sunroof and made room for him to squeeze through with her. Once he joined her, they kissed while the desert air blew their hair back, and then they cheered elated out to the packed pedestrian-filled strip, and they—being just as drunk—cheered back. 

The next morning, they struggled to wake up. The events after the limo, it was a bit of a blur, but there was evidence that they had gone back to the lounge to drink, as there was an ornate goblet in their room. Obviously, Alma had walked out with it, effectively stealing it. 

Bill was lying bare in bed beside Alma, while she only wore a pair of panties. They weren’t certain if they had sex, but there was an implication that they had attempted to at the very least. Bill’s lips were a bit sore as if Alma bit them while making out, which told them that’s all they did before passing out. There was no way he could have gotten it up with the hangover he was feeling. He wasn’t a hero; after a certain amount of drinks, it simply wasn’t going to happen.

“Shit,” Alma groaned, still feeling a lingering buzz. 

“What time is it?” Bill muttered into his pillow.

“I don’t know. Nine?” She said, stumbling her way to the bathroom. “Shit!” When she had pulled her panties down, they were spotted with blood.

“You okay?” He muttered from the bed, and when she told him she was, he closed his eyes.

She showered quickly, returned to his bedside in a robe, and began dialing Bianca. She was bringing her wedding dress from New York, but she also had tricks to combat an unwanted period. She and all the dancers usually had something up their sleeves when their time of the month became inconvenient for work. Luckily, she caught her just before she left for the airport. 

Bianca quickly listed the things she’d need. “Ibuprofen first. And if it starts for real, take vitamin C. That’ll kill it quicker. Uhm, and you know,” she said, hushed since her sons were close in wait. “You could use sponges.” But her sons overheard and shared a look of disgust. 

Alma’s face shared the same expression, miles away. “Ew, I’m not worried about that. I’m worried about my dress and dealing with this shit on top of that.” 

“Worried about what?” Bill muttered as he lay there with his eyes closed, half listening. 

“Ah, yeah. I understand. It’s gorgeous, by the way. The tailoring is perfect! I’ll take real good care of it while we travel.” 

“I’m worried it won’t fit. I haven’t tried it on since February.” 

“It will, honey. Don’t worry. I’ll see you soon!” 

“Okay. Safe travels.” 

“Worried about what?” Bill reiterated. 

“I started my period.” 

“For fuck's sake!” He grumbled.

If he hadn’t had his forearm draped across his eyes to block the searing sun shining through the decorative curtains, he’d have seen that she flipped him off. Instead, she pinched his nipple, and he sucked in air between his barred teeth while he rubbed the soreness away. 

He begrudgingly rose from the bed and sat on the edge with the sheet across his lap, scratching his head. He watched Alma dialing on the phone and put the receiver to her ear. 

“Go shower; you’ll feel better.” 

He studied her for a moment, sure he had upset her by misspeaking, but she seemed too preoccupied with the phone to react. She was worried about Echo and had called down to the front desk to check if any messages had come in while they were knocked out. There were two, both from just over an hour ago. One was from Yolani, informing her that they were at the gate, waiting to board, and the other was from her father, letting her know he'd arrived at his layover in Denver. They would converge in proximal time to the city.

Bill and Alma cuddled on the couch, watching the local news in the sunken sitting room, trying to nurse a hangover and get rid of a period. They were dressed, waiting around for their daughter, when Alma suggested that maybe they could wait in the lobby. Bill understood she was anxious, as was he, but he suggested that they wait there instead. Give their three-year-old a little independence and put some real trust in their friends, who so kindly took on caring and traveling with her.

There was a knock on the door, and Bill was the first one up to answer. He had been concealing his own anxiousness. As soon as he opened the door, Echo darted past his legs and straight into her mother's expectant arms. 

“Hey, baby!” Alma hugged her daughter tightly, while Bill thanked Yolani and Ulyssa as they came inside. “Was she good? You can be honest.”

Yolani lightly laughed. “Of course, she was good! We did some coloring sheets, and she took a nap.” 

“For real?” Bill asked because she seemed to hate sleeping on a plane. 

“Yeah!” Ulyssa co-signed. “She even got herself comfortable and everything. This room is nice!” She said, scanning the large suite. 

“Would you two like to take a look around?” Bill asked.

“Uhm, well, we kind of want to put our things up,” Yolani said, pointing at their luggage with her thumb by the door behind them. 

“Yeah, go ahead,” he said, walking them out and grabbing the luggage they had packed for Echo at home. 

“We’re probably going to check the strip out right after, so…” Ulyssa said while turning to her friend.

Alma smiled. “Yeah, have fun!” 

They left, but they could hear the sisters giddily laughing as they jogged down the corridor to their room a few floors down, which Bill had paid for. 

Soon, Alma’s father arrived with his wife Connie, and they all went to have lunch. Alma, of course, dressed appropriately in his presence, but he noticed both of them wore dark-tinted sunglasses and were drinking down their glasses of water washing down their greasy burgers. Antonio was looking at his granddaughter between them, eating fries with ketchup, which she licked off before eating, but was happy to see that she wore the basket earrings he had gifted. He learned they had taken her to get them pierced at a parlor after hours. A professional Ulyssa knew agreed to do it for a favor—free entry to any show she pleased. 

Antonio and Connie would care for Echo while his daughter and Bill enjoyed their respective bachelor and bachelorette parties that evening. After lunch, the elders were very much looking forward to relaxing a little and hitting the slots before duty. 

They wrapped up lunch and began walking back to the hotel room wing. Alma walked ahead, speaking amiably in Spanish with Connie, pointing at slot machines that seemed lucky. Bill held onto Echo and kept pace with Antonio as he walked with his cane. 

“What are you doing tonight?” Antonio asked, trying to create some small talk with his son-in-law. 

“For real?” Bill peered down at him. “Well, we're going to a luchador wrestling match and hitting up a high roller casino afterward. Then both our parties will converge to hang out.” 

“Lucha libre, huh? Hmm, I saw a few of those a long time ago in South Texas.” 

“Yeah? It’ll be my first time. I was hoping there would be a real boxing match to catch, but no.” 

“Your gentleman friends didn’t want to go to a gentlemen's club?” He ticked a bushy salt and pepper brow at him.

Bill cracked a smile. “Nah, it’s a bit redundant, don’t you think?” 

Antonio chuckled. “I suppose. Uhm,” he cleared his throat. “I heard about your—” 

“Oh yeah,” Bill interjected quickly, not wanting to hear any condolences for his father. “It’s fine. Thanks.” 

“Right. I get it. Uh, my father wasn’t good to me either.” He revealed, much to Bill’s surprise. “But, uhm, you know you’re marrying my daughter, so in that sense… for what it’s worth, right?” 

Bill nodded appreciatively, understanding what Antonio was trying to convey. He could tell Antonio was putting his pride aside to let him know that he saw him as a son and accepted him. However, in Bill’s cynical mind, he couldn’t help but wonder if the old man was simply settling. Perhaps Antonio, aware of his mortality, recognized that Bill was the only family Alma would have left.

…

Bianca arrived after, as well as others who were going to rooms and relaxing before joining in on the late-night festivities. Bill answered the door for her, and she told him to close his eyes, even if the dress was concealed in a white garment bag. Though he did notice there wasn’t much heft to it. Eventually, he was unceremoniously kicked out of the room, which he didn’t mind; he’d just find where Theo was.

Alma was before Bianca in two pieces of layered shapewear, while she carefully helped her step into the white dress. Echo was sitting on the bed, curiously watching on. After adjusting how the dress lay on her body, Bianca slowly zipped a short zipper at the hip. Alma sighed in relief that the dress fit perfectly.

“Oh my god! It looks better than the last fitting you had!” Bianca beamed. “And with the veil! You’re gonna look like a dream, baby!”

“Thank fuck. I literally just had the biggest burger I’ve ever had in my life for lunch. But fuck was it nice to eat that burger,” she giggled 

Bianca laughed. “Bill mentioned on the phone that you’d be out in the sauna twice a day.” 

“Not that much.” It was an exaggeration, but she was in it often, as well as running the treadmill in the evenings in their small gym in the basement. She tried working out with Bill, but after two days of it, she quit and stuck to the regime she created for herself. He wasn’t a great workout partner, as their fitness goals were completely different. 

“What do you think, Echo? Is it pretty?” Alma asked, turning toward her.

She gasped, placing her hand over her mouth dramatically. “Pretty Mama!” She giggled bashfully. 

“You love it?” 

“I love it!” She squealed. 

“You could wear this with just one shapewear, Alma,” Bianca said, pulling out the train to smooth out the fabric. “The alteration they made to it snatches you just right.”

Bianca carefully helped Alma out of the dress now that her worries had vanished. Alma took her on a little tour of the penthouse until they plopped down on the couch together after making themselves a cocktail. 

Bianca took a large sip of her drink and let out a loud, satisfied sigh. “You doing better since you called me?” 

“Eh, it’s a lighter flow. So that's something.” 

“Why…” she paused to sit up a little. “You know you don’t have to take the placebos in the birth control pack, right?” 

Alma rolled her eyes as she stated the obvious. “Yeah, B’. I know.” She looked at her daughter, guiding a hot-wheel truck along the marble floor. “We’re trying to have another baby.” She said it in a hushed tone. 

Bianca’s eyes widened. “Oh my god! That’s so great, Alma!” 

“It hasn’t happened, obviously. And not the month before or the month before that one.” She said hopelessly, crossing her arms.

“Don’t stress—don’t stress!” She gestured with her palm out. “It’ll happen. Since when, the beginning of the year?” 

“Since December.” 

“Christ.” Bianca rolled her eyes and slouched down on the cushion again. “Give yourself some grace, honey.” 

“Yeah, but you don’t see how disappointed Bill looks every time the tests come out negative. He’s so good at concealing his emotions, but never then?! He looks like someone kicked his fucking dog!” 

Bianca laughed. “That man is fucking ridiculous sometimes. He wants to mope when he’s getting unlimited pussy?” Alma laughed then. “Don’t worry about him, either, babe. Just keep doing what you do. Keep your legs up for a while after, or something, but it’ll happen.” She rubbed Alma’s shoulder. “Now. I gotta get ready for tonight, and so do you!” 

…

When Bill returned, he clapped his hands together and announced that everyone should take a nap. He and Alma were still combating their hangover from last night, and they had to go and do it all again. They took some Pepto-Bismol, an OTC pain reliever, and while lying in bed, he was trying to ask Echo what Alma’s wedding dress looked like. 

“Tell him it’s a secret,” Alma said, tapping the side of her pointer finger to her lips. 

“It’s secwet!” She snickered. 

“But we’re not supposed to have secrets, E’,” he said, kissing her cheek, before wrapping his arms around her tightly. “Is it at least white? 

Echo looked up at her mother while resting her head comfortably on her father's chest, her hazel eyes seeking permission to spill. “Mhmm and pretty!” she said, sharing all she was allowed to reveal.

After their much-needed nap, Bill was dressed in a black Prada button-down he layered a blazer over and was helping Echo put on her shoes. He was taking her down to Antonio’s room to save Alma from doing so in the outfit she was currently wearing. It was skimpy, and the chiffon fabric revealed the cheeky white panties underneath, but he appreciated that the top—while thin—was at least opaque. Alma was slipping on her heels, which featured fluffy feather details on the toe straps.

“I’ll see you later,” he said, leaning down to kiss her. His hand ran across her thigh and reached around to grip her butt cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” And then she said goodbye to her daughter, who was in his arms. “I’ll see you later.��� 

“Remember,” he peered down at her before slipping on his sunglasses. “What happens in Vegas—” 

“Stays in Vegas—yeah, yeah,” she chuckled.

“Watch out with who you talk to tonight!” He playfully warned before closing the door.

“Watch out, mommy!” Echo parroted.

…

Alma’s bachelorette party found themselves in a high-rise VIP section above the dance floor of a large warehouse-style dance club. Lights of all kinds flashed and swept around them. They were sitting down, taking a break from the dance floor, and having more drinks served by smartly dressed personal waiters.

Bianca returned from the bathrooms with Queenie, both of them sniffing and rubbing their noses. Alma glanced at them knowingly. She knew what they went to do, but didn’t like how she wasn’t privy. She wondered about Bill then until Ulyssa nudged her excitedly when the DJ dropped a good hit. She tapped glasses with her, which created a domino effect of tapping glasses, and the women cheered excitedly. 

The drinks were flowing so heavily that Yolani was finally convinced to hit the dance floor by Ash. Yolani typically liked to dance, but the floor was so packed with mashed bodies that it was a bit daunting. Ulyssa excitedly followed suit, bringing Jennifer along. Which left Alma with Bianca and Queenie in their section. 

“So?” Alma turned to them knowingly.

Bianca rolled her eyes. “It’s Vegas, babe.”

“Yes. But why leave me out? And where did it come from?” 

Queenie scratched her head uncomfortably and sat back, sipping on her drink, to let Bianca explain and distance herself from potential drama. 

“That fucker.” Bianca muttered, shaking her head. This wasn’t her responsibility; it should have been the man she was set to marry who explained. “We didn’t mean to leave you out on purpose! Bill and I know the owner of one of the strip clubs here. It's a courtesy for people like him and me to check in.”

“Yeah. Like Atlantic City.” Alma said knowing Bill has had to call in there before. Alma always felt it to be a bit dramatic; it felt like politics that should belong in cartoonish mob movies only. 

“Exactly. Anyway, we’re good with the guy. And well, he knows Bill is here to get married, and so he threw in some party favors. Theo picked up.” 

Alma consumed the rest of her drink and picked up another she had in wait. 

“Well,” she sighed. “I don’t know why Bill didn’t say anything to me?” 

“Maybe… he forgot?” Queenie shrugged. 

“Really?” Alma tilted her head doubtfully. “Fuck it. Pass me the bag, I’m going to the bathroom.” 

Alma stepped out of that stall with more vigor and liveliness than she’s had in such a long time. A very long time. To say she didn’t miss it would be a lie. In fact, there were times out with friends from Seattle where she almost suggested they score somewhere to have an even better time than they were already having, but they just preferred their weed. After all, it was cheaper. Ulyssa, who wasn’t so shy about dabbling, didn’t prefer it, so for years until now she was SOL. 

While Alma danced her way through the dance floor to get back to the VIP section, she encountered her old friend, who had been running late. 

“Carla!” She hollered, waving a hand in the air. “Over here!” 

“Oh my god!” She hollered, carefully running over in her modest heels and embracing her old friend. “This is wild!” She was wide-eyed, scoping the scene as gel-colored lights, doing figure eights, swept across them. 

Alma led her to VIP, where Bianca sat talking to a young guy until she dismissed him when they approached. Carla and Bianca were quickly introduced, and the three sat together, speaking. 

“Yes!” Bianca pointed at Carla with a long red fingernail. “I read that one! Alma’s been slowly getting me to read the novels she does! So damn steamy!” She gushed.

Carla laughed. “Alma used to sneak them to me when we were kids! Growing up, I was kept on such a tight leash, but she showed me a different world. I left for Houston after college and met my husband there! He’s a firefighter, a lieutenant, actually.” 

“Kids?” 

“Yeah, four!” 

“Four!” Bianca exclaimed incredulously. “Those books must have taught you a thing or two!” She teased, making Carla bashfully giggle.

“Aw, that’s all you, though, Carla!” Alma smiled, appreciating her previous sentiment towards her.

“Maybe I was a little inspired. But oh my god, Alma! You’re getting married to Bill! He was so in love with you when we were kids, my god!” She playfully rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out. 

“Was that obvious even then? Why the hell couldn’t I see it?” 

“Because you loved him too much to believe it, probably!” 

“Miss Carla,” Bianca let out an exhausted sigh. “You wouldn’t believe how they were when I first met them.” 

“Oh god,” Alma grumbled. “That’s so long ago.” 

“Let’s just say, thank heavens, that’s over. And cheers to them getting married, finally.”

…

The bachelor party had left the Lucha Libre match and headed up several floors of another casino to play with the high rollers. They were all laughing and recalling the absurd wrestling moves they saw. While Bill didn’t have high expectations, he was glad that it was very entertaining for everyone, even him. 

“That table was supposed to break when he landed on it from the ring, and it didn’t!” Scotty laughed. 

“Did you see how he got thrown off, though?” Darby laughed.

“Honestly, it would have killed me!” Scotty replied, which made Bill laugh. 

The men slightly split while on the casino floor, checking out the playing tables to feel out where they felt lucky. Bill rounded a table and met Darby, who motioned for him to follow.

“Hey, uhm, Jenny and I really appreciate the wedding gift from you and Alma. It was incredibly generous. I wanted to give you this myself.” He reached into the inner pocket of his blazer and produced crisp five hundred dollar bills.

“No, no,” Bill said, pushing his hand away. “I mean, thanks, of course, but I can’t take that.” Not only would he not accept it, but he and Alma had explicitly stated on the wedding invitations that gifts were not expected of their guests and that their presence alone was more than enough.

“Dude, it’s no big deal, really. It’s for you.”

“I know, but—it doesn’t feel right taking it, Darb’. I’m your boss. Don’t give your fucking boss money; that’s bullshit.” Darby stood there perplexed for a moment, but he did have a point. Why pay the guy who’s paying him? “I appreciate it. I really do.”

“Right, right.” Darby nodded. “Jenny is going to wonder why I still have it, though.”

“Gamble it.” He raised his brows.

A devious grin spread across his face. “Shit. Yeah, over there,” he nodded his head toward a roulette table.

Theo’s path converged with theirs as they approached the roulette table, where Darby bet all the money.

“Bet on black,” said Bill. 

“Always,” said Theo. 

They watched the ball spin rapidly until it began losing momentum. They anxiously watched the ball in the roulette bump and stutter as it circled the wheel. Indelicately, it landed on black, twenty-four. 

“NO shit!” Darby exclaimed. 

“Is that what you chose?” Theo said in disbelief. 

“Actually, you know, I wouldn’t mind accepting your gift after all.” Bill laughed, patting his shoulder. 

Bill split off again and found his friend Scotty at a blackjack table, coolly smoking a cigarette and checking cards under his palm. 

“I’m going to hop on the next one,” Bill said, sipping on a glass of whiskey he acquired. 

“Hell yeah,” he said, tucking a lock of hair that escaped the tousled slick back style he was sporting back behind his ear. “The table’s hot, brother.” 

…

At the nightclub, the bachelorette party was on the dance floor together. Alma danced behind Ulyssa as a buffer because too many random men kept trying to dance with her, which she didn’t appreciate. Alma experienced the same, but she could handle it better than her friend. Either by dancing away or just looking at them like they were crazy. 

The crowd of bodies swayed them a bit, and they were now underneath the high-rise DJ booth. The beats were thumping, the bass rattling their bodies, and deafeningly loud, but they were too buzzed or high to care. A few couples over, she spotted Bianca dancing between two guys, and she laughed while spinning out of a stranger's grip on her hips. It was when she noticed she was dancing alone, as Ulyssa and Yolani held each other's hands over their heads and danced together. Looking around, she couldn’t spot anyone else from her party, but it was also difficult to tell with the gyrating crowd and electric lights. She swayed her body through a group of people wielding glow sticks and decided maybe it was time for a break. Dancing through the crowd, she had to squeeze through, making less than savory contact with others. It was just unavoidable. She felt a hand on her hip, which she brushed away and continued.

A loud puff sounded from the synthetic fog cannons, which made people pause long enough for her to gain some more paces closer to the VIP booth. Again, she felt a hand on her hip and felt it travel up her waist, seemingly trying to snake high enough to touch her breast. She pulled it away until she felt another hand take a full greedy grab of her ass cheek. Her brows furrowed at the complete audacity. 

“Hey!” She quickly whipped her head back. “Chill the fuck out!” She yelled loudly.

Bill stood there mischievously grinning as he peered down at her. She wasn’t expecting to see him until later. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her under the bouncing green laser lights. They swayed together for a moment to the beat of the music, with his hands rubbing on her bottom. When she turned to lead their way off the dance floor, he held onto her waist to remain flush to feel her bottom bump and rub against his crotch. The DJ switched tracks to a remix of Love My Way by The Psychedelic Furs and Bill followed the sways of her hips as she danced them off the floor. 

He closed his eyes and a memory came to mind of Alma in a bare-wall New York City apartment they lived in. Wearing a tight tank top and panties with slouchy socks, and a cigarette between her fingers, dancing to the same song in front of the record player. Just enjoying the melody and the moment while he watched contently. 

“What are you doing here?” She asked as they ascended the stairs to the VIP booth. 

“Where the fuck did you get this cowboy hat?” He asked, plucking it off her head and placing it on his.

Quickly, he ordered drinks and sat down next to Alma, admiring her frosty white eyeshadow under the club lights. Now that he wasn’t standing, she took the opportunity to take the hat back while throwing her legs over his lap. 

“Where’d you get that?” He asked again, rubbing his nose. 

“Some old cowboy.” 

“Let me see it again.” He motioned for it. He checked inside the hat for the brand, noticing how well-crafted it was. “Alma…” he peered at her knowingly. “Did you steal this?” He laughed. 

She laughed, taking it back to put it on her head like a crown. “Who said I stole it?” 

“That’s fucking expensive!” He laughed harder. 

“What are you doing here?” She asked again once they settled their laughter a bit.

“Ah, well—some of us weren’t doing too hot, so we bailed.” He winked, taking their drinks from a waiter. 

“How much?” 

“Hmm?” He hummed, sipping his whiskey. 

“How much did you lose?” 

He tutted with offense. “I won some. Started losing it, so I had to call it.” 

“Sure,” Alma smirked. 

He reached over to touch the bridal sash, emblazoned with cursive text on it that said, Bride To Be. The bachelorette party bestowed it upon her before they took the night. He smiled just before kissing her fruity cocktail-tasting lips. 

The wedding party all trickled back to the VIP booth and unanimously decided that they would head back to the hotel to decompress while enjoying a nightcap together, where they were originally supposed to reconvene. 

“I’ll see you back in the room,” Bill said, wrapping his arms around to lift her off her feet for a kiss. “Don’t steal any more shit!” He laughed. 

The girls left together after gathering their personal effects. Unfortunately, they still had to walk to their limo, which felt like an eternity on sore, raw, blistering feet. 

“Shit,” Carla hissed. “I gotta pee so bad!” 

Alma looked at her friend and told the rest to go on, while she accompanied Carla to the nearest toilet they could find. Bianca had discreetly slipped a baggie into her palm in passing, and off they went.

“Sorry,” Carla said once they entered a bathroom inside a cocktail lounge. “You have so many kids, you can’t hold it anymore! My feet kill too.” 

“Mine too. Are you having fun?” 

“Oh my god! Yeah! I was so excited to come because you’ve always known how to have fun!” She laughed while entering a stall, while Alma took the next available a few stalls down. 

While given the opportunity, she took a few bumps mounted inside an acrylic French almond nail on her pinky, snorting them between toilet flushes. Initially, she lightly groaned at the sting of it before it turned into a moan of satisfaction when she felt its effect. They left the bathroom, trying to hustle out the establishment before they were badgered by bartenders. Only paying customers could use the bathrooms, but Alma lied, saying they would order once they got out.

Alma gently pulled Carla’s hand, urging her to pick up the pace. An older, well-dressed gentleman held the door open for a brunette with chunky highlights, letting her through before stepping aside to let the two women exit. Alma squinted in recognition, unsure at first, until the woman, who had been smiling brightly, suddenly turned her head towards Alma. Her expression fell, replaced by a look of absolute disgust and contempt.

“You’re fucking kidding me?!”

“Fuck!” Alma said with wide eyes full of disbelief as her blood ran cold. 

“Oh yeah,” Blondie, who was no longer blonde, nodded her head. “Bet you thought you’d never see me again, did you, you fucking cunt!?” 

“Hey!” Carla said, appalled. “What’s your problem?” 

“It’s okay, Carla,” Alma said, putting her hand up to back her away.

“Oh, Carla,” Blondie mocked with a pout. “Do you know how much of a fucking bitch your friend is?” She glanced at the bridal sash she was wearing with a look of disgust. “You’re marrying him, aren't you? Aww, he finally chose you.” she mocked. “Jesus fucking Christ.” She sneered, her disdain palpable. 

“Blondie—”

“Shut the fuck up! Hope you two both rot in hell!” She spat on the ground between them and took the gentleman’s arm, who was just as shocked and confused about her sudden outburst. “Tell Bill—that small cock motherfucker—that he can go fuck himself!” 

Alma stood there, biting her tongue so hard she could taste blood. She was seething with the urge to yell at her back, but at the same time, it felt deserved. What could she say to a woman she had presumed dead for years now? That was all she could deduce, considering she was an accomplice to her boyfriend Craig's murder. While there was faint relief in knowing she was still breathing, the fact that she was responsible for Blondie’s life as an escort in Vegas left a bitter taste. She was a cunt, once upon a time. 

“Alma, what the hell was that?” Carla asked when they swiftly exited the lounge.

“Uhm,” she thickly swallowed the acrid cocaine drip. “It’s nothing, Carla.” She sighed. 

“Did Bill date her or something? She’s nuts!” 

Alma’s eyes cut at her friend. “Yeah…” she rolled her eyes. “They sorta dated.” She wanted to spit on the ground herself, stating that. “She’s always been fucking crazy.” 

“Well, it’s nothing, right?” she asked, noticing her friend's discomfort.

“This was a long time ago.” 

“Mm, okay. I just can’t believe she called you the C-word, I could never.” Carla shook her head in disbelief. 

“Cunt?” Alma giggled incredulously. “Could this stay between us? If-if Bianca hears about this, she’ll personally kick her ass so…” 

“Oh yeah. Yeah, I won’t say a word. Not even to Bill, I’m your friend first.” 

“Ah, thanks.” Alma smiled, putting an arm around her friend's shoulders. “But don’t worry, I’ll tell him myself.” 

…

In the suite, the men were all bantering, sipping on glasses of whiskey. Bill lit a cigarette and comfortably slouched on the couch while he watched Darby take a key bump from a baggie covered in red puckered lip prints. 

“Next?” He asked, holding the bag and a key out to him.

“Nah, I’m okay, for now.” He glanced at the hotel door, anxiously waiting for his fiancée and wondering if she and the girls would come like they said they would. “Remember to put it up before the girls get here.” 

“Oh, I will.” Darby raised his brows. “Jenny’s not into this shit.” He chuckled.

The girls all arrived at the penthouse suite shortly, kicking their heels off sore feet by the door, and went on to the ensuite bar, where Queenie began to pour shots of tequila. Alma lagged behind a bit, and Bill noticed how she was dragging her feet to join them. 

“Everything alright?” He peered down at her. 

“I need to talk to you.” She whispered, peering up at him with a serious look on her face. 

Fuck, he thought. He licked his lips, rubbing his palms on the sides of his trousers as he looked at everyone preoccupied and chatting at their nightcap party. 

He took a deep breath. “Okay, come.” He nudged his head towards the spare room, where they could close the door and have some privacy. She tossed the cowboy hat off on the bed rather harshly, which didn’t ease him for what was to come. He gently closed the door behind him and prepared himself. “Okay. I should have told you.” 

“What?” 

“I mean, I kind of tried with the—what happens in Vegas bullshit, you know. But I should have been more upfront.” 

Alma rolled her eyes. “I don’t give a fuck about the coke.” 

“Oh?” He said, taken aback. “So?” 

“I saw Blondie.” He stood before her with an incomprehensible expression. “Veronica.” 

“Yeah! Yeah, I know who you’re talking about, A’. But what the fuck?!” he said in disbelief. “I thought—well, I mean no, I guess that makes sense…” he pensively rubbed his forehead with his fingers.

“They trafficked her…” She said he had told her his theories on what could have happened to her during a late night hanging out in their private sitting room. They were the cause of her disappearance, but they didn’t know what depraved act the Russo's committed to make that happen. 

Bill frowned. “Mhmm. But Alma, we couldn’t have known that. Don’t take that shit to heart, love. At-At least she is not, you know.” He uncomfortably scratched his head, looking away in thought. 

While he used the word “we,” it was really Alma who had asked him to get rid of her. She wasn’t well at the time—they were both strung out on coke and whatever else they could get their hands on. However, he did listen to her, so he wasn’t completely without fault. What happened with Craig was definitive, but they always silently wondered if that wasn’t their only body. 

“Right, sure.” She frowned. 

“Fuck. Did she say anything to you? Did Bianca see her?” 

“No. Just Carla. But uhm, she wasn’t happy to see me, obviously. You can imagine what she said.” 

“What did she say?” He placed his hands on his hips, demanding to know.

“You’ll just get pissed off.” 

“Just tell me.” 

Alma sighed, rolling her eyes. “She said that you can go fuck yourself,” Bill dismissively shrugged at the insult. “And that we can both rot in hell.” She recounted matter of fact. “That you had a small dick.” 

“That fucking liar!” he scoffed.

“And called me a cunt!” 

“What the fuck? She called you a—that?!” His nostrils flared, getting angry like she knew he would. 

“Well, Bill, I mean, could you blame her?” She shrugged. 

“Yes.” 

“That’s not the point. But yeah. Just wanted you to know.” 

“Are you okay?” He asked carefully. “I mean, that sucks that you ran into her.”  

“Yeah…” She rubbed her forehead, feeling her irritation rising. “What a fucking bitch! A cunt!” Finally, she let out the frustration she’d been holding in. “She of all people has to show up during my bachelorette party? And that’s your fucking mess! Not mine!” She inhaled deeply, then began giggling incredulously. “Okay. Yeah. I’m better now.”

“You didn’t say shit to her when you saw her?” He tilted his head with surprise. Alma shook her head. “Well. A first for everything, then.” He rubbed his nose and sniffled. 

“You should have told me about the situation,” she said now, referencing how he acquired cocaine. 

“Yeah… but that’s technically my mess,” he lightly joked. “I figured if Bianca kinda brought it around you instead of me then…” 

“You thought I’d get mad?” 

“I don’t know—Yeah, a little. I wasn’t sure. I guess I should have said something.” The cocaine was causing him to ramble.

“Just this time. It stays in Vegas, right?” 

“Yeah! Of course. You’ve done some?” Alma nodded. “Want to do some more?” 

He cut two fat lines on the sink counter in the adjoining bathroom, while she quickly changed her tampon on the toilet nearby. He passed her a rolled one hundred dollar bill and held her curled hair back for her to snort half a line in one nostril and the last half in the other. Bill repeated the action and picked up residue on the pad of his middle finger to rub on his gums. They could feel their hearts thumping in their chests and relished in the hit of pure energy coursing through them. 

“God damn,” Alma gasped, pinching her nose.

With two fingers under her chin, he tilted her head back, checking to see if she had any visible residue on her button nose. Suddenly, his knee pushed between hers, locking her in place against the sink counter when their lips met. While they made out, Alma could feel her lips and tongue going numb in some places. He kissed down her salty neck, and she watched him do so while peering in the mirror behind her. It had been years since they had done this together, and they’d be fooling themselves by denying how much they liked it. Not to mention how sexy it made them feel. 

They settled themselves as best they could from their sudden impassioned impulsivity. When they emerged from the room to join the party, they didn’t bother to apologize or explain why they stowed away. No one dared even to ask; they just continued as if their presence hadn’t been missed at all. 

While floating around the party, Alma ran into different conversations. One was between Ulyssa and Scotty when she was replenishing her mixed drink. Ulyssa had earned her degree, but her career field pivoted. She was working for a small label searching for talent. A job she enjoyed because she was able to travel to a lot of popular music hubs in the nation. Up until a few weeks ago, she was in Atlanta.

“Yeah, a guy from your label came to us,” Scotty said. The band he managed was recently signed, so he was still on a high note from the success of it. “But you know, Atlantic seemed like the way to go.” 

“More money,” Ulyssa lightly giggled. 

“Oh!” He raised his brows. “Callin’ us sellouts?” 

“I mean,” she shrugged playfully. “I’m just kidding, I get it! That’s fucking awesome!” 

“Hey!?” Ash suddenly exclaimed. “Where the fuck is Matt?” 

Darby’s head peered down from the loft. “Fucker missed his flight!” He laughed. 

Ash facepalmed at the news. “Not surprising.”

Bill had always wondered if Ash and Matt had something going on, but as he got to know them, it became clear that their relationship was strictly platonic—they behaved more like siblings. Matt was really everyone's dopey little brother. Darby came down the stairs with Jenny on his arm.

“He’ll be here sometime tomorrow,” Darby informed. “He’ll miss breakfast, though. But uhm, I’m taking Jenny to bed, but I’ll be back.” He winked. 

“I think…” Carla spoke up where she sat next to Alma on the couch. “I’ll head out too. I gotta find my husband; he’s been on the slots too long for my liking.” She lightly giggled. “It was good to see you, Billy.” She leaned forward to say as he sat on the other side of her friend. He smiled appreciatively at her until Scotty butted in. 

“It was good to see you too, Carla.” He winked while chewing on a toothpick and leaning forward on a table. 

“You know,” she pointed at him. “I remember you.” 

“You do?” He straightened up, intrigued. 

“Yeah. Still obnoxious.” She teased.

“You sure about leaving? I’d like it if you stayed and talked to me like that some more.” 

Bill pinched the bridge and tried to stifle his laughter. “Shut up—she’s married, dude. Goodnight, Carla.” He said with a nod.

“Oh shit. I’m sorry I didn’t know,” Scotty said apologetically to her. “I’m a dog, but not that kind of dog.” 

“Whatever,” Carla playfully rolled her eyes. “I’ll see you at breakfast,” she winked. 

She kissed Alma goodbye on the cheek and joined Darby and Jenny who offered to walk her out. They weren’t the first to leave, though. Yolani had already excused herself after two drinks. Bill and Alma barely caught her goodbye as they left the room. Yolani wasn’t one for long parties. If it were up to her, she would have gone to her room right after the nightclub. As a nurse, she cherished downtime and sleep.

Alma remained seated next to Bill in the sunken living area. Since the squares left, they felt more free to openly chop lines on a coffee table photobook about desert flora. Bianca took on the task of dividing lines neatly and evenly.

“Where the hell did you say they went?” Bianca asked Bill as he sipped his drink. 

“I don’t know.” 

“They went to the match with us and then said they were going to walk the strip,” Scotty spoke up for his friend.

“Hmm.” She was worried about her sons. “There is not much for Gian to do, though.” She wondered out loud. 

Bill and Scotty shared a knowing look and smirked while Bianca was occupied. Gian showed them his fake ID. They guffawed loudly when the fake claimed that this Brooklyn boy was from the cornfields of Iowa and that he was twenty-five. He didn’t look like a teen boy very much anymore, but he didn’t look twenty-five at all. Giancarlo claimed his mustache helped him look older, but the men laughed again because it wasn’t all too impressive. 

“Ah, we’re just messing, G’.” Bill digressed when he saw his young friend's face fall. 

“We believe in you tonight, buddy!” Scotty said, patting him on the shoulder. 

Typically, Bill would report Giancarlo’s indiscretions to Bianca on principle, but he was a young man now. Mommy didn’t need to know everything. 

“They said they’d meet back here, so,” Bill gestured to her, working the lines on the book. 

“I’m done, punk!” She said to his impatience before doing a line and passing the book around. 

She chopped up lines for everyone there, but only Ulyssa declined. However, she did consider it when Theo unknowingly passed the book to her. While they were chatting, a heavy rap on the door made every one pause. 

“I’ll check it out,” Theo said, straightening his back and broadening his shoulders. 

Bill quickly palmed the coke bag and the rolled-up bill lying on the coffee table. Darby walked in; he changed out of his button-down into a plain white tee. 

“Christ!” he exclaimed, pointing an accusatory finger at them. “You should see the paranoid look in your eyes right now!” 

They all laughed and continued on with the party. Heavily chatting and laughing, with some light karaoke between Ulyssa and Ash. Queenie poured heavier drinks, and Alma cut more lines with a cigarette pressed between her lips. Theo requested a ballad to sing, which surprised the friends who knew him well, as he was fairly introverted and reserved. When he began singing in a smooth baritone, it gave everyone pause, captivated by how effortlessly he nailed every note of the song. When he finished, he was met with their shocked, silent stares. 

“Sheesh, if it was bad, just say that.” He dismissively swatted a hand at them. 

“Theodore!” Bianca exclaimed. 

“Where the fuck did that come from?” Bill said in disbelief. 

“Okay, okay,” Theo bashfully rebuffed. “Once upon a time… I used to be a choir boy.” He shrugged.

“That was incredible!” Ulyssa said, clapping her hands, which prompted the party to follow suit, as it was more than well deserved.

When the boys inevitably arrived, "Shimmy Shimmy Ya" by Ol’ Dirty Bastard was playing on the stereo, and it felt as though they had missed out on something based on how everyone was acting. Their safe arrival, however, only marked the end of the party. People began to trickle out one by one. Bianca and the boys were the last to leave, and Alma's eyes grew heavy, having gone without any substances to keep her going. 

After seeing Bianca and her boys out, Bill stumbled his way to bed. Scotty kept pointing out the “fuck mirror” above the bed, laughing to himself every time. Bill disrobed down to his boxer briefs as he made his way there. His shirt had been half unbuttoned through the night when undoing the rest before tossing it toward the living area. When it landed, he heard a faint whine from the direction it had fallen, prompting him to turn his head. He didn’t notice anything at first, but after taking a few more steps, he saw a foot with metallic blue painted toenails peeking out from behind the couch.

“The fuck?” He said, slowly approaching, and there lay Ulyssa, passed out with his shirt concealing half her face between couches. 

She was breathing fine, but he nudged her foot with his in case, and she recoiled from his touch. 

“What?” Alma muttered against her pillow when she heard him lightly laughing. 

“‘Lyssa is fucking passed out over here,” he said, scratching his lower belly. 

“I thought she left?” She asked, sitting up. 

To have better access, he began pushing the couch away from her. “Well, she has a twin who left way before,” he stated sarcastically. “If she did some blow, she wouldn’t be like this right now.” This was true; she was going drink for drink with people so high they weren’t feeling the effects of it. 

“That’s how I want to be right now.” 

She watched as Bill pulled her by the ankles, but he paused when he noticed her skirt riding up too far, revealing the bottom end of a red dragon tail tattoo on the side of her thigh. He could only assume the rest of the image continued up the side of her torso. Instead, he pulled her up by the wrists, sitting her up slightly to wrap an arm around her, and lifted her into his arms, carrying her to the spare room to lay her down for the night. When he returned to bed, Bill checked the digital clock before lying down—4:12 AM. He groaned, shaking his head before nuzzling it into Alma’s chest, only covered by a shirt.

…

When they woke up, just barely in time, their heads were pounding, and the after-party anxiety began to set in. Alma shuffled to the spare room to check on Ulyssa, but the bed was empty. All that remained was a note saying she’d meet them at breakfast. 

They sluggishly made it to their reservation, where Antonio and Connie were already sipping coffee, with Echo sitting between them in a bubbly mood scribbling on a paper children's menu with a waxy purple crayon. When she spotted her parents, she let out a joyful screech. While they were delighted to see her, the sound was piercing, ricocheting in their skulls.

“Just you two?” Antonio smirked, setting his mug down.

“Uhm, probably,” Alma adjusted her sunglasses on her stuffy nose and then sighed. “How was Echo?” 

“Good.” He said, looking down at her with a smile on his face. “She really likes to dance, doesn’t she?” He said recalling her having him rewind to some needle drop on a children’s movie to listen to over and over. “And your party?”

The couple before him looked so visibly miserable; it was amusing to him, but also he thought they could at least sit up a little. When the waitress poured them a cup of coffee, they both took a sip of the black water without a care for it scorching their tongues. 

“Fun.” Alma nodded; she wasn’t up for many words. 

“Too much fun. Uhm,” he cleared his raspy throat as he scratched his stubbly neck. “I think we’re getting too old to recover like we used to,” Bill chuckled, but there wasn’t any energy behind it. 

Soon the party came to join, but they all looked lethargic at the table. All, except Bianca, dressed with a face of sleek makeup and high hair that would survive a hurricane. This was Antonio’s first time meeting any of them. Finally, faces to names he had only ever heard on the phone before him as they all greeted him respectfully before taking a seat. They had a gaggle of interesting-looking friends, to say the least. 

“I am so sorry,” Ulyssa put a hand to her mouth, embarrassed after everyone put their orders in. “That’s like the second time you’ve had to carry me.” 

“The third,” Bill said, holding three digits up. 

“What?”

“Our housewarming party.” 

“I thought I just passed out in the den by myself.” She was horrified. 

“No. It’s fine. It happens.” He shrugged. 

Yolani cut in to say how much she enjoyed their shared hotel room all by herself last night and thanked him and Alma again for it. People were cross-talking while they enjoyed their food, which was helping everyone soothe their hangovers. 

“I heard you two had a baby?” Bianca asked the Darbys. They had known each other for a long time, but it was nice to finally meet and speak in person, especially with Darby himself.

“Yeah!” Jenny said happily. “She’s seven months now.” 

“It’s our first trip without her. I kind of wish we brought her, but she’s too little, I think. Family is taking care of her and our cat, Garbo.” He chuckled. 

“What’s her name?” 

“Zowie,” Darby and Jennifer said together. 

“So precious!” 

“Thanks,” Darby said before taking a sip of his coffee. “Your sons, uh, are very polite! Bill talks about Giancarlo every now and again. We’re excited for him to come later in the summer to work with us.” 

"Oh, trust me, he’s excited too. Do me a favor. Give him the bullshit grunt work so he doesn’t start getting ideas about moving to Seattle, would you?” She winked.

Echo slid from her seat, under the table, stepping over people's feet to crawl into her father’s lap. He was in the middle of eating his omelet, but he paused to help her up. 

“Hi, GiGi!” Echo lightly snickered at Giancarlo.

“Hi, Miss Echo.” He lightly waved from across the table. 

Bill glanced over towards Bianca, who was now speaking amiably with Antonio and making him chuckle bashfully. “What did you do last night?” 

“Uhm,” he peered over at his preoccupied mother cautiously. “Walked around some. Got into a club,” he whispered with a smirk. “It was fun. Lots of cute girls here,” he said with flushed cheeks.

“Don’t forget to tell Mr. Skarsgård that you yaked in a bush before we came back to the hotel, though.” Lorenzo teasingly nudged his little brother, which he sneered at him before the embarrassment settled in.

“Don’t mix your drinks, you know. Uhm, after we wrap up here, could you stick around? Alma and I wanted to talk to you.” 

“Sure,” Gian nodded. “Of course.” He said with certainty. 

“Okay, cool.” His attention shifted to Echo, who was picking at his omelet, and offered him a bite. He ate from her hand before kissing the top of her head.

…

Alma was holding her daughter as she discussed the plans for the day with her father. She intended to go to the spa to relax and recharge before the big day ahead. The ladies were also invited to join if they wished. Otherwise, it was a free day for everyone to enjoy as they pleased.

“She’s staying with Yolani tonight after our dinner,” she informed her father of Echo’s arrangement. 

“Well, Connie and I will have her while you’re at the spa. We can watch her then too.” 

“Apá, go do something fun for yourself.” 

“That’s fun for me,” he argued. 

Meanwhile, Bill finished smoking a cigarette, stomped it out, and fist-bumped Darby and Scotty before dismissing himself while they discussed gathering a group later to shop the promenade. 

Bill walked through the casino and spotted Giancarlo sitting on a bench by the lounge, sipping on orange juice from a foam to-go cup. He tiredly exhaled loudly, taking a seat next to him. 

“So, pretty girls, huh?” He asked, peering over his sunglasses while slumping in his seat.

Gian lightly laughed. “Yeah! Older too.” 

Bill laughed. “Well, no shit! So what? Blondes? Brunettes? Redheads?”

“I don’t think I’m in a position to be so picky. But—Brunettes.” 

“Good choice.” Bill nodded, resting his finger-laced hands over his waist.

“I got a number last night.”

“Did you?” Bill raised an eyebrow at him. Gian rolled up his shirt sleeve to reveal smudged ink-written digits on his flexed bicep. “Jesus Christ!” Bill laughed. “Well… you’ll have to wait a year to call her, though.”

“Whatever!” Gian laughed.

Suddenly, he felt a tap on his shoulder, causing him to turn his head, only to hear a pleasant, girlish laugh coming from the opposite direction. Alma had faked him out, and he fell for it.

“Did you ask him?” she inquired, looking down at Bill, who was beginning to sit up.

“I was waiting on you,” he replied, wrapping his arm around her waist. “Alma and I wanted to ask if you’d be our ring bearer.”

Gian looked at them with surprise. “For real?” 

“Yeah for real!” Alma giggled. “So would you?” 

“Yeah!” He brightly grinned. “Of course, Miss Alma.” He stood up to hug her, thanking her. While in wait, he was worried that they were going to tell him that his visit to Seattle would no longer be happening. 

“It was always going to be you,” she said, squeezing his hand appreciatively. It still felt strange that she now had to look up at him. Whenever Bill spoke about him, she still pictured a little boy that he no longer was.

“We just wanted to ask you in person.” Bill stood up from his seat. 

“Thank you, Bill,” he put his hand out to shake, but Bill pulled his hand so that they could embrace instead. 

…

“Bianca is quite funny,” Antonio said with a chuckle. “She called me, babe, at breakfast. I don’t think Connie liked that too much.” 

Alma lightly giggled. “That’s just how she talks. Babe, sweetie, honey. I think it rubbed off on Bill a little. If I ever hear him say ‘cosette’, he’s gone too far.”

“Mm. And the guy with the panther tattoo on his neck?” 

“Darby?” 

“Yes, he dresses like I did in the 60s. He’s nice and your friend with the short hair too.” 

“Ulyssa.” 

“Mhmm. She’s Echo’s godmother?” 

“She is. And your friend Bianca, too.” She lightly joked. 

“Echo has two?”

“Yeah. She, uh, Ulyssa was there when Echo was born, but since Bianca and Bill are close, we just agreed that they would both be the godmother. Two is better, no?”

“I think so,” he lightly smiled. “So, you ready for tomorrow?” Antonio asked his daughter, who was shaking dabs of hot sauce into her shrimp cocktail. 

They were at a Mexican restaurant off the strip together. Alma was about seventy-five percent back to normal; a good night's rest was needed to get to one hundred percent. After lunch, she and Bill enjoyed a couple’s massage before splitting up to separate spa areas, each enjoying some time to themselves. Bianca, Ulyssa, and Yolani joined Alma at the spa, and they chatted a bit before eventually falling silent. Everyone wanted a chance to decompress and unwind, undisturbed.

She smiled. “Are you?” 

“Mhmm. I’m happy you invited me,” he joked, taking a sip of his beer.

“Really? You might have a point, though.” 

“Oh?” He raised his brows. 

“Bill brought up eloping in New Orleans at first. But uhm, I know you walking me down an aisle one day was something important to you.”

Antonio appreciated her thoughtfulness. “But Vegas, mija?” 

“You know, we like to have fun,” she smirked. “Entertainment work has been our life, so it’s nice to be on the other end. I book and attend shows constantly. But—I know you’re aware of what Bill does for work in New York.” Antonio paused and put his flauta down before he could take a bite. “You didn’t think Bill would tell me he told you?” She tilted her head, amused.

“If you knew, why didn’t you say anything?” 

“Why didn’t you say anything? I’ll be honest, he didn’t tell me that he did for a few months.” 

“Well, I wanted you to tell me yourself. But also, that’s between you two. He’s going to be your husband tomorrow, but you have a daughter together. You bought a house together. You work together.” 

“We’re basically married already.” She stated for him. 

“Yes. So of course you have to listen to him. You do what he does.” 

Alma put her fork down, looking displeased. “Apá, yeah, I listen, but that’s because he listens to me too. We respect each other. It’s not like the old ways.” 

“No.” He sighed. “You two have never been with the old ways, anyway.” He digressed. “He takes care of you. Because of Echo, it helped me see him differently than what I thought of him.” He admitted. “He takes care of both of you. That’s all I wanted for you because I’m old. I don’t know how long—” 

“Oh god,” Alma looked away. “You’re going to be an old, old man. I don’t like it when you talk like that. Bill’s dad passed, and I just think about,” she lowered her gaze, shaking the thought of her own father’s inevitable passing out of her head. 

“Okay, okay. I shouldn’t be talking like that after something like that has happened. Doesn’t matter who the man was.” 

“I get sad for him. For Bill. It’s just complicated for him, you know.” She mournfully sighed. “He’ll be okay, though.” 

Antonio just listened; it was rare for her to share anything about Bill this way with him. She usually only spoke with clear facts whenever he had questions about him. They both did this—preserving and protecting each other by sharing just enough but not too much with anyone inquiring about them when the other wasn’t present.

“Uhm,” he cleared his throat. “Are his brothers coming for the wedding?” 

“Yeah,” she nodded. “He’s probably with them now having dinner. They’re actually both doing pretty well right now. Well, despite, you know.” 

“Mhmm. That’s good.”

Alma popped a shrimp in her mouth. “Gustaf got a better job, and Alex kind of cut his bullshit. He’s been with his lady now for like eight months! That’s a miracle.” She laughed. “They have two kids together. The oldest boy is eleven, and the youngest is seven. So they’ve known each other for a long time.” 

“But they’ve never been together before now?” Antonio took a sip of his beer, trying to understand. 

“No,” she laughed. “Only been together for however long it takes him to make two kids.” 

“Alma!” Antonio scoffed, surprised she’d make a dirty joke in front of him. 

“Sorry,” she said bashfully, loudly biting onto a tortilla chip. 

… 

In a nice steakhouse, the brothers sat together in a booth. The place was dim, but a pendant light above their table forced the tall men to slouch a bit in their seats so they could talk without the fixture obscuring the top halves of their faces. They kept the conversation light, sharing funny life anecdotes. Bill became a topic of discussion, and he mostly talked about the record shop, as it was the focus of his work these days.

“Well, I wasn’t there because if I was, it would have been a different story,” he said. “But the band was trying to set the fucking drum kit on fire.”

“Some gimmick,” Gustaf said, following along. 

“Gimmick my ass! The whole place would have burned down! Security kicked them out, and Alma called every venue in Seattle and warned them.” 

“Ooooh, blacklisted,” Alex said. 

“Yeah. They can play in fucking Tacoma,” he laughed. “There’s always something though, some bad, some not so bad, some bad but kinda funny. Between the shop and the club, but that's what it is, so.” 

Alex checked his wristwatch and scratched his head with pursed lips. Bill and Gustaf shared a curious look. 

“You have somewhere to be?” Bill asked. 

“Jodie wants me to call her and the boys before they go to bed, their time.” 

“Oh.” Hearing his brother speak like that was strange. He was so serious about it, too, like he really gave a shit for once. 

“Or is she making sure you’re not doing what you’re not supposed to be doing?” Gustaf quipped. 

“Don’t you think Lorna might want a call from you too?” Alex narrowed his eyes at his brother.

Gustaf wagged a disapproving finger at his brother. “Yeah, sure. She can put Tate on the phone so he can say hi to you.” 

Bill deeply inhaled, rolling his eyes under closed lids. “I thought you two were over this?” He said, glancing between both of them and becoming aware they were just being terribly petty because they could. 

They both digressed and apologized to their little brother to keep the peace. 

“But actually, I do have to call Lorna.” 

“Right now?” Bill clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Call them when we’re done. I’ll get on the phone and vouch for you two. If they don’t believe me, Alma will.”

“You’re lucky your girl doesn’t get jealous!” Alex said, taking a bite of his steak. 

“Eh, she does sometimes. But she doesn’t keep me on fucking leash like your ladies do.” 

His brothers both scoffed, clearly offended, but it was true. Jodie had her reasons for expecting a call, but Lorna was just as paranoid because of Alex, whose behavior had created a complex that strained her relationship with his brother, Gustaf, at times.

“So, I don’t give a fuck but,” Bill took a deep breath. “Where did you put him?” He asked once dinner had wound down.

Gustaf scratched his head. “His ashes are in a box, you know. I just—I just put him up in the attic. So–” 

“Hmm,” Bill nodded, satisfied with that. “That’s all.”

“He was tough as balls,” Alex said. “I think, uh, he’s a source for a lot of our issues, honestly. Women issues,” he pointed at himself. “Alcohol issues,” he pointed at Gustaf. “And,” he pointed at Bill. “I don’t know. Cryptic douchebag issues.”

“Shut up,” he rolled his eyes. 

“I’ll take that more than women's issues.” 

“I think we’ve all had issues with women,” Bill said honestly. “But that’s on account of us literally being motherless fucks.” 

“Well, that’s certainly a way to put it,” said Gustaf, facetiously. 

“Even with tomorrow’s wife?” asked Alex.

“Mhmm.” Bill nodded with puckered lips. “Let’s just say she put up with a lot from me.” 

“Well, I hear that. Congrats, brother,” Alex raised his beer glass. 

“Congrats,” Gustaf said, raising his glass of water. “You got a good one, brother.” 

 …

Alma was alone in the penthouse suite, lying in bed with a thriller novel for a change. Carla had handed it to her in passing after she left the spa; it was part of their two-woman book club. Echo was with her grandfather, and at his insistence, Alma didn’t mind. He didn’t see Echo often, so it was best that she stayed another night with him and Connie. Before being left alone, Ulyssa had been with her, watching a rerun of The Real World on MTV and chatting a bit. 

“So he’s not coming?” Ulyssa asked, a bit anxious over seeing Gregory. They hadn’t worked out and with her new career, she called it quits, not wanting to be in a long-distance partnership when things had already been wavering. Instead, they agreed to remain friends, but she could tell he wasn’t so keen on the idea. 

“Nope. He did RSVP, but when he came to drop off some posters last week, he told Bill he wouldn’t be able to make it.” She said, biting into a juicy chocolate-covered strawberry. They were sharing a platter of them that had been gifted by Theo.

“He's so damn flakey!” 

Alma lightly chuckled. “He still asks about you. But I heard through Darby that he’s dating a girl at the print shop he works at…” She looked over at Ulyssa carefully, she looked a little hurt but at least it didn’t come off as devastated.

“Well,” Ulyssa tutted. “He should quit trying to call me then!” 

The telephone on the nightstand rang, and she laid her book down to crawl to the other side of the big round bed to answer. 

“You up?”

Alma smiled. “Booty calling me?” 

Bill laughed. “Hey, uh, I forgot my toothbrush.” 

She rolled her eyes. “You did that on purpose,” she giggled. 

“I swear I didn’t!”

They had agreed to spend the night before their wedding apart. Bill arranged to stay in his brother Gustaf’s double bedroom. Although not particularly traditional, they chose to see each other for the first time at the altar. However, it made Bill terribly nervous. As the day approached, the more his emotions played with him. Seeing Alma in her bridal gown for the first time in front of everyone, he wasn’t sure how he would react, and he didn’t want to show his emotions in front of so many people.

“Just go in the spare room and close the door. I’ll be in and out.” 

Bill was rummaging around the room while she waited for him to leave. It suddenly felt kind of silly to spend the night separately. There was a light rap on the door, causing Alma to turn to it while sitting on the spare bed. 

“I got it.” His voice was slightly muffled speaking from the other side of the closed door. 

“Okay.” She stood up, approached the door, and had to stop herself from turning the handle. “Goodnight.”

She laid her hand flat against the door, and it felt as though she could sense his energy through the wood. 

“Kind of wild, huh?” He spoke after a pause. “We’re getting married.” He heard Alma’s light giggle from the other side of the door. “Are you ready?” 

“Are you?” She quipped back. 

“Yeah,” he smiled. 

“Yeah, me too. Who knew we’d be here after meeting in shitty detention?” 

“Mhmm. It’s not the first time I noticed you, though. It was just the first opportunity I had to talk to you without your bitchy little friends around.” He heard Alma laugh a bit louder. “We had that class together. Your hair was long, and then one day you walked in, and it was hacked off.” 

“That was terrible.” She grimaced, remembering how bad of a job she did. 

“I was shocked. It was so, so long. I wanted to ask why you did that, but I was too shy.” He chuckled, recalling how long it was and how she would gather it to one side to give her neck some air while picking at split ends. “Also, I wasn’t too sure if you were like your friends, either. You’re not, by the way.” 

“You were new, so I noticed you the first week of school. But I would have noticed you regardless because you were also so much taller than everyone, even when you walked with a slouch. I dressed like such a nerd back then, and you looked so cool.”

Bill turned and pressed his broad shoulders against the door before sliding down to take a seat on the floor. Alma could sense his movements and did the same. 

“I guess I was a little cool.” He playfully bragged. “Uhm, we haven’t really had any time to ourselves since we got here. But, um, yesterday? When you ran into—you know. Are you sure you’re okay? I hate that—that happened.” 

“I guess?” She scratched her head uncomfortably. “She… I feel bad.” 

“Well, if you didn’t, there’d be something wrong with you.” 

“Thinking of her still makes me angry.” She admitted as she could feel herself becoming irritated. 

Bill picked at the inner seam of his joggers, feeling a bit uncomfortable himself. “Mm. I was an asshole. I should have never used her to push you away like I did. It was shitty. I wonder… how we even had an open relationship.” 

“We could hardly do that right.” Alma quipped.

“It literally pisses me off even thinking of doing that now.” He shook his head to shake the thought of it. “You’re mine.” 

Alma smiled. “I am.” 

“And also, sorry for being an asshole because your period started. Didn’t mean to—” 

“Eh, it’s whatever.” She sighed. “I love Echo. Maybe—well, I mean, I’m an only child?” 

Bill frowned and crossed his arms, uncomfortable with what she seemed to imply—that they would only have one child. He didn’t like that she was accepting defeat so quickly. He could be a little better about his reactions, he thought, it wasn’t helping her optimism. His disappointment didn’t lie with her but rather with himself. 

“But did you like being one?” He asked rhetorically because he knew of the deep loneliness she experienced because of it. 

“No.” She answered after a long pause.

“Well then… there’s your answer.” He chewed on his lip for a moment and begrudgingly stood up to go. “I love you.” He pressed his forehead against the door. 

“You’re leaving already?” She said, standing up herself. 

“Well, it’s kinda late. Don’t you need to get up super early?” 

“Yeah…” she lamented. “Do you still think it’ll be fun?” 

He raised a brow, confused over what she was asking. “Do I still think—what?” 

“Sex.” 

He tilted his head, still perplexed, as his brows pulled together. “Sex?” 

“Yeah. Do you still think it’ll be as good as having sex in sin?” 

A smirk crept across his face when he heard the door unlock. They hadn’t been intimate since they arrived, having been so busy with friends or family, or being drunk or too hungover and everything in between. 

“Are you inviting me in?” He asked, wanting to be certain despite his hand on the handle already.

“Bill. If you don’t open the fucking door.” 

She jumped back when the door immediately flew open, and before she knew it, he was tackling her into the soft bed, making her yelp before she giggled with elation. 

…

The Wedding Day

Bianca was meeting Alma that morning, bringing the bridal dress with her. Her hair was in large rollers, and she wore a baby pink velour tracksuit with matching furry slippers. Alma had given her a spare key to the room the night before, but Bianca still knocked—several times. After a loud sigh, she fished the key out of her bra and opened the door to let herself in.

“Alma? Wake up, babe!” She announced when she entered. 

Rounding the corner, she could see Alma lying on her side in the large round bed with her bare back facing her. She paused. Something didn’t feel right, which caused her to look more closely. 

“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” She groaned as she quickly turned around. 

She noticed Bill on the other side of Alma, lying on his stomach with his bare ass to the world. He stirred and turned his head, and his eyes went wide, seeing Bianca in the room. 

“Shit!”

“Huh?” Alma woke up looking at him bleary-eyed. 

“I’ll wait outside. My god!” She said disgusted, stomping away. 

“Oh my god!” Alma exclaimed in horror, having been caught because they overslept. “Damn it!” 

“She’ll be okay,” Bill chuckled as he got up to search for his discarded clothes. He kissed her goodbye just before she stepped into the shower. “I’ll see you later.” 

She smiled, feeling butterflies in her belly suddenly taking flight. “I love you.” 

Bill met Bianca in the hallway, where she was waiting impatiently. She shook her head, disapproving of the smug smirk on his face.

“Sorry.” 

“You weren’t supposed to be in there.” She raised her brow. 

“No. But,” he shrugged. “What’d you see? My ass?” He laughed. 

“It’s not funny!” She laughed. “Your ass probably gave me the evil eye, for all I know! Evil—Evil ass!” They both cracked up. “Okay, okay. You go get ready, honey.” 

“Alright,” he said, looking at the garment bag in her hands. 

“I’m not going to show you,” she said, shooing him away before he could think to ask. 

…

Chewing on a piece of nicotine gum, Bill sat on the spare bed he was meant to sleep in, half-dressed. He wore long black socks, a stark white dress shirt, and white boxer briefs. His perfectly pressed trousers still hung in the closet where he had left them. He was concerned about putting them on too soon and wrinkling them.

“Yeah. I think it sounds alright.” Gustaf said, handing back a sheet of notebook paper. 

“Alright?” 

“Well, it’s not me you’re writing to, is it? It’s good!” He assured. “From the heart.” 

Bill just nodded and nervously folded the paper closed. Gustaf noticed his little brother sighing deeply while he checked the time and watched him rise from his seat to his soft leather toiletry bag for a comb and some hair products.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Gustaf asked while digging in his duffle bag for a pair of long black socks. 

“Hmm?”

“Being in love?” He turned to his anxious brother with a smirk before sitting on the edge of his bed.

Bill resisted the urge to roll his eyes, instead side-eyeing his brother skeptically. He wasn’t sure what he was trying to get at. His brother was married, but not to a woman Bill thought one would want to fall in love with—especially knowing she’d been with their oldest brother. However, Bill wasn’t much better, considering he slept with his hippie girlfriend. Still, Gustaf was married, and there was something he knew that Bill would only understand in a matter of hours.

“Well—of course.” He muttered. 

“You don’t have to play so cool all the time.” He lightly teased. “If you want to be like that, then your letter will make you look lame then!”

“Yeah, yeah.” He groaned as his nerves bubbled up. 

… 

Echo had finally joined her mother while she was having her makeup done by a professional. Alma was sitting in a chair wearing a black fluffy robe and chatting with her father, who had brought lattes for everyone from the café in the lobby. All the while, a photographer was capturing the preparations. Their lens was focused on Bianca, who was helping by curling the little girl’s hair. Echo kept turning her head to watch her mother’s transformation, causing Bianca to pull the hot tool away several times to avoid burning her.

“Let’s turn the chair, yeah?” Bianca suggested, poking her button nose. “So you can watch your mommy turn into a princess just like you?” 

Echo smiled bashfully. “Mama! Mama!” She said once she was facing her. 

“Yeah, baby?” Alma peeked over at her, creaking one eye open. 

“Can I? Have some?” She asked while the makeup artist bounced a power brush on Alma’s face. 

“Oh, here we go,” Antonio lightly chuckled. 

Alma and the makeup artist exchanged a wink before she picked up an unused makeup brush and approached the little girl. The women in the room gasped in awe as the soft brush swept across her cheeks, and she naturally blushed at all the praise.

“I’m going to check on Connie and get ready, mija,” Antonio told his daughter as he got up from the couch with the help of his cane, letting out a low achy groan. “You look pretty,” he said, kissing the top of his grown daughter’s head. “You hardly need it, though,” he added, pointing at the makeup kit beside her. “Here, for you,” he said, pulling a thin, square box from his tan bomber jacket. 

Alma opened the box to reveal a pair of diamond earrings with teardrop pearls dangling elegantly. She was speechless—they were beautiful—but conflicted. Her father had already insisted on paying for both her wedding dress and Echo’s, and now he had spent even more on these earrings. It felt like too much, and she wasn’t sure how to express her mixed emotions.

“Don’t mention it,” Antonio said, easily reading his daughter's thoughts from her expression. “Just say you like them.” 

Alma gave him a small appreciative smile. “They’re gorgeous.” She stood up to hug him tightly. 

Before leaving, he gave his daughter another box that housed two small button pearl earrings for Echo to wear, just as pretty.

“Bye-bye, Bwello,” Echo said, doing her best to pronounce “Abuelo,” as she waved at him.

“No, see you later, mija!” he told her with a wink. "Bye" felt too definitive of a farewell for him.

“See later!” She giggled. 

“Later, Mistah Lucio,” Bianca winked at him, causing him to discreetly raise an abashed brow at his daughter, who responded with a smirk.

Ulyssa arrived shortly, still half-done herself, with her short mod haircut perfectly texturized, but she needed to deliver the Juliet cap she had made for Echo to go with her outfit. Alma’s hair was being sprayed with hairspray when she entered. It was slicked from the middle part into a low, sleek, intricate bun. The stylist was working on laying down the baby hairs in their natural growth pattern, creating soft leave-out curls by Alma's temples.

“Oh my god, Alma!” Ulyssa said with a hand to her mouth. “You’re getting married, bitch!” She laughed. “You look so gorgeous!”

Alma bashfully laughed. “Thanks, ‘Lys.” 

“And you too, pretty girlie!” She pointed at Echo. 

“Look my blush!” She said excitedly as she touched her cheeks. 

“I love it! I’ve brought you something,” Ulyssa said, presenting the lace cap. “Do you like it? Your Aunt Bianca will help you with it.” She handed it over, as Bianca was already working on pinning Echo’s hair. Alma reminded Echo to say thank you to Aunt Ulyssa, which she did.

Ulyssa spotted the wedding dress hung high in waiting. “It’s so pretty, Alma!” She complimented.

“I’m about to put it on. Do you want to stay to see?” 

“Oh, I want to, but I have to finish getting ready. I’ll see how it’s meant to be seen—next to Bill.” She winked. 

“Right, right,” Alma blushed. “Later.”

…

Bill was adjusting his suit in the full-length mirror, stepping back to assess it while shaking his arms out. He then pulled the sleeves of his button-down shirt to add silver love knot cufflinks. A light knock on the door prompted Gustaf to rise and answer, while Bill nervously nitpicked his suit.

“Oh! Hi, I’m Bianca.” She greeted him. 

“Papa!” Echo said happily.

Bill quickly turned and saw his daughter running toward him with her arms outstretched, giddily. She was wearing white stockings and a white dress. A bright smile spread across Bill’s face as he caught her and lifted her into his arms.

“You’re beautiful, baby! Look at you,” he lightly tickled her side, kissing her cheek. “You missed me?”

Echo laughed. “A little.” 

“A little? You’re so honest sometimes it hurts,” he lightly laughed. “You had fun with your grandpa then?” 

Echo nodded; she did indeed; he hardly had rules. “So handsome, Papa!” She said, placing her hands on his high cheeks. 

“You think?”

Bianca stood back to give them space while Gustaf dismissed himself to look for Alex, whom he suspected was wasting time on casino slots below. Bill turned his head, remembering that there was another presence with them. 

“This is the best you’ve ever looked!” Bianca lightly teased. “No, really honey, you look so nice in white!” She said, taking note of the suit jacket he wore. 

“Yeah? It feels a little hard to get used to,” he said, gently sitting Echo on the bed. “Do I look like a butler?” 

“No,” Bianca shook her head as she laughed. “No tie?” 

“I have one, should I put it on? I did at first but–”

“No, no,” she interrupted before he went on an anxious tangent. “Wear it how you want to. Trust me, you look great. I wouldn’t lie; you know me. Uhm, Alma wants to see you.” 

Bill licked his lips, nervously smoothing his slicked hair down. “Right now? Is–is everything okay?” 

“Yeah! You already saw her this morning. What’s stopping you?” 

He put a hand on his hip. “She’s not like, changing her mind or something?” 

“Don’t be silly, Billy!” She laughed. 

“Alright. Uhm, are you going back to your room?” 

“After I leave Echo with her grandpa. Why?” 

He reached into his pocket and handed her the wedding bands. “Just hold on to these for Gian. Alma’s band is her mother’s, so it can’t be lost.”

"Got it, don’t worry. I’ll give it to him at the chapel, then.” 

She examined the precious metals in her palm. Alma’s gold band was engraved with simple, delicate florals, while Bill’s softly hammered platinum ring was thick and much heavier. He watched as she tucked the rings inside her bra and then patted her chest.

“Really?”

“It’s the safest place they could be,” she winked. “Now go.”  

… 

The door to the suite creaked open slowly and ominously, making Alma’s heart race as she waited for Bill to step in. Although she wished he would come through the door with the same eagerness he had shown when he opened the bedroom door last night, she knew he was nervous and anxious. However, she was too. So instead of revealing herself at the altar, she decided they could have this private moment together one last time before they wed.

Bill took a hesitant step into the room, his heart thumping hard against his chest as he rounded the corner. He peeked briefly before straightening his back as he took a deep breath before proceeding. She stood by the window, her back facing toward him—her bare back. The dress was sleek, with no frills or fluff, chic and elegant against her curves. The square neckline was held up by thin straps, and the smooth white fabric hugged her bodice before it cascaded down. A high slit exposed one of her smooth legs as the rest of the fabric lay in a long train behind her. All of this underneath a veil compassing her, just as long.

She turned her head to meet his gaze, and he suddenly stepped back, clutching his chest, completely enamored. She was breathtaking. Alma thought the same of him, looking dapper, tall, and clean in his white suit jacket and slicked hair. 

Their eyes finally met after scanning each other up and down in stunned awe. Big smiles were on both their faces before they began giggling uncontrollably. Completely tickled that soon they were to be husband and wife. That this was really true. 

“You look so fucking beautiful,” he said, lightly touching the fabric of the veil that kissed her shoulder. 

“You look so handsome!” She slipped her hand under the veil, noticing he was having trouble figuring out where to place his hand, and gently held it. “Is it what you imagined?”

He looked her up and down again. “It’s better than what I imagined, honestly.” He chuckled. “So much better. I want to kiss you.” He looked at her plump lips, tastefully covered in soft nude pink lipstick. 

“Not yet.” She said in a hushed tone. She wanted him to remove the veil for the first time at the altar. 

He nodded. “Let’s go, then. I don’t want to wait any longer.”

…

Their ceremony at the chapel was straightforward and prompt. There wasn’t an Elvis impersonator—though the absurdity would have cost extra—but a smartly dressed minister officiated. They chose not to have a bridal or groom party, as deciding whom to include was too difficult. Only three people had specific roles in the ceremony: Antonio, who walked Alma down the aisle; Giancarlo, who delivered the wedding bands; and Echo, who scattered white rose petals along the walkway. Despite running out of petals halfway through, she completed the task and even took the liberty to bow before everyone, earning amused snickers from the guests with her charming gesture.

So they stood before their guests and family. Some friends, like Marcy, Marco, Julia, Simion, and Marina, had arrived early in the morning, as well as Lewis and his wife Helen, both nicely tanned. All guests had been asked to wear black to the ceremony, as explicitly stated on the black wedding invitations they issued. For Bill and Alma, it was rare to deviate from their usual preference for dark colors, especially white. This time, they took the opportunity to stand out in a sea of onyx.

They repeated the stereotypical vows after the minister as they exchanged rings. For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part… 

The minister announced their official bond and quickly stepped aside, allowing the couple to kiss as husband and wife. Bill lifted the veil from Alma’s face, taking in her beauty fully for the first time. He smiled brightly at her—so stunning—and gently cupped her face in his hands, kissing her deeply. His arms wrapped around her body, pulling her closer, while she hooked an arm around his broad shoulders. He turned and dipped her, their lips remained connected—a move they had practiced at home and executed flawlessly. 

After signing the marriage certificate, they began giggling again, still in disbelief. As if they were just a part of some elaborate delusional prank. But it was real and now official. 

Many pictures were taken at the end of the ceremony outside the chapel steps, including shots with family, friends, individuals, and the minister. As they were finishing up the last few photos, their car arrived to take them to the venue—a Tuscan-inspired tavern restaurant that, while a charming eatery by day, was available for private events.

They made their way to Bill’s dream car—a 1965 Mustang Fastback coupe, all black with chrome details. It looked as though it had driven straight off the magazine page he’d pinned to the thin walls of his childhood home, right next to a photo of Raquel Welch in a bikini. The driver stepped out, clad in a clean mechanic’s shirt, which struck Bill as unusual attire for a chauffeur. Alma glanced up at him, biting back a smirk.

“Congrats,” the driver said, handing Bill the keys to the vehicle. “And congrats on getting married.” 

“What?” He looked down at Alma with surprise. “What the fuck?” 

Alma laughed, delighted by his astonished reaction. Happy that he was genuinely shocked. She took his hand, guiding him to the car so that they could get inside it. Bill admired the black leather interior and its intricate details with wide-eyed appreciation, looking like a child lost in wonder. It was even better in person than the mediocre photos Alma received in the mail.

“Do you like it? It’s my wedding gift to you.” 

“Are you for real? How?” 

“My old house money.” Her childhood home was bulldozed, and now a parking lot took over the space for the strip mall. As if it never existed. 

“Right, but–” 

“Darby. I asked for his help to find this.” She explained. Darby knew old cars and where to help with the search and knew what was fair. “We were able to call around and found this in Reno. And it’ll be shipped to Seattle.”

“Holy shit…” he said, sitting back in his seat in disbelief. “It’s mine. For real?” 

“For real!” She laughed. 

He reached over to kiss her deeply again. This time it was a bit more sexually charged. Making out in the Mustang he now owned. In his dream car with his dream girl. They broke apart, but their foreheads remain linked. 

“I want to eat your pussy so fucking bad right now.” He said, pecking her lips while she giggled. “Right here, I don’t give a fuck. You’re my wife now.” 

“Let’s take it for a ride first and… see where we end up.” She winked.

…

After their reception dinner in the intimate, candlelit venue with stone walls, they had a bouquet toss on the outdoor patio, which Ulyssa ended up catching, making Bill laugh. Afterward, some of the men from the party joined Bill outside, wanting a tour of the Mustang. Bill took a puff of his cigarette and thanked Darby for helping Alma. 

“Yeah, man anytime.” He said, lighting his cigarette. “I’ll admit I was getting nervous, thinking I wouldn’t find anything through my connections. We’ve been searching since, uh, October,” he said with uncertainty. “Yeah! October. It looks damn good.” He said, fist-bumping his boss. “That weekend I asked off in February, I was in Reno test-driving it”

“Hey, brother, could I get one?” Scotty said, straightening up after peering into the car through the rolled-down window. “The ‘Stang is sick, by the way.” 

“I’m gonna see what the old boss is up to,” Darby said, dismissing himself.

Standing at the altar in the chapel, Bill scanned the guests and noticed Scotty sporting a black eye. He gave his friend a curious look, pointing at his own eye in silent question. Scotty, seated in one of the pews, simply signaled with a gesture that he'd explain later. 

“Care to explain now?” He asked, passing him a cigarette. 

“Let me light this, and I will,” Scotty said, pulling out a matchbook from his back pocket—a wedding favor with Bill and Alma’s names around an anatomical heart and the wedding date underneath. After taking a deep drag and exhaling the smoke, he continued, “Someone punched me.”

“Yeah, no fucking shit!”

“I didn’t start it, man. I was out with everyone on the strip but Ash and I–” 

Bill plucked his cigarette from his lips. “You and Ash?” He raised a brow at him.

“It’s nothing like that. She’s cute, but I got something going on with Kiara. That’s another thing completely. Anyway, we got separated, so we were weaving around the crowds to try to catch up, and she bumped into some Texas-sized asshole! Like bulls ride him kinda shit, right?” He animatedly gestured. “And well, he got real agro about it, and I-I’m not going to repeat what he said,” he shook his head, taking another deep drag, still pissed.

What the man uttered was reprehensible, but coming from a hick town, it wasn’t the first time he’d heard ugly words about someone’s color, unfortunately. He’d fought about it as a young punk then and continued into his young adulthood confronting skinheads at underground shows. With his daughter being half-black, he didn’t hesitate to push the man back harshly when he heard those remarks directed at Ash.

“It’s not something that should be coming out of anyone’s fucking mouth.” He spit on the ground with disgust. “But yeah, Ash tried to pull me back, and in doing so—I got clocked. Didn’t mean to look like shit at your wedding, man. Sorry.”

“Nah, fuck that guy. You get him a few times at least?” Bill asked, stomping his cigarette out. 

“Yeah, dude. I kicked him in the chest, and we ran off,” he laughed. 

“And what’s going on with Kiara? You two got back together?” 

Scotty took a deep breath, looking a bit put out. “Well, no.” He scratched his neck, clearly debating whether he wanted to share. “You know, I hear it’s rude to announce stuff at other people’s weddings, so—”

“You’re not announcing shit. You’re just talking to me.” 

“Well, then, Kiara is pregnant. It’s mine before you think to ask.” 

Bill raised his hands defensively. “Get out of my head.”

“Shithead,” he said playfully, stomping his cigarette out. “Yeah… we’re having a boy.” 

“Oh! So this isn’t a new thing?” 

“No, she’s almost 6 months pregnant, yeah. She didn’t want to tell me, though. She just threw the 12-week ultrasound picture at me one day. Can you believe that shit?” 

“Kinda,” he quickly muttered. “You nervous?” Bill genuinely asked. 

“Fuck yeah,” he sighed. “I don’t think—well, you know, we have a kid, but it’s been seven years since then. But when I saw the ultrasound picture, I physically felt my dick shrink! I don’t think there’ll be a time when I’m not wanting to shit a brick.” 

They began making their way back inside, like the others who had gone before them. “Yeah, I guess, I get that.” 

“You know, being guys, we don’t know what that’s like. Your girl is pregnant, and there’s not much you can do but watch. Then sometimes, when she’s having a rough day, you, like, feel guilty for doing that to them.” He glanced at his friend, who seemed visibly uncomfortable. “Ah, damn, man. I shouldn’t be unloading all this on you, not right after you just got married.” He patted his friend's shoulder. 

 “I’m just—just listening.” Bill scratched his jaw.

“Alright. Well, what’s next, the garter toss?” 

“Hell no.” Bill laughed. “I don’t want any of you guys with that shit.” 

…

Bill stayed back to take in the memorial table Alma had arranged with their wedding planner. It was beautifully decorated with ornate frames, bouquets, and twinkling lights. Among the framed photos was one of Alma’s mother as a young woman, standing before a rose garden. Another featured his own mother, her long hippie hair cascading around her shoulders, wearing round-frame sunglasses, and leaning against a car with a cigarette between her fingers. The last was a portrait of Myrna from her vaudeville days.

He turned his head at Alma’s loud guffaw, which cut through the music playing at a mellow volume. She was by the back patio, sharing a cigarette with his brothers. It looked like Alex had managed to get a laugh out of her. Bill scanned the room, taking in their eclectic mix of friends and family. His eyes settled on Echo, on her tiptoes and poking a finger into the wedding cake for a taste before darting across the room with a white bunny stuffed animal clutched under her arm to fist bump Matt.

“Is that Miss Myrna?” A voice said from behind him. It was Giancarlo, coming back from the bathroom. 

“Uh, yeah.” Bill nodded. 

“Wow. She was pretty.” He was a little boy then but remembered how she applied blue shadow to her wrinkly lids and red rouge to her jowly cheeks in a clownlike fashion. “I remember she made me and Lorenzo call her Mama.” 

Bill laughed. “Yeah. She made me call her that too. Funny lady, huh.” 

“Very. And this,” he pointed. “Your mother?” Bill nodded in reply. “She was a hippy!” 

“Yeah, kinda.” He scratched his ear uncomfortably. 

Gian glanced over at Bill and recognized he was maybe being a bother. “Uhm, I heard Alma was waiting on you. For the dance?” 

“Oh?”

“You dance?” Gian playfully teased. 

“I might surprise you. I just kinda get shy,” he admitted to him. “I don’t like to do it in front of everyone. At least sober.” 

“Oh right! The second Christmas dinner you ever came to!” Gian pointed out, recalling the memory of Bill, wine-drunk, dancing with his very Italian family. 

“That’s not a great point of reference.” He grimaced. 

Before the dance began, Bill discovered that guests had the opportunity to make toasts, with one stipulation—they had to wear the cowboy hat Alma had stolen. In reality, the couple mostly got roasted, and Alma cringed at times, especially knowing her father was in the audience hearing things she’d never admit to him. Despite the playful jabs, each speech ended on a favorable note. The wedding planner crouched beside the couple, who were sitting so close that Alma was nearly in his lap. The planner checked in to confirm their chosen song for their dance and then hurried off to inform the DJ.

“Uhm,” Bill sat up. “One sec’ before you do,” Bill said after the planner. Alma glanced at him curiously. She worried that maybe he was too nervous to do it at all. “I just want to say something,” he said, rubbing Alma’s thigh under the table reassuringly before he stood up. 

Straightening his back, he cleared his throat, prompting the room to fall silent. Echo, sitting between Yolani and Ulyssa, waved at him, and Scotty raised his cowboy hat, playfully suggesting he wear it. Bill shook his head with an amused smirk, then crossed his wrists in front of him and took a deep breath. He didn’t need the note he had written, tucked away in the inner pocket of his suit jacket—he remembered every word by heart.

He had opened his mouth to speak, but the planner had quickly come over to give him a mic. He took it and suddenly felt awkward. The room wasn’t so big that his voice wouldn’t carry well, but now he was stuck with it. 

“Uhm, okay.” He licked his lips. “Hey, everyone. Thank you for being here with us tonight. I just wanted to take an opportunity to speak some words to my wife,” he glanced down and smiled at her. 

She looked nervous, having no idea what he was about to say in his speech. She felt a pang of regret for not writing one herself. When they discussed their vows, they opted for simplicity, agreeing that they had already expressed everything they needed to say to each other. 

“Um, growing up, I didn’t know where or even who I’d be,” he began. “I never really had the best outlook for myself. I didn’t dream. I just was focused on surviving. I wasn’t dealt a promising hand. When I met Alma, it changed me in a way I just could not accept at the time. I didn’t see myself in the best light then, nor did I think I deserved to be in the presence of her light.” 

He felt Alma take his hand that hung by his side, and by that small comforting gesture, his rapidly beating heart settled. “But being around her showed me how I could be different. That dreams were real and didn’t have to remain dreams. And that those dreams could also become so much more.” He paused for a beat, feeling he might have said the word “dreams” too many times. “She made me feel good about myself; she made me feel like a man. She would come into my life every time I needed her most. And when she wasn’t, I would search for her in any way I could—a letter, a note, a bobby pin left behind, the scent of amber and vanilla, the melodies of songs I associated with her, and through my words to anyone who would listen to me talk about her.” He cleared his throat, feeling a lump form as he had gone a little off-script. “Uhm, it has taken us some time to get here; we’re both stubborn to a fault. As everyone in their speeches pointed out, which frankly just sounded like whiny bitching.” He said, earning a chuckle from everyone. “But I’m glad it’s finally come. I can’t believe how I could be so lucky. If today means that my luck has run out, that’s fine because it means everything was worth it in the end.”

He turned his gaze directly to Alma. Her eyes were glassy, clearly struggling to hold back tears. “Alma,” he said, his voice soft but full of conviction. “There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you.” They shared a deep understanding, gazing. To everyone, it might have sounded like the sappy words of a husband in love, but to them, it was profoundly true. “I love you. You’ve given me more of everything you are, than most could do in a lifetime. You’ve shown me who I could be, and you inspire me to always be better. Until my last breath, my love.” 

“Hear, hear!” His brother Alex could be heard over the applause. 

Alma rapidly blinked, her lip quivering as she fought back tears. Bill squeezed her hand before guiding her to her feet to share a kiss. She was shocked he would be so brave to express what he had in front of others. Given his aversion to having people pry into his life, it meant a great deal to her that he would open up so candidly. By revealing a side of himself he usually reserved for her alone, Bill allowed their guests a glimpse of the man she had fallen in love with. Vulnerability didn’t come easy to him, but that he let the wall fall showed just how much of a man he truly was. 

With his hand behind his back holding hers, Bill guided Alma to the outdoor patio. The DJ cued the music perfectly as it began right as they situated themselves. Choosing a song for their first dance had been a long and frustrating process. The task had begun to irritate them, but they ultimately settled on a song. However, Bill would listen to it and just didn’t think it was right. Secretly, he kept searching.

He was home with Echo, who he had just put to bed for the night, while Alma was busy supervising a neofolk show at the record shop. At the top of the mezzanine, he pulled a few records from the shelf at random. After discarding a few due to their genres being ill-fitting, he was left with two. He listened to the first record, but was unsatisfied with any of the songs, while he had been flicking through some self-therapy book Alma checked out of the library. 

He laid it down exactly how she had it on a side table in the den and went to change records. Bored through half of the record, he made space to do push-ups while the TV played the nightly news on mute. As he transitioned to sit-ups, he noticed the needle nearing the center of the record. A soft melody of guitar notes and a tambourine began to sound from the speakers when he got up to take the record off. He paused, listening to the lyrics. Although the song had a slower tempo, the lyrics were just right.

Alma came home that night as he was watching a movie. He paused the film and listened as she entered through the side door leading from the breezeway. She sighed loudly, kicking off her Doc Martens and dropping her tote on the bench in the mudroom. She made her way toward the den, to take the secret private room to the bedroom for a shorter trip. 

“Oh,” she said, shaking out her sweaty hair from the tight ponytail she had it in. 

Hey,” he greeted after she leaned down to kiss him while he lounged on the sectional.

“I’ll be right back. I’m going to take a quick shower.” 

“Wait.” He said, catching her hand before she walked off. “I found the song we’re going to dance to at the reception.” 

“I thought we already picked one?” 

“No. It’s good; don't get me wrong, but it’s not it,” he said, getting up to play the record he left on the turntable.

She saw the cover for it right by. Just a yellow pop art banana on a white background. The Velvet Underground and Nico. It was an old record from her collection that she had shipped from Strathburg. Seeing where he had placed the needle, she knew the exact song that would play before it touched the grooves. I’ll Be Your Mirror. 

[angryschnauzer]

Moonlight On The Sand

Summary: Stationed to the desert for a short mission, you are on terrain inspection when the full moon emerges from behind the clouds. However little do you know there’s something about the Captain accompanying you that may change things forever. Based on this ask from @fairndsquare​

Pairing; Captain Syverson x Female Reader (no race or size mentioned) Fandom: Henry Cavill, Sand Castle (Movie) Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Werewolves, Werewolf!Sy, Oral Sex (Female Receiving), Unprotected Sex, Ovulation, Breeding, Outdoor Sex/Car Sex. This is NOT an ABO story.

I do not run a tag list, but please go follow @angryschnauzerwrites​ and put that blog onto notifications. You’ll then get an alert every time i post a new story. Masterlist got too big for Tumblr, so past works can be found at @angryschnauzerwrites​ or on my AO3

Only the finest, free range, organic typos for me, allowed to run wild and free.

Sy fumed silently as he drove the truck through the abandoned desert. He was furious that he had been overruled, but the general had finally done a site visit and his word was final; Sy had to show the new logistics planner the area, and there was no avoiding it.

What the General didn’t know was what Sy had been through during his posting in the dry and barren landscape. That mythical creatures didn’t always originate from leafy green valleys, or snow capped mountains, sometimes they dwelled in dry arid plains and rocky outcrops.

The truck hit a particularly proud rock on the dirt track and leapt into the air, your hands flying as you grasped for something to steady yourself on, one on the dash and one on the particularly meaty thigh of your commanding officer.

“Sorry” the gruff man uttered through gritted teeth.

“S’okay… the moon’ll be up soon and we’ll be able to see better as its full tonight” you casually replied, looking out over the desert surrounding you, surprised as the truck slowed down a little.

“The moon?”

“Yes, you know the big round rock orbiting the earth?”

“I know what the moon is darlin’, been cloudy the last ten days so hadn’t been keeping track…” he muttered to himself.

You used the small penstick flashlight to glance over the map;

“I need to see this valley, and get an idea of what it’ll be like to bring the trailers in with water tanks on”

The Captain glanced where you were pointing and nodded once, letting the truck veer to the right to follow the camel route up through the hills.

As the truck gained elevation Sy could feel his mouth watering. He could not only smell you, he could sense how you had grown wet in his presence. It was like a sickly sweet coating of pollen at the back of his throat on a spring day back home. Halfway through the day he’d been in a conference call as you stood in the corner of the room, observing as he updated his superiors back in Washington, when he’d picked up another sense, the only way to describe it was as if something had suddenly ripened in the room. It’d taken him until the end of the call to realise it was you and your body had just reached its most fertile point in the month. You were ripe and ready, you just didn’t know it.

That single thought had plagued Sy for the rest of the day, something in the pit of his belly was just telling him to flee, to get as far away from you as possible… for your safety. But then his military training had kicked in and he’d followed orders, and that’s how he found himself pulling the truck onto a rocky pullout on the curved track as it skirted around the hill, the view over the valley spectacular as the moon finally emerged from behind the clouds and illuminated the earth below.

Stepping out of the truck you used your night vision goggles to scan over the plateau in front of you, looking out over the wide vista. You felt the heat of his body first, standing behind you, the hairs on the back of your neck prickling up. You knew what he was wanting.

-

24 hours earlier.

Scrolling your phone you checked the calendar, relieved that the mission to the desert would be there and back in the space of two weeks, back in time before your monthly bleed would start again. If there’s one thing you didn’t want to have to deal with, it would be tampons and sand. It would mean you’d be ovulating whilst there, but you had enough sugary snacks packed to keep the hormones subdued, and this wasn’t your first time being overseas, although normally you were confined to a small base north of Washington DC.

The flight had been long and bumpy, little more than a glorified cargo hold, so by the time you arrived at the compound and finally got to meet the infamous Captain Syverson, you were tingling with anticipation for what the next two weeks would involve.

-

When he finally spoke, it was low and deep, resonating through your spine;

“You need to get in that truck, and drive it far from here…”

You went to turn but his hand caught your arm, keeping you looking out over the valley;

“Captain?”

“Private, do as i tell you… there are things in these hills, that you don’t know of and don’t need to know of…”

It was then that you sensed it: the connection. It was like a spark shot up your spine, and in a moment of foolhardy courage you turned, the air being sucked from your lungs when you saw him. The Captain stood before you, his eyes burning into your soul, the ring of fire in his irises and his canine teeth just a little more prominent. Your chest heaved with a shaky breath, and his nostrils flared;

“Private…” he warned one last time.

But rather than running in the opposite direction, you slowly took a step forward, holding your hand to his cheek and for a moment your touch soothed him. You took in how his hair had grown longer, his shoulders even broader, he was virile and potent. That’s when he felt it, his senses clouded as the moon took hold, but finally he realised; you weren’t afraid.

His body slammed yours against the side of the truck, his lips on yours as his tongue pushed into your mouth; tasting you, devouring you. Your hands clung to the sides of his weather beaten uniform, pulling him ever closer so you could feel every inch of his body pressing against yours until suddenly his hands were on your hips and he was lifting you onto the still warm hood of the truck. With expert skill he had quickly shed you of your cargo pants and sensible undergarments, his face between your thighs and you watched with fascination as he inhaled deeply, humming as your scent hit his brain before he dived in. 

His tongue was everywhere; licking and tasting you, running firm circles over your clit before descending and pushing the thick muscle into your velvet channel, his sharp teeth pressed against your soaked folds as he tasted you from within. When you came you screamed into the night sky, your legs shaking as the feral beast between your thighs growled in satisfaction, his eyes glowing.

He pulled you from the hood and carried you to the rear of the vehicle, opening the tailgate before sitting you on the edge as he made quick work of his cargo pants, his thigh holster holding them up as his thick cock unfurled from the worn in cotton. You swallowed nervously; you were far from a virgin but the thought of the thick gnarled girth splitting your insides apart had you pulling away for a moment. That was until he gently cupped the back of your neck, pulling your face to his as he rested his forehead on yours and you instantly felt calmer and relaxed. The first touch of his hot flesh against your soaked core had you trembling with anticipation, before he paused, one massive hand resting over your stomach, and he growled as the warmth of your womb almost burnt into his palm;

“Mine...” he muttered, before those feral eyes met yours; “...ours”

“Captain… now, please…” you whined, knowing that what he knew about you, and you were ready.

With a roar he surged forward, your ripened walls parting for him as if welcoming him home. With his palm still pressed to your stomach he could feel himself inside you, the thickness pushing out your belly as he moved slowly and carefully, working to get just the right angle until he paused and you saw that ring of fire in his irises again burn bright.

It was then that he moved faster, the pull and push hitting every spot inside you, feral and wanting, an urgent need to to fill you with his seed, to breed you took over. Faster and faster he pounded into your soft body, drawing orgasms out of you quicker than you could process them, before he slowed and pulled you up so you were sitting, your bodies still connected. In that moment it was when the connection, the bond was finally fully formed, and as he pressed his forehead to your and started to fuck you again, you felt your spirit joining with his. His thrusts got faster, harder, his breath hot on your skin. The angle of his pelvis meant it took just a couple more thrusts and you were coming again, this time he threw his head back and let out a cry-come-howl as he released into your womb, his seed flooding into you as your body eagerly milked him of it.

You stayed joined in the most intimate of ways until the cool night air made a shiver run down your back, the movement of your body making you realise the Captain was still hard and nestled deep within you;

“So… are we stuck?”

“No… but this is the first time i’ve done… this… whilst i’ve been like… this…” he let out a huff of air; “I’m not exactly sure how long i’m gonna stay hard Darlin’... we could be here a while…”

“All night?” you said, a hint of hope in your voice

“I’m yours until the moon goes down Darlin’”

“And after the moon goes down?”

He Captain paused;

“What would a girl like you want with a beast like me come daybreak?”

Running your hand over his beard your thumb caressed the skin of his cheek;

“Everything Captain… i want all of you...” It was only in that moment that Sy saw it, the ring of fire in your own eyes. He had found his mate and you had found yours; “Breed me Captain…”

[jovnie]

AFTER HOURS | Namjoon

Summary

What happens after hours between him and his hot assistant, stays there. Even if it means ruining and hiding the evidence on his neck.

Words 2.5k

Ceo Namjoon ! Assistant reader!

Warnings smut, office sex, cheating ( on his part ), 10 age gap ( namjoon's 35 ), big-dick Joon, solo male masturbation, objectification, slight oral, creampie, dirty talk.

"Right, the appointment you scheduled with mr. Kim will have to be postponed as an emergency with his family has popped up, however I can schedule you. Let me see-" you paused, scrolling on the computer for an opening time this week. Moving the phone closer to your ear you hummed. "Well Thursday the 18th, which is a week away is open for you Hoseok," you unpaused the phone call messge.

"I'll take that, tell him to bring food as well. He's paying." He hung up, as you wrote a note listing just that.

Thursday 18th

You're paying for your dinner for you and Mr. Jung.

"You're hot you know!" your boss said across the room. Laughing you laid back in your chair as you drank the rest of the coffee. Looking at namjoon, whose desk sat in the corner of the room you raised an eye.

"I'm simply doing my job, Sir!" you slowed the last word out. Smirking, he leaned back in his chair and got out his phone.

"What's in a few hours, make it available!" he instructed. Scrolling through his calendar to today you squinted your eyes.

"Today's your anniversary dinner with your fiance, remember?" you told spinning your desk to throw away the now empty cup. Hearing a groan and the noise of a chair, you turned back, and there he was in front of your desk.

"Well make a lie, you're good at that aren't you" he asked, leaning over the table.

Getting up from your chair, you looked up to meet his gaze. "Not again, she'll think something's up" you mentioned, playing with his tie a bit.

"I suppose your right, I'll come back afterwords. Be ready to work overtime" he pulled away.

"Unless I get paid, then you'll be the one doing my work" you teased. "It's now after hours, I'm going to the cafe down the road. Ca-" you paused as he walked up behind you and kissed your neck.

"Sir, office hours are still open" you reminded him grabbing your car keys and planner.

"So? I wanna touch a little if I have to wait that long" he whispered moving his hands around your waist and cupping your bra. "Besides the doors locked remember, let me touch you a little please?" he begged, crotch now pushed against his ass.

Debating if it was deemed as playing it safe, you pushed him off before he turned you and pinned you against the wall. "I wasn't asking darling, remember I'm the one who gave you this position-" he paused lowering himself down to your level before continuing "and ill give it to someone else baby girl"

Breathing heavily, you looked him in the eye. "Well give it to someone else then, I know you won't" you threatened.

"Just say you want me." he whispers, moving his hands up and down your thigh. You watch his hands as his free hand lifts your head softly to look at him, before leaning in close to your face.

"Say you need me and I will" you utter, looking at his lips.

"I more than need you baby" he brushed his lips against yours slowly, causing you to drip a little. "I need more than just a touch and you know it, more than an affair baby girl " he added, placing a slight kiss on your lips.

"as if I trust-" you paused, as he began to kiss your lips softly. Shocked, but allowing him you kissed him back. Taking it to a passionate kiss, he threw off his blazer letting it land somewhere in room. Moving his hands from your thigh, he wrapped his arms around you. Pulling away, he uttered "believe me, I wanted you before you even knew it."

Blushing, he grabbed your ass through your skit and smiled. Licking his lips softly, you unraveled his tie and threw that somewhere. Pressing himself against you, you felt his length starting to harden. Moving your hand, to his crouch he helped you rub it slowly in circles calming himself with your hand. "Mm wanna take the call?" He asked, moving his hips in your hand.

Humming yes, you undid his suits pants and suddenly the phone rang. His phone. Taking it from his back pocket it was his gf, putting it on speaker you placed it on the table and dropped to your knees.

"Hi!" He answered, as you pulled down his pants and boxers. Watch him spring out.

"Yes, the table has been reserved, infect the whole restaurant is." he chuckled, trying not to groan aloud as your mouth made contact with his balls.

"Huh, sorry?" He said, losing focus due to the new and slightly intoxicating feeling of you sucking on his tip. Hanging up the phone, he thrusted in your mouth as you choke on it.

"That's for almost getting us caught" he told, as you pulled your mouth from his length which was big in size.

"You wanted to touch me only right?" You questioned, getting off your knees and dusting your skit off. Nodding yes, he unbuttoned your shirt and stared at your tits.

"You've grown" he noticed, looking at your even fuller breast than before.

"Well yeah, most women do around the age of 25" you mentioned, taking your bra off through your shit and panties.

"Interesting," he said, watching jerking himself slowly as he knocked his shoes and pants off. Walking over to grab his chair, you moved in front of your desk and waited. Rolling closer, he simply spat on his hand and jerked slowly. Biting his lip, he rolled over to turn off the light so only the mini night light would show. Rolling back, he leaned back and spread his legs.

"Well, are you gonna show me or am I gonna have to get it myself?" He questioned, rolling closer.

"Mm tell me how I should be then" you asked softly, nodding he instructed you to take off all your clothes and put them somewhere and after that bend over the desk with your legs spread wide open. In doing so, you could her the noises of his hands working up and down his cock as he views your body.

"God damn, I love this," he says, scooting over to slap your ass. Kissing around it, he noticed wetness trailing down your leg snd smirked. Slapping your ass again he watched it drip even more, to the point he kept going till he saw an imprint on it and enough to coat his cock with your arousal.

"Mm rub mine for me baby, rub what's mine," he told, rubing his cock between your thighs as he watched in hunger with your hands. Moaning, he stood up and slid in softly. "Keep going I just wanna feel just how wet you are" he insured, groaning from the stretch of your pussy on him. "Like that baby, be tight for me!" he moaned, holding your hips thrusting slowly. Moaning, you drooled slightly as you felt his cock twitch a bit.

"Bounce that ass a bit!" He said, as you gently bounced your ass on him as he thrusts harder. "Keep going, make me cum baby," he asked as your hips took over and bounced back and forth in him while his head went back.

Slapping snd griping you're as you bounced, you felt his chair by your leg and you knew that meant one thing. Pounding. Putting his leg up on the chair, he angled himself as you bounced back on him. Causing noting but utter and pure pleasure, you went harder moving your ass in circles around his cock. Meanwhile, namjoon unbuttoned his shirt to get a better view of your ass bouncing back on him.

Soon he began jerking his hips deep in you, holding you still and griping your hair without pulling on it and ruining it in any way. He went faster, letting go of your hair holding into your hips as he thrusted in that angel causing you to buckle your knees and most loud in great pleasure. His length hit right where it needed to be, deep enough to hit your cervix without bruising it snd thick enough to make sure your walls were filled which each thrust. He was the definition of a legal weapon. After all his dick was a 10/10

As his thrusts became even more pleasurable, you began feeling a build-up of pleasure signing you we're close. Meanwhile, he could tell you were as you began clenching harder on him and the slight slickness feeling on his cock gave it away. With that knowledge, he kept going that same way until you not only moaned his name but the fact you were close and to not stop. Keeping the rhythm and feeling the random clenches he too was gonna bust big.

"NAMJOON! I'm CUMING" you yelled, climaxing and feeling a bit light-headed afterward. After you came, he jerked a few times in and groaned loudly as he came deep inside, making sure he came deep inside as well before pulling out and watching the combined fluids slide out as he did. Quickly he grabbed his phone and took a video of him, his cock, your dripping cunt, and sent it to his now ex-girlfriend.

Him

One attachment sent at 7:45pm

Her

We're done, pack your shit I don't wanna see it when I get home. We're done resived 7:46pm

[steve-rogers-ruined-men-for-me]

Teach Me

Summary: Bucky’s worried about you overworking yourself at your teaching job. 

Warnings: some swearing, cute couple shit

Words: 2014k

A/N: this is my first full fic! I’ve really missed writing just for fun and I have a few more fic ideas and hc ideas in the works! please please please comment and let me know what you think! 

No matter what, you always came to bed when Bucky did. Sometimes you stayed up on your phone or reading but you always at least sat on the bed with him. He knew that you had a big week coming up, with your principal coming to observe you, midterms drawing closer, and your students struggling with the new curriculum the district was imposing. 

You were a high school English teacher and Bucky had met you when your school had put on an assembly about the history of the Avengers. He had noticed you in the back of the auditorium, wearing a soft blue dress and encouraging your students to ask him questions about his prosthetic. He shyly asked Tony to see if he could contact the school later and get your number. He had rolled his eyes at him and had walked up to you and asked in plain English, “The Manchurian Candidate over there wants to take you to dinner. If I set up the reservation and promise to make him show up, will you go?” Your jaw had dropped and you had numbly agreed. James Buchanan Barnes wanted to go on a date with you? Despite your doubts regarding the reality of the situation, you showed up outside the quiet Italian restaurant and the rest was history.

Bucky smiled at the memory of you dressed in a red silk jumpsuit with your hair braided back. You looked like a modern version of the girls he flirted with during the forties. Only, back then, he had been wondering how to get up their skirts but now he was more concerned with taking his time getting the jumpsuit off your gorgeous body. He felt a twitch between his legs and, smirking, shook the feeling off. He padded down to the kitchen, thinking you had gotten hungry. When that search yielded no you, he wandered through the rest of the downstairs. He noted that your car hadn’t left the driveway and checked the calendar on the fridge to see if he had the opening shift at the mechanic’s tomorrow (he mercifully did not). But he took note of how small your writing was on your to-do list for Monday. 

Feeling a pang in his chest, he remembered how he had begged you to let him have your full attention on Friday and Saturday.  While you’d reveled in your domestic bliss, by noon on Sunday, you had been buried in your office with your laptop, surrounded by books, papers, and highlighters. Smiling to himself, he realized where you were. He headed up to the attic loft, converted into your office. The walls were a soft gray and the couch the two of you had bought for your tiny first apartment was squeezed against one wall. 

Bucky’s heart tightened as he saw you sprawled on the couch, wrapped in one of his massive flannels. Your desk light was on and the desk was messier than he’d ever seen it. Your blinking phone alerted him to the fact that you’d set an alarm for midnight, but had been so tired you’d slept through it, a given considering you were working yourself to the bone and it was two a.m. Afraid to ruin your organizational system on your desk, he returned the pens and highlighters to the little decorative cups you kept them in, saved every file you had open on your laptop before closing it, and pushed the papers in imminent danger of falling onto the floor farther back on the desk. 

Content that he had lessened the burden of cleaning you’d have to do tomorrow, he crouched next to the couch. Gently smoothing a stray hair out of your face, he whispered, “baby...come on, get up, let’s go to bed.” You opened your eyes slowly and then jerked upright, sending your phone flying and Bucky scrambling backwards. 

“What time is it!” you cried, frantic. You ran towards your desk, frantically pinging your phone from your Apple Watch. Your clock on your desk blinked back 2:05 a.m. at you. Bucky picked up your incessantly beeping phone and handed it to you as you slumped in your desk chair, head in your hands. 

“I just wanted to get this stupid assessment plan done,” you whispered. You hugged his flannel tight around you as tears started to fall. Bucky turned your swivel chair so you were facing him as he knelt in between your legs. You dropped your upper body and rested your forehead on his shoulder as you sobbed. The weight of turning in grades, making assignments, checking in with your students to make sure they were doing okay, it was weighing on you. Bucky had noticed you sleeping less and drinking more coffee but hadn’t truly realized the toll it was taking on you. Kicking himself for making you spend time with him instead of alleviating your burdens at work, he pulled you out of the chair to sit between his legs, curling you into him and rocking gently. After a few minutes, you tilted your chin up and scooched back. Sitting criss cross between his legs, you cupped your chin and closed your eyes.

“I don’t know what to do, Buck,” you said sadly. You tugged on a loose button on your sleeve, looking like a lost puppy. Bucky knew how much you adored teaching and how much you loved your students. You were always baking treats for them when they did well on exams, buying bagels so that they could eat breakfast, and extending deadlines for the kids who worked. He knew that the American school system had changed since the 1940s and when you had shown him what you had to teach in a week and just how much time and energy went into lesson planning, he almost formed his own teachers union to advocate for you. 

When he found out your dismal salary, he had to take a walk. He spent an hour with Tony railing against your pay and the administrators who punished you for the test scores of students that you had no control over. Tony sat him down after an hour of not being able to get a word in edgewise and finally pledged to harass the local school boards (and the Board of Education if they would call him back) about raising teacher salaries. Bucky had walked home to you pouring over birthday cards your sixth period juniors had given you because they’d gotten a tip that it was your birthday. (Peter helped Bucky hack your Google Classroom). He felt a wave of pride come over him as he looked at you, his selfless girl, thrilled that she was having an impact on the kids she loved the most. You getting so down on yourself broke his heart. 

“What’s wrong with your assessment plan?” he asked, intertwining your hands with his. You looked up angrily. “What ISN’T wrong with it is a better question!” you cried. “The district made the test up and it’s on a fucking scantron because what fucking isn’t these days and it’s not taking into account the fact that school is not the main focus for so many of these kids that have to fucking work and help support their siblings and all they are is numbers on a fucking piece of paper that tells you nothing about the effectiveness of my teaching or the district’s ability to educate them as a whole!” Bucky blinked rapidly as you huffed. You didn’t get angry very often, but when you did and you started to monologue, he understood why you received a distinction with your English degree. 

“Baby,” he started gently, “can I ask you something you may not like?” He knew that you were a planner and that the odds were you were beating yourself up about a task that had taken your coworkers thirty minutes to do. You always wanted to do right by your kids but if you didn’t start sleeping and taking care of yourself, you were useless to everyone, including yourself. You looked up at Bucky through teary eyes.

“Are you going to ask me if the plan’s done and I’m just being picky?” you asked in a small voice. Bucky stood up, taking you with him. He pressed your frame against him, putting your arms over his shoulders and resting his hands on your waist. He stayed to sway slightly, trying to lull you back to sleep and to try to help quiet your mind. “I wouldn’t say picky I just...look. I’m being selfish. I want you to come to bed with me. I want you to play with my hair and whisper that you love me when you think I’m out cold asleep,” he gushed, noting the slight blush that crept up your cheeks. “You are incredible. Your admin are literally fucking stupid, doll. Nothing you do will change that. You are trying your best and if you think that your kids won’t benefit from the 12 different plans you’ve cooked up, then you’re crazy. Your kids don’t need a version 13, baby. They need you whole, in one piece, and ready to fight for them if they need.” He kissed your forehead, trying to ease your creased brow. Giving in to his ministrations, you sighed. You thought about how this plan should’ve probably only taken an hour. But then you rewrote the plan for the week based off of if your kids took a lot of time on the test, a little time, got anxious during it, caught on fire during it, committed larceny during the test and you had to contact the police. You knew it was overkill but you also knew that budget cuts were coming, contracts were up at the end of this year, and you and Bucky were saving to buy a house instead of living in a condo forever. 

“Buck?” you whispered. He lifted his chin off your head and looked down.

“Yeah, doll?” 

You felt the exhaustion settle into you all at once. “Can we go to bed?” 

Picking you up and putting you in a fireman’s carry, Bucky held you the whole way down to your bedroom. He pulled out a shirt of his for you to sleep in while you brushed your teeth and rinsed off in the shower. He walked in right as you were towelling off and he slipped it over your head with ease. He offered to blow dry your hair but you declined, favoring slipping into a warm sleep with him. He cuddled you close, forgoing asking you to play with his hair in favor of trying to hug all the pride he felt about you into your body via osmosis. Your head was resting soft on his chest, one arm curled protectively around his torso. His metal arm was tucked up and around your shoulders, keeping you comfortable. His flesh hand caressed your arm around him to remind you that he would always be there for you. He loved you more than anything. As your breathing evened and his hand on your side rose in gentle time with your breath, he decided that he was going to call Tony tomorrow. He knew a few people who owed him from his time as the Winter Soldier and if they didn’t want their dirty laundry exposed, dammit he was going to make someone in the district fix the stupid test until it worked how you wanted it to work. He hugged you closer to him, giving you one final squeeze before he started drifting off to sleep. He slipped into a dream where he was a professor and you a naughty schoolgirl and he had just convinced you to bend over to pick something up behind his desk when...a loud snore from you jolted him back to the reality of his exhausted teacher girlfriend wearing his baggy shirt, with hair going every which way. There was no plaid skirt here. Only love and admiration. Bucky kissed your temple and willed sleep to come again. 

[herbgerblin]

I made a short post about how I cope with executive dysfunction around the house, but here’s another:

Wakeup - Things I try to keep by the bed: bottle of water, a sweater (I can’t get out of bed mostly because I like being warm), multivitamins, and a snack like crackers or granola bars. Restock before going to bed. 

When it’s really hard to get out of bed, instead of attempting to sit up, I just kinda shuffle out feet first and slide out until I’m off completely. Also it helps to queue up a few get out of bed songs. Mine include “Dancing in the Dark”, “You Make My Dreams Come True”, and “Still Feel.” Associate hearing the music with getting up. Yes, I am Pavloving myself. I’ve accepted it.

Cleanup - I make up the bed first, then toss all the shit scattered around the room on it. I do all this to deter going back under the covers. Make one big pile, and then work that into smaller and smaller piles. I personally feel clearer with more floor space, so I keep storage as vertical as possible.

Work - It’s hard to sit at my desk when I’m doing anything other than drawing (that’s a whole other can of worms.) I have to keep it as decluttered as possible. Other than my laptop and tablet, I have a white board calendar, a planner, my phone. I have set my mac to tell me the time every 15 minutes. It’s been more effective for my time blindness than actually checking the clock (which is also hanging on the wall above my desk.)

(This next bit is hard to admit, because I grew up thinking that buying a ton of shit to make my life more accessible was wasteful. It took me a long time to realize I’m already wasting time and money by forcing myself to do things my brain was actively fighting against.)

Cooking - It is devastating to look at a fully stocked fridge, get overwhelmed, and end up not eating any of it because it’s “too hard.” I waste money letting fresh goods go to waste because I don’t cook daily. (Also, I’d be essentially starving myself D:) At this point, I just buy foods that can be heated within 5 minutes or are pre-prepped. I save cooking for when I am more alert/have company. 

Dishes - I’ve switched to using all disposable dishes and utensils, and only use real dishware when I have guests over. I’m not using as much water, and leaving dirty dishes in the sink would create a health hazard otherwise. It also reduces the amount of times I break glass (I’ve broken so much glass.)

Laundry - Color blocking weekly attire. Folding clothes as I take them out of the dryer. I can’t explain why using laundry pods is more relaxing, but any method to reduce steps is a good method. I bought a clothes rack and a shelf so I can actually see the clothes I have (mainly to reduce impulse buys.) 

[bcbdrums]

A Day in the Life of Bonnie Rockwaller

What, not a Drakgo fic!?  No...no it is not.  This one is all about Bonnie.

A girl only really seen through one lens on the show, perhaps misunderstood... A cheerleader, twelve-years a ballerina, a good student, the youngest in her family, and dating a football star. The "mean girl."

What is her life really like?

Happy (belated) birthday to the amazing @sharperthewriter!

FFn     AO3

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A Day in the Life of Bonnie Rockwaller

The alarm clock went off too soon for Bonnie Rockwaller on that Thursday morning. With a groan she reached over and slapped the device until the beeping stopped, and then blinked at the bright sunlight creating a glow at the edge of her teal curtains.

She didn't want to get up. But winners didn't sleep in.

She rolled out of bed, untwisting her dark red leopard print pajama bottoms and spaghetti strap top from where they had shifted in her restless sleep. She hadn't slept well, again.

She slipped her feet into her fuzzy slippers that matched the pajama set and grabbed her phone off her nightstand, unplugging it as she hastily flipped it open to check her messages.

There weren't any.

She pushed down the pang that tried to creep into her chest, and instead turned to her wall calendar next to her desk. She paused for a moment to look in the bright mirror above the desk, tousling her hair with one hand and giving a half-grin at the way it fell over her shoulders. She looked incredible even straight out of bed.

The pang tried to enter her heart again, and she frowned and turned to the calendar, confirming the day's events with what she already had in her phone planner. After cheer practice she planned to go to the boutique for the final fitting of her homecoming dress, and that night she had ballet.

After nodding to herself that all was correct, she flipped over to her text messages out of habit. Her thumb hovered over the message at the top that hadn't been replied to from the night before as she considered sending another. But then with a scowl and another pang she closed the phone and tossed it onto her unmade bed.

She stepped over to the barre that her parents had had installed in her room and began her routine of ballet stretches. She forced the distracting thoughts about the lack of message reply away and started going over the new Mad Dogs cheer routine in her head. Ever since she and Kim had become co-captains of the squad, she couldn't help but admit...the routines had gotten better. And harder.

Bonnie sighed.

After finishing the stretches she changed into her black leggings, blue sports bra, socks, and running shoes. With the workout she knew she was going to get after school, she needed to get plenty warmed up ahead of time. Plus, she was worried she might have gained a few pounds in the last month and might not fit into her gown.

After tying her shoes, she grabbed her mp3 player and set it on her workout playlist, which included her favorite upbeat songs by Britina, MC Honey, the Oh Boyz, SmashMouth, and more. She also had some strange rap song that she'd seen once on American Starmaker that had topped the charts, but she could never remember the name of the artist.

She popped her earbuds in and hurried past the bedrooms of her siblings, hurrying out the door of the split-level home into the crisp, cool morning air. She set her stopwatch for seven and a half minutes and began jogging down the sidewalk, the golden light of the sunrise beginning to warm her skin within minutes.

Against her will, her mind fell back to the unanswered text from the night before. It wasn't that Brick hadn't been slow to reply in the past... In fact, his replies were coming slower and slower lately.

Bonnie couldn't ignore the pang in her chest that time, and she took a deep breath and ran faster. There were plenty of logical reasons her boyfriend might not be answering her texts. He was in college, after all. He had homework...which...he had never really done much of in high school, but the fact that he'd made it through one semester of college so far meant he must be doing at least some now.

She told herself again she was worrying over nothing. He had always been confused about things that were important to her, and to girls in general. He would read her text that day and confirm about the dance, and then she would send him a picture of her gown so he could buy the matching corsages.

The alarm on her stopwatch went off, and she turned around and started jogging back in the direction of home at a faster pace than she'd begun. As she felt the adrenaline pump through her from the run, she got an idea. She didn't need to wait for Brick to reply... She could just send the picture of the dress after she tried it on. That would give him the hint. He had probably just forgotten to reply anyway...

Bonnie finished her run with confidence, and when she returned home she hurried past her siblings in the kitchen, grateful for the loud hip-hop music currently playing in her ears so she wouldn't have to hear anything they might say to her. Though it was unlikely they would.

Her older brother by one year, Jonny, was sitting on the kitchen counter with his dirty sock-clad feet on the refrigerator door, playing some hand-held video game. Her even older sisters, Connie and Lonnie, were seated at the kitchen table leaning over a fashion magazine and a laptop computer, shopping online she assumed. They would curb the behavior when their parents came out for the 'family breakfast' they insisted on each day, before each family member would vanish to their various obligations.

Bonnie wasn't upset about family breakfasts really; ever since her dad bought her a car, she barely saw her family, since each member in turn had previously driven her everywhere she needed to go—her siblings with complaints, of course. Now she was wholly independent, so the breakfasts held more meaning to her.

After returning to her room, she glanced at her phone still on the bed. She thought about her plan to text Brick later after she picked up her dress...which would be in about nine hours.

The pang of worry hit her chest again.

She grabbed the phone along with her bathrobe as she went back down the hall to take a shower. She opened the phone and looked at the text she had sent the prior evening before dinner that remained unanswered.

*You're still free next Saturday for the homecoming dance, right?*

Still breathless from the run and with sweat irritating the center of her back, she started the shower and then scrolled through the prior texts between she and Brick over the past couple of weeks, noting the slow times between his responses compared to her quick ones, and his lack of many words. After a moment of tense indecision, she fired off another quick text.

*I'll send you a photo of my gown after school!*

She set the phone down and grimaced as she started to undress. A lack of words wasn't anything new, and she was stunned as she realized she was telling herself not to worry. Why should she worry? She shouldn't even have let that thought in her head.

She frowned and leaned over the counter, staring at her face in the mirror as it started to become fogged with steam.

"I have nothing to worry about," she reassured herself out loud, and after giving herself a crisp nod, she adjusted the water temperature and made haste to shower.

She thought about Brick's class and football schedules, which...she'd had to badger him for back in the fall. They weren't consistent day to day, and he even had night classes a couple of days a week. These offered plenty of reasons why he might not have replied to her text messages. A college boy was busy.

After another swath of reassuring thoughts she felt her confidence returning. And then just as she switched the shower off, she heard the telltale beep of her phone indicating a message received.

She nearly slipped on the tile as she hurried to the phone, only half-drying her hands before flipping it open. The text was from Brick.

*Call me later.*

Bonnie read the words five times as her heart began to race, and then she mentally shook herself and quickly dried the phone off before drying off herself and putting on her bathrobe.

The text was a positive. He wanted to talk to her. Right...? Usually it was she who called him, and he only answered half of the time anyway... Come to think of it, he never said much over the phone. He just hummed responses to what she said to him.

Bonnie frowned into the fogged-up mirror as she began to blow-dry her hair. She didn't need to read any more into the text than was there. He probably wanted to talk about logistics for the dance.

She let the sound of the blow dryer drown out her thoughts, and as soon as her hair was no longer damp at the roots she unplugged the blow dryer and set the appliance on the counter before snatching up her phone again and storming down the hall back to her bedroom.

When she stepped through the door, she hit her ankle hard on something and tripped, plummeting forward with a gasp. Her phone flew out of her hand and was forgotten as she tucked into a somersault and came out of the fall safely and on her feet. She took hardly a second to catch her breath before whirling around and pushing her hair out of her eyes as she scowled. Her full laundry basket on the floor was the culprit, but her eyes narrowed as she realized it was the load she had put in the night before...and it wasn't clean nor dry.

"Lonnie!" she shouted before even leaving her room, turning the short distance down the hall to her older sister's room. "Why aren't my clothes clean? And why did you put dirty clothes back in my room!?"

She had just reached the door when it opened a sliver, and she could just see her sister's blonde hair and smirk.

"Oh sorry B, forgot to tell you I took your clothes out last night to do mine," Lonnie said, her tone rife with sarcasm. "Needed my intimates done before my date later."

"You could have waited your turn! Why didn't you tell me last night?" Bonnie said through gritted teeth, her hands in fists at her sides as she seethed.

"Mmh, guess it slipped my mind. Sorry, B..." she answered as she pushed the door closed, drawing out the 'sorry' in an all too familiar way.

"Rrrgh!" Bonnie snarled, hitting the closed door with a flat palm before turning on her heel to head back to her room.

"Sheesh, Bonnie, take a chill pill."

Bonnie blinked and saw Jonny leaning against the wall, not looking up from his video game.

"Quiet, nerdlinger!"

"Hmph," was Jonny's only reply, said through a smirk with a shrug.

"I have nothing to wear now!"

"Wow, nothing," he replied flatly, clearly disbelieving and disinterested.

Bonnie took a sharp breath in through her nose and was about to retort when Connie poked her head out of her own doorway.

"Nothing that'll help, anyway," she said with a slight giggle and smirk, giving Bonnie a once-over.

"Connie!"

Her eldest sister disappeared into her bedroom, and the sound of another door closing was her alert that her brother had departed too. Bonnie stood alone in the hallway for a moment, seething and feeling irrationally like she might cry before she shoved the emotion away and stalked back to her room.

Winners didn't cry.

She glanced into the laundry basket, noting all of her favorites wrinkled and wet from half a wash cycle, including her planned outfit for that day. She sighed and stepped to the closet, looking at the variety of things she didn't often choose because they were old, out of style, or weren't appropriate for school for one reason or another.

After several minutes pushing through every item and muttering about things being out of season, she grabbed an old favorite crop top she'd forgotten about and probably hadn't worn since freshman year. After scanning the array of bottoms in her closet and not finding a suitable match, she reached into the far corner and grabbed the old, baggy Club Banana overalls she'd used to wear with that top all the time.

When she got dressed she realized two things quickly: first, that sleeveless purple and teal tie dye racer-back crop top was quite snug, rode up higher than it used to, and showed her bra under her arms; second, that the overalls were also just a touch too small. They hugged her hips and her rear in a way she actually found attractive as she spun in front of the mirror, but the straps weren't fitting entirely over her shoulders and even hurt a little.

She frowned slightly as she unbuckled one strap and let it fall over her back, and the bib ever so slightly forward. It relieved enough pressure from the garment that she felt comfortable in the choice, and after looking at the very obvious sides of her bra showing under her arms, she unhooked the undergarment at the back, pulled off the straps, and then took the garment off through one of the arm holes in the style of Raquel Spring from "Pals." She dropped it in the laundry basket with a frown, determining then and there she would have to get back at Lonnie for potentially ruining her wardrobe.

After another quick spin in the mirror and deciding she looked good enough, Bonnie put on her socks and shoes and hurried back to the bathroom to quickly do her hair and makeup. Her parents would be upset, but she wasn't sure if she'd have time for breakfast anymore. The clothing problem had slowed her down, plus she suddenly remembered some math homework she'd left unfinished the night before in favor of working on memorizing the latest ballet routine.

Her focus fell to the unfinished math word problems—why were word problems so hard?—as she fixed her hair with the blow dryer and a round brush into its usual style, and then hurriedly put on her makeup.

After giving a satisfied nod to her appearance, she hurried back to her bedroom again. She closed her homework into her math book and shoved it in her backpack, knowing she'd have a better chance of getting it done and being on time if she did it after she arrived at school, maybe during her first class. It was with that somewhat shaky resolution that she threw her backpack over her shoulder and then grabbed up the laundry basket and headed down the hall.

She ignored the smirks of her siblings as she strode past them and quickly got the load of laundry started. Her mom didn't have to work for a couple of hours yet...

When she returned to the kitchen, she noted her three older siblings expressions had sobered as they sat dutifully around the table eating their usual breakfast meals, and her parents with them. Bonnie took a deep breath.

"Mom, when my laundry finishes can you put it in the dryer? And hang up the other things?"

Her mother looked up from her dish in confusion.

"I thought you did laundry last night?"

"I started to, but somebody decided theirs was more important," Bonnie said, hands on her hips as she glared at her older sister.

Veronica Rockwaller gave a disapproving frown toward the blonde-haired young woman, who merely shrugged.

"She didn't come back to dry it anyway," Lonnie said.

"I fell asleep doing homework!"

Bonnie's father, who until that point had been invisible behind his newspaper, cleared his throat.

"Bonnie..."

Bonnie groaned and rolled her eyes. "Yes, I know I'm supposed to sleep at least seven hours each night. I got them," she assured him. She didn't think it important to add they'd been spent tossing and turning, worrying about Brick. And that the same worry was what kept her from finishing the homework.

She turned to the cupboard and took out a protein bar before spinning around and heading for the front door.

"Bonnie!" her mother sang in a disappointed tone as she walked past. Her father looked up from his paper and coffee again with a raised brow.

"Sorry Mom, sorry Dad, I have just enough time to finish my homework if I leave now," she said by way of excuse.

"But Bon-Bon!"

Bonnie looked from her mother's disappointed face to her father's. Donald 'Donny' Rockwaller lifted his hand in a vague gesture that she could leave, and she grinned and flipped her hair with one hand as she turned to hide her relief.

"Now Ronnie, schoolwork comes first. At least she won't miss dinner," her father said pointedly. "Especially since it'll be the last family dinner before our trip this weekend."

Bonnie froze at the tone in her father's voice and glanced back over her shoulder. He was staring at her over his newspaper.

"Of course not!" she said with a broad, innocent smile. She thought a moment. "...But I do need to pick up my homecoming dress after cheer practice today."

"Oh, I can come with you!" her mother said brightly.

Bonnie's smile faded to a panicked frown and she started waving her hand in a stopping motion. But her attention shifted suddenly as her sisters spoke.

"You mean they found a dress to actually fit that shape?" Connie said.

"Clearly nothing else does," Lonnie said, giving a disgusted look at Bonnie's current attire.

"Ladies," their father admonished, and Bonnie turned to leave in a hurry amid her mother's scolding of her older sisters and her brother's snickering. She wasn't about to let her mother come along to the dress fitting, or anywhere else where they could be seen together by people she knew—not since the ski trip incident.

In the driveway, she dropped her backpack on the passenger seat of her white convertible and sighed as she sank into the tan leather driver's seat. After tuning the radio to her favorite hip-hop station and cranking the volume, she began the drive to school, letting the sound of the wind and the music carry her thoughts away.

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When Bonnie walked through the halls of the school and saw Kim Possible standing in front of her open locker, she actually perked up. She needed to talk to Kim about the complexity of the final sequence in the new cheer routine before practice. She began quickening her pace, but stopped short when Kim's locker was pushed closed by a confidently grinning Ron Stoppable, dressed uncharacteristically in his football jersey.

Bonnie stopped and took a step nearer the other wall of lockers as if it could hide her while the...the loser of a held-back senior Kim now called 'boyfriend' leaned over the red-head at her locker and set his hand on her waist, kissing her in a very suave move. Bonnie blinked at the scene in shock, feeling a sinking in her stomach and an actual camaraderie with Stoppable's hairless pet which was scrubbing at its eyes from the football star's pocket.

'Football star...'

"Whoa, put out the fire you two!" was the declaration of Kim's other best friend, Monique, who Bonnie could find no fault with except for choosing the other two as companions. The girl was confident, trendy, smart, and someone she could have called 'friend' herself. But apparently Kim had gotten to her first.

Bonnie passed the trio without a word as they began chatting and hurried to what was their joint homeroom. She needed to finish that math homework and would need a seat in the back if she was to avoid Mr. Barkin's watchful gaze. And the last thing she wanted right then was to hear about how great life was the world-famous world-saving cheerleader.

She remembered Brick's text and reached in her pocket for her phone, and then froze.

It wasn't there.

She remembered with a fury that she had dropped it earlier that morning when she tripped on the laundry basket, and she mentally swore further revenge against all of her siblings for the crime. They deserved it for the years of tormenting her anyway.

She dropped her math book heavily on the too-small desk and leaned over the homework paper, one hand on her forehead to hide her face as she stared down at the problems in the book.

She stared at the words and numbers while her classmates gradually filed in and took their seats around her. She barely acknowledged Tara's cheery 'good morning' as she read over the first word problem again and again, unable to focus long enough to finish it, and she tuned out the tardy bell and Mr. Barkin's gruff greeting to the class.

All she could think about was Brick's text. She couldn't remember another time he had asked her to call. In fact, their phone conversations usually ended with him interrupting whatever she was talking about and asking if he could call her back another time...which...he never did.

A telltale buzzing made her reach instinctively for her phone, and she frowned when it wasn't there. She glanced over at Tara in the next desk, who was grinning down at her phone in her lap.

Tara saw her friend's attention and after a moment and a glance at Mr. Barkin who was writing on the chalkboard, she passed the cell phone to Bonnie.

Bonnie smirked as she saw it was an update to Stoppable's blog, and she glanced to where the blond-haired boy sat next to Kim in the front row. He had his phone in his lap, and he seemed to be typing blindly with one thumb while his hairless pink pet typed at the same time. She frowned and shook her head in confusion as she looked back to Tara's phone for the latest gossip.

*A reliable source has reported that Dr. Drakken and Shego have been looking at real estate in Tahiti. Is it a new lair, or a romantic vacation home?*

Bonnie rolled her eyes and passed the phone back to Tara. While that pair of villains were among the most interesting, she was tired of the 'are they or aren't they?' that Stoppable kept spinning to keep interest in the blog.

"Well?" whispered Tara, and Bonnie looked at her while keeping one eye on Mr. Barkin. "What do you think?"

"I don't think it matters where they do it?" Bonnie whispered back.

"They're totally a couple!" Tara said with a small giggle, scrolling through the other posts on the blog.

Bonnie shook her head and looked down at her math book again, feeling like she might be able to focus at last. As she finally began writing figures on the paper to solve the first word problem, she realized she'd wasted most of homeroom and hadn't heard even a word of Mr. Barkin's lecture. She tried to tune into it as she wrote, ignoring the giggles off to her right and the grin of her cheer co-captain a few rows ahead.

It was bad enough she had to watch Kim and Ron making out in the hallway. The last thing she needed was to think about happy villain couples too, when she couldn't hardly remember the last time she'd had Brick's arm around her.

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"And five, six, seven, eight and aerial...three...down...V...and left, right, left, right and to-the-base!" Kim called out the beats of the cheer routine, watching with arms crossed in front of the bleachers.

Bonnie, up in front and with the mirrored role to Kim's, had the most difficult steps and was trying to complete her moves while also listening to Kim's commands to the rest of the squad for her timing. It was going well, exactly like she'd practiced in her bedroom the night before. They had collaborated on this routine and were sure it could win the next competition, but of course, they all had to start somewhere in learning it.

As she felt sweat beginning to form on her brow she remembered the competition last year, when Brick had sat in the front row cheering her on. She'd gotten a major thrill bragging about him to the girls from other squads, who had all been envious of her gorgeous, all-American boyfriend.

"And liberty...to scorpion... Bonnie!"

Bonnie felt the weight shift from Tara below who was her base, and realized she'd failed to shift into the scorpion pose. Which meant when Hope next to her, standing in for Kim, had nowhere to place her foot for the next move when their feet were supposed to touch. She watched in a mixture of annoyance, fear, and embarrassment as Hope went down despite Crystal's efforts, and she quickly lost balance too, landing in a forward lunge when her feet finally hit the gym floor.

When she righted herself she found every member of the squad staring at her. It wasn't often she found herself in this position, as it was usually her leading the glares toward Kim who was often distracted by her 'missions' and more recently, her steady boyfriend.

The heat came to Bonnie's cheeks and she crossed her arms and turned away with a frown.

"I didn't have the balance for scorpion, it would have been worse if I'd tried," she said by way of excuse.

"Maybe if you'd lose a few pounds," Tanzy said not entirely under her breath, earning a few gasps from the long-time members of the squad.

"Why, you—!"

"O-kay," Kim said with authority. "Bonnie, let's swap. You call the routine and I'll hop in."

Bonnie was torn in that moment between arguing that she wouldn't mess up again and taking the pass and actually watching the routine as she called it. She wanted to watch it again anyway, but she was uncertain in the moment which was the less embarrassing of the two options.

As Kim raised a questioning and slightly impatient brow in her direction, she rolled her eyes and scoffed.

"Fine, get up there."

Bonnie watched as Hope and Jessica swapped places, Jessica being Bonnie's stand-in as Hope was Kim's. Then when everyone was back in place in the starting positions, she began calling the counts and moves.

She was glad she'd made that choice, because she had no choice but to focus and for at least the rest of practice, Brick didn't enter her mind at all. Not even when they had played the music and she and Kim had both operated in their regular positions. She hated to admit it, but they were a good team as co-captains.

It wasn't until later after showering in the locker room and waiting for Tara to finish fixing her hair that Bonnie began to dwell on the situation with Brick again. She was also worried that he might have sent her another message while her phone was at home, somewhere on her bedroom floor. What if he had tried to call, and her lack of response made him think she was ignoring him? What if he'd wanted her to call right after school, or after cheer practice?

"What's wrong, Bonnie?"

Bonnie startled from her thoughts and realized her brow had been twisted in so much worry, that it hurt. She uncrossed her arms and pushed off of the wall in the girl's locker room where she'd been leaning.

"Nothing, you ready to go?" she asked Tara, who was fluffing her golden, wavy hair.

"You bet! I can't wait to see your gown! And guess what, the boutique left me a voicemail during practice. Mine came in today too!"

"Yeah that's great. I need to run home first, that all right?"

"Oh...sure, what for?" Tara asked, hurrying behind Bonnie who had slung her backpack on her back and started out of the locker room.

"For my phone," Bonnie answered somewhat impatiently.

"Ohhh right... Do you think Brick might have messaged you?"

Bonnie felt that pang in her chest again and increased her pace. She had confided to Tara about her missing phone, but hadn't fully admitted her fears that Brick was losing interest in her.

"Maybe. He usually waits for me to reply, unless he's asking for homework help."

Tara continued talking, but Bonnie barely listened until they reached her convertible in the parking lot. They tossed their backpacks in the trunk and then Bonnie sat heavily in the driver's seat with a sigh. The fall earlier during practice, though she had landed fine, had definitely been a shock to her system.

"Bonnie?"

"Hmm?"

"I said, do you think the hot pink will be too much?"

"I've been telling you for years to let go of the green."

"Well it's a kind of a—"

"Never-mind, I'll see it when we get there," Bonnie said as she started the car.

She stared straight ahead, ignoring the concerned and confused look she knew Tara was giving her. She grabbed her sunglasses off the car's sun visor and hid her eyes behind them.

She couldn't focus on the conversation about gowns with the possibility of a missed call from Brick swirling around in her head. Not to mention the sudden increased concern that her gown wouldn't fit after Tanzy's comment at practice.

Back in the locker room she had direly wanted to ask Kim if she had gained weight, knowing the red-head would be honest, but she hadn't. Now she wanted to ask Tara, but she wasn't sure if her friend wouldn't sugar-coat the answer just to please her.

Bonnie flipped the radio station to pop, Tara's favorite, and gave her a half-smile that seemed to assuage any concerns her friend may have had. She turned the music up higher to avoid any possibility of conversation and drove the familiar route back home, unable to deny the anxiety now coursing through her as the promise of getting to her phone was near.

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Bonnie parked her car near the house after driving perhaps too quickly up her family's long driveway, if Tara's slightly startled expression was any indication. She kept her sunglasses on to hide her slightly guilty expression as she grabbed her backpack from the trunk and hurried up the steps.

"If my sibs aren't around you can help yourself to anything in the fridge," Bonnie called over her shoulder as Tara hurried behind her.

She didn't feel like stopping at Bueno Nacho or anywhere else on the way to the boutique, but it had definitely been too long since lunch.

The house, gratefully, seemed empty when they went inside, and Bonnie nodded toward the fridge before heading down the hall to her room. It was just a quick stop for her phone and a snack before they would head back to try on their gowns.

In her room, Bonnie took her planner and the books for that night's homework out of her backpack and placed them on her desk, knowing she might forget otherwise after ballet later that night. She glanced at her watch as she dropped her backpack and began calculating how much time she would have, and then frowned. There was really only time to try on the dresses, make the final payment if they fit, and then drive Tara home. Then she would barely make it home through rush hour traffic in time for the family dinner, and then she would have to hurry off to ballet.

She wouldn't be able to start her homework until after eight thirty that night. Or call Brick.

A quick search of the room revealed her phone on the floor near the barre, and she flipped it open to find six missed text messages. Two were from Tara that morning, the second of which asking why she wasn't answering texts. Bonnie rolled her eyes.

She cringed at the text from Kim asking why she was late for practice, and it was with dismay she saw that the other three were from Liz, Crystal, and Hope. Brick hadn't sent any other messages, and there were no missed calls.

Bonnie put the phone in the hip pocket of her overalls, frowning at the discomfort it gave her since the older garment was slightly too snug.

'Or maybe you've just put on a few pounds...'

She shook that thought from her head as she fished in her backpack for her wallet. She glanced at the math book at the top of the pile of homework on her desk and frowned at the memory of turning in an incomplete paper earlier that day, and then she looked up at the mirror. Her hair was more limp for the rigor of cheer practice, but there wasn't time to do anything with it.

Bonnie chose a teal purse from the several she had hanging behind her door and shouldered it after putting her phone and wallet inside. She hurried back to the kitchen where she found Tara eating a pudding cup.

"Those are Jonny's," Bonnie commented, knowing her brother would be upset. Not that she cared... She just knew she would probably take the heat for it.

"Oh, sorry," Tara said with a small giggle as she licked the butterscotch from her lips.

Bonnie opened the fridge and after a sad perusal, she grabbed one of her brother's pudding cups too. She plopped down on the bar stool next to Tara and opened the cup, staring blankly at the cabinets opposite as she dug her spoon in.

"...Did Brick call?" Tara asked after a moment of silence.

"No," Bonnie said, then spooning a larger bite into her mouth. While she could no longer ignore the growing concern that Brick was losing interest in her, she still didn't want to talk about it. Because if Brick was in fact losing interest...she didn't want to think forward to what would come after that conversation.

"Ryan left me a message during practice," Tara commented.

Bonnie nodded approvingly as she licked her spoon.

"Status."

"But he was always trying to cop a feel," Tara continued with a frown.

Bonnie smirked. "And you care?"

Tara's frown deepened.

"Right, I get it. You're waiting for 'love'," Bonnie said, drawing out the last word sarcastically.

"So are you," Tara retorted, "unless something's changed?"

"Nothing's changed," Bonnie said, glancing back at the cabinets and letting her vision blur as she took another bite.

"Look, I like making out but Ryan just doesn't understand where the line is," Tara said thoughtfully.

Bonnie silently ate her pudding as she thought about her physical relationship with Brick. He was a good kisser, and she always felt a sense of pride curled up under his arm, whether they were at the movies or at a party after a game. He'd never given her any indications he wanted more, so they'd never talked about it. But what if...that was part of why he was losing interest now? Had he met someone else who gave him more?

Bonnie considered their on-again, off-again relationship over the past three and a half years. It was always she who had broken up with him when they were 'off,' due to his lack of attention or some rude comment he had made. She'd always just assumed he would be there when she had cooled down, and he was. Even the time he'd seemed interested in Kim during sophomore year, she hadn't worried, because she knew he wasn't Kim's type.

'Her loss!'

As she thought about it further, she realized that the last few times they'd broken up...she couldn't remember Brick protesting. Or even seeming that upset. Or...happy when she'd declared they were back together.

The pang in her chest turned to a swirling unease in her stomach, and she glanced to the side to see that Tara had just finished her pudding. She grabbed the small plastic cup and spoon out her hands, earning a surprised squeak, and carried them and her own unfinished pudding around to the sink where she dropped the spoons in and then tossed the pudding cups in the trash.

"Come on," Bonnie said abruptly, shifting her purse to her other shoulder. It had been on the one with the overall strap, and she realized the garment was a bit uncomfortable over her shoulder after all.

"What'd I say?" Tara questioned. "Look, I'm over that Ryan is a celebrity... Jason's never tried to push the boundaries, and that matters more to me."

"Fine, whatever," Bonnie said as she headed back out the door. "Long as he's got the cash."

"We go out," Tara defended her own on-and-off boyfriend.

"To places other than Bueno Nacho?" Bonnie accused as they got back into the car.

"Yes," Tara said emphatically, sounding almost hurt. "And he even told me he'll take me to Chez Couteaux before homecoming."

"How do you know he's not gonna turn out like Ryan did?" Bonnie retorted as she started the car.

"Bonnie!"

"Just saying," Bonnie responded with a shrug and a frown.

She turned the music back on as she backed the car out of the driveway. The conversation had only increased her worries about Brick to the point she didn't even bother denying them anymore. What if that was the reason he was distant from her? What if he had in fact found someone else who was more the kind of girl he wanted?

What...what was the kind of girl Brick wanted? Bonnie felt the uneasy feeling in her stomach intensify as she suddenly worried that she wasn't it...

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

"I've been telling you for years Tara, jewel tones," Bonnie said, watching Tara look uncertainly at the gown she wore that in Bonnie's opinion was a dream come true.

Tara's choice that year was a dark hot pink strapless mermaid gown, satin until the mermaid flare at the bottom where the material was tulle. The bust was covered in tiny rhinestones that faded away down the bodice, which Bonnie thought were a great compliment to her figure.

"Are you sure?"

"Sometimes your favorite colors just aren't ones you can wear," Bonnie said, leaning back on the bench and crossing her legs again. "With your hair, eyes, and complexion... Jewel tones, Tara."

Tara's expression brightened at Bonnie's reassurance, though her brow still showed uncertainty.

"Look, it's perfect. Just take it off and I'll put mine on," Bonnie said, rising from the bench and moving into the adjacent fitting room. She quickly divested herself of her shoes, overalls, and tank top and then carefully removed her gown from its hanger.

As she stepped into the dress and slipped the straps up over her shoulders, she felt a comfortable, familiar confidence settle over her that she'd lacked that day—the confidence of looking good.

She zipped up the black dress and adjusted the raspberry colored chiffon sash at the waist which folded and had a panel that draped down the front nearly to the floor. The dress had two high slits up each side and a deep V-neck, with straps that thinned over the shoulders. She smiled as she mentally pictured the way it would look with her hair and makeup done to perfection, and black heels to match. Ruby earrings would complete the look...

She straightened up in front of the fitting room mirror as a vision entered her mind of Brick standing at her side wearing a black tuxedo, with a cummerbund and bow-tie to match her sash. They would have to be dyed of course, along with roses for the corsages, but there was still plenty of time.

The excitement that had bubbled up in her chest at how great she and Brick would look walking into the homecoming dance together burst suddenly as all of her insecurities about their relationship suddenly came back. She felt in her purse for her phone and after pulling it out flipped it open. There had been no messages or missed calls in the time she and Tara and been out so far.

She turned to face the mirror again, posed and grinned, and then moved her phone around in one hand trying to get the best angle and also capture the entire dress. It took three tries, but she finally got an image she was okay with and sent it in a message to Brick.

*Match everything to the sash.*

As she looked at the image once more before pushing send she felt her confidence returning. She was the hottest girl at Middleton High, and Brick had never looked at anyone else in the almost three years they had been together. She had nothing to worry about.

She sent the text, put her phone back in her purse, and then exited the fitting room. Tara was dressed in her school clothes again and seated on the bench Bonnie had previously occupied, her folded hands atop the knee of her crossed leg which she was swinging as she smiled and waited patiently. When she focused her attention on Bonnie, her mouth fell open in a gasp.

"Oh, Bonnie that's gorgeous!"

"I know. Doesn't it just scream 'me'?" she said with a grin, slowly spinning and then striking a pose.

"It's perfect!"

"Like I said. Me."

Just then, a wolf-whistle startled them and drew both of their attentions to where about ten feet away a vaguely familiar red-headed teen boy stood. Bonnie realized in a moment it was one of their classmates, but she wasn't entirely sure of his name. She couldn't recall ever actually speaking to him.

"Smokin'!" he said, giving her a thumbs up and a grin that revealed less than perfect teeth.

Bonnie recoiled in mild disgust, though she couldn't argue with the compliment.

"Yeah, way too hot for you," Bonnie said in retort. She meant it derisively, but the look Tara gave her made her wonder if it had accidentally come off as flirty.

The guy continued looking her over without any pretense, and Bonnie racked her brain for his name. All she could really recall about him was that his tired, baggy eyes were always staring at a computer screen and that he had never once been in gym class.

"So, got a date for the homecoming dance?" he asked, his look becoming practically lascivious.

The boy's name finally registered in Bonnie's mind.

"Uh, yeah. And if you come with twenty feet of me at the dance Reiger, I'll tell my boyfriend Brick that you asked me out."

Ronald Reiger seemed to snap out of his hormone-motivated stupor, but it didn't last long as a devious smirk returned to his face.

"I didn't think Flagg liked his babes with so much junk in the trunk. But I sure do," Reiger said, wagging his eyebrows knowingly.

Bonnie sputtered incoherently for a moment before a shrill scream left her throat. Every face in the boutique suddenly turned to look at her, and Bonnie's face reddened in both anger and embarrassment as Reiger left the store laughing.

Bonnie's hands were clenched in fists at her sides as she seethed, the conversation already replaying in her mind. So focused was she on the horrible things Reiger had said, that she didn't notice Tara had been speaking to her until she felt her friend's hand on her shoulder.

"He never even goes to the dances. Just ignore him."

Bonnie took a deep breath and tried to calm down, but she still felt the sting of embarrassment as multiple eyes continued to watch her.

"Tara," she began, not liking how pathetic her voice sounded, "have I gained weight?"

"No! If anything you're slimmer," Tara said, her usual happy-go-lucky smile back on her face.

"Really?" Bonnie asked, starting to straighten up from the hunch she'd not realized she'd fallen into.

"Oh yeah. You look great! Especially in the varsity cheer uniform. You rock it!"

Bonnie looked straight into Tara's eyes and saw the sincerity; she wasn't just trying to butter her up.

She pushed her hair back and fought the twisting of emotions in her chest, glancing away when she finally said a quiet, "Thanks."

"Besides, Reiger's been crushing on you since middle school," Tara continued thoughtfully, "but I've never seen him with anyone. He's probably got his own issues."

Bonnie looked up in surprise. "Since middle school!?"

Tara looked confused. "Yeah. I thought you knew."

"Ew! No, that's the first time I've ever acknowledged that loser's existence!"

Tara looked confused again. "Don't you remember he asked you to dance in seventh grade, at the welcome back dance?"

Bonnie blinked at her. "I thought you said he never goes to dances."

"Not since that one. He asked you to dance and you said no."

Bonnie searched her memory, but all she could recall of that first dance in seventh grade was how hot she had looked in her black and white leopard print skirt and hot pink blouse with the matching collar.

"Ugh, let's just pay for the gowns and get out of here before some other loser shows up."

"Hey," Tara said, and Bonnie felt a hand on her shoulder again, "this was fun. We barely hang out anymore. I'm glad we could fit this in."

"Yeah," Bonnie said with a quick smile before hurrying back into her fitting room.

As she changed back into her crop top and overalls she thought about Tara's words. It was true, they hadn't been hanging out as much since Tara had finally given up on that loser Stoppable part-way through junior year. Once she had stopped pining over him she found she enjoyed dating around, which meant less time for friends. And of course, varsity cheer took up more of both of their free time. They hardly saw each other outside of school activities anymore.

Bonnie considered the things in her own life that were keeping her busy. Ballet was four nights a week now that she was in the highest level, and for the past month she had spent all of her free time...worrying about Brick's diminishing communication. They had only been out on a date once in the last three weeks, but she realized she had been purposely keeping her evenings free just in case he wanted to see her. He was only going to the University of Lowerton after all, so it wasn't that far a drive.

But he hadn't mentioned going out once since their last date. He only responded to her messages, and barely at that...

Bonnie scowled as her mood soured again, but she didn't let it impact her carefully hanging the gown back on its hanger. The boost she had gotten from trying it on had already faded, and she was eager to get home so she could hopefully have a chance to call Brick in between dinner and ballet. A glance at her phone showed he hadn't replied to her message with the photo of the dress.

The overall strap on her shoulder was suddenly bothering her, and after a very brief moment she unhooked it and let the bib fall fully down and the strap down her back, a moment later looping both straps through the belt loops on the garment so they wouldn't flop too much. As she looked at her reflection in the mirror she reconsidered the decision for a moment, noting just how much of her midriff was showing due to the high crop top and how low the overalls fell. But she shook her head and shouldered her purse and turned away from her reflection. Because despite herself, she couldn't even distract herself thinking about Tara's compliment because she was no longer able to hide the worry in her eyes.

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

Bonnie shut off the car and then sank low into the leather seat, exhausted as she stared at the reflection of the golden sunset off her dash. She ran her mind back over the day's events, each recollection interrupted by the harsh, stabbing worry about Brick's text.

She felt a small measure of calm as she remembered how Tara had leaned down into the car to hug her when she had dropped her off at her home. Her friend had thanked her for a fun afternoon and promised to see her the next day with her usual bright smile and wave as she left.

Why couldn't Brick be more like Tara? Bonnie never had to worry that Tara wouldn't answer a text, or be less than honest about their friendship. If Tara was upset about something, Bonnie knew it in a moment from the look on her friend's face.

She also realized with sudden guilt, which she quickly shoved down, that she wasn't always quick to make amends when she and Tara got into disagreements. And yet, Tara...was still there.

She forced away the strange swirl of emotions in her chest and turned her thoughts to Brick again. Had she done something to upset him, and that's why he was distant? He wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed, and he had always been extremely easy-going in high school. It was one of the things she liked about him actually... He did whatever she wanted, and she got to show off her man candy wherever she went.

She startled suddenly, her eyes seeking something to focus on as too many realizations hit her all at once. Could Brick be avoiding her because she only treated him like a tool? And...since when did she no longer want that with him, and want to be treated like an actual girlfriend?

Her mind was racing for answers, and when she looked at her reflection in the rear-view mirror she saw the truth in her own eyes. She had wanted more for a long time, but hadn't been giving Brick anything to let him know that.

Another strange mix of emotions hit her as she fought against the revelation she had just had. She didn't need a relationship. She didn't need to give and take, or to care about someone else's needs. Winners didn't need other people, after all.

Even as her head spoke the defiant thoughts, an image of Tara's smile and the memory of her hug before they parted that evening flew across her mind's eye. She sighed and slumped back in the seat again.

Who was she kidding?

She grimaced as she reached into her purse and pulled out her cell phone. Brick had said to call her... It was time to put herself out of her misery and stop living in a high school fantasy. If she really did...want more...she would have to give more.

She pressed the speed dial with an ironic grimace and held the phone to her ear. It connected after four rings.

"Hello?" He sounded confused, which made her stomach twist in unease.

"Hey Brick, baby," she greeted with a smile, though it didn't reach her eyes.

"Oh, hey," was the response in his usual smooth tone, but it was lacking the smile behind it.

"Did you get the photo of my gown?" she asked, avoiding any more difficult topic for the moment.

"Yeah, it's smokin'!" he said, and Bonnie felt some of the unease leave as she heard the smile in his voice. She also recalled that Ron Reiger had used that exact term to describe the dress, and her face fell.

"Do you need me to send you the address of the boutique to get your cummerbund and bow-tie dyed?" she continued in a hurry.

"Yeah about that..."

Bonnie felt her throat constrict and immediately tried to calm her breathing. Before she could speak, Brick continued.

"I don't think we should see each other anymore."

Bonnie's chest heaved as her breaths came more quickly.

"What... You...you...are breaking up with me?" Bonnie sputtered. They weren't the words she wanted to say, but they were the ones that came out.

"Yeah... So no hard feelings," Brick said. It sounded final, and Bonnie gripped her phone hard as she leaned forward in a panic.

"Wait! Can...can we talk about this?" she stammered.

"Talk...?" Brick sounded confused by the suggestion.

"Yeah, like...like...why?"

"Oh, well... I feel like since I went to college we've...grown apart?" Brick answered, still sounding confused. "And like...we didn't really know each other that well anyway."

"What do you mean?" Bonnie gasped, her instincts taking over again. "We talked almost every day for three years, we went out all the time, I even hung out at your house with your lame-o family!" Bonnie cringed at the instinctive insult she'd given and hurriedly backpedaled. "I mean..."

"Yeah, and like...that's just it," Brick continued in the voice she knew so well, sounding much more himself. "We did all those things and I don't...really know you."

Bonnie blinked several times, fighting the onset of tears. Her mind was a jumble of searching for excuses and counter-arguments, as well as the distracting interruptions of how she basically been treating Tara exactly the same way she had treated Brick.

"Well...then let's get to know each other," she finally said. She looked in the rear-view mirror at her stricken expression, and then her eyes fell to the reflection of the short crop top she was wearing. "And like...if you come over Saturday, my parents won't be home all weekend."

She had lowered her tone on the last, hoping to sound seductive. Her heart raced for fear with the implication she had just given him. That wasn't what she really wanted, but she was desperate.

"No thanks... It's just not gonna work between us. I'm sorry, but...it's over."

Bonnie clutched the phone tighter, breathing into the receiver as no words came while tears filled her eyes. A moment later the line disconnected, and she let a sob escape her lips as she listened to the dead air at the other end of the line.

She closed the phone and dropped it back in her purse, then wiping the tears from her eyes.

'Winners don't cry, winners don't cry...'

She tried desperately to force the tears away, but as she replayed the conversation with Brick in her mind they kept coming. She turned her gaze upward as she grabbed a tissue from the box in her center console, but she didn't dry her eyes yet.

The resounding finality of Brick's statement, 'it's over,' kept looping in her mind and causing a torment of indecision. There was a part of her that wanted to call him back and fight to keep him. She even wondered if driving to Lowerton for a salacious meeting would change his mind after all.

That idea made her heart pound in anxiety, and she recalled her earlier conversation with Tara. It wasn't what she wanted... But...she still wanted Brick.

She dried her eyes, and on that thought she shouldered her purse, and then carefully took her plastic-wrapped homecoming gown out of the trunk of the car. The sudden realization that she had no date for the dance started the tears anew, but she didn't stop and headed for the house.

'Winners don't quit...'

When she walked inside, the telltale sounds of quiet conversation told her that her family had already started dinner. She wiped her eyes once more with her free hand and held the gown up so that when she passed through the kitchen it would detract attention from her.

"Bonnie..." was the disappointed greeting from her mother when she turned the corner. Bonnie held the gown up higher.

"Sorry, I had to take Tara home. Her gown came in too."

"Ugh, why do you hang out with such fashion rejects..." Lonnie said.

Bonnie didn't even make eye contact. "For your information she got a hot pink dress this time. And even if she does need a little help with fashion, at least she's a real friend."

"Since when do you have real friends?" Connie said with a giggle.

"Girls," their father admonished.

"Bon-Bon, what are you wearing?" her mother asked, noticing her attire despite the gown she was holding up to block their view.

Jonny leaned forward on his elbows with a smirk and raised his eyebrows, and the three sisters glared at him.

"Gross!" they all said in unison.

"Just looking to see if she actually grew a pair or if it's still just socks," Jonny said.

"Like you've ever seen real ones," Lonnie countered.

"Right back at ya, Sis'," Jonny snickered.

"Ugh!"

"Like you've ever seen more than two brain cells," Connie continued the argument.

"Bonnie, surely you had something you could have worn a bra with..." her mother continued over the adult children's argument.

"I had the overall bib up all day," Bonnie said with a slight scoff, and then added in a mutter, "well, half of it."

Her slight embarrassment and annoyance with her family was overriding the hurt of losing Brick, for at least the present moment, and she hurried down the hall to her room to hang up her gown. After she had done so she leaned on her desk with a heavy sigh, staring down at the mountain of homework.

She looked up at herself in the mirror. Her face wasn't as puffy as she feared, and she hurried down the hall to the bathroom to wash off the tear stains. She made the mistake of replaying the conversation with Brick in her head again as she did so, and her tears flowed again. She permitted herself a few whimpering sobs this time, in hopes that doing so would help purge some of the emotional turmoil and let her get on with the evening.

A harsh knock at the door startled her, and she hurriedly splashed more water onto her face and added some soap to clean off her ruined makeup. She'd gone to ballet without it before, though she hadn't in awhile.

"Just a minute!" she called more loudly than was necessary.

"Take a chill pill, Bonnie," came her brother's mocking voice.

Bonnie felt a renewed embarrassment and annoyance about his earlier comments and scowled as she turned off the faucet and dried her face.

"There are other toilets in this house where you can sit and play video games, you know," she retorted.

"Yeah but I'll be bothered in those," he said matter-of-factly.

Bonnie checked her face again and after hanging the towel she opened the door with a sharp jerk.

"Whoa, fan the flame, Bon-Bon!"

"Don't call me that," she bit back as she stalked past him and back down the hall.

She listened to his snickering and the closing of the door as he escaped the family dinner for at least awhile, and she began changing for ballet. As she did so she told herself she wasn't going to think about Brick anymore. She could easily get a hot date for homecoming, and she could start work on that the very next day. All she needed to worry about for the rest of that night was dinner, ballet, and homework, in that order.

She forced her mind to think about the difficult routine she was going to need to rehearse that evening as she put on her pink tights, black leotard, and ballet slippers. After that she stood in front of the mirror, already feeling more composed for how elegant she looked in the attire that spoke of over a decade of hard work. The word 'regal' even crossed her mind as she pulled her hair up into a French twist.

She considered going back to dinner in just her ballet outfit, but considering Jonny's comments she threw on a baggy teal Club Banana logo t-shirt over her leotard. And then after checking that her pointe shoes were in her ballet bag, she dropped her purse inside and zipped the bag up and headed back out to face her family.

"Bonnie, you missed almost all of dinner," was her mother's sad greeting when she re-entered the kitchen.

Bonnie dropped her bag behind her chair and then grabbed a plate to serve herself some food.

"It was a busy day," she said, again more harshly than was warranted. She swallowed guiltily when her father looked at her over the rims of his glasses.

"Connie was just telling us about the seismology research project she's working on in college," her father said as he cleared his throat.

"Yeah," Lonnie interrupted, "and if we keep listening to it we're not going to have time to talk about my date tonight."

Bonnie noticed her bottle-blonde sister's attire for the first time—a too-tight strapless periwinkle mini-dress, with a sparkling crystal necklace and earrings to match. Her makeup was also overdone, which wasn't atypical.

"So who's this one?" Bonnie asked boredly, moving her spoon through the pasta salad as she sat at the table with her family.

As Lonnie described her 'hot date' who worked for a modeling agency, Bonnie's thoughts instantly drifted to her lack of a date for the homecoming dance, and then beyond. She considered her sister who dated anyone who might be able to give her a jump-start into a film or modeling career. Lonnie didn't seem interested in a serious relationship...

Bonnie realized all of a sudden that she herself was. She couldn't do what her sister did. And while she didn't yet know what she wanted to do after high school (another worrying thought that she would bury until she had no choice) she knew she didn't want to date guy after guy... She had never really enjoyed that. Which meant that apparently...she wanted something steady.

"Bonnie?"

She re-focused as she realized she was being spoken to—it was her turn to share about her day.

"Well I got my gown, not that anyone noticed," she began.

"It's lovely, dear," her mother said.

Bonnie tried not to frown at the aged-sounding appellation.

"Thank you, Mom," she said, tossing a glare at her sisters. "We also made a lot of progress on the cheer routine for regionals. It's too fussy, like all of Kim's routines, but I've got to admit...it'll be pretty cool when we've got it down."

"Have you given us that date for our calendars, Bonnie?" her father asked without looking up from his meal.

"Yes. And the ballet. And the homecoming game, and the dance so you don't schedule anything over it."

"Will Brick be taking you to the dance?"

Bonnie felt her entire frame tense, but she forced her face to calm and took a swallow of her food to both give herself a moment to compose herself and to force down the lump rising in her throat.

"No, he's busy," she lied easily. "Besides, I'll be voted homecoming queen so I should go with whoever is voted king."

"You? Queen?" Connie said, and she and Lonnie began to snicker. The sound of Jonny's deeper voice joining theirs was the family's cue that he had returned from his 'bathroom break' and Bonnie glared at all of her siblings in turn as her brother retook his seat.

"Well of course it will be me. Who else could it be?" Bonnie asked, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms indignantly.

"Probably that red-haired babe you can't get along with, what's her name?" Jonny asked.

"Ugh, that fashion don't dating the biggest loser in the school? As if!"

"Check the facts, Bonnie, she's a world-famous hero and she was on the cover of every fashion magazine that mattered two years ago," Connie said.

"Yeah. Don't you remember when we all wore Kim-style?" Lonnie added.

Bonnie scowled and let her frustration out in a growl. "That was before she had a loser boyfriend, though."

"Are people treating her any differently?" her father cut in.

Bonnie blinked as she considered. People had always liked Kim Possible, ever since middle school when they had met. And that had never changed. Kim wasn't part of the 'in-crowd' or any crowd really, but everyone still liked her and she was—Bonnie mentally groaned—friendly to everyone. And nothing at all had changed since she'd started dating her long-time dweeb of a best friend.

"No," Bonnie admitted.

"Probably gonna be her then," Jonny said, between two large bites. "She's a babe."

Bonnie's face felt hot in a mixture of embarrassment and rage as she saw her sisters nodding in agreement, but she said nothing. To argue would only reveal a weakness on her part.

"Whatever. I'm going to ballet," Bonnie said, dropping her spoon and reaching behind her for her bag.

"But Bon-Bon, you just got home," her mother protested.

"Yeah, and the performance is in two weeks! I want the extra warm up time. I'll see you later," she said over her shoulder as she departed.

She tuned out the continued protests and snippy comments from her siblings as she left the house and hurried down the dimly lit sidewalk to her car. The sun had set and the air had begun to cool, but it had a different feel than that of the morning chill. The morning had felt fresh, almost hopeful, and like she could take on the world. This chill was a descending weight, and felt like it would sap every last ounce of her strength.

Bonnie put up the roof of her convertible as suddenly every conversation she'd had that day began playing through her mind. And try as she might, she wasn't able to stop them.

The blaring of the radio on her drive to the theater couldn't stop them, nor could attempting to distract herself thinking about the challenging steps she would need to complete in the rehearsal that night. Instead, she heard a chaotic chorus of voices that seemed bent on the goal of severing every last thread of what made her...Bonnie.

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

The voices continued throughout her warm-up stretches, and through the initial routine that Mlle. Catriona had the dancers perform in the warm-up room. Bonnie uncharacteristically stood in the back, t-shirt on as she moved mechanically through the familiar steps.

"You mean they actually found a dress to fit that shape?"

"Maybe if you'd lose a few pounds."

"I didn't think Flagg liked his babes with so much junk in the trunk."

Bonnie barely heard the accompaniment of the bright piano rhythms, so loud were the day's memories. Was she actually gaining weight? Was that why Brick had really lost interest in her?

"If anything, you're slimmer."

The recollection of Tara's words didn't do much to calm her fear that she might in fact be heavier. She looked at her distant reflection in the mirror from the back row of dancers, and then started to look around at her peers. She was definitely more shapely than the rest, but...she wasn't overweight; she was just the atypical curvy ballerina, in comparison. Still...she was suddenly glad she'd kept her t-shirt on.

Bonnie focused on Tara's encouragement and let that carry her through the rest of the warm-up until the class moved to the main stage to begin rehearsal of scenes for the upcoming performance of Swan Lake. An unusual self-consciousness hit her as she pulled off her t-shirt after tying on her pointe shoes, but she shook it off and held her head high. She had earned the principal role in the ballet and clearly, her weight wasn't an issue to her teacher or the director.

Across the stage, Matteo, who played the principal male role opposite to hers, grinned and waved at her. She smirked and waved back. Matteo was a winner like she was, and they worked well together. She had been very pleased when learning he had been cast in the role of the prince.

"I don't think we should see each other anymore."

Brick's words over the phone suddenly came back to her like the stab of a knife, and her smirk dissolved. She saw the confusion on Matteo's face, but she glanced away and half-listened as Mlle. Catriona gave some last minute direction before they would begin rehearsal of the pas de deux that ended Act III. Thankfully, she had no feeling that she might cry at this recollection. But the crushing weight and pain of loss were still strong, such that she realized suddenly she had placed a lot more value on the relationship with Brick than she had previously thought.

The rehearsal piano began again, and Bonnie began moving through the practiced steps.

"We did all those things and I don't really know you."

The memory of Brick's explanation for the break-up sent another stab of pain through her chest. How could he say he didn't know her? He knew her class schedule, and all of her extracurriculars...

Her thoughts stopped suddenly as she realized that Brick was right. They didn't...really know each other. They knew their schedules, what kinds of movies they liked, and the local school gossip, and that they both understood athletic discipline. But otherwise...

Bonnie swallowed nervously as she considered the boy—young man—who had taken seven years to graduate high school that she had dated on and off for three years. Brick Flagg...was hot. That was it. She didn't really know much about who he was. That suddenly concerned her as she looked around at the other dancers on the stage. Some of them she knew more about than even the girls on the cheer squad. Yes, with the cheerleaders she could gossip. But the ballerinas talked more about real life—their jobs, their plans for after high school, their families... Some were even already in college.

Bonnie moved to the wings of the stage, catching her breath as the coda of the dance approached. Matteo's leaps were majestic, and Bonnie smiled as she watched the fellow athlete who was very attractive—just not in the bulky way that most appealed to her—and who she realized she also knew better than she knew Brick. She didn't even know what Brick was studying... But Matteo was preparing to audition for the New York Ballet. And as a hobby, he did woodworking.

She had no idea what Brick's hobbies were, or if he even had any.

"It's over."

There was a greater finality as she replayed Brick's words in her mind again, and it was with great annoyance she realized the tears were beginning to flow. She almost missed her cue as the piano changed, but she set her jaw and held her head high as she retook the stage.

She found her mark and set up for the fouettes. She had managed twenty-seven the last time and was hoping to make it an even twenty eight this time. She heard the anacrusis of the music and began to spin, executing the practiced technique with skill. But as she spun, blurred images of faces watching her suddenly brought the fears back to her mind.

Was she too heavy? Did the turns look awkward as a result? Did the other ballerinas gossip about her when she wasn't there, the way she gossiped about each cheerleader in turn when they weren't around?

"Since when do you have real friends?"

The memory pushed her out of the intense focus that her spin required, and with a small cry, Bonnie fell out of her eleventh fouette. She quickly moved back to the mark and resumed, not wanting to stop because it would only bring more negative attention. She caught just a glimpse of surprised faces and heard gasps over the piano before she resumed the turns, counting them even though there was no point in her desperate search for distraction.

She may have overheard the other dancers talking about their lives over the years...but she didn't really tell them about her own. They weren't her friends anymore than anyone at school was.

As she finished the last fouette—twenty-one—she posed and smiled confidently despite the tear rolling down her cheek. She didn't look at Matteo as she passed him while he began his solo.

"You? Queen?"

Her siblings were right. Who would vote for her anyway? She talked badly about those she called 'friends' to everyone, and she didn't even acknowledge people like Reiger who had been in her class since middle school. She had started faltering in cheer practice, which never happened. And now she was even failing as the star of the ballet.

It was with this swirl of dark thoughts that she began the final sequence with Matteo, who broke character to give her a concerned look as her tears continued to flow. When finally the piano held the last chord Bonnie smirked as her character required, and posed while breathing through her teeth, trying to calm down.

"Are you okay?" Matteo asked quietly through the small wave of applause their fellow students gave.

Bonnie held her smile and allowed the eye contact, which only had the tears flowing more.

The moment the music stopped and the director began giving commentary, Bonnie interrupted with a hurried, "Excuse me," as she began rushing from the stage. The murmurs that followed made her feel sick, and none more than one of the other girls commenting: "Maybe she's going to call Brick."

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

The rest of the rehearsal had gone better. Bonnie had dried her tears and shoved the emotions away with her mantra of 'winners don't cry' and had channeled all of her focus and energy into making up for the earlier mistake and emotional slip. People acting differently toward her the rest of the night had only driven her further, and while she might not have given the most artistic performance, technically, she was flawless.

She had left the theater with that small measure of control giving her a touch of strength, and she maintained that feeling for the entire drive home. But once she had parked in the darkened driveway and saw fewer lights on in her family's home, she felt the roiling of emotions start to return.

She shouldered her ballet bag and silently moved up the walk to the house, hoping that everyone had retired to their respective hobbies for the evening. And Lonnie of course was on a date and wouldn't be home for hours. All Bonnie wanted to do was take a shower and forget the horrible day.

Thankfully, she moved quietly enough that her brother—playing video games on the big screen now, since her parents had gone to bed early due to their flight the next day—was unaware of her presence. And as she passed by Connie's room, she heard her older sister gossiping on the phone.

When Bonnie closed her own bedroom door she felt a huge relief come over her at the same time a weight fell. She barely had the strength to pull her purse out of her ballet bag, and her phone of that before dropping the former on the floor and flopping on the bed with the latter.

She let herself rest for just a moment, her muscles tired from their exertion throughout the day and night, and then she sat up intending to get ready for a shower. But her gaze fell upon the stack of books and homework on her desk.

"Unghh..." she groaned aloud, flopping down on her bed again and dropping her forearm over her eyes and plunging her vision into darkness. She began mentally calculating how long it would take to shower and then tallying how many assignments she had due the next day.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a buzz from her phone which was still on silent from rehearsal. She flipped it open, her chest constricting at the thought it might be Brick.

It wasn't.

It was just a silly update from Stoppable's blog. Bonnie sneered in annoyance and almost dropped the phone, when she saw a comment alert pop up on the new post. It was Tara.

Curiosity getting the better of her, she opened up the post to actually read it.

*Drakken and Shego seen dining casually at Croutons. Is it a business meeting or a romantic interlude?*

Bonnie felt a pang as she looked at the photo that Stoppable or someone had snapped of the villain duo... Was Stoppable actually following them for this silly obsession?

She scrolled down to read Tara's comment which was full of emoticons and hearts, enthusiastic about the growing evidence that the pair might be romantically involved. The pang Bonnie felt before grew stronger. Even the villains that Possible fought were going to find their happy ending. While her relationship-which-wasn't had just ended.

With a heavy sigh and a few yawns, Bonnie changed into her pajamas and decided to forego the shower for the evening. It would only make her more tired, and she had a couple of hours of homework at least. And it was already past nine o' clock.

She moved to her desk and sat down, arranging her books in the order in which she wanted to tackle the assignments. Another buzz from her phone caught her attention, and she glanced at it to see that a debate had sprung up on Stoppable's blog about the blue and green-skinned villains. It seemed even Kim was weighing in, in favor of the two being together, which thrilled Tara.

Bonnie considered her friend again, who she'd given so little time to throughout senior year. And who despite that and her general careless and casual treatment of her...was perhaps the only real friend she had.

An emotional tug of war began within Bonnie then, which she finally ceded to as she flipped to her messages and typed a quick text to Tara.

*Thanks for coming with me today. I'm going to be up late finishing homework if you want to join me in snore-ville.*

She sent the text and felt the emotions in her chest start to calm. She looked in the mirror and sighed as she felt some of the tension leave her shoulders.

'Winners never quit.'

Her phone began buzzing with the notification of a call. On the screen was Tara's name, and Bonnie smiled.

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

Days Later...

Bonnie stood on the football field and adjusted her black skirt, knowing she looked perfect, but unable to get Kim's and Monique's words out of her head. So strong was the swirl of nerves building in her stomach that she completely missed Tara's wave of encouragement from the sidelines.

"In case you didn't notice, now Kim is the one dating the star of the football team."

"Ron has broken more school records than Brick ever did."

Bonnie's siblings had been right... In the days that had followed her picking up her gown from the store with Tara, all the buzz around school was that Kim was the one slated to win the title. Bonnie tried to tell herself she didn't care, but the buzz had been equally clear: Ron Stoppable was expected to win king.

Bonnie tried to ignore what that would mean for her. Still dateless, humiliated, and no longer the center of attention...anywhere. The senior table in the cafeteria was meaningless, since they were all seniors. And the only people who cared anyway were brainless jocks, as it turned out. She was an equal with Kim on the cheer squad, but since they had taken roles as co-captains it was becoming very clear who was in fact more skilled between them at the sport, and it wasn't Bonnie. She was even slipping in ballet, and still wondered if her curves and weight might be an issue. And of course, ever since Kim had...saved the world...from those Bueno Nacho toys, everyone treated the red-head exactly like who she was: a hero.

While Bonnie herself was ignored and forgotten.

Soon Mr. Barkin would announce Kim and Ron as the Middleton High homecoming king and queen, and they would get even more attention. While for the remainder of Bonnie's senior year she would fade into obscurity. But without all of the things that cheer and ballet and Brick's status had brought to her...was she still a winner? Who...who was she?

"This year we replaced our old-fashioned paper ballots with our own state of the art electronic voting system, which snagged second place for Ron Reiger in the Tri-City science fair."

Bonnie absorbed Mr. Barkin's words and in a flash an idea struck her about how to get her identity back.

Ron Reiger was seated near the sideline with his whatever-device that everyone had used to vote for king and queen. Bonnie ran out of the row of nominees into Reiger's line of sight, who looked at her with the same leer he had back at the boutique. It turned her stomach, but Bonnie ignored it to give him a flirty smile and a 'call me' gesture. Reiger's leer grew, and after giving her a knowing smile he typed something into his device and a new paper printed out.

Bonnie sighed in nervous satisfaction as she hurried back to her place near Kim. She might not be the best cheerleader. She might not even be the best ballerina or best student anymore. She might have lost her boyfriend. She might be...all alone... But she was going to be homecoming queen. And once she was, she could start getting her identity back.

Because Bonnie Rockwaller was a winner, and she always would be.

[vintagedolan]

mixtape | track seven

| masterlist | faceclaims | playlist |

*contains smut*

When Nicole died, Indiana convinced herself that someone was holding down a fast forward button on her life. Some greater power with a universal remote, carelessly keeping a finger shoved down on the little button with the double arrows, with no regard to the fleeting few days she had left with her most important person.

History seemed to be repeating itself, with the best physical representation being the very quickly evolving tiny homes.

The first thing on Grayson’s agenda when they’d made it back to NYC was to decorate the property for Halloween. It hadn’t seemed like the most sound plan to Indy, considering last time they were out in the field it was just raw building materials, a platform and lots of grass. But when she climbed off the back of the quad, away from Grayson’s warmth and into the chilly air, she was standing in front of a house, or at least the bones of one, with the beginnings of the loft and stairs formed inside. It wasn’t polished yet - in fact, there wasn’t even a front door to hang the spider wreath that he had bought at Home Depot. But there was a house, and it stood as a reminder that time was passing quickly.

Despite how over the top the Dolan’s were about it, Halloween was a blink. Ethan was still in California, spending a few more days with Eden, but they facetimed in their costumes anyways - Indy had been convinced into dressing up at the last minute, which resulted in a witch costume that consisted of black leggings and a black bodysuit, which got covered up by a spare hoodie of Grayson’s early in the evening, brought on by the ever-dropping Jersey temperatures. But they celebrated with Lisa, and with E squared across the miles with a bonfire and too many pieces of candy, and Indy realized at the end of the night that it was the first holiday she’d had with family in years. It filled a vacant room in a back hallway of her heart that she didn’t realize had been abandoned, and as soon as the calendar turned to November, she was determined.

“Thanksgiving. Me, you, Lisa, Ethan, Eden, Cam, Charlie and Devin. Thoughts, opinions?”

Grayson quirked an eyebrow from the other side of the couch, face lit by his laptop screen.

“Vegan thanksgiving?”

She nudged him in the side with her foot, getting the perfect angle from where she was laying to tickle him. “Nah, we’re gonna cook a whole meal that 25% of the participants can’t eat. Sounds like the holiday of dreams.”

He poked her with a toe. “Yeah, that sounds good to me. Might have to find an extra table at Ma’s though.”

“I can plan out a menu, make sure everyone brings something. Charlie can bring plates, for all our sakes.”

“Then Ethan can bring cups, cause god knows he doesn’t know what the fuck to do in a kitchen. And I can do the menu, you’ve got enough on your plate.”

“It’s not that bad this week,” she countered, but before she could say anything else he’d picked up her planner, looking at all the little color coordinated blocks that she’d drawn out. Grayson had never had a planner before, much less an hourly one, and it stressed him out a bit just to see how little time she didn’t have allotted to something. His finger moved over a little block in dark blue, a tiny scribble inside it - time with g :).

“You block out time for us to hang out?”

“I block out time to do just about everything but pee,” she laughed, keeping her eyes on her textbook as he continued to look through her pages.

“You haven’t peed in like… 3 hours. Drink your water.”

She stuck her tongue out but did as he asked, watching the way he found something on the page and frowned, eyebrows creasing across his forehead.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He answered it too quickly, and it was her turn to frown.

“Babe. What is it?”

“It just says, uh, ‘deposit from Kenneth’. Who’s Kenneth?”

Her breathing stopped for a moment. She hadn’t heard that name said aloud in years.

“Oh um. That’s my dad. Kenneth Cross.”

He switched from realization to guilt in an instant, flipping the planner shut. Grayson wasn’t privy to much information about Indiana’s father, but he didn’t need much to know that the relationship wasn’t great.

“Shit, Dee, sorry, I didn’t mean to bring it up.”

She closed her textbook, sitting it aside with a sigh. Sitting up, she crossed her legs on the couch, a bid to get a little closer to him.

“No, it’s okay. We probably should have talked about it by now anyways. What do you want to know?”

“Whatever you want to tell me.” He offered her his hand, knowing she liked to toy with her fingers when she talked, hoping it would help.

“Well. He wasn’t always a shit head. Actually, he used to be a pretty good dad. When Charlie and I were growing up, he was always there. He coached Charlie’s basketball team, then mine. He helped mom with dinner, we all went on vacation together. I mean, I had a good childhood, I really did. But things changed when mom got sick.”

“How long was she sick?”

“Six months. It took her fast, much faster than usual with her stage and her type. I thought my dad would step up, but he didn’t. He shut down. And I get that, it was hard, but we needed him and he just… wasn’t there. Charlie had to take her to appointments because I couldn’t drive yet. He stayed at home and worked, and drank, and then drank some more and called it work. He never talked about mom, never even admitted to himself she was sick I don’t think. So Charlie and I did our best, and we stayed with her as much as we could, especially towards the end. I’d ride the subway out of the city to get to school cause I slept at the hospital most nights. And I guess Charlie and I didn’t realize, but he was working on selling the house while we were doing all that, before she was even fucking gone. So, when she did go, all of a sudden she was gone, and my house was gone, and Charlie was going to school, so it was just me and him.

“We moved into a smaller house. He didn’t talk to me. He was a shell without my mom. And I thought it would get better but it didn’t. So, I taught myself how to be okay without him, and without my mom… without anyone. I think he realized it too, and some part of him felt bad. But he knew he couldn’t fix it. So, the summer before college, he said he’d pay for wherever I wanted to live for school. I couldn’t swing rent on a Jet’s salary, and I wanted to get out of his house, so I agreed. I moved in here freshman year, and we haven’t seen each other since. Haven’t even talked on the phone really. He deposits rent in my account each month, and as soon as I can get enough money to not have him do that, I’m going to tell him to stop. I don’t want him to think I need him, for anything.”

Indy looked up for the first time since her story started, and she sucked in a breath at the sight of Grayson’s watery eyes. He blinked it away and cleared his throat, but the way he opened his arms up told a different story.

“I don’t like hating him. But I don’t know how to forgive him either.”

“C’mere,” he mumbled, waiting for her to readjust and climb on top of him. His arms wrapped around her tightly, like he wanted to press her into him and make her a part of him.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that with your mom like that, I can’t imagine.”

Indy lifted her head and looked at him with sad eyes.

“Yes you can.”

The knot in his throat grew, and he kissed her head when she relaxed against him again. He let the silence settle for a few minutes, tracing a heart against her back and pressing his lips into her hair over and over.

“I had my mom though. She helped us through the entire thing. And I had Ethan, and Cam. And I know you had Charlie, but thinking about you having to do that without a parent.” He shook his head. “I hate it. Not to mention the rest of the bullshit he’s probably put you through that you’re too nice to tell me about.”

It was her turn to get teary.  

“Well, I’m okay now. I made it, and so did you.”

He ran a thumb over her cheek with a soft smile.

“Wish you didn’t have to make it through it at all.”

“The feeling is mutual.”

Grayson shifted then, rolled them over to the side so Indy was between him and the back of the couch, coiling his arms around her tightly, shifting her up enough for him to kiss her. He let his hand roam down her back, over her ass, grabbing and moving until her leg slotted above his.

“I love you,” he said, hoping she knew just how much. She moved her hand from his cheek, let her arm wrap around him, trapping him closer to her.

“Love you more.”

He shook his head at her, making her laugh against his skin.

“You don’t have a nap written in your schedule, am I gonna screw it all up?”

“I can shift things. I’m flexible.”

He laughed again, a beautiful sound that bounced off the walls of the apartment and filled the space. Indy kept her leg wrapped around him, holding him close and finding his lips with hers again, breathing him in - her favorite distraction.

“Flexible hm? How flexible?” His voice had dropped slightly, throat gruff.

She knew they weren’t going to sleep, so she gave in, dipping down to kiss along his neck, taking charge a bit more than usual.

“You know, I think we might be the only couple who can switch from parental trauma to horny within 60 seconds,” she mused, smiling at the rumbling laugh it got out of him.

“Maybe we’re just built different.”

“Hate that,” Indy mumbled, moving back up to kiss him again. He wasted no time in coaxing her shirt off, sitting them up with her in his lap so he could do the same to his own, getting her bra off quickly after his own sweatshirt was gone. There was no better feeling than her skin against his, he was sure. Her hand landed on the middle of his chest and she hummed, smiling.

“You didn’t shave your chest hair.”

He pulled back a bit with an incredulous look. He hadn't even thought about it, but she was right. “You noticed that?”

“I notice everything about you. You’re my favorite thing to study,” she smiled, and his heart melted in his chest. The only way he knew to respond was to pull her back to him. In a bed, he would have rolled them over, climbed above her, but the couch limited him and he was at her mercy for the time being.

She didn’t seem to be in much of a rush, and between the slow roll of her hips and the kisses she pressed along a path from his jaw to his collarbone, he was very much wishing she would pick up the pace. His hands slid down to her hips, pressing her down against him in a bid for friction.

“Easy,” Indy laughed his favorite laugh, the breathy one that seemed like an afterthought. “If I’m gonna rearrange my schedule, I get to set the pace.”

“Well then, take it away,” he chuckled, but it faded into more of a groan when she nipped at his shoulder, letting her hands run down his sides. She left goosebumps in the wake of her nails, and he couldn’t help but shudder as she toyed with the waistband of his sweats for a moment, like she was playing a game. Grayson Dolan wasn’t used to being at the whim of anyone, and it was liberating in a way that had his nerves buzzing.

Indiana was perhaps enjoying herself a bit too much. Usually, she was so overwhelmed by him that she didn’t have time to really take him in. So, she soaked up the opportunity of having him displayed out for her, tracing her fingers over every plane of him - the v of his hips, the muscles over his ribs. Down his arms, back up to his shoulders, running her thumbs over his scruff as she cupped his face. When she made it back down to his abs she felt them flex under her hands, his hips bucking up just barely against hers.

“Baby.” His tone was stern, and she played into a bit, looking at him as innocently as she could.

“Hmmm?”

“You’re teasing.”

“I’m admiring.”

“Okay, then you’re cheesy and you’re teasing.”

“Guilty as charged,” she murmured, shrugging a bit.

Bad move.

His arms wrapped around her tightly, ensuring he didn’t lose his grip as he planted a foot on the floor and rose up just enough to roll them, getting her underneath him on the couch. It happened so fast that all she could do was gasp, eyes wide as she stared up at him, the blues bright with shock.

“Now, where were we.”

His cockiness was back in full swing, but he paused at the pout that came over Indy’s face.

“What?”

“I kinda liked being up there,” she said, running her hands along his arms as he held himself up above her.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“You wanna switch again?”

“Kinda.”

“Okay, I’ll make you a deal. Pants off, then we switch.”

“Deal.”

He stood up first, taking her hand and pulling her up to her feet. They shimmied out of the pants and underwear quickly, leaving them in a pile on the rug in a rush to get back to each other. The mood shifted yet again when he guided her onto his lap as he sat down, lighthearted and fun as she got herself settled. Grayson had never had lighthearted sex before he met Indiana Cross. It was always scratching an itch, even when it was with people he was in a relationship with. She seemed to unlock another side of him, one that made it so much more fun to have her above him, struggling to keep her hair out of her face and get close enough to him at the same time. He wasn’t sure how she managed to be adorable and sexy at the same time, but when she finally got herself lined up and began to sink down onto him, he didn’t have the brain power left to care.

“Shit Dee,” he groaned, using every bit of self control he had to keep his hips still, letting her set her agonizingly slow pace.

She whimpered with every inch that she moved down, finally taking all of him somehow, arching her back for a moment before she caved, leaning forward onto his chest, burying her face in his neck.

He started as slow as his body would let him, groaning as she started to grind her hips, searching out an angle that kept the pressure building. It took a moment, like it always did when they tried a new position, but when she found it Grayson knew by the way her nails dug into his shoulders. He grabbed her hips to hold her there, memorizing the way their bodies fit together so he could get right back to that same spot over and over again.

“Gray,” she whimpered into his ear, bracing her forearms on his shoulders as he chased her high for her, determined to have her shaking. All she could do was moan and hold on as he thrusted into her faster with a renewed purpose, only stopping when she clenched so hard that he could barely move.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” Indy whined, every muscle in her body tightening down in defense of how overwhelmed she suddenly felt, breath catching in her throat as her orgasm ripped through her. His arms coiled around her back as if he was trying to hold her together as she shook, and he chased the last of his high, lifting her off of him at the last possible second before he came, white streaks landing on his torso. He knew it would be a mess and he didn’t care - he pressed her back to him, wrapping her up for a moment in his arms and letting the two of them come down.

“Woah. Good woah,” Indy mumbled, pressing kisses to his neck where she could reach.

“I second your good woah.”

“Good.”

“Do you have time in your flexible schedule for a shower? I got you all sticky.”

She sat up and pretended to ponder it for a moment, making a show of quirking her eyebrow just to make him laugh. “I suppose I could pencil it in. C’mon.”

She climbed off him and took his hand, leading him to her bathroom with a smile. They paused in front of the mirror for a moment, and it was the first time in a long time that Indy felt happy to be looking in one. But still, she turned around and looked up at her boyfriend - he looked better in real life than in his reflection anyways.

“You know, if you play your cards right, you might just win yourself a round two.”

That was all it took for him to pick her up so fast she squealed, carrying her behind the privacy of the shower curtain for a second taste.

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

Bekah’s hands were always cold, but they felt like ice cubes in Indy’s hands. She rubbed along her skin in a bid to warm her up, eyes wandering over to Grayson.

“She’s pale,” he murmured, keeping his distance as he stood at the end of the bed. The sight of her so still in her hospital bed was unsettling. He had expected their first visit back to be filled with smiles, and ‘I miss you’s’, stories of California and her recovery.

Instead, they’d walked into Bekah’s room to find her fast asleep underneath her Halloween blanket, brows furrowed in what he hoped was concern and not pain.

“Her body is probably just trying to get used to the new cells. Not making enough blood, she’s probably up for another transfusion soon.”

“How do you know?”

Indy nodded towards what Grayson had assumed was an IV pole - he supposed it was, but instead of the usual bags of clear or milky liquid, there were just empty hooks.

“An hour.”

Bekah’s voice was dry and horse, and although it was quiet, it made both of them jump.

“Hey! How’re you feeling?” Indy immediately perked up, painting that smile across her face that Grayson had started to associate with everything hospital, from the sounds to the smell of bleach.

“Tired. My next transfusion is in an hour.”

“Did the doctor say anything about your counts?”

Bekah looked at her and rolled her eyes, wincing as she tried to sit up in bed. Indy reached to help her but she held a hand up.

“I have a transfusion in an hour, you tell me what my counts are,” she muttered, sitting up for a moment before she let out a sigh and put her face in her hands.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay Beks,” Grayson said.

“No, it’s not. You all came to see me and I’m being an asshole.”

“No one is nice when they don’t feel good,” Gray offered, moving to the other side of the bed and resting a hand on her shoulder. It was a simple gesture, a small attempt at consoling, but it was too much for Bekah. The sniffles turned into broken sobs that shook her entire body so hard it looked like she would come apart.

“I’m just tired of this. I’m tired.”

There wasn’t an adequate response to give, so the room filled with silence apart from her sobs as they did their best to hold her together, wrapping their arms around her, around each other. Indy’s eyes were red by the time Bekah’s cries quieted, and Grayson scrambled to come up with something, anything, to lighten the mood.

“Well, if we have an hour, that means we have time for an episode of something. Didn’t you say you were watching Vampire Diaries while we were gone?”

Bekah nodded, laying back against the pillows.

“Then let’s watch one and just chill. Save your energy.”

He set it up quickly, turning off the lights and pulling his chair over to the side of her bed as it started to play. When he looked over, there was just enough light to see that Bekah had reached for Indy’s hand. And to his surprise, she reached for his too. He took it, trying to ignore the way his throat tightened at the feeling of her squeezing weakly - a silent thank you as the episode began to play.

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

The first two weeks of November passed with unrelenting speed. Indiana buried herself in her school work, carving out what she could for quality time for Grayson, even if it was just going out to Jersey with him for a movie night that ended with her asleep on his lap before the opening scene was done. He didn’t mind - he just liked having her around, watching her get closer with Ethan and his mom, knowing she was safe because she was there with him. It was hard to help someone who was so determined on being independent, but he did what he could and she did the same, spending what little time she had encouraging him and supporting him.

Grayson had his own work to focus on, and it filled the time nicely as they worked to get their brands up and running through the holidays, plus the task of finalizing the plans for the details of the tiny homes. Somehow, it was already the week of Thanksgiving before he stopped to take a breath, which he found in the backyard with his brother the day before the holiday.

“Listen. I can make rolls. I can’t fuck that up.”

“Ethan, you could fuck anything up, including rolls. Just get cups. And things to put in the cups.”

“Fuck you,” Ethan grumbled, tossing the football a bit harder than necessary across the back lot. Grayson wished he’d put on gloves, but

“When is evil coming in?”

“She lands tonight, gotta go pick her up at 10:30. Is Indy staying out here tonight too?”

“No, I’m staying at her place, her sister and her boyfriend fly in tomorrow morning so we gotta pick them up. You’re picking up Cam tonight too right?”

“Yeah. Damn, I feel like dad,” Ethan laughed, a puff of white in the cold air.

Grayson waited for him to elaborate, throwing the ball back.

“He was always the chauffeur. I mean jesus, how many times do you think he picked us up from the airport when we came home?”

“True, he fucking hated that drive too. Complained about it the whole time, every time.”

“Like you don’t hate driving into the city.”

Grayson quirked an eyebrow at him, tossing the ball a bit harder, trying to put a different spin on it.

“Okay, fine, used to hate it. Now you just like it cause you get laid at the end of it.”

“True,” Gray grinned. “That makes me sound like a douchebag though.”

“You are a douchebag.”

“We’re identical twins, so if I’m a douchebag you’re a douchebag by association,” Grayson said.

“True. You aren’t a douchebag when you’re around Indiana, I’ll give you that.”

“Yeah, she wouldn’t put up with that shit.”

“You are a simp though.”

“Says you.”

“I never said I wasn’t.” Ethan shrugged, offering up a smile as he threw. “Eden really likes her by the way. Says they’d be great sister-in-laws in the future. I told her to chill with that shit though.”

Grayson missed the ball, not even bothering to watch it bounce away on the ground.

“Why?”

“Well, you said you were never going to ask her to leave, or move or whatever. And you live in LA, we live in LA, so... I mean, being here this long is just because of the tiny houses. And I know you, you can’t do long distance bro, you’re too physical.”

“Oh fuck you, I can survive without getting my dick wet if it means being with somebody I love.”

“That’s not what I fucking meant, I mean you’re touchy, and you need to be close to the people you love. Like physically close, as in in the same room, in the same house at least. That’s why I haven’t said shit about you being at her place every night of the week. I get it Gray, it’s how you are. But that shit won’t work when you’re on the other side of the country, and I know you aren’t going to ask her to fly out there to see you after how bad those flights were for her. And I love you, and I’m gonna support you, but you can’t fly home every weekend either. We have businesses, we have shit to do. Work.”

“I know that, I’m not stupid.”

“And it makes me feel like a shit brother but you always tell me that I’m supposed to keep you on track, so if that means being the bad guy then that means being the bad guy.”

“E I know.”

“I’m not saying you have to like break up with her or anything but, I just, I think it’s gonna be hard. Like really really hard.”

“Ethan. I know.”

“I just don’t want to see you hurt, that’s all.”

“Yeah. I get it. But can you just drop it for two fucking seconds? It’s almost Thanksgiving, let’s just focus on that. Besides, you’re the one who said to wait to cross the bridge when we come to it,” Grayson huffed.

“It’s the last week of November almost. Hate to break it to you, but the bridge is right in front of you.”

The thought made his stomach drop.

“Let’s go inside. S’cold.”

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

It felt unnatural to have her sister in the back seat, but that’s where Charlie climbed in after Grayson had helped them load their minimal luggage into the back of the car and made his introductions. They’d borrowed Lisa’s SUV for Devin’s sake, knowing that his long legs would be cramped in the backseat of anything, especially the truck.

“How was your flight?” Indy turned almost fully in her seat, trying to soak in every minute she had with her sister - they had to fly out bright and early the next morning.

“Bumpy,” Charlie laughed, picking at her nails in her lap. Indy frowned when she noticed - it was her nervous tick.

“Devin I have no idea how you fit in coach bro, I barely fit and I’m tiny compared to you,” Grayson chimed in, checking over his shoulder as he pulled out of the pick up lane.

“It’s a struggle my man, it’s a struggle. But I don’t think anyone in their right mind would look at you and call you tiny. You’ve got me beat in every department but leg length.”

“Hey, if you’re actually serious about growing muscle I can throw together a workout for you while you’re here.”

“For real? That would be sick bro, I could really use the help.”

Indy held back her laugh at how they both slipped into bro mode so quickly, and Charlie seemed to be on the same page as she snickered. Eventually conversation gave way to music, Indy proud of herself for finding a perfect 2000’s throwback playlist that had everyone singing and bouncing around in their seats. By the time they made it to the house, they were all a bit breathless and full of nostalgia.

When they climbed out onto the gravel, Charlie stuck close to her sister.

“Lisa is mom. And Ethan is the twin, Eden is the sister, Cameron is the girlfriend?”

“Cameron is sister, Eden is girlfriend,” Indy laughed. “Thank god you asked.”

Charlie gave a bit of a chuckle, and Indy nudged her.

“They’re good people Char. Don’t worry, they’ll love you.”

“I just… haven’t done this in a while.”

She wrapped her arm around her older sister’s shoulders as they approached the house, squeezing her lightly.

“I know sis. I know.”

Inside, Eden was trying to be subtle as she peeked through the blinds on the windows, watching the whole crew approach.

“They’re here! Come to the door, they’re here!”

“Babe, that’s creepy. Just come sit down,” Ethan laughed, waiting for Cameron to make her next move in chess.

“It’s not creepy, it’s friendly,” she countered, but she stood back from the door at the last moment to try to make it less intimidating.

“Hey guys!” Grayson’s voice boomed loud through the house as soon as he opened the door, his excitement obvious. Cam and Ethan abandoned their chess game for a moment, and Lisa came from the kitchen with a warm smile.

Indiana officially met Cameron for the first time, happy that she went in for the hug. Lisa hugged everyone, making everyone laugh when she looked up at Devin and said “my god you’re tall.”

Once everyone had met everyone, Lisa clapped her hands.

“Alright, let’s get to work!”

The Dolan’s did things in stations it seemed, which pleased Indy’s organizational side that usually went a bit crazy around the holidays. Lisa was nice enough to assign each couple a dish to work on, which of course became a competition, like everything seemed to. Indy wasn’t sure how they were going to truly compare E squared’s vegan stuffing to Charlie and Devin’s vegan mac and cheese, but she didn’t care.

Because Grayson was beaming beside her as they worked on peeling potatoes over the trash can, and everywhere she looked she saw smiles. Devin was swaying his hips to the music while Charlie tried to copy him, just a blip behind the beat. Ethan and Eden raced to see who could chop vegetables quicker until Lisa told them to slow down so someone didn’t end up needing stitches.

LIsa was the master of the operation, working on three different things at once, waving off Indy’s offer of help.

“I used to feed all three of them and their dad. Cooking for an army is second nature,” she teased, but that familiar tone was in her voice that tugged at Indy’s heart. Ethan eventually connected to the speakers and shuffled a playlist filled with everything, from Elton John to Cudi. Grayson got vegan butter on his shirt at one point while dancing too hard, and when Indy laughed he swiped it off with a finger and smeared it on her nose. The kitchen got so hot they cracked a window, with the revolving door of the oven trying to handle all the dishes and all the bodies close together.

By 2pm, everyone took turns carrying everything into the dining room to the massive which Cameron had decorated. Everyone took their places at the table, with LIsa at the head, Grayson and Ethan beside her with the girls beside them, and Charlie beside Indy, Devin beside Eden, who had seemed to hit it off with him in their short few hours of knowing each other, and Cam at the other head.

“Before we start, I think we should all go around and share something that we’re thankful for,” Lisa proposed. “I’ll start. I’m very thankful for my health, and for my family. For my wonderful daughter, and my amazing boys, and my husband, who I love and who watches over us every day.”

She could only speak for herself, but it was a safe bet that everyone’s throats tightened. Ethan cleared his before he spoke.

“I’m thankful for my family, for the quality time we get to spend together. For my brother’s ability to deal with my ass and his help in chasing our dreams and making that shit happen. And for Eden, because… well just because.”

Eden laid her head against his shoulder for a moment before she spoke up.

“I’m thankful for my dream job, and getting to do something I love every day. I’m thankful for Ethan, for loving me and keeping me sane. And I’m thankful for all of you, especially you Lisa, for welcoming me into the family.”

“I’m thankful to be here, to meet new people and get to eat some awesome food. Thank you, for inviting us in and sharing your holiday with us,” Devin said, polite as ever.

“I’m thankful for the wine,” Cam grinned, sipping from her glass quickly just to get an eye roll out of her mom. “And for all of you, and good food, and for family. Charlie?”

Charlie threw Indy a nervous glance before she spoke.

“I’m thankful for my sister, and my boyfriend, who always keep me together and on track, and who make me laugh. And I’m thankful for new friends, and good food.”

Indy had been so intent on listening to everyone else that she hadn’t even thought of her own response.

“I’m thankful for my sister, and for all of you guys, who have been so kind to me. I’m thankful for this guy,” she bumped Grayson’s shoulder. “For loving me, and supporting me in everything I do. And, I’m thankful for the years I had with my mom. I wish she could be here today, but I know she’s up there watching, and she’s thankful that I have you guys.”

She ignored the way her eyes stung, turning to Grayson, who squeezed her thigh under the table.

“I’m thankful for my family, and for the way that dad guided us to be who we are today - all of us Dolan’s. And I’m thankful for Indy for showing me what strength and determination looks like. And for everyone here, because we’re all family. I love you guys.”

The weight of his words hung in the air for a moment as everyone soaked them in.

“Alright, dig in!” Lisa broke the silence, reaching for the rolls.

Grayson squeezed Indy’s thigh once, tracing a little heart with his index finger when she leaned over to kiss his cheek before turning back to the table. They all ate until their plates were clear, almost all of them heading back in for seconds. The final verdict was that the vegan mac and cheese was the winner of the side dish competition, much to the pride of Devin. The evening settled into various activities, from Grayson teaching Devin proper pull up form to Charlie letting Eden take test shots on her camera. Indy mostly watched from the sidelines, happy to see all the people she loved all together in one place.

Her family.

“Thank you for this.” Lisa’s voice startled her a bit, but she relaxed when the older woman moved to stand beside her.

“I should be thanking you!”

“No. We didn’t do Thanksgiving last year. Everything was still too… raw, I suppose. Everyone is here because you asked them to be. So, thank you, truly.”

The tears that Indy had been fighting all day finally found their place on her cheeks, and she sniffled through a laugh when Lisa hugged her.

“Well, thanks for sharing your family.”

“It’s not sharing if you’re a part of it my dear.”

She pulled her close for a hug before the two of them folded themselves into the mix, running around in the cold air of the backyard and enjoying each other’s company as the night drew to a close. They opted for pie and vegan ice cream to finish off the night, and Charlie insisted they take some pictures before the food comas took over. She’d thought ahead enough to bring a tripod, and she sat it up in the living room, making sure every couple got a few that they liked, and that they all got one together. Lisa requested one of just her kids where they of course all goofed off enough to annoy her. Charlie would send them all in the next few days, Indy’s favorite being the one of her on Grayson’s back, wrapped around to kiss his cheek while he grinned with his eyes squeezed shut. It became her lock screen as soon as she saved it, and Lisa went on to get the family one framed, as well as the one of all of them together too, both beside each other on the mantel held with equal importance.

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

The Thanksgiving leftovers only lasted two days in Indy’s fridge. With the stress of preparing for four cumulative finals, she didn’t have time to cook anything, and the microwaveable vegan leftovers were a god send. So was Grayson, who stayed by her side each day as she studied, quietly keeping himself busy with work until she needed him. It was a nice co-existence, both of them understanding the need for quiet but enjoying each other’s presence nonetheless. By Wednesday, she was only left with one last final, though it was her hardest, and she couldn’t convince herself that she’d prepared enough despite pulling multiple all nighters. He quizzed her when she asked, even though he butchered half the pronunciations. His commentary was the comedic relief she needed to get through it though, and she was more than grateful that he was there.

“Last set, and then you need to take a break.”

“But-”

“No buts. Unless you’re talking gluteus maximus.” He grinned when she rolled her eyes. “Baby you’ve been going non stop for 4 hours now.”

“Okay fine, hit me with it.”

“Soleus.” She pointed to the side of his calf. “Extensor carpi ulnaris.” The outer side of his forearm. “Zygomaticus major.” His cheek. “Iliopsoas.” The inside of his thigh.

“Dee, you know these. You literally don’t even have to think about it, you know them.”

She shook her head before he even finished his sentence. “I need more practice.”

“The only thing you need more of is sleep,” he countered. “C’mon, we’re both exhausted, let’s just take a nap.”

“Once we finish the set, then we can.”

“Fine. Serratus anterior.”

She tickled his ribs, making him squirm away from her.

“Biceps femoris.” She heaved his leg up from where it was resting on the couch, pointing to a spot in the middle of the back of his thigh.

“Teres major.” It was a reach, but she made it around to the back of his armpit.

“Teres minor.” She poked the same spot, just a bit harder.

“Okay, ouch, don’t abuse my teres. Uh, gastrocnemius.” She was gentler on his calf.

They went through the rest of the stack like that, with Grayson doing his best to say them correctly while Indy poked and prodded.  

As soon as he flipped the last card he yawned, sitting the stack aside and leaning forward to grab her, dragging her on top of him and nuzzling his nose into her hair. Indy sighed and relaxed into him, his warmth and the weight of his arms settling her body down. She could remember the days where she’d always wanted something as simple as this, just laying on her couch with someone to hold, and she tried to soak it in.

“I love you,” she said.

“I love you more,” Grayson countered, pressing a kiss to her forehead. His hands moved under her shirt over her back, finding space.

R-E-L-A-X

“Can’t. My mind won’t stop.”

“Well, I’d offer to sing to you or some shit, but your ears would probably bleed,” he chuckled.

“S’okay. I’ll just dream about muscles or something. Innervations.”

“Sounds exciting.”

“Oh yeah, riveting stuff.”

She wiggled around to get comfortable, her cheek squished against his chest as he rubbed her back.

“Sleep, have your little anatomy dreams,” he teased, reaching over the back of the couch for a blanket to drape over the two of them.

It took a little while, but she managed to drift off to the soothing sound of his heartbeat and the feeling of his fingers against her skin.

And she dreamed.

Indiana was in a hallway. White, smooth walls with doorways that stood black and brooding on either side. Her stomach turned a bit, unease washing through her veins as she took a few small steps forward, moving to peek past one of the frames.

“Don’t sweetheart.”

Her head shot up. At the end of the hall was Nicole. She looked young, even younger than Indy’s last memories of her. Youthful, and full of life, her blonde hair familiar as it hung down and framed her face.

“Mom.”

“Hi my love.”

Indiana ran. She barreled past the doors, not even giving them a second thought as she finally, finally landed in her mother’s arms. The tears were inevitable, but she didn’t care that she shook as Nicole held her, the way only a mom could. Held her body, but held her soul.

“Where have you been? Where’d you go?”

“I’ve been here the whole time. Right here with you.”

“I miss you. I miss you so much.”

“I know. But I’m here.”

She pulled back, letting her mom brush her hair behind her ear the way she always used to when it fell into her eyes.

“Look at you. You’re all grown up. Look at those beautiful eyes. So blue.”

“Just like yours,” Indy said.

“Just like mine.”

A part of her knew that she was dreaming. She knew her mother was gone, that this wasn’t real. But her heart refused to accept it, because she could feel her mother’s skin, hear her voice, feel her like she hadn’t been able to in so long. So she just stared. Tried to memorize every part of her face, every smile line, every freckle. She wasn’t sure how long she stood there, but Nicole was the one to break the silence.

“Baby. I need you to be careful.”

Indy frowned. “Careful?”

“With your heart. I need you to be careful with your heart, with my heart.”

“Momma what do you mean?”

Nicole looked to the left. Indy followed her gaze, surprised to see that the light was on in the doorway.

The doorway to Bekah’s room.

“Beks,” she breathed. Her feet automatically moved, taking her into the room until Nicole’s arms wrapped around her shoulders and pulled her back.

“Indiana,” Nicole cautioned. “No.”

“No, no Mom it’s okay, she’s getting better, see? Look, she’s fine.”

She pushed forward, but Nicole’s grip only tightened.

“No baby. Look.”

Indy listened. And she watched. Watched Bekah try to sit up in her bed. She was probably calling for Jessica, or Emily, or maybe even Indy. Her mouth opened, and no sound came out, her eyes going wide for a moment before she fell back against the pillows, chest rising too fast, too shallow. Indy knew what that meant.

“No. NO! Beks! Bekah!”

“Shhhhh baby, there’s nothing you can do, Indiana stop, there’s nothing you can do.”

“BEKAH!” She cried anyways, fighting her mother’s grip as she watched the monitors light up, heard their mocking monotone calls as they alarmed. Nurses appeared, and Indy watched them do all the right things, give all the right medicine.

She didn’t wake up.

“No, no no no no,” Indy wailed, thrashing in her mother’s arms.

“Indiana. Indiana. Dee!”

She was back in her living room, and Grayson was scared.

“Wha-” she looked around, bewildered. She was sitting up, which disoriented her a bit, though she was with it enough to realize she was still in Grayson’s lap.

“Hey, you’re okay, you’re safe,” Grayson said, eyes still wide. He pushed her hair back out of her face as she looked down, only then realizing that she’d balled up his shirt in her hands. She let go, looking at the disheveled fabric, which was also splotched with dark spots.

“I’m- sorry, I don’t… I uh… I had a nightmare. Sorry.”

“It’s okay baby,” Grayson murmured. “You okay?”

Those two words brought on a whole other wave of tears, and she crumpled into him, shaking her head as she cried.

It took him by surprise for a moment - he knew she didn’t like to cry, and he’d never really seen her so upset. So he took a moment to process, and then he lifted her arms up over his shoulders, coiling his own around her and squeezing her to him as tight as he could without crushing her. He didn’t speak. He just held her, let her get it out of her system, whatever it was.

When her sobs turned to sniffles and his shirt was fully soaked through on the shoulder, he spoke up.

“What do you need? What can I do?”

She pulled back from him, frame seeming even smaller somehow as she sat there.

“Can you go check on Bekah? I know it’s Wednesday, and I know we’re going to tomorrow but… you don’t have to, I just, I know she’s alone up there, but I have so much work to do, and-”

“I can go. I’ll go,” he said. The pieces fell together in his brain, and he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Thank you,” she exhaled, shoulders slumping back down.

“Are you gonna be okay here by yourself while I’m gone?”

“Yeah, I need to study anyways, I’ll keep myself busy. Just need to know she’s okay.”

“Okay. I’ll make sure she’s good, might hang out for a bit and watch something if she’s up for it.”

“That sounds amazing. Thank you.”

He didn’t like the idea of leaving her there, but he could tell she wouldn’t have any peace of mind until she knew that Bekah was okay. It reminded him off all the times he’d called his mother in the middle of the night in those last few months before he’d officially come home, just to make sure his dad was still there.

“If you need me, call me okay? I’ll turn back around.”

“I will.”

“Promise?”

“I promise. I love you,” she said, kissing him quickly.

“I love you more.”

He shifted her off him onto the couch and got up, putting his shoes and coat on quickly before he could convince himself to stay. It was already dark outside despite it only being 6pm, and he kept his head down on the streets on his way to the hospital, mind racing until he got up to the unit and signed in.

He half expected Bekah to be lying still in her bed, on her back with all her machines on. Or, at least for her to be drained and tired like she had been the last few times they saw her. But when he cleared the doorway she was sitting up in bed on her phone, random Tik Tok audio’s playing. She looked up at him and smiled her brightest smile.

“Earrings! It’s a Wednesday, the fuck are you doing here?!”

He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“You get an extra dose of me this week, deal with it,” he teased, unzipping his coat and laying it over one of the chairs.

“Where’s Indy?”

“Studying for finals. It’s a me you date tonight, you pick. What’re we doing?”

“Well, I restarted Vampire Diaries.”

“Restarted? Bro, you were on season 7 yesterday!”

“Yeah so? The best seasons are the first two, we’ve been over this.”

“Whatever, scootch over.”

She did as he asked, though he had to put the bedrails down to even fit halfway on the mattress.

“Here, get in here so we can send some motivation to Dee,” he said, pulling out his phone and opening snapchat. They moved so just their noses-up were on screen, making Bekah laugh as he sent it off.

She screenshotted it and sent back a heart, which put his mind at ease enough to relax and attempt to enjoy an episode, though he wasn’t really following the plot considering they were almost halfway through the first season.

“So, what’s happening exactly?” He finally asked 20 minutes into the episode.

“Stefan is trying to be all ‘you deserve better than me’, and Damon just doesn’t give a shit. Essentially, Stefan doesn’t want to hurt Elena so he wants her to make the decision to break it off so he doesn’t have to. He doesn’t want to be the bad guy.”

“But if he loves her, then why does he want to break it off at all?”

“Well cause he’s bad for her. She would have to give up so much for him. She’s having to lie to her friends, hide all this stuff for him. Change her whole life really. But she wants to, because she loves him, he just doesn’t think it’s fair to ask that of her. But like… he’s still asking her to do it just by being with her, you know?”

He knew.

“I mean, and he’s a fucking vampire. Yah know, suck suck and all that jazz,” Bekah laughed. “If the rest isn’t a deal breaker, then that definitely is. I mean, yeah, Damon’s a vampire too but at least he just accepts it, and he doesn’t ask her to change or anything.”

He didn’t say anything.

“I’m Team Damon, if you couldn’t tell,” she tried again.

“Yeah. Me too.”

Grayson tried to shake himself out of his thoughts, but it was proving difficult. Luckily, Bekah just mistook it as him being super invested in the show, which made her happy. Jessica let him stay an extra fifteen minutes, and he took a quick video of Bekah wishing Indy luck on her last final before he left and headed out.

The walk home was worse. It was darker somehow, colder as his mind raced with realization after realization. He did his best to do the math in his head. It was December 3rd, which meant 30 days until he was supposed to go back to LA. All the way to the other side of the country, only coming back to Jersey every few months if he was able to. Ethan’s voice rang in his head as he trudged through the lobby and into the elevator.

That shit won’t work when you’re on the other side of the country.

He tried to breathe it off, put on a positive face before he opened Indy’s apartment door, smiling when he saw her on the couch, pencil tucked behind her ear as she looked over diagrams.

“Hi! How was it?”

“It was good, she’s good. Looks great actually.”

His phone buzzed in his pocket once, then again, and he pulled it out to check it.

A notification of a payment from the joint bank account, and then a text from E.

Booked the flights for the 2nd. Hope that’s cool.

“Everything okay?” Indy asked.

He put his phone back in his pocket and smiled.

“Yeah. Everything is fine.”

[fortheloveoffanfic]

This Christmas (pt1)

John Wick x Reader. A John Wick AU. (A/n- Just a tiny, five part Au where John is Y/n’s boss.)

Masterlist  

Warnings- none

New York Y/n’s desk was probably the most obvious give away that Christmas was her favorite holiday of all time. She had everything; from tinsel running cheerfully around the edges and a tiny tree in one corner, to a little snowman figurine and a decorative jar of striped candy canes. That year, she’d even put out extra to buy a little Santa Claus figurine to greet everyone coming out of the elevator. The rest of the floor hadn’t really caught on though, her boss was never one to get into the holiday spirit anyways. But Y/n didn’t mind, she probably had enough for them both. 

That morning, three weeks before the big day, she was sitting at her little station in the waiting room, tapping away on her computer, contentedly working her way through everything John had assigned her as she hummed in time with the Christmas carols wafting through her ear buds, loud enough for her to enjoy it though not so much so as to hamper her from hearing if the phone would ring. A classic had just started up, and like the others, Y/n had committed it to memory and was completely ready to get in tune with Mariah Carey when a knocking on the upper part of her receptionist’s desk roused her attention. It was Robert, the company’s head of marketing, flashing her a winning grin as he leaned forward on the matted grey surface. “I see our Christmas queen strikes again,” he gave her area a once over, his smile not wavering.

“That she has,” Y/n returned, beaming. Robert was a friend, a good one and he never let the vast differences in their positions at the company get in the way of inviting her to drinks with other board members or taking the extra elevator ride to bring her coffee whenever he could. “Do you like it?” Removing her ear buds, Y/n shifted her keyboard to give herself some room to fold her elbows on the desk.

“Like it?” Robert furrowed his brows, “I love it! You should come over and help me decorate,” when Y/n rolled her eyes, dismissing the notion, he clarified, “I’m being serious! You won’t have to do any of the heavy lifting, I swear, I’d be grateful for just your direction.”

Giggling, Y/n leaned back into her chair, folding her arms across her chest, “Can’t you pay someone to do all that Rob? What do you need me for?”

“I guess I could,” he shrugged, depositing a colorful gift bag with crepe paper sticking out at the top in front of him, he straightened up, slipping his hands into his pockets, “But it won’t be the same. I’m pretty clueless with…..making sure things flow so perfectly,” he gestured to the way she’d dressed up her station; just enough to show off the spirit, though not in a gaudy, over the top way, “But I like to get involved, you know? Please say you’ll come. I may not be able to decorate like a pro, but my hot cocoa is awesome.”

Leaning in conspiringly, Y/n held her chin in her palm, “Are you trying to bribe me with amazing cocoa that I’ve never tasted?”

“I am,” his voice dropped an octave, and when Robert leaned in towards the desk, he spoke in a whisper, “The secret’s whiskey.”

“Ohh,” Y/n mused, “Very tempting, can you do Saturday?”

“I most definitely can.” just as they continued to make plans, out from the hallway, came their boss, and CEO of the company, John Wick. It was hard to not notice him, considering he seemed to have this air about him that attracted all eyes the minute he walked into a room. He was just…..magnetic. “Y/n,” he teased, “You didn’t tell me the Grinch was in.”

From her usual perch, Y/n stuttered, unlike Robert, she was afraid of what would happen if John felt insulted by a harmless joke. He was an asset to the company, of a high caliber, but her? She was just an assistant. Thankfully though, John didn’t give her a moment to speak before speaking up, shaking his head, “Don’t you have work to do Rob? Things to finalize before the conference.”

“It’s three weeks away,” Robert defended, taking on a bothered expression. He turned to John, leaning against the lip of the desk and crossing one ankle in front of the other. Likewise, John neared the pair, lingering closer to the edge, laying a large palm on the cool top, not yet regarding Y/n.

“Only three weeks,” John emphasized with a heavy sigh, “Did you really just come up here to bother my secretary? Cause if you don’t, Y/n does have work to.” 

“I can see that,” Robert nodded towards the thick planner laid out next to her computer, right next to several papers and little notes reminding her of all the things she had to get done. Buy gifts for everyone on John’s very long yet impersonal list, schedule flights to England for the conference, book him a hotel room, organize his calendar and set appointment dates. And that was barely a quarter of it. By the rate things were going, Y/n was beginning to wonder if John was even going to take Christmas day off. “You’ve got her burning the midnight oil.”

“It’s eleven am,” John noted gruffly. In her three years of working under him, Y/n had never once heard the man crack a joke, or laugh for that matter. He was so serious that often, Y/n would wonder if he even smiled. Maybe that's why he looked so good for a man nearing fifty. That, and the real possibility of him having a fancy home gym. “Maybe it’s time to get back to your office Robert.”

“Right,” Robert fought a frown, only to turn back to Y/n as he picked up the gift, “Just one more thing,” as he looked at her, he smiled again, holding the bag out to her, “I got you this Y/n.”

Scoffing a delighted laugh, Y/n retrieved the present, “No fair, you’re early. I haven’t even had time to get your gift yet.”

“This isn’t your Christmas present,” Robert gestured for her to unveil his gift, “Open it, come on.”

“Alright, fine. But if it's not- oh my god!” Gasping loudly, her jaw hung slack and Y/n held up the ceramic mug that had been secured inside. It was rounded and painted to look like a gingerbread man wearing a scarf, and it had even come equipped with a candy cane spoon. “Rob,”  standing abruptly, disregarding her boss eyeing their exchange, “I love it,” Y/n walked around to meet him on the other side, immediately pulling him into a warm hug, “Thank you!”

“I knew you would,” he grinned as they pulled apart, “I should probably get back now though. But I’ll call you tonight so we can talk about Saturday.”

“Sounds great!” Waving as Robert retreated towards the elevator, she gave her new mug another look, “I can’t wait to use this,” Y/n noted, more to herself, only catching John staring at her when she looked up once more, “I’m sorry Mr. Wick, is there something you needed? If its about your flight plan, I’m calling the agency this afternoon so-”

“You know we have a no fraternization policy, right?” He cut her off, straightening his back and cutting her a stern look.

“I….uh….You mean…..” Looking between John and her opened present, Y/n furrowed her brows, confused. Of course, Robert was perhaps one of the most eligible bachelors, besides John himself, at the company; he was attractive, charming and quite the gentleman. But Y/n had never even thought of viewing him in a romantic light, they were friends and nothing more. “That was…..that was nothing,” she waved the thought off, “Robert is just a good friend. He probably just saw that while he was shopping or something. We do that kind of thing all the time.”

Humming his response, John kept his head held intimidatingly high. He always seemed so much bigger than her and Y/n could never decide whether or not it was thrilling or frightening. John himself was quite the looker, dark hair, dark eyes and enthrallingly mysterious. Even on a regular day he looked like he belonged on the posters for some high end brand or the other. “I need you in my office,” already, he was walking off and Y/n was left scurrying to match his long strides in her heels.

“What is this about?” Breathless as John shut the heavy door behind them, Y/n tried to right herself as she went before his desk. The large room, with dark porcelain floors and hardwood walls, accented by elegant furniture was familiar territory and Y/n knew it almost as well as she knew her own apartment. Papers on the right of his desk were dealt with, the ones on the left weren’t. There was an integrated mini refrigerator among the cabinets and he kept an extra suit, custom Tom Ford cause he never wore anything but, in the closet where he kept his coat. Come to think of it, Y/n probably knew more about John than anyone else in that entire building,

“Its about the conference,” coolly, he sank into his imposing leather chair, gracefully scooting towards his imported, mahogany desk. “It’s good that you haven’t called the agency yet, cause now you’ll be booking three tickets; you’re coming too.”

Stammering, Y/n’s eyes went wide with surprise. That wasn’t right, that wasn’t right at all. She was supposed to have Christmas week off, so she could fly home to be with her family, but that wasn’t really possible if John would be taking her across the pond for a conference filled with stuffy, middle aged people with too much money and no one to spend it on. “Mr. Wick…..I…..I already applied for that week off.”

“No you didn’t, you never submitted an application,” he didn’t even look at her, firing up his laptop and probably ready to be done with the matter.

“Yes, I did,” frenzied, and panicked, Y/n looked to his desk, where, lo and behold, her application for time off sat on among the smaller pile of paperwork, the one on the left side. But that was impossible, she’d given it to him weeks ago! “It’s right there,” she pointed accusingly to where it had been sticking out from beneath some investment proposal or the other. 

Snatching it up, John scanned the pages before swearing under his breath. It was the first time she’d ever seen him so bewildered. “Y/n,” he sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face, “I’m sorry it must have gotten mixed up in the hustle.”

“I….” She wanted to argue, tell him that an apology wouldn’t make up for keeping her away from her family. Y/n wanted to yell that she’d be taking the week off anyway. But she couldn’t. Not just because he was her boss, but because he was John, who despite his very hardened exterior, had earned himself a soft spot in her heart. Y/n cared for him, in a way she probably shouldn’t have and the thought of bailing when he needed her wasn’t one she could entertain. “It’s okay,” forcing a smile and biting back tears, she blinked quickly, “I guess I should get to planning our flights.”

“Y/n-” he began, but it was too late, Y/n had already turned on her heel and was moving towards the door, swiping hastily at her eyes before she could listen to him say anything else. 

Three Weeks Later Despite being separated merely by six inches in the car ride to the airport, Y/n swore that she could feel John's heat radiating, seeping through her thick layers. It was both an exciting and uncomfortable experience. On one hand, being that close to him almost had her giddy; feeding the school girl crush she'd developed on her boss. While on the other, things felt clumsy and tense; he didn't seem interested in talking,  she didn't know what they could possibly talk about besides work and sharing an hour long car ride and six am was plain out awkward. Still, they’d made it through in almost complete silence. 

Even at the airport, whilst walking to where they had agreed to meet Robert at the waiting area in anticipation of their flight, John had stayed silent and Y/n felt something of a dead limb walking beside him. He was always quiet and, like clockwork, as the year dwindled down, he seemed to grow even colder, as New York’s winter resided inside him. Usually, Y/n tried to not to let it get to her, but they were going to spend the week together; she’d given up family time for work and his silence was making her feel a bit lonely. Her only glimmer of hope for some good, warm company had been in Robert, even if Y/n got the feeling that John wouldn’t be giving them too much time together.

The chill between them lingered all the way through, though, when they all met up, things were uncharacteristically different. Immediately upon greeting each other, Y/n had instinctively pulled Robert into a hug, standing on the tip toes of her suede knee-highs so she could loop her arms around his neck, staying like that until John cleared his throat. When Y/n pulled away, she rubbed her gloved hands together, glancing at John, not really knowing what to feel when she looked at him and consequently looking away quickly. “ Uh…” checking her phone, Y/n exhaled shakily; there was still quite a bit of time left and the thought of having to spend it with both Robert and John was unnerving. She knew he wasn’t exactly a fan of their friendship, though, she could never tell why and without having to ponder on it, Y/n  had already known that they were in for a long morning.

“Why don’t we head over to the lounge, get some drinks?” John filled the silence, causing Y/n to snap her head up and look directly at them. John wanted to grab drinks, with them? When she finally gathered the courage to face him, she found that John was looking directly at her, as if he were really only seeking her response.

Staring back at him, as she always did, Y/n found it hard to not lose herself in those dark pools, so endless that she might have drowned if she wasn’t too careful. The request was simple and impersonal, but still very unlike the John she’d grown to know. “Okay,” forcing herself to nod and simultaneously shifting her gaze back to Robert who now stood beside her, Y/n agreed, “We can do that. But it’s a little early, don’t you think?”

“It’s the airport, Y/n,” Robert teased lightly as he nudged her shoulder, “Besides, it's already noon in London, so technically, you’re just…….pre-assimilating.”

Battling an amused grin, Y/n rolled her eyes, adjusting the bag on her shoulder as she prepared to start moving towards the lounge, “That’s not a real thing.”

“Technically it is, I mean, Hardy made up words all the time and no one did anything about that. You,” he emphasized pointedly, “Love Hardy.”

“Hardy is a timeless, literary genius. You are a marketer from New York, it’s clearly not the same,” she laughed. She could tell that Robert was about to add something more, though, when John interrupted them, sternly urging them to move along, he dropped the matter, instead insisting that he take one of her bigger bags. “Oh, you don’t have to.”

“Yeah, but I want to,” he said, claiming one of her carry ons before she could protest any further. “We should get going, before Scrooge over here loses it.”

“You’ve gotta stop that,” Y/n admonished before they set off, “You’re gonna get fired or something.”

“I’m not gonna get fired, relax-”

“If you kids are finished,” they both looked to John immediately as he scolded them, and Y/n shuddered at the way his tell tale signs of irritation shone through; a quirked brow, an evident scowl and a hardness in his jaw that screamed that he was at his rope’s end with their banter. 

“We are,” she spoke up without giving Robert the opportunity to come up with another questionable joke directed at their very unamused boss. Then, not offering anything further, she followed John’s  lead as he walked off, not paying any mind to how far they were behind him. 

Though, the peace was short lived when Y/n tripped as they reached the bottom of one of those short lived staircases that had been placed purely for aesthetic purposes, accidently dropping her rolling suitcase as she stumbled forward. With reflexes faster than she could have registered, John spun, barely sparing a moment to set aside his own suitcase before catching her at the shoulders. By the time he’d helped her right herself, Y/n’s chest was barely a hair away from his and with the way he was bent, his face wasn’t much further from hers. Swallowing thickly, for the first time Y/n didn’t feel small under his bottomless stare, instead, she felt like he was seeing into her; trying to speak into her. It was hard to decipher it, and it could have very well been her own unspoken affections blurring things, but Y/n could have sworn that he was seeing her in a different light.

Everything around them seemed to slow down, like the universe was letting her savor the proximity that she’d never experience again. “Are you okay?” John’s inquiry pierced their fragile moment, and all of a sudden, it was as if someone had hit play on a remote so reality would resume.

“I…..I’m fine, thanks,” she smiled weakly, her expression faltering when John pulled away. Then, simultaneously remembering her fallen suitcase, they both bent over to get it, leaving John’s hand to unconsciously fall over Y/n’s. For a split second, they stared at their hands, together, on the black plastic handle, looking very suggestive with the way they were positioned. “I uh, I got it,” flustered, Y/n gave the bag a gentle tug.

John didn’t let up immediately though, instead sparing her a peculiar stare, “Are you sure? I don’t mind.”

“It’s okay,” she exhaled shakily. Y/n couldn't let him take it, else she’d read too much into it, and no good would come from reading too much into an innocent though rare act of inconsequential kindness from John Wick. He didn’t feel the same, they weren’t even friends, it wasn’t worth it. “Thanks though.”

They stood and John immediately put some distance between them. “Good,” he scoffed coldly, walking off before they could exchange anything else. 

“Hey,” Robert touched her shoulder, causing Y/n to jump. She’d been looking on as John walked off, rooted to the spot, unsure of what to do or think. “You okay? That could have been a nasty fall, especially in those shoes.”

“Yeah,” finally tearing her gaze away from John’s slowly shrinking form so she could greet Robert’s concern with her own bewilderment, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Vaguely, she heard his response, though it sounded far off as she inevitably succumbed to  letting thoughts of the past five minds swim around in her head; caught between wishing it meant something and thinking that it more than likely didn’t. 

****** Tagging- @harrisongslimited @magnificentclodpiebanana  @keandrews @greenmanalishi  @rdjloverxxx @danceoftwowolves  @planetkt @wheretheriversrunintothesea

[amydancepants-peralta]

prompt: jake being the sweet and caring husband he is when amy gets her period, sometime during trying/before ding dong

The first thing Jake notices is the empty tampon packaging in the trash can in their bathroom, the blue cardboard sticking out amongst the tissues as he discards the last of his contact solution.  

It’s presence doesn’t surprise him - it’s the same brand that Amy’s been using for years.  Cross referenced with the other brands with her typical Type-A regularity for value, availability and reliability; she will often conclude her findings with a satisfied grin, pleased with the knowledge that she is in fact still using the best available option on the market.  It’s packaging is a sight that’s as normal as all the rest, and having grown up with his mother and occasionally getting to the stage of regular stay-overs with various girlfriends over the years, Jake is no stranger to finding such things in the trash.

He’s been expecting it for days actually, which probably sounds odd but he’s known Amy for so long that he knows how to read the signs.  Breast tenderness was one - and she’d pulled away slightly from the hug he’d given her a couple of days ago, eyebrows knitting in silent discomfort as she’d readjusted her position in his arms before tucking her face into his neck, and it made him  realise that a few weeks had (somehow) already passed.  

(It had been a hug of commiseration, the latest negative test in what felt like an endless tally of negatives still clutched in her left hand as she wound her arms around his waist, and he knew that she’d been hoping that all the signs her body had been sending her way would be related to a brand new life growing inside her, instead of an indicator for the opposite.)

Another sign (and admittedly, the more obvious one) was the tiny red dot that Amy marks on their calendar each month - in the same location as the ones she marks on her planner - and in true Santiago style, it was right on time.  So the empty carton comes as no surprise - but if he was to be completely honest, there was still a tiny part of him that had held onto a sliver of hope that maybe, after they’d given up the rigid scheduling and just started trying to try, that maybe this time the test would be wrong, and they’d have finally gotten it right. 

But they hadn’t, and now her body has the receipts.  

He knows that Amy thinks it’s her that is failing them, and even though he makes the joke, he wishes that she’d acknowledge the likelihood of it being his.  After all, you only need to compare the difference between their genes to know which one of their bodies is way more likely to turn up for their duty on time and ready to go, and which is likely to be a few minutes (too) late.  Whether she can’t see it or simply doesn’t want to, Jake isn’t sure.  But he’d give anything to be able to make it easier.

Amy’s already in the process of swallowing two Advil at their kitchen sink when he walks in, and as she stretches forward to wash out her glass Jake wraps his left arm around her middle, pressing his chest against her back as he squeezes.  Letting out a soft hey, she leans into his touch, and even though Jake can feel the smile on her face when he presses a kiss to her cheek, he can hear the resignation in her voice.  He lowers his head to leave another kiss along the side of her neck, wrapping both arms around her middle and resting his forehead against her shoulder when her hands move to cover his.  She sighs, and slowly he nods.  

“You smell good,” she whispers to break the silence, and eventually Jake shifts his hands from her middle to their kitchen counter, giving her room to turn in place.  He catches her gaze when they’re finally face to face, finding all of the sadness that she’s trying so valiantly to mask, mirroring her response when she shrugs in a total loss for words.  Her hand moves to rest against his cheek, a touch that is so familiar but still feels so perfect every time she does it, and when he leans in for proper kiss all he can think is how he’d give her the world, if he only knew how.

“I’m just about to call my mom,” Amy mumbles, resting her hands on Jake’s waist and letting them linger as he begins to step back.  “I’ve been putting it off for days.”  It was something that used to be a lot more regular - until the conversation began to turn towards ovulation schedules and conception suggestions - and as the months went by it just became too difficult for Amy to hear how easy it was for others to do the one thing she was struggling so hard to get right.  

Jake nods, deciding in the interim to do a run to the nearest corner store and grab a few necessities.  (This phone call, he knew, was going to need space - and he rather give it to Amy before she needed to ask.)  

He can hear the hey, mom from their bedroom as he peels the list from it’s magnetic pad on the fridge, and blowing Amy a kiss even though he knows she’ll never see it from the kitchen he heads out, closing the door just loudly enough for her to know that he’s definitely gone.  

The Sampson’s Grocers is a relatively new addition to their neighbourhood, a family owned business that sits five and half blocks away from their apartment but always has the best produce.  The aisles are familiar to Jake, the layout remaining unchanged each time he comes here with Amy, and he grabs a basket from the door and begins filling it up as he moves through the store.

Because it was written by his wife, the list in his hand has been itemised according to aisle, and it takes him no time at all to gather all of the items, deciding to do a second lap just in case there’s something they’ve both forgotten to put down (and perhaps also to buy Amy and Camila just a little more time).

Because he loves his wife, he stops past the sanitary products in aisle seven, grabbing a twin pack of each level of absorbency and making a mental note to collect the chocolate she likes on the way back to the register. 

Because he believes in their future, he gathers another three packets of Amy’s favoured pregnancy test - the ones with the 99.9% certified accuracy - and places them in the basket next to the tampons.  

(And because they’re on sale, he grabs an extra packet of sour gummy worms that may or may not end up making it all the way home.)

Normally, for the first few days of her period Amy would be seeking all of her favourites - warm blankets, hot chocolate, takeout and a marathon run of old Jeopardy episodes, all in no particular order.  Long since mastering the art of filing up water bottles with one hand while ordering takeout online with the other, Jake hesitates outside their favourite Thai restaurant before deciding to forgo.  

(These past few months have been different, and he has the strongest instinct that today is going to be the same.)

She’s on the couch with a blanket covering her feet by the time he walks in the door, eco-friendly bags hanging in his left hand as he closes the door with his right, and gives him a soft smile as he heads towards the kitchen to put everything away.  Her positioning leads Jake to think that the pain relief has kicked in but he still moves quickly, eager to return to Amy (it is their day off together, after all), and as he’s finishing up he calls out if she needs anything.

“No.  Just you.”  Comes her reply, and maybe there’s still a couple of items left on the counter, but clearly out of the two options (out of ANY two options, really), Amy is going to be his priority, and he makes a beeline straight to the living room, capturing her smile and storing it away in his heart with all of the others when he gets there.  Grabbing his left hand, Amy pulls it towards her and leaves a kiss against his palm, and when Jake shuffles along the couch to move closer she snuggles into his side, resting her head against his shoulder like that is it’s second home (which, to be fair, it kind of is). 

Amy’s hand slides around his waist, toying with the belt loops of his jeans, and after a pause she glances up.  “My mom suggested a hormonal assistance program I could start taking that .. actually sounds kinda promising.  I’m going to call my doctor tomorrow and see what she thinks.”

He nods, running his right hand along her forearm.  “That sounds like a great idea, babe.”  She nods into his hoodie, and when the silence stretches out he continues.  “Do you want me to get you a hot water bottle or anything?”

Her grip around his waist tightens, as though Jake’s sentence alone was enough of a threat for her, and shakes her head before tucking her nose into his neck.  “No.  Just you.”  

He nods again, resting his head against hers as she takes in a deep breath.  This has been the change in recent months, now that the beginning of her period doesn’t just mean persistent aches from all the cramping and no chance of sex for five to seven days.  Now, it told her that even though they’d tried their hardest - and then for a little while, didn’t officially ‘try’ at all - that despite her best efforts, nothing had worked, and they (she) had failed again.  Now, the pain wasn’t just from the contracting muscles in her uterine walls (he’s read a lot about conception and biology in the last six months); now, the pain is compounded by the confirmation that once again, there would be no mini Peralta-Santiago arriving in nine months time.  

She asks him if he thinks everything is going to work out; her voice so soft you almost wouldn’t hear it (but he hears her, even when she thinks he doesn’t), and he nods, shifting to press a kiss to her forehead to seal the promise.  There’s no way for him to know for sure - and he’s well aware that as time presses on things will only get harder - but he believes in them with every fibre of his being, and if there was anybody that could come out of this battle a winner, it is Amy Santiago.  

So he tells her yes, tells her that he loves her and that everything will be okay, and because she loves him her body relaxes against his, knees curling up until they’re resting just along the outside of his thigh.

“You know, I could actually kinda go for some chocolate,” she mumbles, twisting her neck until her cheek is resting against his chest, and Jake smiles in victory because he knew this was coming.

“Ask and you shall receive, my darling wife.”  His left hand disappears from her thigh, reaching into the pocket of his hoodie and grinning brightly as he reveals a family sized block of her favourite - thankfully unmelted due to the slightly cooler weather outside - and her eyes light up in glee.  She gives him a chocolate flavoured kiss a few minutes later, telling her she loves him with her actions just as much as her words, and honestly, all of world’s problems could probably be solved by a little chocolate. 

It will only be a few more weeks before there will be no need for the recently purchased packets of tampons, and they will get stashed away to the back of the cupboard for their eventual need in nine or ten months time, but for now the day passes with the two of them stretched out on the couch.

There is so much proof of their love within these four walls, and the greatest proof of all is yet to come, but for now all they need is a couple of Advil, a block of chocolate, and the arms of the one you love.  

[celt-the-flame-3110]

An: Not my usual content. Read the tags first, please.

Judging by the calendar, it was six months after the battle against Pennywise. Since he had a habit of listening in when Richie talked to the others on the phone, he knew where everyone else was. Bill divorced Audra and moved to Tampa with Mike. Beverly divorced Tom and moved into Ben’s place.

And Richie was still living in LA, laying on the couch and staring up at the ceiling. The tv was on, but it was mostly background noise. Eddie was sitting in the arm chair across from Richie, not trying to pretend that he wasn’t staring at him. A half-empty bottle of whiskey sat beside the couch at his feet, the empty on the rocks glass sitting on the coffee table.

Richie talked to the rest of their friends less since Stan died. He would only let the conversation last five minutes until he would lie about being busy and hanging up. The only people Richie would talk to are people from work, the cashier at the grocery store, and any food delivery people that came to his apartment. 

Otherwise, he would be at home by himself. He never even interacted with Eddie at all and that fucking sucked. But it wasn’t really his fault.

Eddie sighed and finally got up from the armchair. He walked to stand next to Richie, where he was laying down—as he had been for the past four hours.

“Rich…”

Richie didn’t acknowledge Eddie, just continued to stare at the ceiling in silence.

“I know that Stan’s death was hard on you. It’s hard on all of us. I know that you two were really close, so it’s even more difficult for you, but he was our friend too. We all loved him and we’re all hurting. But you can’t go on like this forever.”

Eddie wanted to cry, he really did. He missed Stan more than anything and seeing Richie hurting this way made him even sadder. But he just couldn't do it anymore.

“I know that you like to think that you can just drink and sleep for the rest of your life, but you can’t. It’s going to kill you, Rich. And I’ll be damned if I let one of us die again.”

Eddie dropped to his knees, somehow not accidentally knocking the glass bottle over in the process, and reached up to touch Richie’s face. He felt the warmth radiating off of him, warming his constantly cold hand.

“Rich… you need to talk to someone. I understand that you might not feel comfortable talking to a professional. But you have four other people that are just a phone call away and they all know exactly what you’re going through. Please stop shutting everyone out.”

Richie reached up to touch the cheek that Eddie’s hand was covering, but the phone rang before he could.

Richie groaned in frustration as he rolled off of the couch. He stumbled rather than walked to where his cell phone was laying on the floor. Eddie was still standing next to Richie and, when Richie picked up the phone, saw that Mike was calling

“Answer it. Don’t you dare ignore him. You’ve been avoiding him, and everyone else, for far too long.”

Eddie wasn’t sure if Richie was just tired of avoiding his friends or if he was actually hearing Eddie for once, but he answered the phone.

“Hello?” Richie asked, as if he didn’t have caller ID.

Eddie couldn’t actually hear the other side of the conversation but he assumed that he was greeting Richie.

“Hey, Mikey! How’ve you been?”

Eddie could tell that the cheerful tone was forced but he let it slide, since he knew that Richie would never answer the phone sounding sad.

After a beat of silence, Richie answered, “I’m doing well. How are you and Bill?”

Eddie scoffed, knowing that he was bull-shitting, but Richie paid him no mind.

Richie looked worried and what Mike said, but he kept his tone upbeat, “What day?”

Eddie perked up for the first time in a while. The last time Richie saw the others was when they fought Pennywise and those were, obviously, not ideal circumstances. Seeing everyone again, this time in a safe environment, would be really good for him.

“I’ll have to check my calendar. Give me a second.”

But, instead of going to actually check his planner, Richie just stood there.

After a minute of staring at the fucking wall in silence, Richie said, “Sorry, Mike. That day doesn’t work for me.”

“Richie.” Eddie said in a warning intonation. 

“No, no, it’s fine,” Richie said over the phone. “Don’t reschedule for my sake. You guys should go have fun.”

After being silent for a moment, Richie sighed. “Mike, listen. Bill, Bev, Ben, and I all have very busy schedules. Trying to coordinate a day when the four of us are free is going to be a pain in the ass at best, and impossible at worst. Don’t try to reschedule just because I can’t make it.”

Unfortunately, Mike seemed to buy the excuse, because Richie said, “Bye, Mike. Say ‘hi’ to Bill for me. Maybe we can get together some other time.”

Then, Richie hung up the phone and had the audacity to sigh in relief.

“Richie, what the fuck? Are you fucking serious?”

Richie only collapsed back on the couch, starting to stare at the ceiling again.

Eddie took a deep breath, not wanting to be mad at the only man—no, the only person—he had ever loved in his entire life. Richie was going through hell and didn’t need anger.

“Rich,” Eddie said a few minutes later, now calm. “You have to stop doing this shit to yourself. I wish I could help you, but you know that I can’t.”

Eddie gently touched the side of Richie’s face, wanting to kiss him but knowing that he can’t. Because they weren’t together. He just couldn’t tell Richie how he really felt about him. He had his chance, six months ago, and he fucking blew it...

“Rich, please. You have to get help.”

Richie just continued to stare vacantly at the ceiling, not even giving Eddie a sideways glance. Eddie got back on his knees and stayed next to Richie, still touching his cheek. He stayed like that until Richie’s eyes slid shut and he fell asleep again.

Eddie knew how Richie felt. All he wanted to do was sleep forever and never wake back up, but he couldn’t. Because he had someone who needed him, and he couldn’t stop until Richie was better. He would stick with him, even if it took forever.

[isitgintimeyet]

Road To The Aisles

AO3

Previous

Another weekend, another chapter. Hope everyone has a great weekend.

Thanks to everyone once again. Your response has been great x

Thanks to @mo-nighean-rouge @happytoobserve @wickedgoodbooks for all their support

This chapter is not really nsfw, just a bit suggestive in places 

Chapter 9: A Nuptial Intention

Mary: You are exquisite. You're timeless. And you have the love of a man named Steve. A man who, while you were away having meetings about mozzarella, said to me: 'I can't believe she picked me. I can't believe I'm marrying the most incredible woman I've ever met.' So that tells me that this marriage of yours is not only gonna work, it's gonna last forever.

-The Wedding Planner

The sun was just beginning to set as, with stomachs full of Mrs. Crook’s chicken casserole and apple pie, they made their way outside to sit by the fire pit that Murtagh had prepared. Jenny and Claire wrapped tartan blankets around themselves as protection from the chill of a typical Scottish summer’s evening. The post-prandial whisky they were all freely drinking also helped to fuel their internal heating systems.

“Is this the whisky that we’re launching in Japan?” Jenny swirled the amber liquid around her glass before sniffing it and taking a large sip.

“Aye,” Brian responded. “What ye’ll be working on when ye come back tae work.”

“I’ve loved ma time at home with the bairns but I’m ready fer work now, and the Japanese launch sounds so exciting. Ian was telling me about the advertising agency and --“

Brian laughed. “No shop talk this evening, lass. Ye’ll join us fer our meeting Monday morning, then?”

Jenny hesitated and glanced across at Claire.

“No, go Jenny. Seriously, don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. Actually I’ll look after the kids for you, if you want.”

“Ye want tae look after all three children? On yer own?” Murtagh smiled.

“Nah, only two. I’m taking William intae the distillery wi’ me. I want tae show him round, ye ken.”

“Show him off, more like.” Murtagh commented.

“Aye, weel, why don’t we all go in Monday morning?” Brian joined in. “Claire can mind the bairns for a while, if that’s alright, while we have the meeting. Then we can all have a bite tae eat in our new café, see what we think about it. Sounds good?”

There was a general murmur of agreement. Brian rubbed his hands together. “Right, it’s a plan.”

Jamie watched Claire, sitting on the other side of the fire pit, next to Jenny. She shifted in her chair and tucked her feet under her bottom with the blanket tight around her. The firelight played with the natural highlights in her hair, glimpses of gold and auburn amongst the brown. Her whisky eyes gazed into the fire, unfocused, dreaming. Those whisky eyes, Jamie thought. Whisky eyes…

He filed that thought away for Monday’s meeting and brought his attention back to what he really wanted to discuss with his family.

“Speaking of plans…” Jamie began as he felt Claire’s gaze switch to him, burning as hot as the fire. “... er… plans, aye. Claire and I would like tae get married this year. Here at Lallybroch.”

“That’s great news.” Brian was genuinely pleased. “But, Claire, is that what ye want? Dinna do it tae please us. It’s yer day, after all.”

“It was my idea, Brian. I would love to be married here at Lallybroch.”

“As long as it’s what ye want. So, we’ll need tae hire a marquee. When were ye thinking of having it?” Brian pulled his phone out of his pocket and started rolling through screens, hunting for the calendar. “Time’s pushing on fer this year, ye ken. It’s July now.”

“You hire a marquee for the Hallowe’en party every year, don’t you?” Claire looked over at Jamie. Memories of that party ran through her mind. Instinctively, she caught her lower lip between her teeth. Jamie smiled softly, her glass face making her thoughts obvious to him.

“Ye’re no’ thinking about a Halloween-themed wedding, are ye?” Murtagh’s blunt question brought Claire back to the present.

“Weel, I dinna think we have tae look verra far for a witch, ye ken,” Jenny muttered.

Murtagh burst out laughing. “Ye’re no’ wrong there.”

“We thought tae have the wedding the week before the Halloween party, then that gives time for the marquee tae be redressed with pumpkins and cobwebs. And if Isobel could take William back tae Geneva on Sunday, then Claire and I could have a week’s honeymoon somewhere, providing she lets me change ma days with him.”

“And we’ve already asked Jamie to be the ring bearer.”

“Aye, I ken. He was that proud. He’s going tae wear a kilt wi’ the men and stand at the front wi’ his Da and his Uncle… that’s what he said.” Jenny hesitated. “Och, sorry, that sounded awfa presumptuous there, about Ian. I mean, I…”

“Weel,  I’m sorry Jenny but…” Jamie paused for a second before a broad smile crossed his face as he looked across at his oldest friend. “Dinna fash. Of course I want ma childhood friend tae be ma best man. So Ian, will ye do me that honour?”

“Weel, I’m no’ really sure. I may no’ be available on that day.” Ian returned Jamie’s smile. “Joking. Of course, I would be honoured tae stand by yer side. Thank ye.”

Brian raised his glass. “I think this call fer a toast. Tae Claire and Jamie… slainté.”

As the fire died down, blankets and whisky were no longer enough to ward off the chill of the night. With silent agreement, they all gathered up glasses, blankets and, in Jamie’s case, empty biscuit wrappers, and headed for bed.

Murtagh walked alongside Claire and, with a hand on her arm, pulled her back from the others.

“Jes’ wanted tae check on ye. Are ye alright... wi’ Jamie taking William intae the distillery tae show him off? I dinna want ye tae be upset or…” he looked slightly uncomfortable with his display of concern.

Claire smiled. “Murtagh, thank you but I’m fine with it. Truly. I wouldn’t want Jamie to treat William any differently than he would any child we’ll have. And I know this is exactly what he will do with them. So don’t you worry about me… but I do appreciate it.”

“As long as ye’re alright, lass. Our Jamie can sometimes be a wee bit headstrong, ye ken. Let me tell ye, ye’re the best thing that could have happened tae him. And tae get married here at Lallybroch. It’s jes’ wonderful. His Mam would have loved it.”

And with that Murtagh reached in his pocket for a handkerchief and quickly walked off ahead of Claire, back into the house.

****************

Sunday morning dawned bright and sunny with not a cloud in sight. With six adults and three children to feed, breakfast was a slightly chaotic event. Jamie sat and gave William his bottle while Claire made toast topped with Mrs. Crook’s home-made raspberry jam. Ian took wee Jamie upstairs for teeth cleaning and a wash.

Jenny sat with Maggie, sharing a bowl of porridge. “Ye still taking ma son fer a walk this morning, man tae man?”

Jamie nodded as William gave a soft milky belch in agreement.

“He’s verra excited tae go with ye. He’s been thinking about yer wedding and has some suggestions fer ye. I’m no’ sure quite what they are but Ian’s been reading a lot about cowboys tae him. Jes’ warning ye.”

Claire excused herself and left Jamie and Jenny chatting in the kitchen as she headed back to their bedroom to prepare for the morning.

She came back downstairs to find Jamie alone in the hallway. He caught her arm and backed her against the wood panelling, his body close to hers, one hand resting on the wall either side of her head.

“Where’s William?” Claire looked around.

“Och, Mrs. Crook has dropped by and doesna want tae let hold of the wee man. He’s fine, being royally entertained. She didna approve of ma actions, but is besotted with the result.”

He reddened slightly, remembering the tongue lashing Mrs. Crook had given him on a previous visit. She had drawn herself up to her full five foot one inch height, reaching up to shake her finger at him as she scolded him for his irresponsible behaviour.

“Anyways,” he continued. “What are ye up tae this morning, with those wee denim shorts on and that t-shirt with yer nipples poking through the size of cherries?”

Claire glanced down. “They aren’t poking through, Jamie.”

Jamie moved even closer, placing his legs either side of Claire’s. His breath was hot against her skin, still carrying the scent of strong coffee and sharp raspberry. “Weel, I ken they are no’ at the moment, Sassenach, but if I nibble yer ear jes’ so… and run my tongue around yer sweet lips…”

Claire playfully pushed his chest. “Jamie, no, not here. You’ve promised your nephew a walk and…”

Not discouraged, Jamie continued to lightly kiss along Claire’s collarbone. She reached her fingers into his hair and pulled his head away.

“What is it with you and Lallybroch? Every time we come here, you’re like a sex-starved adolescent.”

“But with a better technique, I hope Sassenach.” He muttered quietly into her ear. “I dinna ken… all I want tae do is take ye tae ma bed and fuck ye. I want ye tae make those wee noises when ye come and then I want tae make ye come again as ye cry out and call ma name. And tae ken that it’s me and only me that does that tae ye, there’s no’ greater feeling than that. Ma cock is hard jes’ thinking about it.”

He ground his hips against her to prove his point.

A small cough came from somewhere behind Jamie.

“Unca, are ye no’ ready fer our walk? Mam has put sun cream on me and William, so we’re ready tae go. Are ye, Unca?”

Jamie took a couple of deep calming breaths before answering.

“Aye, lad. Jes’... er… jes’ give me a moment. I need to have a quick word wi’ yer auntie. Tell yer mam I’ll be there presently.”

As the little boy ran off, Claire dissolved in giggles. Jamie discretely adjusted himself as he pulled away from her and sat on the stairs, still breathing deeply before eventually following his nephew into the kitchen.

“See you later,” Claire called after him. “Looking forward to it.”

**************

With William firmly strapped to Jamie’s chest, Jamie set off on the familiar path to the grove of trees and then onto the nearby pond. His nephew strode alongside, occasionally having to do a quick run to keep up with his uncle. Jamie reduced his stride and slowed down to accommodate the four year old’s legs.

At first they walked together in companionable silence, broken only by the sound of their feet on the well worn path and the occasional squeal from William. He kicked his legs excitedly.

“William likes this.” Wee Jamie commented.

“Aye, he’ll like the feel of the sun on his bare legs. I dinna think he likes his sun hat, mind. But there’s a lot of new sounds and sights fer him to learn.”

“And smells.” Wee Jamie spoke mischievously. “I just did a bottie cough back there.”

“Ah well, better out than in, I dare say.”

As they reached the pond, Jamie’s memories turned to many years before, when Murtagh had taught him how to skim stones. Now it was Jamie’s turn to pass this onto his nephew, and eventually his son.

Under Jamie’s instruction, the little boy scoured the waterside for suitable stones, bringing them to him for approval. With a large enough supply to hand, Jamie crouched behind his nephew, guiding with his hands until, on his own, the little boy managed to set a stone skimming once across the still water.

Flushed with success, Wee Jamie went to join his uncle, now sitting on an old tree trunk.

“That was grand,” the little boy told his uncle. “D’ye think I could teach Maggie and William tae do that?”

“ I dare say ye could. But no’ yet. They’d be too busy trying tae eat the stones, would they no’?”

Wee Jamie sat quietly for a minute, kicking his heels against the tree trunk.

“About yer wedding, Unca, I been thinking. Mebbe ye, me, and Da can arrive on horses… come galloping over the fields.”

“Weel, that's a grand notion. But think about the mess. All the people in their finery treading in the horse shi- poo.”

Wee Jamie giggled. “Ah no, I dinna think about that.”

“And we’ll all be in kilts, ye dinna want yer thighs chafing, do ye? And remember we dinna wear anything under the kilt, we dinna want tae be getting a sore willie either now, do we?”

“I suppose no’... Da says kilts are handy -- ye can stand up and piss anywhere. Can I do that then Unca?”

“Aye lad, and if it’s snowing I’ll teach ye tae write yer name in the snow. Anyway we best be heading back, William’ll soon be wanting his milk.”

Jamie started walking away from the pond with his nephew skipping alongside him. He looked down as Wee Jamie took his hand.

“And remember laddie,” Jamie smiled. “Not a word tae yer mam about the pissing.”

“Nah,” Wee Jamie agreed. “That’s jes’ between us men.”

[squishymochisoo]

the anatomy of a flower || hwang hyunjin

genre : angst, college au

pairing : hwang hyunjin x reader

words : 2.1 k

warnings: death 

sypnosis : every flower from the bouquet you gave to him was a reminder. a reminder that left a pain in his heart and tears on his cheeks. you two met from a part-time job, who would’ve thought it evolve into love? 

~            ~            ~

you were just like a flower to him.

when you first realize that a flower is starting to wilt, you heart clenches in pain. you always seem to feel guilty for not paying enough attention to it. for not watering it in the morning before you left for work.

just like the first petal of a flower that started to wilt, the pain of losing you did not only contain guilt but also the torment and agony without having you around in his life.

every petal was like a reminder to him

hyunjin stared at the flower in his hand, staring at the park the two of you used to spend most of your time in. his hand hovering over the first petal, pulling it out.

 “hyunjin, i’d like you to meet y/n” your boss introduced the new employee to you. you smiled gently at the tall handsome boy. you were supposed to teach him the ropes to this job but you felt a little underqualified to do so.

“y/n, i’m leaving. and since there’s practically no one here, you’ll cope with teaching hyunjin.” your boss shrugged her shoulder. sometimes it really did seem like she doesn’t know how to run a business.

the two of you stood awkwardly as you felt the door to the café close behind your boss. you looked up and smiled awkwardly while nodding slowly, not knowing why you were doing so.

“so,-er what do i have to know?” hyunjin hesitated. your eyes widened as if you just remembered what you were supposed to be doing. you walked behind the counter showing him how to work the register and how the system of the café works.

“woah this is a lot of information to take in” hyunjin laughed.

“well, if you think this is a lot of information then i don’t think you are ready to face the coffee machine just yet” you raised your eyebrows and jokingly shook your head.

“no no no no no! i wanna give it shot!” hyunjin exclaimed. your lame ass was really tempted to make a coffee joke based on what he said. but you didn’t feel like scaring a stranger off this quickly.

“okay if you say so” you smirked and raised one of your eyebrows.

 ~            ~            ~

 hyunjin grasped the petal he pulled; clenching it in his hands, not being able to control the tears that somehow make its way down his cheeks. he couldn’t help but let out a sob as his thoughts are flooded with you.

hyunjin just wanted you next to him once again.

hyunjin just needed you next to him once again.

~            ~            ~

 you smiled cheekily as you playfully threw hyunjin a rag. hyunjin frowned as narrowed his eyes at you; before running after you. the both of you chased each other around the barely lit closed coffeehouse.

“y/n stop!” hyunjin called after you whilst waving his hands around as if imitating a monster. it had been a month since hyunjin started at the both of you grew surprisingly close. close enough that even your boss knew it was a mistake assigning to you and hyunjin the closing shift.

you felt two arms engulf you in an embrace; “caught you!”

you felt blood rush to your cheeks unknowingly. hyunjin somehow had that effect on you.

 hyunjin pulled another petal off the flower once more; as if every petal was a reminder of you.

 “seungmin, jisung, lix, meet y/n” hyunjin gestured to you. you waved shyly at hyunjin’s friends.

“so you’re y/n? jinnie talks a lot about you” you side-eyed hyunjin and notices his eyes widen. you let out a small laugh.

“good things hope” seungmin nodded and smiled gently at you.

“only the best, don’t you worry y/n” jisung mentioned.

“oh? do you want coffee? it’s on me” you brought up and gestured to the free tables in the café.

 why did you love me so much? even with all my flaws, you understood me like no one did. you held me like no one did. you loved all my friends as much as i do. why were you so perfect? you were always there for me, even when sometimes i wasn’t. why wasn’t i there for you when it was most important?

 “you know, i’m glad we became friends” you gave a toothy smile at hyunjin, as the both of you sat on the pavement in front of the now closed café. sometimes the two of you would just sit there in front of the shop for hours just staring at the dark sky. you felt him take a deep breath, the two of you sitting so close in the cold under the night sky. the light that reflected of fthe moon landing on your face, illuminating your features that hyunjin could not get tired of.

“some nights, i like to think about what if we were much more than this” you whispered, probably not even aware of what you were saying as you stared ahead into the empty street. heat rushed towards hyunjin’s cheeks. hyunjin shifted his body towards you, looking down and stared into your eyes.

“can’t say i don’t do the same.” you smiled cheekily and stuck out your tongue at him.

 ~            ~            ~

 more tears dragged along hyunjin’s cheeks. he grasped the flower in his fist, slamming his fist repeatedly against the wall of his apartment.

“hyunjin stop! please…” jisung’s cries echoed through the apartment, his hands wrapping around hyunjin’s wrist trying to stop his best friend.

“this can’t be happening” hyunjin stared at jisung, as if asking for an answer as to why it happened, as if hoping that jisung was some wizard that knew how to reverse back time and change everything.

“i-i can’t lose them. not like this, we barely had any time together.” hyunjin’s voice muffled against jisung’s shoulder as jisung pulled him into a hug. jisung’s arms wrapped tightly around hyunjin, comforting him.

“let it out hyunjin, i’ll be here don’t worry.”

 ~            ~            ~

 “y/n! you can’t – no- stop it!” hyunjin laughed as he chased after you. you giggled and took another step away from him.

“y/n! stop eating ice-cream, you know you’re lactose intolerant!” you raised the spoonful of ice-cream closer to your mouth and raised an eyebrow towards hyunjin.

“baby please, you know you’re gonna regret that later. then you’ll scold me for not stopping you before eating the ice cream.”

“you’re stopping me now, so i won’t scold you later! i promise!” you pouted.

“you’ll get all sulky because i didn’t try hard enough. i know you y/n, we’ve been dating for what seven months?”

“the best seven months of my life, you mean” your head cocked to the side giving him a little wink.

“stop trying to act cute, i’m still not letting you eat that ice-cream!”

 ~            ~            ~

 ‘every minute spent with you was one of the greatest moments in my life.’ hyunjin thought to himself, as he found himself staring at the dark sky, the moon being the only that the shined.

“hey…” seungmin uttered softly as he sat himself down next to hyunjin. his eyes glancing over every feature of hyunjin’s. the glossy, swollen eyes from crying, the red nose from all the sniffling and the tears stained cheeks.

“here” seungmin passed a bottle of water to hyunjin. seungmin knew hyunjin best, but in that very moment, he couldn’t imagine the pain hyunjin must’ve been going through.

“i-i just don’t understand.” hyunjin sniffled. seungmin could hear from the way he was talking that hyunjin was trying not to cry all over again.

“i miss y/n, i miss that stupid cute idiot, who’d run around the café during closings or who’d secretly send me letters in the mail, making sure i remembered that they love me every day.” hyunjin chuckled softly.

“ i mean why couldn’t they just text me like a normal person. or sometimes they’d send me an email with an invitation so that my phone calendar reminds me when i have a date. or even when they dragged me to the haunted house and told me to hold their hand if i got scared, when that fool was the one screaming bloody murder the most. i just miss y/n”

 ~            ~            ~

 “close your eyes hyunjin! i said close your eyes! it’s a surprise!” y/n playfully slapped his back. hyunjin let out a big laugh.

“okay! okay! i promise i didn’t see anything” you slipped your hands into his, pulling him forward. hyunjin followed stumbling around a little as you forgot to tell about a step down or a small pebble in front of him.

“okay baby, you can open your eyes.” you whispered to him, you saw his eyes opened and stared at the surroundings.

“happy birthday baby!” you smiled as hyunjin stared at all his friends in the park greeting him with a cake and started singing the birthday song. you passed him a bouquet of flowers whilst grabbing his hands.

“w-what?” hyunjin stuttered as he tried to take in everything. his friends were here, you were here. everything was perfect.

hyunjin instantly turned to you still shell shocked.

“i love you” you whispered and pecked him on the lips before joining in on the birthday song.

 ~            ~            ~

 “remember my birthday party? i think it was the most perfect moments in my life. if i could replay that day, it’ll always be on repeat.” hyunjin turned to seungmin. seungmin smiled sadly.

“it was actually y/n’s idea, we were planning on just going on the eat like our normal birthday celebrations. but y/n insisted that it had to be super special for you.”

“they were hell-bent on making sure that the surprise was so perfect, even chan hyung was scared at one point of time, because he got the balloons in a different colour. y/n nagged at him and asked what’s the point of setting a colour theme for the party if they’re not even going to get the correct balloons. we even had a google document proposal, a budget planner and everything.” seungmin chuckled at the memory.

“how could y/n be so … perfect?” hyunjin sighed as he glanced at the flower he still held in his hand.

“you guys were perfect for each other”

 ~            ~            ~

 “okay, hold my hand and tell me everything’s going to be okay” you stated and stretched out your hand towards hyunjin.

“you’ll do great okay, trust me. now go and get that a grade for me” hyunjin’s grip tightened around your hand, comforting you.

“okay! i will! you’re right i can do this!” you exclaimed as you skipped towards the exam venue. hyunjin laughed as he watched you disappear from his line of sight.

 “i felt like everything came in slow motion, from the call to now. everything went by in slow motion and yet i couldn’t comprehend what was going on. i still can’t.” hyunjin squeezed his hand as if the force could shatter the flower petal.

 “y/n? please, baby?” hyunjin called out to you, slightly shaking your arms hoping you groan and wake up, asking him to stop it. but you don’t.

 “they told me, that day, i wouldn’t have to pick them up, from their exam. that they would stop by the bakery and get a cake to celebrate. that cute fool couldn’t even come home safely.”

hyunjin held the last flower from the bouquet you gave him for his birthday, in his clenched fists.

 “it’s been months and every petal reminds me of you. i forgive you for leaving me, y/n. i miss you. i wish i could see your cute stupid face just once more, to tell you that i love you. to tell you that you didn’t have to worry about that exam, to tell you that you aced it. to tell you that i can never go by the bakery without feeling that emptiness in my heart. to tell you that work has never been the same. and birthday parties are never as fun without you here.”

 “the flowers are gone but you’ll always be here, right next to me”

  ~            ~            ~

 a/n! i know it’s short, but it’s been wip since the start of this year! and i really wanted to do something with it! 

let me know your thoughts and anything you wanna tell me!! i’d really appreciate it!  

[santiagoswagger]

we were wild and fluorescent, come home to my heart

Flower shop AU | My contribution to @b99fandomevents 2019 Summer Fic Exchange, for the lovely @benwvatt! 

Amy has always been a planner. 

She received her first calendar when she was six years-old to keep track of her extracurricular activities, and her scheduling addiction arrived soon after. She needed organization to feel sane, normal, like her whole world wouldn’t crumble beneath her feet. Growing up in a house full of rowdy brothers, and now working in a job that is more unpredictable than not, the only thing she’s ever felt any semblance of control over is her calendar. 

But as she furiously clicks through page after page on Yelp in a haze of escalating panic, Amy curses her calendar for the very first time in her life. 

She forgot about Mother’s Day.

It’s not a total surprise, she supposes. She’d spent the last two weeks working to solve a high-profile kidnapping and there hadn’t been any room in her life for restful sleep or food that didn’t come from a vending machine, let alone time to buy her extraordinarily picky mother the perfect Mother’s Day present. 

It wasn’t until David (stupid David!) sent a reminder in the Santiago siblings’ text chain that Amy realized what a colossal mistake she had made in forgetting about the annual Santiago Mother’s Day brunch. Her heart began to palpitate faster than it did that time in college when she consumed an entire pot of coffee the night before her calculus final. That hadn’t ended well at all, but Amy refuses to let this day be a complete disaster. Not showing up to her parents’ house empty-handed is a good place to start.

Now, an hour after receiving David’s text, she’s frantically trying to find an acceptably rated flower shop somewhere in Brooklyn that is both open and taking new orders on such a busy day for the industry. Calls to three had so far dashed all of Amy’s hopes and dreams of one day seeing her photo proudly displayed on the family mantel, knocking David’s out of its place of honor.

She continues to scroll through Yelp until her cursor lands on one called Rachel’s Flowers with a promising four-star rating. Amy painstakingly scans through each review and the only negative one she can find is from a woman who two years previously said the cashier was “annoying beyond belief.” 

Glancing at the clock, Amy decides she would take a chatty cashier over a withering glare from Camila Santiago any day. Running out of time, she foregoes calling ahead and hopes that Rachel is the florist of her dreams. 

The shop is on a quaint, quiet block in Amy’s precinct. ‘Rachel’s Flowers’ is written in neat, green cursive above the brick facade. Its old-school charm is in sharp contrast to the hipster record store and vegan restaurant it’s sandwiched between, and Amy immediately loves it for its simplicity. Standing here is like stepping back in time. She wonders why she’s never come across it before, even in her days as a beat cop. 

She parks her car across the street and walks in, practically running into the line of last-minute shoppers, so long it’s practically out the door. Amy feels her blood pressure spike on the spot.

She walks quickly around the showroom to assess the ready-made bouquets so she can make a quick exit. They’re mostly made up of multi-colored carnations or pink roses, and they’re so beautifully arranged, but Amy can just picture her mother’s face if she were to gift her with any of these. Amy’s grandmother loved gardenias and white hydrangeas, a love Camila inherited; vases of them were always scattered around the Santiago home when Amy was growing up. Bringing her mother any other kind of flower won’t have the desired effect Amy’s going for. 

She waits in line for almost fifteen minutes, tapping her low heels on the ground with every passing second. Being late to brunch would almost be worse than showing up empty-handed, in Amy’s opinion. 

When Amy finally reaches the front of the line, she is greeted by a man she assumes is the chatty cashier from the Yelp review she read earlier. He’s handsome, with kind-looking eyes and a cute, lopsided grin, but his wrinkled flannel and sloppy curls don’t instill much confidence in her.  

“What can I do for you?” he smiles, big and warm. 

“I’m looking for a bouquet for my mom,” she says, trying valiantly to keep her growing anxiety at bay. “She’s really difficult to shop for. Do you have any white hydrangeas and gardenias?” 

“No, I’m sorry, we used most of our supply for custom orders. What you see out here is pretty much what we have left.” He just keeps smiling. Amy wants nothing more than to wipe the stupid smirk off his face. 

“You don’t have anything else in the back?” she asks desperately.

“Sorry, it’s a busy day.” To his credit, he looks apologetic. She can see the sympathy swimming in his eyes. Unfortunately for him, Santiagos never admit defeat. 

“Can I please speak with your manager or the florist?” she asks politely. 

He has the nerve to laugh. “Uh, I’m both.” 

Amy fights the urge to do a double-take. Her finely-honed observational skills spot a large, mysterious red stain on the sleeve of his flannel and she’s fairly certain he’s responsible for the Carly Rae Jepsen songs pumping through the shop’s speakers. How could this man be the one responsible for the delicate flower arrangements by the door?

Amy sighs deeply. “Look, I know this is probably one of the worst days of the year for you, but I forgot it was Mother’s Day and I don’t want my picture to move any further from the mantel than it already is. Can you please help me out and put something together that will at least moderately impress my picky and terrifying mother? I’m willing to pay whatever.” 

He looks thoughtful for a moment, crossing his arms and bringing his pointer finger up to stroke his chin. Amy figures he’s probably trying to figure out what she meant about the family mantel.

“Do 100 jumping jacks.” 

She’s completely caught off-guard. “Excuse me?” 

“You said you would pay whatever,” he smirks, looking entirely too proud of himself. 

She squints at his name tag, pinned to the collar of his haphazard shirt. “Look, Jake, I’m really not in the mood today.” She rummages through her bag to find her phone and look for another flower shop nearby. She’ll take a bouquet from a bodega at this point. 

In the chaos, her badge flies out and lands face-up on the cashier’s desk. Amy sees Jake’s eyes widen, and she can’t help but feel slightly vindicated. 

“You’re a cop?” he asks. 

“I am,” she says carefully. She can’t tell if he’s afraid or if another snarky comment is headed her way. 

“That’s so cool,” he says reverently, picking up her badge to inspect it with the utmost care. “I always wanted to be a cop.”

Amy eyebrow lifts involuntarily. It’s hard for her to imagine this goofy, messy-haired man as one of New York’s finest, but she can tell he’s being genuine by the pure excitement emanating from every part of him.

“It’s a pretty cool job,” she smiles as she takes it back from him. 

“What’s your favorite cop movie? It’s Die Hard, right? It has to be Die Hard!” His flailing hands punctuate every word. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen someone so worked up about Bruce Willis. 

“It’s Training Day, actually, but I suppose you’re entitled to your wrong opinion.” She’s not sure why she’s bantering with the florist, but there’s something so undeniably charming about him. 

“Denzel wishes,” he scoffs. Amy laughs, earning a surprised smile from Jake. 

He takes a second to look around the shop. There are a few stragglers milling around but it’s fairly empty.

“What’s your name?” he asks as he turns back to her.

“Amy,” she says, confused. 

He grins brightly. “Well, Amy, it looks like we’re in a bit of a lull. Let me take a look in the back and see what I can do for you.” 

Relief hits her like a swift punch to the stomach. “Thank you so much, Jake.” 

He nods, beaming, and heads to the back room. 

Amy takes the opportunity to look around now that the panic has died down somewhat. The black-and-white tile floor is covered in just enough scuffs to let Amy know it’s seen some things, as does the chipped green paint on the walls. The bouquets are so thoughtfully arranged and she can tell they were made with such care. Amy briefly wonders how a guy like Jake ended up here. 

“Aha!” she hears him exclaim from the back. 

Amy turns around as he walks back into the shop, sneakers squeaking against the tile as he brandishes a beautiful bouquet over his head.

She hurries over to take a closer look. Jake had grouped gardenias and hydrangeas together in a clear, modern vase, and he had tied the whole thing together with a single silver ribbon. It’s simple and elegant, and very Camila Santiago. 

“They’re beautiful,” she breathes. “I thought you didn’t have any gardenias and hydrangeas left?”

He moves to scratch the back of his neck. Amy swears she sees a hint of a blush spread across his cheeks but she quickly writes it off as a trick of the light. “I managed to find some leftover gardenias and then I remembered that this custom order of white hydrangeas was never picked up yesterday, so I just, you know, threw it together for you.” 

Amy has a sneaking feeling that he isn’t telling her the whole truth, but she appreciates it nonetheless. 

“Thank you, Jake,” she says genuinely. “You’re a lifesaver. My mom will love these.” 

“Eh, it’s no problem,” he says. “You just owe me a huge favor now.”

She barks out a laugh. “You’ve got it.” 

As he rings her up, Amy can’t help herself. “How did you become a florist? You wanted to be a cop, right?”

He chuckles. “I was in the academy when my nana got sick. This was her shop. I used to come here every day after school to help her with orders and I got pretty good at it. When she passed away, I couldn’t let them sell it, so I just kind of stayed and kept it running.” 

He shrugs it off. Amy is dumbfounded. 

“That’s really incredible, Jake.” 

“Surprisingly, being good with flowers does not help with the ladies,” he jokes, handing over her receipt. 

She takes it with a small smile. “Maybe it will one day.” 

He smiles softly back at her. “Yeah, maybe.” 

“Thanks again, Jake.” 

“No problem, Amy. I hope your thing with the mantel works out, whatever that is.” 

He waves as she walks out the door and she feels her stomach bottom out. Well, that’s new. 

Brunch goes better than Amy could have hoped. Camila doesn’t say much, but she purses her lips and places them on top of the grand piano in the living room - prime real estate in the Santiago household, even if no one in the family plays piano. Amy’s photo moves one spot closer to the center of the mantel. 

She knows she owes most of her success to Jake, so when she gets home she decides to thank him in the most sincere way she knows: a handwritten note. She pulls out the floral stationary she had custom-made with her new title when she made detective at the Nine-Nine and gets to writing. 

Jake, 

Thank you for all of your help today. My mom loved the flowers, and I owe it all to you. You really saved me. John McClane has nothing on you. 

Amy 

She reads it over and over until she decides to have mercy on herself and shoves it in the outgoing mail slot before she can drive herself any crazier. 

A few days go by and Amy’s nearly forgotten about the note when a man walks into the precinct holding a giant bouquet of red tulips. The splash of color isn’t something one tends to see in a Brooklyn police precinct, so he catches almost everyone’s eye right away - except Amy’s. 

She’s nearing the end of a large stack of paperwork, which she’s determined to get through before the morning briefing. She sees feet moving towards her out of the corner of her eye but she doesn’t think much of it until she hears someone clear their throat.

It’s Jake, the florist. 

“Hi,” he says, clearing his throat again. This time, she can detect his nerves. 

“Hi,” she says, surprised. “What are you doing here?”

He smiles easily. “I got your note. Very nice touch, by the way. I’m here to, uh, ask you to dinner.”

She raises her eyebrows, caught off-guard. 

He quickly deflates. “You have a boyfriend, don’t you? I knew it. I’m so sorry, Amy. I won’t bother you again.” 

It’s this grace in the face of defeat that makes Amy’s heart swell with sudden affection. He’s a complete stranger, but she instinctively knows he’s someone she can trust. “Jake, I’d love to go to dinner with you.” 

He smiles slowly. “You would? You’re single? Really?” 

She nods, grinning. “Yes, really.” 

The tips of his ears turn bright pink. “Okay, great. When should I pick you up?” 

Amy grabs a neon post-it note and scribbles her phone number and address. “Seven?” she asks, handing it back to him. 

He takes it, looking somewhat dazed, like he can’t quite believe his good luck. He gently sets the tulips down on her desk, careful not to disrupt her files. “Seven, it is. I’ll see you later, Amy.” 

“Bye, Jake,” she says, waving shyly as he heads for the elevator.  

Once he’s gone and she’s able to pull herself back down to earth, she steals a glance at the bouquet he’d brought her. The tulips are vibrant and beautiful, and full of promise. 

Later, when she kisses him for the first time, she takes in the floral scent that seems to follow him around and it feels like home.

[krumbine]

The Insufferable Silence in Apartment 616

There's something terrifying about being alone with your thoughts.

For Lizzie Stevenson, even five minutes is too long––that’s why she’s always chasing that next distraction.

But when a home invader ties her to a chair, Lizzie finds herself stuck between a rock and a crazy space, forced to confront a surprising darkness lurking in her past.

***The following story contains adult themes. Virgin eyes, beware! (I’m looking at you, mom.)***

###

The darkness wasn’t so bad. It was a black void, absent any light, a dizzying plunge into terrifying, absolute nothingness.

But even that paled in comparison to the silence.

It enveloped Lizzie, wrapping around her head like a winter blanket soaked in water. The weight was crushing.

Then came the thoughts, banging against her skull as if they were baseball bats wielded by some doped-up player in the middle of a roid rage.

You’re a failure.

He left because you’re broken.

No one loves you. No one likes you.

You’ll never finish that degree.

You’re fat.

He left because you’re fat.

That bitch. That fucking slut.

You’re not even out of your twenties and you’ve already peaked.

Why do you drink so much? Because you’re a fucking alcoholic, that’s why, and honestly you’re okay with that, nevermind the consequences.

You’re a fucking coward.

Why did you let him leave you?

Can your parents possibly think less of you? Yes, definitely. They only ever liked you because he was with you.

The darkness wasn’t so bad but the silence was a fucking cunt.

Lizzie Stevenson jolted violently as she awoke. Her head jerked forward and her feathery cinnamon hair splayed across her face in a mess. She drew sharp breaths in through her nose, attempting to pull her breath back from the panic attack that clawed at her tightened chest.

The first thing Lizzie noticed was the ticking of a vintage Mickey Mouse clock hanging on the wall of her apartment a few feet away.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The second thing Lizzie noticed was that her arms and legs were securely tied to the chair she was sitting on. A few extra lengths of rope crossed her chest, tying her to the back of the chair.

Lizzie’s cry was muffled by the gag in her mouth.

A muted exclamation came from the kitchen.

Lizzie craned her neck and saw someone pulling a can of soda from the fridge. It was a man. Maybe a little younger than her––no, maybe older? His dark eyes were wide with excitement, a smooth face split in what looked almost to be a manic grin. He wore a dark green hooded blazer––

––seaweed green, Lizzie thought randomly––

––a black t-shirt and dark jeans. And black leather boots with heavy soles. Doc Martens?

The ropes bit at her wrists. Lizzie twisted her legs, pulling at the bindings on her ankles, unconsciously pulling her knees together. The tightness in her chest grew warm.

Lizzie’s focus was pulled back to the intruder’s face as he approached her––

––Tick. Tick. Tick––

Pale. Narrow. Black hair swept effortlessly back. And those dark eyes. As he got closer, she could tell that they were brown, but they were the darkest shade of brown she had ever seen.

As the intruder sat down in front of her, crossing his legs and popping the top of the soda, Lizzie became acutely aware of the gag that he had no doubt shoved into her mouth. A feeling a helplessness gripped her.

And then there was that particularly not unpleasant tingle.

Fuck you, Lizzie.

The intruder’s eyes sparkled and the manic grin expanded as if he could hear her thoughts.

Lizzie gulped, attempting to stamp down the tingle. She tried to speak but was again muffled by the gag.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The intruder was unfazed.

“Hello, Lizzie,” he said.

The tingle swam back, a spreading warmth accompanied by a twitch.

Goddammit, you fucking cunt.

His voice was warm and welcoming and infinitely nourishing, as if it was the only voice she would ever need to hear for the rest of her life. At the same time, he spoke with exacting precision, his words carrying an edge that threatened to cut as efficiently as they could comfort.

Two words and you’re already wet. You’re a worthless bag of shit.

Lizzie tried to speak again, but her mouth was otherwise occupied.

The intruder sipped his soda.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

“Let’s make a deal, Lizzie,” he said. “Gag comes off, you answer a question, and we both go on with our lives.”

He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, inches from Lizzie’s face. She could smell him and that only served to set the tingle on fire. Her eyes watered and she realized it must look like she was silently begging him to take the gag out.

Take it out. And shove something else in.

“How does that sound?”

Lizzie swallowed hard and her head jerked in an abrupt nod. The intruder leaned back in his chair and considered Lizzie with a pensive––

––fucking hard throbbing––

––stare.

Electricity pricked its way across Lizzie’s skin, starting from her wetness and traveling across her bound extremities until a chill crept up her spine, causing an involuntary twitch to seize her body.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The intruder reached around Lizzie’s head and untied the gag. As he pulled it away, his fingers brushed her cheek.

Lizzie gasped as the gag fell from her mouth.

He sat back down, crossing his legs again. “What are you so afraid of, Lizzie?”

Lizzie’s insides were twisting. She could talk, although her body was demanding the other thing. She closed her eyes and worked her jaw, sore from the gag. Finally: “Who are you and what the fuck are you doing in my apartment?”

No reaction, no missed beat: “My name is Peter and I’m here asking you what you’re so afraid of, Lizzie.”

Never getting fucked again? Never feeling like you’re being split in two––

“Your boyfriend dumped you. It didn’t go well. Not that those things ever do. But you check his Instagram every day. Not to mention the new girl’s Instagram—” he leaned forward conspiratorially —“the fucking tits on that one! Honestly, he should enjoy it while it lasts because she’s grade-A fuckmeat that’s just gonna move onto the next thick dick that crosses her path, am I right?”

Lizzie blinked. His words were a cold shower to her repressed libido. Who the fuck was this guy and how did he know?

As if he could read her mind: “Again, my name is Peter,” he repeated, leaning back and dropping the melodrama, “and I’m here asking you what you’re so afraid of, Lizzie.”

Tick. Tick. Tick.

“How about this? Fun World. You have an annual pass and go there once or twice after work every week. That’s on top of weekend visits,” Peter said. “Your patronage of this park is like clockwork.”

Lizzie didn’t understand why she had to defend her recreational activities to a home invader. “I have an annual pass. It’s a great value. A good way to kill a few hours.”

Peter leaned in, eyes sparkling. “Reading a book is a good way to kill a few hours and infinitely more affordable, not to mention a great way to expand those mental horizons. Spending more time at a theme park than one of its minimum wage hot dog slingers is a tacit––albeit desperate––exercise in avoiding something else altogether.”

Peter’s impossibly dark eyes penetrated Lizzie.

“Something that terrifies you,” he said quietly. “So again: what are you afraid of?”

“I’m not afraid of anything!” Lizzie snapped.

“Ha!” Peter bounced to his feet so quickly his chair clattered to the floor behind him. “Everyone’s afraid of something. Everyone has that little voice inside their head pointing out all their failures. Maybe you’re afraid you were never good enough for your boyfriend, or anyone else for that matter. Maybe you’re afraid you won’t lose those few extra pounds. Or maybe you’re just afraid of the Big One.”

Peter grabbed Lizzie’s wrists and leaned in close, uncomfortable nose-to-nose. “The inevitable. The endless sleep. The darkness that comes for all of us. Tell me, Lizzie, are you so insufferably boring that you’re just afraid of death?”

Lizzie had no idea what was happening, but it was safe to say that all the sexual energy had evaporated. That tends to happen when someone calls you insufferably boring.

“Fuck you.”

Peter clicked his teeth and pulled away. “No … not death.”

He turned to the table and picked up a smartphone. Lizzie recognized her case. Peter tapped in a sequence of numbers and unlocked the device.

“Hey––!”

“Last I counted,” Peter said as he scrolled the device, “you were able to keep upwards of thirteen utterly random conversations going on social media. Concurrently. With complete strangers.”

Peter selected a thread and held the phone in front of Lizzie’s face. She couldn’t get her eyes to focus on the blue text bubbles.

“Why?” he asked with a half-shrug. “There’s absolutely nothing of importance in any of this—” he scrolled the thread of messages across the screen, “––no value, no purpose other than to keep your fingers busy––”

Peter paused and looked up, dark eyes glazed. The corner of his mouth quirked up.

“Oh. That’s it, isn’t it?”

Peter put the phone back on the table, picked up the fallen chair and placed it back in front of Lizzie. He sat down.

“You’re afraid of the quiet, aren’t you, Lizzie Stevenson?”

Tick. Tick. Tick.

“Fun Wold. Creeping on the boyfriend and his new fuck buddy. The endless scroll of social media.” Peter casually tossed a thumb over his shoulder at a day planner sitting on the kitchen counter. “A calendar so full it’s a wonder how you don’t have an assistant managing it all for you.”

Lizzie searched his eyes for some kind of plausible explanation for the home and psychological invasion, but there was nothing there. It was like the man was playing a role and he was wearing this ‘Peter’ character as a mask.

“You’re afraid that if you slow down, it might get a little too quiet,” Peter continued. “And if it gets too quiet, then maybe you’ll have to actually deal with that thing inside you. That emptiness. That blackness. Is that what you’re afraid of, Lizzie Stevenson?”

Fuck this shit.

“You’re a fucking lunatic.”

Peter shrugged dismissively. “There are worse things.”

“What the actual hell do you want from me?”

“I want you tell me what you’re afraid of, Lizzie,” Peter said again, as calm and patient as the first time he asked.

“And then what?”

“And then you let it go.”

“Fuck you.”

It was as if Peter had heard it a million times and was immune. Or maybe it was just because Lizzie was tied up and he wasn’t.

“I’m offering you freedom, Lizzie,” he said, that warm voice welcoming her into some unseen abyss, nourishing her and filling her with–– “I chose you, Lizzie. I chose you––of all the insipid, brainless shitbags in this city, you were the only one who mattered.”

Peter smiled. “I chose you, Lizzie Stevenson, to show the door to. You still have to choose to walk through it. Now tell me––”

Tick. Tick. Tick.

“—what are you afraid of?”

Lizzie glanced at the shitty Mickey Mouse clock. This had been fun, at least for a little bit, but the time was up. Her shoulder’s slumped in defeat.

“… you’re not wrong.”

If Peter was surprised or satisfied or horny, he didn’t show it.

“… I’m afraid of sitting still,” Lizzie said softly. “I’m afraid of the quiet.”

She looked up and met Peter’s eyes.

“I am afraid of the darkness inside me.”

Peter shook his head compassionately. “There’s nothing to be afraid of, Lizzie.”

“No, no,” she said, head rolling back and forth before slumping forward. “No—no. No.”

Peter’s hand rested on her thigh but she couldn’t feel it. He whispered: “You have to let it go. The fear. The anger. The loneliness. None of it matters. And once you let it go––”

“You don’t understand,” Lizzie said, keeping her head down to avoid Peter’s gaze.

A chuckle. “You cannot possibly comprehend the depths of my understanding,” Peter said softly.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

“… it started a little over a year ago,” Lizzie finally said without looking up. Her shoulders quivered. “I was interning at Kelltech Labs. Doctor Jason Kell was an alum at my school––”

The first indication of genuine annoyance from Peter. “I’ve been over all of this already. Jason Edward Kell. Renowned Alzheimer’s researcher. And you, the bright young intern––”

Lizzie sobbed.

Fuck.

She couldn’t avoid it any longer. This mysterious home invader in the Doc Martens who had clearly done his homework––this asshole somehow knew the exact right buttons to mash.

How could he have been so right and yet so completely wrong?

Tick. Tic––

It’s time to end this.

“Stop crying,” Peter was saying in his bullshit hypnotic tone. “You need to accept the darkness and embrace the meaningless of it all––”

Snap!

The ropes binding Lizzie’s left hand fell to the floor and Peter scooted back in his chair in surprise.

“Whoa.”

Lizzie wasn’t sobbing. Her body was convulsing, muscles rippling and contorting under her flesh. Her right wrist bulged and strained at the rope, threads snapping and unraveling from pressure.

Finger bones cracked and twisted, lengthening as her nails darkened, hardened, and curved to a point.

When her right wrist broke free of the final strands, Peter shot to his feet and backed up. His eyes were wide but not with fear.

Peter was excited.

Lizzie Stevenson was far from insufferably boring.

Bones kept cracking and shifting as the violent transformation continued. Lizzie tore at the ropes straining across her chest and as the bindings on her ankles snapped. She rose up from the buckling chair. Her shoulders rippled as they gained an unseemly mass. They rolled backwards as she slowly straightened to her full height, head canted to avoid the apartment ceiling.

Peter looked up at Lizzie’s face. It was broader, flatter, but he could still see her features. That cinnamon hair cascaded all the way down her body, underneath her stretched and tearing clothes.

“… motherfucker.”

Peter’s mind raced, piecing together the missing bits of information that led to an abrupt end to Lizzie’s promising internship at the biotech company.

Something had gone terribly wrong.

Or at least, that was one way to look at it.

“You … are …” Peter searched for the right word. “… fascinating.”

Lizzie’s chest heaved as the convulsions of the transformation subsided. Peter cautiously approached her, raising a hand up to her head.

“… I knew there was darkness in you, but this … my dear, Lizzie, the things we’re going to do together—”

Lizzie bared fangs and growled a violent warning. When she spoke, it came out low and raspy, but without hesitation.

“How’s this for letting go?”

Lizzie smashed a bowling-ball sized fist into Peter’s face.

###

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jordan Krumbine is a professional video editor, digital artist, and creative wizard currently quarantined in Kissimmee, Florida. When not producing content for the likes of Visit Orlando, Orlando Sentinel, or AAA National, Jordan is probably yelling at a stubbornly defective Macbook keyboard, tracking creative projects in Trello, and animating quirky videos with LEGO and other various toys.

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